Red Bull 400 Slovenia: How One Ski Slope Gave Me the Most Brutal 15 Minutes of My Life

The "easy" section of the Red Bull 400 race

Thinking of running the Red Bull 400 in Planica, Slovenia? Here’s a brutally honest race recap, from an overconfident endurance athlete to a humbled hill-crawler, plus tips for training, kit, and surviving the steepest 400 metres on Earth.

The Day a Ski Jump Destroyed My Confidence

You know those events that sound like a great idea over coffee? The ones you sign up for in a haze of bravado and peer pressure, convinced it’ll be a laugh and a “quick win”? That was me, signing up for the Red Bull 400 in Planica, Slovenia, the world’s steepest 400m race, set on an actual ski jump.

I’d been smashing through endurance races and OCRs all year. Half-marathons were practically a Sunday stroll. So when my trainer at Bob Prowse Health Club in Kent, Paul Slythe floated this event as a group challenge, I was in. Mostly because the lads from the gym were all signing up, and I wasn’t about to be the only one sitting it out.

We were confident. No, we were cocky. And that mountain absolutely loved that about us.

 

What Is the Red Bull 400?

For the uninitiated, the Red Bull 400 is a 400-metre race, but it’s not on a track. It’s a near-vertical sprint straight up the face of a ski jump. Yes, a ski jump. As in, the kind that Olympic ski flyers launch themselves off.

The event was held in Planica, Slovenia, one of the biggest ski flying hills in the world. It's a short distance but don't let that fool you, this race is pure anaerobic torture. You’re not jogging, you’re scrambling. You’re not catching your breath, you’re praying your legs don’t detach from your body.

It’s the kind of pain that gets into your bones.

Why I Signed Up (The Peer Pressure Chronicles)

I’d like to say I researched the race, prepped a training plan, or even watched a YouTube video to know what I was getting into. I did none of that.

All I knew was a few gym mates had seen the race on Red Bull’s website, and it sounded like “a cool challenge.” And if I’m honest, I assumed it would be over quickly, a hard sprint, sure, but I had cardio for days.

Turns out, it’s 400 metres of absolute psychological warfare when the course is a 37-degree incline.

My Training: Strong Legs, Wrong Focus

At the time, I was consistently doing OCR races, trail half marathons, and general endurance-focused training. I was fit, but I was the wrong kind of fit.

This race didn’t care about your distance PBs. It was about explosive power, lactic threshold, and raw hill-climbing grit. We did a few group sessions sprinting up the North Downs in Kent, but the hills weren’t nearly steep or long enough. We also completely ignored one vital detail: altitude.

Planica sits at over 900m above sea level. That elevation added a layer of difficulty we hadn’t even considered. It’s one thing to run uphill, it’s another to do it when your lungs feel like they’re operating at 60%.

Lesson learned: Training for endurance doesn’t translate to sprinting up a ski slope at altitude. Specificity matters. Train for the terrain, the distance, and the pain curve.

Mental Preparation: Cocky with a Side of Clueless

There was no mental strategy. No visualisation. No race plan. I turned up ready to smash it, until I stood at the bottom of the jump and looked up.

And then I realised...Oh no. What a terrible mistake we have all made!

I felt a familiar twinge of nerves, but mostly I was determined to prove myself. I wasn’t the "tagalong girl." I was strong, capable, and absolutely not going to be the first one to quit.

Spoiler: Nobody quit. But everyone suffered.

Standing at the bottom of this, knowing you had to sprint it, was humbling.

Race Day: The Moment We All Got Humbled

The event had a buzzing atmosphere, big crowds, blaring music, race officials barking instructions over the speakers. The weather was hot and overcast. You could feel the collective energy and ego in the air. People stretching, taking selfies, shaking out nerves. We all felt good.

Until the heats started.

The race format included timed qualifying heats for men and women separately. You had to be fast enough to make it to the final. Watching the first few heats go off was… sobering. The serious athletes, mountain runners, ski team members, ran the whole thing. Not jogged. RAN. Vertical. No crawling. No stopping.

Some of the group before the race

I suddenly had that “uh oh” feeling you get when you realise you’ve walked into the wrong room.

When it was my turn, I launched out of the start gate like a woman possessed. 100 metres in, I was walking. By 200 metres, I was bear-crawling. I could feel the lads cheering me on from the sidelines, which somehow made me even more determined to keep going. My lungs were burning, vision darkening, muscles screaming.

Fun Fact: Your legs can cramp, shake, and betray you all within 5 minutes. Good times.

Feeling confident at the bottom of the incline

The Top: Glory, Darkness… and a Recovery Mat

I made it. Barely.

Somewhere near the final stretch, everything started to go blurry. The last few steps were a foggy mess of willpower and instinct. I crossed the finish line, and immediately collapsed. I passed out. Fully horizontal.

The organisers gently deposited me on one of the recovery mats at the top (which were in high demand). When I came round, they needed the space for someone else, so I staggered off to find the lads to try to laugh it off.

We were all wrecked. No one from our group qualified for the finals. And we were all gloriously humbled, albeit not many ended up on the recovery matts!

Post-Race Debrief: Ego Check, Please

The best part of the day? Sitting together afterwards, nursing sore legs and shattered pride, just shaking our heads and laughing at how wildly we’d underestimated the challenge. It became one of those moments where shared suffering bonds people. We’d all been cocky, and the Red Bull 400 served up a thick slice of humble pie.

Would I do it again? Nope. Sprinting up mountains isn’t my idea of fun. I’m an endurance junkie. But I’m genuinely glad I did it once. And I’d recommend it to anyone who wants a short, savage, type-two-fun challenge to remember.

Some of the team at the top after our little Sunday Stroll

Red Bull 400: Tips for First-Timers (Learn from My Mistakes)

1. Train specifically for the event

• This race is all about power, not pace.

• Focus on hill sprints, sled pushes, stair intervals, and explosive leg work.

• Running long distances won’t help much here.

• Train your arms, you WILL be bear crawling at some point.

2. Prep for altitude

• If the race is at elevation and you’re not used to it, your lungs will feel like balloons being stomped on.

• Simulate breath control in training if you can’t train at altitude or better still get to an altitude training chamber.

3. Wear grippy trail shoes

• You’ll likely be on your hands and knees. Traction matters. Go for aggressive tread.

4. Respect the slope

• Don’t sprint out of the gate unless you’re elite. This race hurts early.

• Break the course mentally into chunks and pace accordingly.

 5. Let go of your ego

• This event is full of ultra-fit, mountain-hardened athletes.

• People will pass you. You’ll probably crawl. That’s normal. Embrace the chaos.

  Train your arms. You WILL be bear crawling at some point.

Final Thoughts: The Steepest 15 Minutes of My Life

The Red Bull 400 was one of the shortest, hardest, most ridiculous events I’ve ever done, and one I’ll never forget. It taught me humility, grit, and the importance of actually reading the race description before signing up.

If you’re curious, bold, or just a little bit mad, give it a go. But don’t say I didn’t warn you.

Its HARD, but it is a hell of an expirience