I reach the top and collapse. The tiny summit is filling up with a guided party of Americans. As I glance at their gear: gore-tex suits, crampons, axes and ropes, I start to get an uneasy feeling of exposure. I look down at my running shoes, shorts and packamac - I know I don’t have everything I should to be up here. My pulse rate backs down from maximum, and I yell over to my partner: “is this a good idea?”

Earlier that morning in the hut, Hugo Biner, Zermatt mountain guide and proprietor of the Trift Refuge, had looked with a mixture of curiosity and bemusement at our English fell-running shoes. He didn’t think it was a particularly good idea to run up there.

He’d seen pretty much every brand of tourist, walker and climber pass his hut, but runners only rarely. I assumed his hut would have been a common stop-off for runners on the ascent of this classic walkers route, but apparently not. It’s always good to check local knowledge and Biner’s unfamiliarity with the subject of running in the area made me uneasy. It was dawning on me that, if I were to run in the Alps, I would seldom meet another runner and for this sport at least, there must be great areas of virgin territory.

This was for me the day that alpine running finally made sense. I expect everyone who does it has a day like that. As I looked out from the rocky summit, down to the snowfields we had crossed below, struggling to take in the full panorama of spiky white summits around me, I knew I’d cracked it. Previous attempts at running in the Alps had been wrecked by bad route choices, or the wrong kit and poor preparation. It had made me think - either walk or climb, but don’t bother trying to run it. Maybe trying to transplant UK fell running onto an alpine environment simply doesn’t work. But this time we’d got it right. Our companions on the summit had laboriously trekked to the top, roping together over the snow, carrying all the heavy essentials for a day in the mountains. We had the simple, lightweight freedom of the fell runner, and the anticipation of an awesome descent.

The Mettelhorn is 3406m high. It’s like a mini Matterhorn. It has an outline that mirrors in miniature the signature shape of the area - the “perfect mountain” silhouette. It’s one of the few true peaks in the area that can be tackled by walkers and the perfect choice for a running ascent. The day we ran the sky was clear and the autumnal weather was bright and fresh. Working hard up a well-defined track we were able to gain height at speed. In fact, if you wonder whether it’s worth the extra effort, check out how quickly the walkers you pass become dots below you - indistinguishable from the rocks and boulders. The final few hundred meters of running to the summit had felt really hard. By then the tight switchback of the track seemed to make no impact on the sharp gradient and the rock under our shoes was loose and greasy. I’d tried not to lose grip on a good running rhythm – up on my toes, stepping lightly, but my legs were becoming more leaden with each stride. I focused on trying to keep comfortable, moving forward and with each wheezing lung-full, hauling in as much of the thinning air as possible.

Once we’d stopped on the summit, carrying only a thin layer of Pertex, we chilled rapidly. I needed to get my legs moving and heart rate back up again to feel more comfortable. The stable weather could stay for several days or change unpredictably to the cold, windy conditions of the day before. As a runner I felt very exposed. A glance across to the Matterhorn, and the great plume blowing off its summit reminded me that this wasn’t our usual winter jog up Coniston Old Man. So we left the trekkers and launched ourselves downwards. I have found that after each of my recent running trips to the Alps, my lung capacity increases. It feels like the increasing thinness of the air causes you to dig deeper each time you breathe in, like scratching around in the bottom of a bag, trying desperately to get what you need to fuel the uphill effort. Descending after a climb like that is great fun, with gravity suddenly on your side, you feel like nothing but a pair of lungs, flat sections requiring no effort to motor fast. Heads forward and heels digging down into crunchy snow, we dropped like rocks and were able to jump the small, bridged crevasses without breaking our stride.

Back home in the Lake District, our usual running ground, fell running is a sport as embedded in the history and culture as climbing. The challenges for runners are numerous and well known. An example, one of the oldest, is the iconic Grasmere Guides race. It was established in the Victorian era as a showcase for the Lake District mountain guides, enabling them to compete for training, prestige and cash. It is a very steep 900ft of ascent in a 1.5mile long race. The record has stood at 12 minutes 21 for the last 28 years, but was broken this year by British champion, Robb Jebb, one of the elite UK runners now making their presence felt in the emerging alpine race scene.

In the Alps, established classic alpine trail races such as Sierre-Zinal have been attracting first class athletes since the 70’s. New “ultra-endurance” races are also springing up, set in classic mountain environments and with big name sponsors. The North Face Ultra Trail takes runners on a 158k lower level circuit around the Mont Blanc massive. The latest Buff Sky Runner race series has attracted some of the stars of the UK fell running scene, having the added enticement of taking runners higher into the mountains, racing up to altitudes of 3000m.

The fastest fell racers in the country are turning to the Alps. But as well as that, more runners are heading out alone looking for high passes, peaks and a different sort of challenge. Like climbing, kayaking and mountain biking before it, mountain running seems to be having something like its own “free ride” revolution, releasing it from the rules, conventions and organised activities of athletic sports. But despite alluding to Alpine running in their marketing, the big name brands are still not producing specialised gear, especially shoes, which can truly hack it on steep, rocky and icy ground. Running for peaks and high passes is still really a minority sport. If you want to run routes like the Mettelhorn there are no guidebooks for runners, no grading system and little advice for the novice on how to take their first steps in the Alps. Fitness can seem a daunting obstacle.

But like many sports that are apparently all about fitness, a technique lurks beneath the surface. For running the steepest climbs, get into a low gear, relax and don’t stop running - with good technique the fitness can follow. “Don’t stop running” seems obvious, but in my experience, your body may try to talk you into it. Many of the really good mountain runners I have watched and tried to learn from, never stop and never walk - both of which you will often see runners do on long and steep fell races. Stuart Parker, a former UK orienteering champion and veteran fell runner put it to me very clearly as I failed to keep up with him, “If you stop your pulse will drop right back, and it’s hard to get it back up again, if you keep stopping you’ll blow up”. When it gets really steep make small rapid steps, learn to relax and know your anaerobic threshold. Eventually your body will get the message.

For challenging routes, and the most exposure a runner should ever have to face, the Dolomites are an excellent area to start with. Look for routes in the peaks above Cortina d’Ampezzo. For example, from the Falzarego pass up to Rifugio Giussani (2580m). This route follows long traverses across the mighty Dolomiti screes as they pour out from the base of the sheer rising rock faces. The traverse sections are fast and relatively easy, giving breathing space and a chance to look straight up the flanks of the pink skyscraper columns as you pass underneath. A particular hazard for runners here is the barbed wire and rusty metal strewn around, left over from WW1. Through the barren Travenanzes valley the track descends a little, skirting the top of the tree line and passing under a spectacular plume of water falling from the cliffs above. For the final ascent, the path breaks off straight up an exposed track, heading abruptly and very steeply to the pass summit and the welcome sight of the Rifugio flag.

I’m still working on my approach to alpine running, and the best places to go, and how far I can take it personally. The Dolomites have offered up some fantastic routes. Running in these extreme and awe-inspiring environments, free and fast moving, seemingly against logic, brings the greatest rewards. Mike Vogler, alpine climber and fell runner, has started to take his running to the places he climbs. “It’s the brutal simplicity of it that I love”, says Mike, “there’s no queuing for the teleferique there’s no faffing about and almost no kit. It’s a pure challenge”. I would urge anyone who loves the simple challenges and rewards of running to try the Alps, if only so that I can meet a few more runners on the mountain.

Vicky Wilkinson is a BMC member who has been combining UK fell running with Alpine routes for eight years. A member of Ambleside AC, Vicky lives and works in the Lake District.

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