Ecstasy of Gold

Lavaredo 2025

11pm in Cortina, heart of the Dolomites. I look up at the white church steeple piercing the night and try to clear my head, make ready for the ride.

Photos by Philipp Reiter

We have to acknowledge the body without letting it ruin us. So, tucked among the herd, I dim the switch on the nausea, somnolence, and stiffness.

After the first up and down we’re 10 runners deep. Transitioning to the next valley, the legs begin to wake up. A good kind of tension builds in the hamstrings as we jog the steep grades, and I decide to follow my legs as the others slip back.

The race plan was amorphous to begin with, based on course-record splits from 2022 and not really catered to my style, which might be more expressive on steep, runnable terrain.

Still, it was useful. I wanted to lean into the descents—something I’m typically less eager to do. On the first extended downhill (24km–32km), I toggle the watch to show live pace and check, expecting the first digit to read 3.

The gaggle holds on, headlamps pillaging the night, bells of spectators sounding shortly after we pass. I’m in no rush to lose them—we travel better as a tribe—but after some steep hiking, there’s a 3km gravel climb the legs find irresistible.

I meet my assistant, Tommaso Bassa (local trail running coach), in Misurina. One marathon down. The pack is out of sight. I wheel around the lake to recover and take on nutrition. The climb ahead is a fun one—steep up to Rifugio Auronzo, then the tourist path to famous Tre Cime di Lavaredo (52km).

Photo by Jan Nyka

Up high, I check my shoulder, perhaps more than I should, but each time the light beams seem to recede. Now the focus shifts, an important section—long downhill then a 5km false flat to Cimabanche (68km).

After the technical upper descent, I try to run light on the loose rock, lengthen the stride. I check live pace and don’t love what I see, so I throw the legs ahead and try not to twist an ankle.

Quick toilet stop. Finally, the pace data is where it needs to be. Birds stir. The mountains light up in strange silver—soothing these bloodshot eyes.

Rolling into Cimabanche, I feel alright. I down a flask of Maggi Brodo (basically a bouillon cube), a recent discovery in the Italian grocery store. Salty. Delicious. I’m very thirsty and drink 1.5L over the next hour, running every step of the climb and descending smooth.

I get word that the chasers are 7-8 mins back. Not really enough to alter my pacing in either direction, so I focus on the rhythm and cruise.

I’ve fallen off the calories and can sense it in my stride. Take gel, drink water, repeat at regular intervals. Seems easy, but eventually the body gets locked into a momentum and doesn’t want to eat.

So comes the tricky bit, my passage through the bardo of Val Travenanzes (84km-94km). Forward progress is clogged, my pace stricken by under-fueling, dehydration, and fatigue. I grimace and berate myself,

Let’s go you slow motherfucker, this is embarrassing. How bad do you want it?

I fight myself up the valley. Visibility permitting, I check my shoulder. Still no one. This part of the race becomes less about others and more a passage through the borderlands of real and illusory mental limitations.

There’s nowhere to hide. And while those internal barriers feel impregnable, you eventually reach the pass and vanquish some part of yourself that was holding you back.

But the job’s not done. It never is.

Down to Col Gallina (98km), I recognize Gautier’s voice: “COME ON BEN.” There’s the faintest hint of disappointment in his tone. Expectation to run faster.

He’s dam right, I was slow on that section. “One hour hard, then its done,” he says as I join my crew for sugar, water, and brodo.

That’s all the pep talk I needed, little power-hour then back to town. The next climb is too technical to run, so I hike with purpose and track the positive feedback of Newton’s third law: for every action, an equal and opposite reaction.

I try to lose myself in the effort and get about halfway there. Time and distance sneak by. I arrive at the final pit stop, Passo Giau (105km).

For the first time Tommaso gives me a reference to the course record,

You have 8 minutes on Namberger.

I get out of there fast, preaching efficiency. When the terrain slows you down, bend the knee. But when it opens, throttle. Stay positive. You can’t put a price tag on morale

I savor the last real climb—ten minutes at a 30% incline—relying on the dregs of my legs, some hidden reserve. It still feels honest, even reasonable.

A short jog through the alpine. Then I punch up the final col, confronted by a startling view of the descent back to Cortina (120km), lapidary in the bezel of huge mountains. Can I really make it there in 50 minutes?

I scroll to live pace. Increase speed gradually to my favorite first digit. Try to hold. I fall off the effort often but get back to it whenever the trail allows. I’m not matching Hannes’ course-record split—an absurd 4:00/km average—but I’m not slow either. I drink water and try not to kick rocks.

The camera bike meets me at the junction of trail and forest road. I do my best for the viewers watching in town. This is it. Time to sever the brain.

We sail down, hit some asphalt rollers, then descend again. I see the church. I hear the bells.

The bike escorts me into town. I hit main street with gas in the tank. Charge down the chute, straightaway wild with spectators, it could have gone on another mile, another 10 miles—I was gone, fused to this state of being—taking the tape in 11h49min.

Aftermath

Among friends and publicly on my podcast, I said I wanted the record. Seeing it through feels good.

But I’m the first to admit there’s still a solid chunk to lop off.

Likely this was my best performance yet, which makes it worth asking—where did it come from?

1. I treated this performance like a job. Trained right (boring). Went to the Dolomites two weeks early for recon and acclimation—heat, terrain, mild altitude.

2. This course plays to my strengths: runnable climbs, sustained grades, alpine movement. So maybe it’s “easier” for me than some others.

3. Expectations. I find goal-setting and execution to be the most rewarding part of running. I don’t care about the recognition or accolades, I wanted this for myself.

We are two days post-race and the legs feel good. However much I want to jump back into training, the plan (non-negotiable) is to take a full rest week before getting serious about you-know-what.