Gröna Bandet FKT

Liveticker

Immerse yourself in the thrilling journey of our athletes Ingo and Jens in the far north! Will they overcome their limits and realize their goals?

Find out on this page in the live ticker where they are and how they are faring on this breathtaking adventure.

Gröna Bandet FKT

Liveticker

Immerse yourself in the thrilling journey of our athletes Ingo and Jens in the far north! Will they overcome their limits and realize their goals?

Find out on this page in the live ticker where they are and how they are faring on this breathtaking adventure.

Read more about the project Go to liveticker Go to report

Experience the adventure up close!

Our athletes are equipped with state-of-the-art GPS trackers and share their location live from the wilderness of the far north. Nowhere else are you closer to the action! We receive hourly updates that you can follow directly on our map. Don't miss a single step of their thrilling journey!

Experience the adventure up close!

Our athletes are equipped with state-of-the-art GPS trackers and share their location live from the wilderness of the far north. Nowhere else are you closer to the action! We receive hourly updates that you can follow directly on our map. Don't miss a single step of their thrilling journey!

Find out all about their adventure in the far north!

Drei Länder treffen in Treriksröset aufeinander Schweden, Norwegen und Finnland

More edge of the world is not possible.

Treriksröset. The northernmost point in Sweden. Here, where the borders of Sweden, Norway and Finland meet, our attempt to run the Grönabandet faster than ever before begins.

It seems quiet here. Secluded. Almost otherworldly. Only a yellow-painted truncated cone on the marshy south-eastern shore of Lake Goldajärvi reminds us that we are not the first. It marks the boundary - and our starting point. It can be reached via a narrow metal footbridge that runs through the shallow, stony water.

Almost like a scene from Arrival - but real. And the beginning of 1,300 kilometers through wild terrain.

This footbridge is more than just infrastructure. It is a symbol of what lies ahead of us: 1,300 kilometers of narrow paths through untamed terrain with a clear goal. We don't have a plan B, but we do have a goal: to be faster than everyone before us.

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.

Ingo und Jens am Startpunkt zum Gröna Bandet

Ingo läuft auf einem Trail aus Holzplanken durch die Wiese

Still works. No longer possible.

The next morning, around half past eight, we shoulder our rucksacks and set off again. New hope. New energy. And for a few hours, things actually go well. Even the trail seems to have mercy for a moment: Instead of scree, snow and ice-cold rivers, it now leads through soft meadows and light birch forests, slightly undulating, almost springy underfoot. In these moments, you realize how little it takes to be happy. The light is enough for us.

einsamer Trail - ein Trampelpfad, Wiesen und wenige Bäume, wenige

But then the pain returns with a vengeance. At some point, we could only manage with painkillers, which we had packed for emergencies. The route remains technical, the terrain demands compensation - and Ingo's left shin is loudly announcing: we can't go on like this.

Four kilometers before the planned stage finish, we find an abandoned private hut. We set up camp on the terrace. For the first time since the start, we reach a point with road access. And we know: This is the opportunity.

We decide that our support team will take Ingo by car to the nearest town for a check-up the next morning. Jens will walk on alone - 20 kilometers to the next hut, another 20 to Abisko. We want to meet up again there and discuss the situation.

The plan has changed. But the goal remains the same.

Separate paths: One doctor. One trail.

The next morning, Jens sets off shortly before eight. For the first time, there is no one to talk to without saying a word. No Ingo, no glances to the side, no shared rhythm. Just your own breathing, the soft smacking of your shoes on the wet ground and the constant weight of your rucksack on your hips. After over 100 kilometers in rough terrain, the body is tired. Your feet are burning, your back is aching and your thighs are also feeling sore.

The sky is overcast and the ground looks more like a wet rivulet than a path. The most difficult part of the day comes early: a stream, swollen from the rain. Once again, there is no way around, only through the middle. After that, everything is wet. The cold draws into the body. A neon yellow rain cape is all that can prevent you from cooling down.

The trail gets lost in the landscape and makes orientation difficult. The photographer has promised sun for the afternoon. There's no sign of it yet, but the idea alone helps. Jens thinks about food. Of family. Of that one moment in the birch forest when the light was suddenly so beautiful that everything made sense, despite all the pain. Humor also helps: because when the head laughs, the legs run a little easier.

The first stage destination is reached around midday: lunch is served in a wooden hut: Noodle soup with chicken and TUC crackers. Delicious. Then it's another 20 kilometers to Abisko, a small town with 131 inhabitants on the southern shore of Lake Torneträsk.

The destination is reached shortly before 8pm. The Garmin shows 58 kilometers for the day.

Ingo is already there - back from the doctor with a preliminary diagnosis. The x-ray showed no structural damage. The knee is probably over-twisted, the meniscus possibly torn, but not completely torn. This could only be clarified by an MRI. In addition, there is inflammation on the left edge of the tibia, a classic overload caused by compensation.

Together, they decide to take a break the next day and adjust their strategy.

Recovery. Sun. Coffee.

We've pulled the ripcord. Today is a rest day. We lick our wounds, check our equipment and drink real coffee. Wonderful. The view of the mountains is so beautiful that you almost want to cry. But our legs are already doing that.

The past three days have been brutal. Now we repair our bodies and minds, replan and prioritize. Because the next section of the route is 140 kilometers long and has no access to the road. Evacuation would only be possible by helicopter. So everything has to be in place. Even the knee.

We urgently need new shoes. The new Flow models from Joe Nimble do a great job. But no shoe in the world can withstand the constant change of snow, scree and river crossings. But the Joe Nimble team in Germany is already pulling out all the stops to get supplies delivered.

Our plan for tomorrow: we want to set off early - ideally in pairs. Giving up was never an option for us. But neither has being unhealthy.

Find out all about their adventure in the far north!

More edge of the world is not possible.

Treriksröset. The northernmost point in Sweden. Here, where the borders of Sweden, Norway and Finland meet, our attempt to run the Grönabandet faster than ever before begins.

It seems quiet here. Secluded. Almost otherworldly. Only a yellow-painted truncated cone on the marshy south-eastern shore of Lake Goldajärvi reminds us that we are not the first. It marks the boundary - and our starting point. It can be reached via a narrow metal footbridge that runs through the shallow, stony water.

Almost like a scene from Arrival - but real. And the beginning of 1,300 kilometers through wild terrain.

This footbridge is more than just infrastructure. It is a symbol of what lies ahead of us: 1,300 kilometers of narrow paths through untamed terrain with a clear goal. We don't have a plan B, but we do have a goal: to be faster than everyone before us.

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.

Still works. No longer possible.

The next morning, around half past eight, we shoulder our rucksacks and set off again. New hope. New energy. And for a few hours, things actually go well. Even the trail seems to have mercy for a moment: Instead of scree, snow and ice-cold rivers, it now leads through soft meadows and light birch forests, slightly undulating, almost springy underfoot. In these moments, you realize how little it takes to be happy. The light is enough for us.

But then the pain returns with a vengeance. At some point, we could only manage with painkillers, which we had packed for emergencies. The route remains technical, the terrain demands compensation - and Ingo's left shin is loudly announcing: we can't go on like this.

Four kilometers before the planned stage finish, we find an abandoned private hut. We set up camp on the terrace. For the first time since the start, we reach a point with road access. And we know: This is the opportunity.

We decide that our support team will take Ingo by car to the nearest town for a check-up the next morning. Jens will walk on alone - 20 kilometers to the next hut, another 20 to Abisko. We want to meet up again there and discuss the situation.

The plan has changed. But the goal remains the same.

Separate paths: One doctor. One trail.

The next morning, Jens sets off shortly before eight. For the first time, there is no one to talk to without saying a word. No Ingo, no glances to the side, no shared rhythm. Just your own breathing, the soft smacking of your shoes on the wet ground and the constant weight of your rucksack on your hips. After over 100 kilometers in rough terrain, the body is tired. Your feet are burning, your back is aching and your thighs are also feeling sore.

The sky is overcast and the ground looks more like a wet rivulet than a path. The most difficult part of the day comes early: a stream, swollen from the rain. Once again, there is no way around, only through the middle. After that, everything is wet. The cold draws into the body. A neon yellow rain cape is all that can prevent you from cooling down.

The trail gets lost in the landscape and makes orientation difficult. The photographer has promised sun for the afternoon. There's no sign of it yet, but the idea alone helps. Jens thinks about food. Of family. Of that one moment in the birch forest when the light was suddenly so beautiful that everything made sense, despite all the pain. Humor also helps: because when the head laughs, the legs run a little easier.

The first stage destination is reached around midday: lunch is served in a wooden hut: Noodle soup with chicken and TUC crackers. Delicious. Then it's another 20 kilometers to Abisko, a small town with 131 inhabitants on the southern shore of Lake Torneträsk.

The destination is reached shortly before 8pm. The Garmin shows 58 kilometers for the day.

Ingo is already there - back from the doctor with a preliminary diagnosis. The x-ray showed no structural damage. The knee is probably over-twisted, the meniscus possibly torn, but not completely torn. This could only be clarified by an MRI. In addition, there is inflammation on the left edge of the tibia, a classic overload caused by compensation.

Together, they decide to take a break the next day and adjust their strategy.

Recovery. Sun. Coffee.

We've pulled the ripcord. Today is a rest day. We lick our wounds, check our equipment and drink real coffee. Wonderful. The view of the mountains is so beautiful that you almost want to cry. But our legs are already doing that.

The past three days have been brutal. Now we repair our bodies and minds, replan and prioritize. Because the next section of the route is 140 kilometers long and has no access to the road. Evacuation would only be possible by helicopter. So everything has to be in place. Even the knee.

We urgently need new shoes. The new Flow models from Joe Nimble do a great job. But no shoe in the world can withstand the constant change of snow, scree and river crossings. But the Joe Nimble team in Germany is already pulling out all the stops to get supplies delivered.

Our plan for tomorrow: we want to set off early - ideally in pairs. Giving up was never an option for us. But neither has being unhealthy.