The hands behind the success

Euro cash, the global hype surrounding Harry Potter and the Chamber of Secrets, and the triumph of the first camera phones: 2002 marked the dawn of a new era. The anthem ‘Lose Yourself’ became the soundtrack for the ‘one shot’, the decisive moment. Mountain bikers experienced a different kind of starting signal: the premiere of the National Park Bike Marathon. Even then, the event exceeded all expectations: instead of the expected 600 participants, 1,000 enthusiastic bikers turned up – and every year there are more. The race is a stroke of luck for the region: it attracts visitors from near and far, boosts tourism and brings almost a million Swiss francs into the local economy. No wonder, as challenging climbs and a landscape with a touch of Canada make the race around the Swiss National Park unique.

The royal distance requires a fair amount of fitness: 141 kilometres and 3,848 metres of elevation gain ensure an extra dose of lactate in the muscles. It is not without reason that normal touring cyclists are therefore recommended to ride this route comfortably in four stages. Either way, the technical difficulty of the route remains moderate, with only a few passages occasionally reaching S3 level. In return, the tour delights with spectacular views one after the other. In short: a classic tour that should end up on every bike bucket list sooner or later. But while the athletes are in the spotlight, the true heart of the marathon beats in secret. Where there are usually no cameras. Namely, with the 500 volunteers.

I feel a slight chill as I set off with my camera, but the children's eyes are shining. No wonder: the Kids Race is about to start. While the little professionals of tomorrow nervously fiddle with their handlebars, the volunteers are already hard at work. Wearing yellow rain jackets with their hoods pulled low over their faces, they secure the course, hand out race numbers and remain calm despite the weather.

Just a few metres away, other volunteers brave the cold at the merchandise stand. With nimble fingers, they fold shirts, advise on sizes from the NBM collection and sell socks and gloves. It's a tireless machine of service and enthusiasm.

‘Take the gloves, they'll keep you warm tomorrow,’ advises volunteer Sarah at the sales stand with a wink as she picks out the right size. ‘In this weather, they'll be your best friend on the course.’ The customer nods gratefully and reaches for them.

rät Voluntari Sarah beim Verkaufsstand mit einem Augenzwinkern, während sie die passende Grösse heraussucht. Der Kunde nickt dankbar, greift zu.

I follow another volunteer who secured the route for the Kids Race earlier. In my last photo, I just manage to catch Rafi from the Scuol-Ftan Bike School in action. He is the ‘sweeper’ for the children's race and makes sure that no little ones get lost in the rain.

I flee from the rain and head for the Gurlaina ice rink. Where pucks usually fly across the ice, today there is a completely different atmosphere: inside, race numbers are being handed out. The air is filled with the smell of sports drinks, damp cycling clothes and that very special mixture of nervousness and anticipation that only the eve of a big race can produce. And right in the middle of it all: the helpers at the tables. Despite the rush and the thousand questions, they have a motivating smile for all participants – the kind of warmth that you won't find in any rules and regulations, but which defines the spirit of this race. Their nimble hands flit over the envelopes and expertly pull out the right race numbers.

The buffet is set up at the back of the hall. While the grown-ups fill up on carbohydrates for the upcoming climb at the pasta party, the celebrations are already underway at the front: the Kids Race award ceremony creates a great atmosphere. It's a moment that is guaranteed to give you goose bumps. When the little ones beam with pride with their medals, you forget all about the rain outside. And here, too, it is the volunteers who work behind the scenes to prepare the awards, call out names and celebrate the youngsters like world champions. It is the calm – or rather, the joyful celebration – before the big storm.

Cut. Saturday morning, 5.30 a.m. The silence in Scuol is broken by the first click of clipless pedals. It is still pouring with rain. But anyone who dares to look up will see the white dilemma: the mountain flanks are glistening brightly. Snow in August – every organiser's nightmare.

While the athletes are still hiding their nervousness under their rain jackets, Chantal Mayor has already mastered the decisive stages. The OC president hardly slept from Thursday to Friday. She studied weather reports and examined possible scenarios. The decision was made on Friday morning: safety comes first. The organisers are relying on the alternative route for the royal distance. On Friday night, the typical restlessness before the big day set in. She wondered whether everything would run smoothly. But now everything is in place.

Bigna stands in the middle of the village, between the decorated Engadin houses. It's hard to miss her in her bright vest. With sweeping arm movements, she shows arriving drivers the way through the maze of cobblestones. Before a particularly treacherous, wet bend, she shouts: ‘Slow down! Be careful!’ to those rushing past. She is a mixture of commander and guardian angel.

ruft sie den Vorbeijagenden zu. Es ist eine Mischung aus Kommandogeberin und Schutzengel.

Chantal watches the passage with a smile. Everything is going according to plan. Despite the cold, despite the snow on the peaks and the last-minute diversion: the race is on. We drive on. We stow Chantal's scooter, which bears the number 1 – her trademark – in the boot. But there is little time to catch our breath. In between, Chantal herself is in the spotlight: an interview with RTR.

In front of the camera, she appears calm and focused, despite the sleepless night and the weight of responsibility. She talks about safety, the alternative route and the unbridled determination of the participants. It is one of those moments when she gives the marathon a voice, while her helpers outside in the wind give the race a face. As soon as the red light of the camera goes out, she is back to being the organiser, making her way to the next station.

Vor der laufenden Kamera wirkt sie ruhig und fokussiert, trotz der schlaflosen Nacht und der Last der Verantwortung. Sie spricht über die Sicherheit, die Alternativstrecke und den unbändigen Willen der Teilnehmenden. Es ist einer dieser Momente, in denen sie dem Marathon eine Stimme gibt, während ihre Helferinnen und Helfer draussen im Wind dem Rennen ein Gesicht verleihen. Sobald das rote Licht der Kamera erlischt, ist sie wieder die Macherin, die sich auf den Weg zum nächsten Posten macht.

Meanwhile, logistical chaos reigns in and around the Gurlaina Hall: more volunteers take care of transporting the effects. It's back-breaking work. It's these strong arms and nimble sorters who ensure that every exhausted cyclist can slip into dry clothes as soon as they cross the finish line – a luxury that is worth its weight in gold in this rain.

Hours later in Scuol. The first finishers cross the finish line. They are covered in mud, their faces encrusted with salt and dirt. But their reward awaits them at the finish line. The hands that sorted the race numbers yesterday now hand out the finisher's braid. A warm cup of tea and a heartfelt ‘Gratulaziun!’ – here, success is celebrated together.

But the work doesn't stop there. Further back, volunteers take care of cleaning the bikes. Using water hoses, participants battle against the stubborn Engadin mud that has eaten its way into every crack and crevice of the expensive mountain bikes.

When the lights go out at the Gurlaina ice rink, the volunteers will still be there to tidy up. Without them, this marathon would be nothing more than a route on a map. Thanks to them, it is a heart-stopping success story. Year after year.