Having zero interest in gels and PBs, trail runner Nicki Vaughan signed up for a trail race in the Italian Alps. This wasn’t about glory, it was about gnocchi. Here’s what happened when she ran Italy’s most delicious trail race.

 

I’m standing on a mountain, eating warm apple strudel fresh from the oven. It’s the European dream.

A woman in a red apron floats towards me with a tray of prosecco like some sort of culinary mirage. ‘Let’s grab a couple of these’, I say to my husband, Mat. He quickly downs his Heineken and grabs a glass. Balancing it in one hand and a bowl of gnocchi in the other, he grins.

‘Delizioso!’ he declares, mouth full, before wiping his face. ‘Okay, ready to go?’ I nod, grab my Black Diamond poles, and we start running again.

Welcome to the Delicious Trail Dolomiti, quite possibly the most delicious trail race in the world.

Run Now, Strudel Later

We stumbled across the race while planning a month-long hiking trip through the Dolomites and thought, ‘Why not add a mountain run with gourmet catering into the mix?’. 

I’ve always said eating is my favourite part of running. I’m a big believer in fuelling with real food, not gels (and yes, double-choc muffins count as real food). And Mat’s a chef, so naturally, he’s always sniffing out the local delicacies everywhere we visit. 

This race had our names written all over it.

On paper, it looks dreamy: you run through the jagged peaks of northern Italy, weaving between the ski slopes and forested trails that surround the famous ski town of Cortina d’Ampezzo.

 

 

But what really won us over was the aid stations. 

Forget jelly snakes and peanut butter sangas. In this race, you stop at rifugi (mountain huts) where local chefs serve the most mouthwatering regional dishes. Think MasterChef meets The Amazing Race, with a side of single trail.

But don’t let the strudel and sparkling wine fool you – this course is a real brute. The Medium route clocks in at 35km with nearly 2,000m of elevation gain. 

There’s also a 23km/1300m Short course and a 43km/3100m Long course that takes runners through the famous WWI tunnels, but that one had already sold out. 

So Medium it was.

Hail, Heineken and Vertical Gain

Getting there feels like a pre-race challenge in itself. On race morning, we board a bus in sideways rain. The road twists up into the clouds and down into the valley as our driver attempts to thread a full-sized coach through mountain tunnels clearly built for Vespas.

Just as it starts to hail, we tumble out into the tiny village of La Villa – damp, excited, and slightly travel sick.

Despite knowing only a handful of Italian words, we breeze through registration with an hour to spare.

‘Coffee?’ I suggest, already knowing Mat’s answer. We find the only open café and squeeze in with the rest of the competitors sipping from tiny cups, watching with relief as the weather clears.

Then, with some (maybe important?) instructions over the speaker that we don’t understand, we’re off.

 

 

After a token few kilometres of flat, we’re funnelled onto the Altin ski run and straight up. Five kilometres in, we’ve already climbed hundreds of metres to the first rifugio, Club Moritzino, where someone hands me a steaming bowl of pasta coated in rich green sauce.

Just a casual 9am race snack.

‘Look! There’s Heineken!’ Mat says, pointing to a table full of beers. We look around briefly for confirmation that it’s fair game. 

It is. So he cracks one, slams it, and we keep running.

 

Burps and Beers

The next aid station isn’t far – just 5km along the plateau to Ütia de Bioch.

 

 

This time, we’re greeted with hot soup, prosecco, and warm apple strudel.

We’ve become happily familiar with strudel during our month-long hike. It’s a Dolomite staple, introduced to South Tyrol by Tyrolean farmers in the 15th century. And to our delight, it’s served everywhere. 

But strudel on race day? This is an aid station delicacy I can get used to. 

 

 

Washing it down with prosecco, I momentarily forget we still have 25km and a mountain to climb.

That is, until the burps start.

We’re only 10km in and between us we’ve already consumed two beers, two proseccos, a bowl of pasta, two soups, a small bowl of risotto, and two strudels. Now we have an 8km descent to negotiate while trying not to see it all again.

‘Okay, no more beers. Save room for the food’, I warn Mat. ‘There’s still a few aid stations to go and we have to try everything.’

He nods and gives a little burp.

 

Meat Sweats and Mountain Highs

After what feels like a never-ending downhill through the forest, we’re actually relieved to start climbing again.

The next aid station, Rifugio Scotoni, sits in a green meadow surrounded by towering cliffs. Here, we’re served venison stew and polenta. And yes, more beer.

 

 

I sit for the first time, savouring the rich, meaty sauce while soaking in the insane views of the Fanes-Senes-Braies Nature Park.

It’s the end of September and most of the rifugi have already closed for the season, taking a well-earned breather before ski tourers arrive. After weeks hiking the Dolomites and staying in mountain huts, we’d come to crave their cosiness and the promise of strudel and beer at the end of a long day. 

This feels like a whistle-stop tour of all the huts we’d missed, and we really want to stay and explore. But we don’t have time to hang around. The clock is ticking and the steepest section is still ahead.

Barely 100m out of the aid station, we hit a conga line of runners clambering up steep, rocky steps.

 

 

We’re climbing towards the high point of the course, Mt Lagazuoi (2,778m). The temperature drops dramatically, but I’m still sweating (meat sweats?).

We carefully pick our way across exposed ridgelines and ledges. As we get higher, we drop to all fours and use the steel cables to pull ourselves up the narrow rock chimney. 

I suddenly understand why the race rules say you need mountain experience and no vertigo.

 

 

 

Finally, we turn the corner and spot some flags. It’s Rifugio Lagazuoi, the highest hut on the trail. Outside: brownies, more strudel, berry slices, sweet treats galore. Inside: even more. Plus the obligatory plate of meat and cheese, of course. 

 

 

I want to stay here, settle in with a glass of wine, the views and – wait, is that a sauna? 

But it hits me – this is the dessert aid station. We’re nearly home.

Slipping Into the Finish

We inhale our final degustation course and hit the last stretch, winding around rocky terrain dotted with WWI tunnel entrances.

Monte Lagazuoi was a fierce battleground between Italian and Austro-Hungarian troops during the war. Now, the tunnels form part of an open-air museum that offers a sobering glimpse into the Dolomites’ wartime past.

Soon, we’re onto a flowing single trail that feels like a dream after all that climbing. After four weeks hiking in these mountains, we reckon we’re pretty skilled on technical trails… until the locals come flying past, feet barely touching the ground.

 

 

Eventually, we hit the final descent – a 1km ski slope into Pocol and the finish line. It’s also the race’s only timed downhill segment, but the churned-up mud means I’m basically skiing down in my Hokas.

At the bottom, we cross the finish line and are immediately handed medals and food vouchers.

‘More food’, Mat groans.

We limp over to a huge marquee and find it buzzing with hundreds of runners, music, and the smell of melted cheese. Mat’s eyes follow a plate of steaming dumplings to a nearby table, as I spot a long table filled with desserts.

We look at each other, shrug, and join the feast.

 

Photos by Mat and Nicki Vaughan

Keep Running (& Eating)

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