Find out all about their adventure in the far north!

Doch schon am ersten Tag zeigte sich: Die Realität ist nicht planbar. Nach starkem Regen verwandelten sich die Trails in Bäche, Brücken fehlten oder waren unpassierbar, Dutzende eiskalte Flussdurchquerungen kosteten Zeit und Kraft. Nach 77 Kilometern erreichten beide das Tagesziel – erschöpft, aber im Zeitplan. Die ersten Blessuren machten sich bemerkbar: Ingo hatte sich am rechten Knie überdehnt.

We are off. And everything is different.

On July 28, at 05:04 in the morning, we take off. It's quiet this morning. No countdown. No starting signal. The moment we have been working towards for months feels almost casual. The focus is razor-sharp. The body is fresh. And the landscape: merciless. Scree, snowfields and rivers alternate. The path becomes a stream, a muddy slope, an improvised obstacle course. The bridges that should be there? Some are intact, others look like something left over from the last century: narrow wooden planks, a railing and a warning sign.

And then there are those that are completely missing. We are faced with raging torrents, knee-deep and freezing cold. But we have no choice: we have to get through it. With our clothes and, above all, with our shoes. And then what? We have to carry on in wet socks. The skin begins to soften. The first blisters appear. The trail is already taking its toll.

It happens somewhere in one of the endless scree fields: Ingo gets his foot stuck between two slabs of rock. No spectacular fall, no bang - just a brief moment in which his foot doesn't come out where his body already wants to go. The right thigh rotates, the knee does not.

At first it's just a tug and we walk on together. Ingo's pain remains diffuse, noticeable, but not dominant. In the evening, everything seems to be under control. But on the long climb to the finish hut, somewhere between 8 p.m. and 3 a.m., the pain intensifies. And it's not just the body that reaches its limits, but also the terrain. We are in the middle of a thunderstorm cell, with no protection and no alternative route. The ground is completely soaked, swampy in places, and the trail forces us through swelling streams and rising rivers. Slowing down is too dangerous. We have to cross a mountain to reach the hut. And that means pushing through. No matter how the knee is doing. Once we reach our destination, there's only one thing left to do: sleep. For a few hours. And the hope of a miracle.