My First Trail Race of the Season: A Humbling, Joyful, Muddy Return

There’s something uniquely special about the first race of the season. There’s a mix of naïve bliss about what’s to come, and a few nerves after months away from official race bibs and start lines. This weekend, I laced up for my first trail race of the year—and I want to share the full story with you: from pre-race prep to the finish line and post-race recovery.

Let’s dive in. 

Pre-Race: Getting Ready to Return to the Trails 

In the final weeks leading up to the race, I focused on preparing both body and mind for 27km of trails and over 1,300 meters of elevation gain. I had trained consistently, and by race week, I knew I had done what I could. Physically, I felt strong. Mentally, I adopted a calm “it will be what it will be” mindset.

Seb and I set off on the two-hour drive to the race. With the girls staying at their grandparents, I found myself more anxious about my oldest daughter’s separation worries than the actual race. Even though I knew she’d be fine, leaving her in tears always tugs at my heart.

We ate a homemade chicken pasta salad in the car and arrived at the hotel that evening. The hotel, however… well, let’s just say it had serious horror movie vibes. It was prepaid, so we laughed it off, unpacked, and made the best of it.

My pre-race ritual kicked off early the next morning. I always eat right away after waking up—toast with peanut butter and coffee are my go-to. And yes, I bring my own toaster. Priorities. Eating early gives my body time to digest (if you know, you know). When I’m able to take care of that before hitting the trails, I know it’s going to be a good day. And this morning? It was a good day.

Race Morning: Weather, Wardrobe, and the Waiting Game

The race started at 8:45 a.m. under grey skies and cool temps. I debated what to wear and ultimately went with full-length leggings, a t-shirt, and arm sleeves. Turned out to be the perfect choice as the weather gradually warmed up and I was able to pull-down my arm sleeves.

We arrived with about 40 minutes to spare, so we waited in the car, watching runners trickle toward the start. That’s always the hardest time for me—when the self-doubt creeps in. I start comparing myself to everyone else: They look so fit. They look stronger. Why am I even here?

But then… the countdown begins.

5… 4… 3… 2… 1.

And I’m off. Doubt gets left behind—at least for a little while.

The Race: One Step at a Time

I usually start at the back of the pack. I prefer space, and I don’t enjoy the pressure of runners squeezing past me. From the first step, the race went uphill—literally. I felt strong powering through the initial climb and quickly found a rhythm.

The first 12 kilometers felt great. I was among the final group of runners, but that didn’t bother me. My goal wasn’t to chase a time—it was to manage my energy, enjoy the trails, and finish strong.

The first aid station was a highlight—Hawaiian-themed with oranges, Xact bars, and salty chips. Trail running snacks are the best! It gave me the boost I needed to keep pushing.

Around kilometer 14 or 15, I started feeling slightly nauseous—something I’ve experienced in most long races around this point. This time, I caught it early and adjusted my fueling. I kept eating, just more mindfully. Because if there’s one golden rule in trail running: keep fueling, even when you don’t feel like it.

By kilometer 16, the nausea passed, but the mental fatigue began. I’d done more than half the race, but the final stretch still felt huge. My legs were tired. My mind even more so. Doubts whispered in again. I tried to keep them quiet: Just keep going. One foot in front of the other. Don’t stop.

Step by step became my mantra.

The next few kilometers were all about mental grit. Aid stations provided welcome breaks and mini energy resets.

By the time I reached the final 2–3 kilometers, I was completely done. My legs were jelly, especially on rocky downhills where I was scared they’d give out. I let faster runners from other distances pass—I wasn’t taking any risks at this point.

Then came the final uphill push. I could hear the finish line crowd in the distance. The end was near.

After 4 hours and 45 minutes, I crossed the finish line.

I was among the final finishers, but I didn’t care. I had done it. I had started my season strong, on my terms—and that was enough.

Post-Race Recovery: Burgers, Baby Wipes, and a Well-Deserved Break

After a quick (and not-so-glamorous) cleanup in a public restroom—thank goodness for baby wipes—we hit the road home. Seb and I have a post-race tradition: McDonald’s. There’s just something comforting about a burger and fries after that kind of effort. I can’t explain it. It just works.

The two-hour drive back was rough—sitting still with sore legs is no fun. But later that evening, I got to stretch out on the couch with a glass of wine and a satisfied, tired body.

I’m writing this post on Sunday, still feeling sore—and probably will for a few more days. My plan is to rest and recover before lacing up again on Tuesday for a short run. My body showed me what it could do this weekend, and now it’s time for me to take care of it.

Final Thoughts

Trail running isn’t about being fast—it’s about showing up, listening to your body, and finding strength in the process. My first trail race of the year reminded me why I love this sport: the quiet power in steady effort, the shared energy at aid stations, and the personal pride in finishing something hard.

Here’s to the season ahead—mud, kilometers, and all.