Run-over from Turin to Marseille

As another year comes to an end, I’d like to look back on three pretty major sporting experiences that I managed to pull off, thanks to my job and the amazing people around me. Let’s dive into the first one together.

Some time has passed since I completed this adventure, which gave my memories a chance to settle and my body and mind some time to recover. So now I can share the experience in a way that's (hopefully) clear even for those who aren’t familiar with this kind of thing.

Some unused vacation days and flight vouchers left over from Christmas gave me the perfect excuse to bring a slightly unusual idea to life – a solo run from one airport to another. I ended up choosing the route between Turin and Marseille. After all, there are some pretty great mountains between them.

The plan was simple: run on my own until I’d had enough. So on Monday, packed into a 25-litre backpack, I board a plane in Prague and by around half past five, I’m already setting off. After less than an hour of running, it starts to get dark, so I end up covering most of today’s stretch in the dark. But that’s what the adventure is all about, isn’t it? I find a place to sleep in an abandoned caravan park.

Tuesday morning is cold, but the miles won’t run themselves, so I head out.
According to the map, there’s supposed to be a trail up to the ridge, but reality turns out to be a bit different. After more than an hour of climbing through wet, waist-high grass, I’m rewarded with breakfast at sunrise and a view of snow-capped peaks in the distance.

After crossing a beautiful ridgeline, I run down into the valley for “lunch.” Two sandwiches and two cans of Coke give me a boost, so I head up again along the Stations of the Cross towards Sacra di San Michele. I even manage to run a little uphill now and then – though mostly, I’m just crossing myself along the way.

Later on, I run out of water and finally get a taste of what the local mountains and hills are really like. The mix of elevation, damp weather, and technical trails quickly drains my energy. Luckily, I find a great spot to sleep – at the "Bear’s Meadow," or Pian dell’Orso.

After some hopeless attempts to start a fire, I fall asleep. Still, it’s been an amazing day.

Wednesday, day three, starts in the dark again. I’m not alone on the mountain slopes – chamois are darting around too, and their glowing eyes look at me like I’m some kind of apparition.The beginning of the trail is pretty technical, almost like climbing in some spots, so I’m glad I didn’t push on any further yesterday. Keeping the right direction in the dark is partly a matter of luck, and I just hope I packed enough of it.

It’s only after I cross the main ridge that dawn finally breaks. I take what feels like a well-deserved rest, soaking up the early morning sun. For now, I have the mountains all to myself.

I run down – and sometimes scramble down – into the valley. Fixed chains, slippery rocks, and fading trail markers are just part of the daily grind here. Still, I keep moving forward. I have to find a way down somehow. Plus, the thought of lunch – finally something other than MANA with cold water – keeps me going.

In the valley, I find a small grocery store, stock up on supplies, and head out again. 

Down here it’s warm once more, but the higher I climb and the further I get from civilisation, the colder it gets. I run through abandoned villages, ford a stream with my shoes in my hands, and keep heading uphill. There’s really no other way here – it’s either up or down. After cresting a saddle and grabbing a quick snack, I descend again. The mist and fine drizzle are relentless.

At the bottom, two shepherd dogs are waiting for me. Luckily, their owner isn’t far away, so I’m spared any trouble. I reach the village where I plan to spend the night by taking a shortcut along the road, just to make sure I don’t end up stranded in the wild.

And here, unexpectedly, salvation comes in the form of an “Après-ski / Cycling bar.” The friendly staff even whip up two cheeseburgers for me, giving the day a very happy ending. Around nine, I crawl under a spruce tree next to the football field, which turns out to be a poor choice. Without a roof over my head, I’m in for an unpleasant surprise.

Thursday morning turns out to be the roughest so far – and in two rounds. Around 2 a.m., rain wakes me up and I have to move. When my actual alarm goes off, it’s still raining.
And unfortunately, it’s not supposed to stop all day. After a climb up a ski slope and an endless slog above it, daylight finally breaks.

Breakfast by a stream, looking out at the opposite ridge dusted with fresh snow overnight, is absolutely priceless. It’s a kind of suffering with small but beautiful windows of stunning views and unforgettable moments. For a while, I’m saved by an open refugio with blankets, where I catch my breath, but in the end, I realise I still have to keep moving. Today’s goal: France.

The highlight of the day is a stop at Rifugio Willy Jervis, where I grab some lunch and dry out my gear.

And then it’s back into the rain. A little more climbing and I’m finally in France. From there, I run down to the Le Guil river and start the climb through a beautiful but brutal valley, gaining around 1000 metres of elevation up to another refugio. At the bottom, it’s hot – the autumn sun even peeks out for a bit – but rain, fog, and cold aren’t far behind.

The scenery here is absolutely breathtaking. At times, the harshness and vastness of the landscape remind me more of England or Iceland. I keep walking, soaking it all in.

I find the perfect place to sleep – a pretty run-down but empty and, most importantly, open Winterraum. Overjoyed, I even go for a quick dip in a nearby ice-cold stream.

By Friday, I’m a bit fed up with it all – in a good way, though. It’s still raining, and it’s properly cold. I cross the first saddle in the dim light. There’s no one around, but luckily my hands start to thaw. Breakfast is a bit rushed, but I don’t have much food left anyway. Finally, I set off towards the last saddle of this trip.

After a slightly tougher climb, a surprise is waiting for me: snow. Unfortunately, it brings strong winds along with it, so I head out on my least favourite part – a 30-kilometre downhill run back to civilisation. And with a backpack, it’s definitely no fun.

The last 12 kilometres are on asphalt, so I just switch off, put one foot in front of the other, and keep looking ahead, trying to spot the imaginary point where I’ll stop my watch, wash up, change clothes, and hitch a ride. Despite my past experiences, the very first car stops. Just like that, my little adventure officially comes to an end.

If anyone’s thinking about trying something similar, I can highly recommend it – whether in the Alps, the Czech Republic, or anywhere else in the world. Because we’re usually stronger than we think.

A big thanks also goes to the support from Hannah. I had a few pieces of gear with me that definitely made the trip a little more enjoyable. Mainly the lightweight Hannah Loft 250 down sleeping bag and the Curt 6.0 inflatable sleeping pad. I also had the Adrius down jacket as backup, which I ended up wearing during my morning runs.

You can find the entire route at the link from the maps: https://bit.ly/3FLfhlO or you can check out the profile in the Strava app: https://strava.app.link/JZDYHwgedSb