A Gray-Skied 10K in Ulm
I wasn’t quite sure what to expect from this year’s run in Ulm. Just a week earlier in Tübingen, I had clocked one of my slowest 10ks in a long time. Last year in Ulm, on the other hand, I ran my fastest ever. Somewhere between those two extremes, I hoped this one would land.
The weather felt more on my side this time. Not the sticky heat of the previous weekend, but also not the clear blue skies from last year. Instead, Ulm decided to dress in shades of gray.
I arrived with less of a time buffer than usual, only about 40 minutes before the start. From the central station it was roughly a half-hour walk across town: first to drop my bag, then onwards to the start line. On the way I got a sneak peek of the finish stretch. I was walking on the side, while just a few meters over runners from the morning races were pushing hard toward the line, some already smiling, others grimacing their way through those last meters. That gentle incline up to the cathedral looked just as long as I remembered. A good reminder not to kick too early later on.
The baggage drop-off was smooth, and I still had time for a short warm-up. I briefly considered joining the restroom queue, but one look at it convinced me otherwise. Sometimes you just trust your gut.
At the start line, the atmosphere was more muted than expected. The 10k field was split into two waves, and even within those they released us in small groups. I could barely hear the first countdown, and when it was finally my turn, hardly anyone was counting along. Not exactly the loudest of send-offs, but off we went. A few hundred meters later, the course crossed into Bavaria for the first time. Ulm sits right on the state border, so the route has you hopping between Baden-Württemberg and Bavaria multiple times. I found it oddly entertaining to be racing across state lines like that.
The first kilometers felt good, though I kept telling myself to rein it in. Easier said than done with all the live bands along the streets. Every time they played something upbeat, I’d feel my pace sneaking up, and then I’d have to remind myself to tap the brakes. The course itself felt smoother than last year, fewer sharp turns to break the rhythm.
Then came something I had never experienced before: at the halfway point, my hamstrings cramped. A real, proper cramp mid-race. For a second I thought about stopping to stretch, but the thought of trying to get back into stride scared me more than pushing through. Luckily it stayed small enough that I could keep running, though it definitely kept me on edge.
The distractions weren’t only in my legs. Once again, I passed that kebab shop with its magical smell floating out onto the course. For a split second I was ready to trade my race bib for a döner. Even now, I’m not sure if resisting that temptation wasn’t the toughest part of the whole 10k.
The final stretch followed the Danube before cutting back into Ulm’s old town. Then came the guessing game: corner after corner, never sure which one would finally reveal the incline to the cathedral. By then, tunnel vision had set in. I was just focusing on each step, weighing how much I still had left in the tank.
And then, suddenly, there it was: the finish line. No dramatic sprint, just a steady push up the cobbles until it was done. Breathing hard, I realized it had gone far better than I feared. Not a personal best, but my third-fastest 10k overall. A big step up from last week’s struggles in Tübingen.
The only thing left was the finish-line ritual: finding a cold alcohol-free beer and raising it to another Sunday run through Ulm’s streets.
The weather felt more on my side this time. Not the sticky heat of the previous weekend, but also not the clear blue skies from last year. Instead, Ulm decided to dress in shades of gray.
I arrived with less of a time buffer than usual, only about 40 minutes before the start. From the central station it was roughly a half-hour walk across town: first to drop my bag, then onwards to the start line. On the way I got a sneak peek of the finish stretch. I was walking on the side, while just a few meters over runners from the morning races were pushing hard toward the line, some already smiling, others grimacing their way through those last meters. That gentle incline up to the cathedral looked just as long as I remembered. A good reminder not to kick too early later on.
The baggage drop-off was smooth, and I still had time for a short warm-up. I briefly considered joining the restroom queue, but one look at it convinced me otherwise. Sometimes you just trust your gut.
At the start line, the atmosphere was more muted than expected. The 10k field was split into two waves, and even within those they released us in small groups. I could barely hear the first countdown, and when it was finally my turn, hardly anyone was counting along. Not exactly the loudest of send-offs, but off we went. A few hundred meters later, the course crossed into Bavaria for the first time. Ulm sits right on the state border, so the route has you hopping between Baden-Württemberg and Bavaria multiple times. I found it oddly entertaining to be racing across state lines like that.
The first kilometers felt good, though I kept telling myself to rein it in. Easier said than done with all the live bands along the streets. Every time they played something upbeat, I’d feel my pace sneaking up, and then I’d have to remind myself to tap the brakes. The course itself felt smoother than last year, fewer sharp turns to break the rhythm.
Then came something I had never experienced before: at the halfway point, my hamstrings cramped. A real, proper cramp mid-race. For a second I thought about stopping to stretch, but the thought of trying to get back into stride scared me more than pushing through. Luckily it stayed small enough that I could keep running, though it definitely kept me on edge.
The distractions weren’t only in my legs. Once again, I passed that kebab shop with its magical smell floating out onto the course. For a split second I was ready to trade my race bib for a döner. Even now, I’m not sure if resisting that temptation wasn’t the toughest part of the whole 10k.
The final stretch followed the Danube before cutting back into Ulm’s old town. Then came the guessing game: corner after corner, never sure which one would finally reveal the incline to the cathedral. By then, tunnel vision had set in. I was just focusing on each step, weighing how much I still had left in the tank.
And then, suddenly, there it was: the finish line. No dramatic sprint, just a steady push up the cobbles until it was done. Breathing hard, I realized it had gone far better than I feared. Not a personal best, but my third-fastest 10k overall. A big step up from last week’s struggles in Tübingen.
The only thing left was the finish-line ritual: finding a cold alcohol-free beer and raising it to another Sunday run through Ulm’s streets.
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