Never-ending hills

The sun still hasn't come up yet, and the streets of Sölden in the Austrian Alps are busy with hundreds of cyclists. Most of them are rugged up in wet-weather gear: after all, the weather forecast for today looks grim. I'm also concerned about the chance of rain. After all, when you are trying to complete a 230 kilometer race (140 miles), with four mountain passes and a vertical rise of 5200 meters, wet roads and water in your eyes is not exactly what you want.

But at moments like this, the best thing is to remain optimistic. Somehow we'll get through it, I think to myself. That's probably what the other 4100 hobby cyclists are thinking too who are lining up this morning for the Ötztal Cycle Marathon.

When the start gun sounds at 6:45 am there's not much time for contemplation anyway. The first 31 kilometers are relatively flat in the direction of the valley and, as I'm close to the back, I use the opportunity to work my way through the field.

At speeds reaching 60 kilometers an hour, I steam through the Ötz valley, enjoying the alpine scenery. Then suddenly I come up against a wall in front of me. In the town of Ötz the street bends to the right and a steep incline begins, an 18.5 kilometer section with a vertical rise of 1200 meters. Almost immediately, the field starts to separate.

Eyes on the road

All around me, as we make the ascent, all I can here is breathing. Sometimes it's quiet and rhythmic, other times it's loud and hectic. Everyone is working hard now, the gradient is at times 18 percent. The cows beside the road munching on grass don't seem to be too interested, most of themdon't even raise their heads. A few kilometers further and some horses want to get involved in the race though. They gallop across the road through the cyclists. Thankfully we are all going uphill slowly and no one is injured.

I see the top of the rise in front of me sooner than I expected, and my legs are still feeling pretty good. In the small alpine village of Kühtai we are cheered on by hundreds of onlookers, and for a moment it feels a bit like the Tour de France.

With the clapping still ringing in my ears I set off with a small group of cyclists on the descent down to Innsbruck. The road is just as steep as before, but now we are heading down it. I don't need to pedal anymore, but rather get into a good, low position on the bike. That's the only way I can keep up with the others. I look down briefly at my speedometer: 104 kilometers an hour, it reads. I start to feel a little queasy. I feel the bike vibrating below me and I start to develop tunnel vision, focusing on the road in front of me. The next curve is approaching, I brake, then pedal again to speed up. Even going downhill is tiring in the Alps.

Cramps and hunger pains

Then, almost suddenly, we arrive in Innsbruck. The streets become flat again and our pace slows down. It's time to relax the legs a bit, get out an energy bar and have a look around. Right of me is the famous Bergisel ski jump above the city, and I can also spot the next valley, the Brenner.

We work our way along one of the busiest roads through the Alps to Italy, in a group of about 200 riders. At the border I spot a friend of mine, who is carrying two drink bottles which I pick up gratefully. My first two bottles are now completely empty.

I want to keep drinking so that I can avoid cramps. I also don't want to be hit by hunger pains later, so I use the opportunity to keep slurping down strawberry-flavored sports gels. Well, they're meant to be strawberry. It's not really haute cuisine, but they do the trick.

Once again we start heading downhill towards Sterzing. The air is cold and I wonder whether I should have worn another layer. I hear from one of the other racers that we are making good time, that we could manage to beat eight hours and 30 minutes.

As we start to head up hill again I push into the pedals, before I consciously hold myself back. I want to hold a bit in reserve for the coming Timmelsjoch. Perhaps I should have done it a bit faster. I hear later that eventual winner Roberto Cunico went through the foggy forests of the Jaufenpass around 22 minutes faster than I managed it. It was the section that won him the race.

Struggling to breathe

After a curved, badly sealed section of road down from Jaufenpass, it's time for the moment of truth. The next 29 kilometers on the way up to Timmelsjoch takes me more than two hours. I am running out of energy and every turn of the pedals is hard work. Due to the altitude it's also getting hard to breathe.

I just keep telling myself to get to the next corner. Just don't look up, otherwise I will see how far it is to go. "Keep going, keep going," I mumble to myself and then I have to laugh. Insanity is setting in, I am talking to my legs.

At an altitude of 2509 meters, I finally get to the end of the climb and the finish line now isn't far away. Just one more descent to Sölden, which nearly ends in a catastrophe as I narrowly miss a cow standing in the middle of the road behind a bend.

Phew, that was lucky. Just like with the weather, which has managed to hold out. Over the last four kilometers rain starts to fall. Finally, I cross the line in eight hours and 27 minutes. I've done it.

Hours later - as the last riders cross the finish line after 13 hours in the saddle - I realise just how lucky I was. Many behind me were hit by rain up in the mountains and those that do manage to arrive at the finish line, are freezing and soaking wet. Their gazes are empty and they stand there shivering. The rain keeps coming down and darkness settles over the Ötz valley again. A long day finally comes to an end.

First conducted in 1982, the Ötztal Cycle Marathon is one of Europe's most prestigious amateur bike races, even attracting former stars like Jan Ullrich. The 4000 start positions for the race are normally sold out in minutes.