Running the Mozart 100

Last September we went to Salzburg so I could run in the Mozart 100 ultramarathon, officially called Mozart 100 by UTMB®. I’d chosen this race because it promised a few of my favourite things: pretty mountains, Mozart (who was born in Salzburg) and long-distance running. I’d originally signed up to do it in 2020 but the Covid-19 pandemic fell on us so the race was postponed for a year. By August 2021 travel was possible with vaccine passports so we headed over to Austria.

Mozart 100 race is the brainchild of keen ultra-trail runner Joseph Mayerhofer, a Salzburg native and former marketing professional. Since its first edition on June 23, 2012, the race has attracted ever-increasing numbers of elite athletes. Such is its popularity, in fact, that in 2020 it was acquired by the sports giant IRONMAN Group and is part of the UTMB® World Series. This basically means that it is part of a system of exceptional trails whose finishers earn ‘running stones’ that enable them to participate in a lottery to enter the greatest trail race of all, the UTMB® (Ultra Trail Mont Blanc®).

Starting a few hundred metres from Mozart’s birthplace in the historical center, the course heads east through the gorgeous lakes, valleys and mountains of the Salzkammergut (‘salt demesne’). ‘Salz’ or ‘salt’ occurs frequently in names here: Salzburg means ‘Salt Castle’ and Salzach (the river that runs through the town) means ‘Salt Stream’. About 200 million years ago Germany and Austria were covered by an ocean. This duly evaporated, leaving salt, bones and sediment to be gradually covered with dust and clay. When the continents shifted to form the Alps, salt diapirs formed, making salt relatively accessible to be-tooled humans. The salt in this region has been mined for thousands of years, the main mines being Salzburg, Hallstatt and Hallein. Hallstatt is the world’s oldest working salt mine and even gave its name to the Hallstatt culture, the main culture of Central and Western Europe in the Late Bronze Age. Stendhal fans will be interested to know that his theory of ‘crystallization’ in love was formed during a trip to the mines at Hallein: “In the salt mines, nearing the end of the winter season, the miners will throw a leafless wintry bough into one of the abandoned workings. Two or three months later, through the effects of the waters saturated with salt which soak the bough and then let it dry as they recede, the miners find it covered with a shining deposit of crystals. The tiniest twigs no bigger than a tom-tit’s claw are encrusted with an infinity of little crystals scintillating and dazzling. The original little bough is no longer recognizable; it has become a child’s plaything very pretty to see. When the sun is shining and the air is perfectly dry the miners of Hallein seize the opportunity of offering these diamond-studded boughs to travellers preparing to go down to the mine.” Salt was (and is) extremely important to us as a means of preserving food, especially meat. In the old days it meant the difference between survival and starvation. For this reason it was in great demand and a major trading commodity. One of the reasons Salzburg became prosperous was that it levied taxes on barges carrying the precious cargo away down the river Salzach.  

  One of my favourite parts of a big race is the day before, when you go to get your bib, GPS tracker and gift bag and listen to the race briefing and gawk at all the top athletes. There is usually a kind of pop-up expo around the office, where you can buy running accessories, book sports massages and sample local food and drink (in this case mainly beer). In an allusion to the race’s namesake the giftbag included a few mozartkugeln — round sweets invented in Salzburg in 1890 in honor of their famous son. The briefing and expo were both held in Kapitelplatz square, an elegant space in the shadow of Hohensalzburg Fortress on the top of a sheer cliff. Looking at the runners gathered for the meeting, I noticed that the general aspect was taller, hairier, more sinewy and rangier mine – it was like being surrounded by human goats. There were also very few women (only about 17 women entered compared to more than 200 men). My alarm faded though because they also seemed quite relaxed and cheery and it was a nice family atmosphere, there were kids all over the place. After all, we were all there just for fun, surely! The race briefing took more than an hour as the speaker carefully identified all the rules and safety requirements. He had to pause for five minutes as the deafening bells of Dom Cathedral struck the hour. The top athletes then filed up onto the stage. I was interested to see that the favourite for the men’s race was my compatriot, New Zealander Sam McCutcheon who in 2019 had won the ultra trail Lago d’Orta and finished sixth in the UTMB®-CCC®, one of the top races in the sport. For the women, the favourite was American Margaret Lane.  

That night I slept a few hours, woke up at four o’clock, dressed, ate cold oatmeal and immediately started worrying that the taxi I’d ordered hadn’t arrived yet. Someone at the front desk ordered another one for me and soon I was on my way bumping over cobblestones and peering up at the beautiful Baroque edifices crammed in the historic center. Ordinarily cars aren’t allowed in that part of town but at this hour of day and in a taxi it was fine. Even though it was still just autumn, the morning was quite cold and Kapitelplatz was covered with a spooky mist that made it look like a scene from a horror movie. I had to jump around a bit to keep warm. There was the usual quiet, brooding atmosphere at the beginning of such a race. Usually everyone is still not really awake though there are one or two maniacs smiling and joking. Ten minutes waiting in this sort of atmosphere is unpleasant. Knowing my usual pace, I knew I had at least fifteen hours of running ahead of me, more likely eighteen, and I just wanted to start moving. Zombie-like, we filed over to the spot where a volunteer was packing drop-bags into a van. Drop-bags are bags full of provisions that we don’t want to carry but can access at certain points along the trail–they might include a change of clothes or extra food or gels or first-aid supplies. That done, we all drifted over to the start line. The jollity had disappeared at this point. Even the man dressed as Mozart in a periwig, waistcoat and breeches looked nervous as he waited for the starting pistol. It went off so did we, into the dark misty streets. Soon I was pretty much lost. It didn’t worry me too much though because 108 kilometer is a long way and I knew I wasn’t going to sprint it. The first half hour or so I plodded through dim suburbs, always careful to keep at least two people in sight because in my previous ultramarathon attempt I got completely lost. After some time we turned to run along a little stream flanked on either side by houses. Gradually a slope appeared and forest replaced the houses. It was a relief to be off asphalt and onto the springy forest trail. The smell of leaf-litter and the stream’s attendant perfumes. You could still see some stars through the leaves and just the faintest gleam of light on the water suggesting the approach of dawn. Birds were waking up and chirping intermittently. The trail was becoming twistier and it was more difficult to see the lamps ahead of me, but by this time I’d noticed that the trail was extremely well marked–there was a big yellow ribbon hanging from a tree or pole every couple of hundred meters. Just as I was enjoying my communion with nature, I caught sight of a statue that looked like it belonged on the set of Alien. On closer inspection, it was the model of a trilobite. There followed a whole series of statues and plaques honoring ancient creatures who had once inhabited the seas here: ammonites, tremolites, baculites, sea urchins and megalodons.   My memory of the race at this point becomes slightly hazy. I started passing a few people, including a man using hiking poles. By the time we stopped at the first of several aid stations I was feeling pretty good. I grabbed a few pretzels and half a banana, chewed them up quickly, used the bathroom and hove off for the next leg. This part I was uphill and alternated between farmland and forest. I saw several animals, including a black cat, several goats and these cows. I also started passing a few more people.  

This was a very nice part of the run. By now I’d warmed up and the weather was cool and sunny. The trail was clear but felt free-range as I crossed fenceless farmland, dirt roads and small woods colored by wildflowers. From the top of a hill I looked down and saw Fuschlsee directly beneath me. This felt like a major landmark so I stopped to swallow some energy gel and to admire its bright blue water. Soon enough I was running in the cool shade of conifers on the lake’s shore, getting curious looks and “Servus” (Hello) from locals going for their Saturday morning walk. It was about eight o’clock in the morning at this point and I’d gone about 17 miles with no problem. It had all been easy and pleasant and I was almost eager for some more rugged terrain. Well, I needn’t have worried about that, not at all. About an hour later I came into a town that seemed to be a major grower of gladioli. Being Australasian, I associate these flowers exclusively with Dame Edna Everage so I was chuckling to myself by the time I reached the big aid station at the 30km mark in the town of Fuschl am See. Here were some mighty refreshments, including a delicious gooey chocolate cake. I located my drop bag, which was clearly numbered among dozens of others, and took out more isotonic drink, putting my empty bottle in the bag.   Heading away from the town, after about 15 minutes I was amazed and disturbed to see a whole bunch of runners coming towards me. The two guys in front looked as though they were running for their lives; neck-and-neck they had red faces, were gritting their teeth and going as fast as they possibly could, kicking up a cloud of red dust. They might have been figures on a Greek vase, archetypes of competing runners. As far as I knew, there was no finish line in the vicinity. Maybe there was one at Fuschl Am See? Were they going to go at this terrifying speed for the kilometer it would take to get there? After about half an hour I was on a sealed road and I began to see more runners and these looked more like long-haulers, with another 50km+ to go. I clapped when I saw them because I know from experience that it’s nice to get encouragement even from slow-pokes. Some of them smiled or clapped back. When they started to come along in clots of ten each I stopped clapping because my hands were sore and I felt like an idiot. At about this point the trail turned off the road and into a forest. It was pleasant in the shade with the smell of the pine sap and at last there was something of a proper hill. I hauled myself upwards with a spring in the step and suddenly had to turn off the track because a stampede of runners were hurtling down the slope at a startling speed. I noticed that some of them wore bibs for the 100, which meant they had already gone more than halfway and several of these were women so there was no comfort there. Also, they were smiling! It was both awe-inspiring and discouraging. Here was I making my sluggish way while these runners, who truly deserved the name, were practically flying. I hoped they would disappear quickly and this wish was granted. Soon quiet returned and I kept picking my way along far in their wake.  

  From here on in I felt as if I were in genuine trail-running territory, having to watch my footing with every step. There was a gravel road that I think was mainly used by logging trucks. It was mostly very steep and at last I got to a bit that was so steep that I decided that I’d just walk. It was about five minutes after this decision that I was passed by a guy with hiking poles who I’d passed waaay back near the beginning, before sunrise. I said hello but he ignored me and had a furious look on his face, probably concentrating and not full of rage. I practically crawled my way up the hill singing forlornly to myself thinking that probably this was the hardest part and the rest would either be downhill or flat. If I could just get to the top of this bit things would easier. I realized that my speed, never high, was slowing to about 500 miles an hour at this point and it would significantly affect my average, maybe adding a couple more hours on to my goal of eighteen. In short, I was getting tired and concentrating on getting through five-minute periods. When I finally got to a sunny clearing and realized the climb was over I felt something close to euphoria. A little table stood there, with a man and woman smiling at me and offering water. I looked at them in amazement, puffing hard and trying to mentally process the occasion. The man offered to take my photo. Ordinarily I hate having my photo taken but he was so friendly that I agreed.  

From this part there was a correspondingly steep and difficult descent, made a bit more difficult by the fact that it was a popular weekend destination for tourists so the trails were quite crowded. A curious couple asked me in English what race I was in and I explained that I was doing the 108 km one and was probably last. They laughed. I laughed.

Down, down to See-level. I passed a few nice houses and eventually ended up in a posh resort-looking area by Wolfgang am See called St. Gilgen. Here was a resplendant aid station and also a nice clean bathroom, where I changed my sweat-soaked T-shirt. I looked at the people by the lake enjoying their weekend with picnics and swimming and felt a pang of envy. A couple of sandwiches later, I headed back the way I came until I came to a woman on a chair, a race invigilator, who told me I was going the wrong way. “But I got to St. Gilgen,” I said. “Yes, but you have to go around the lake and up the hill. You can’t possibly have done that in that short amount of time.” “Oh,” I said, crestfallen not only that I had more to do than I thought, especially the ‘hill’ part, but also annoyed that she thought I was cheating. I turned around and headed back. On the plus side, the lake shore was exceptionally beautiful. On the minus side, I was getting tired. I hoped the hill was just a little one. For the first hour it seemed OK, just a gradually sloping road, nothing too hard. But then there was another of those vertical forest paths and I decided to walk it. Up I went, letting fresh walkers down so I could have a little rest, then resuming the grind. Just when I thought the trail would never end, I saw a runner who seemed to be in distress, a thin man hunched on a rock. I stopped to ask if he was OK. He answered in French-accented English, “No, I am not OK,” he grimaced “Do you need water?” I asked, offering him a bottle. He shook his head. He made a motion indicating that he was nauseous. “Shall I tell them you are in trouble? So they can get you?” He shook his head. “I can go back with you, you need help?” I said hopefully. I had suddenly formed the idea that I would heroically stop my race in order to help a fellow runner in need. That way I wouldn’t have to run it any more. Again he shook his head. “Tell me, the next station is it long?” he said, looking greener than ever. “I don’t know,” I said honestly, looking dubiously up the hill. “Do you know where St. Gilgen is?” He nodded ruefully. “I go,” he said. “Are you sure?” He seemed extremely frail and shaky. He nodded. I waited watching him go for a few minutes, worried that he would collapse. He must have known I was there because he turned and waved to indicate I should go on. Feeling guilty and slightly disappointed at having missed an out, I turned away and continued up the hill. At the top of this interminable hill, I saw a little group of people including a sprightly woman waving at me. “There you are!” she shouted and seemed genuinely glad to see me. “We are going home!” she said. “We are?” I said. “Yes,” she grinned with delight. “My friend, me and you, we are the last, we are getting a lift back to Salzburg. Isn’t that great?” I smiled. “YES!” I replied. Her name was Ioana from Romania and her shy friend turned out to be a Spanish man she’d met just that morning. In the background was an Austrian volunteer who was eager to pack up his aid table and call it a day. I told him about the French runner and he didn’t seem terribly concerned but radio’d a message to headquarters. We sat on the grass by some grazing cows and Ioana talked nonstop, flirting with the men and making everyone laugh. The cows were not at all afraid of us and seemed annoyed that we were sitting on their grass, pointedly grazing a few centimeters away from us and nearly brushing us with the sharp tips of their long horns. In the hour it took to get back to Salzburg Ioana had told me all about her life and had me in tears at least three times when talking about how her son got terribly sick with covid and when she was so depressed she couldn’t get out of bed but running saved her life, and then about how she couldn’t afford food until miraculously she got a tech-support job. Listening to her stories I felt extremely lucky but I also felt exhausted. Socializing always tires me more than running and this was more intense socializing than I’d had in two years of pandemic cloistering. By the time we got back to Salzburg I was ready to lie in a coffin and rest for a year.  

Back in town, the race excitement was still going on. Some people were just finishing the whole thing, to wild and well deserved cheers and applause. I’d gone about halfway in twelve hours; meanwhile, the winner, Italian Phillip Ausserhofer had finished the whole thing in 10:28:29 and my compatriot Sam Mccutchon had finished in 10:38:24. The American Margaret Lane would be the first female at 13:19:21. Ioana invited me over to meet her friends but I said I had to go. Waiting for me near the finish line, sitting near the beer booths John was sitting, he’d been patiently waiting for two hours. It was indescribably wonderful to see him.