How I Fell in Love with Trail Running and Why I Might Quit Later

A bit of a recollection of my journey so far in this sport; what got me into it, the joy and the discomfort it brings, and the reason why I might stop doing it later on. Emphasize on might and later.

Bear with me, it’s probably a bit of a long story.

When I looked back, I don’t think I can pinpoint exactly the when and where of how I first started trail running. Was it when I first started going to Cisadon? Or was it when I first started hiking Mt Gede two years ago in 2021? Or was it because of the first trail race that I decided to join on a whim at Mt Lawu back in December 2022? Jumping forward to 2023, and now here I am, not competitive enough to join the elite trail races with their sadistic cut off time, just your casual everyday girl -not exactly athletic but definitely not weak- trying to reach new distance and new heights with my grit.

I could still remember the scariness of hiking my first mountain back then. The altitude of 2958 masl was daunting to me who have no experience with mountain or hiking. I remembered the anxiousness drove me mad to the point of not sleeping at all, and boy did I pay the price. I did reach the summit, but I left the mountain with some tears rolling on my face from the tiredness of it all. My thighs, legs, and quads were burning in pain. While I truly appreciate the good people that kept me company and who pushed me (literally!) throughout the journey, suffice to say the experience left me feeling a bit traumatic. I did not regret at all the experience, especially since the sceneries along the journey was a feast to my eyes. I just wished I came better prepared.

Jumping a bit to 2022, I didn’t know what prompted me to join a trail race called Siksorogo (in English it is equivalent to something like tortured soul). My decision was probably fueled by the pain from being brokenhearted, it was my way of trying to heal from a recent breakup.

I was never much a runner, hell, I still hate running even now. I have little preparation consisted of mainly road running. With not much of an athletic background, I think my body was in shock back then from the sudden increased training load, and boom, I got injured. Aside from the physiotherapy sessions and the painkillers, I was also prescribed a total rest from any kind of sports for 3 months due to the severity degree of my shin splint.

The only training that followed after the injury was some treadmill running. Time and luck was not on my side, or so I thought. I came to the race with the thought of finishing whatever the time. Finish lines, not finish times.

Remembering the experience at Siksorogo brought only happy memories and smile on my face. I had prepared some painkillers in my running vest, but as it turned out I did not need that. I chatted with a lot of runners along the race, we pushed each other, knowing that the tiredness was starting to creep in our bodies and cramps were starting to kick in. I met wives who accompanied their husbands doing the ultra, couples who have done the race several times, the road runners who were converted into trail running, and lastly, those who came alone like me. The solo fighters, I’d like to say.

Finishing at around the 4 hours mark, I beamed with this newfound joy unlike anything I’ve ever experienced before. The feeling of gratitude towards my body swept all over me, this was a proof of what my body is capable of doing. My own body, my own fight. I was proud of how much I’ve grown.

As new races are coming up this year, I’ve also began my training plan. With the longer distance that I’m running, I’ve come to realize a few things.

At the essence, I think that trail running is a very lonely sport. This was a daunting fact that hit me as I was running 15 miles by myself. I heard no people chattering, no music, no society’s noises whatsoever, not even people footsteps. For 7 hours, the only sound that I heard was the sound of the gust of the wind, the sound of the leaves tickling each other, the raspy breath of fellow runners (that I could count with my hands), and sometimes, the barking of the stray dogs who were wondering around.

Every time I hit above the 12 miles mark, it started to dawn on me, the loneliness of it all. I was not running behind or beside anyone. My mind constantly battled me by asking things like “for what reason are you doing this?”. I felt nothing but emptiness, as the pain and discomfort kicked its way into me. My legs were so heavy I felt like I could feel everything below my feet. My stomach was so full of gels and liquids, and missing the sensation of solid food. The sun was standing so tall right above my head and burned the back of my neck. My sweats were dripping from my neck like a rain shower. Tree branches scratched all over my hands. Everything felt heavy, wet, and sore. I still have a lot of distance to cover, I had to keep going no matter what.

With trail running, I feel like it’s mostly my body and my mind trying to live side by side with pain and discomfort. It’s not exactly about enduring them, because the pain and discomfort are never gonna go away. It’s how I embraced them as I run for many miles. No one else can make it less painful for me. I’d lie when I say that it’s such a fun and beautiful sport.

I am not strong, nor am I fast. But I persevere through it all. What I start, I must finish. Even if it gets very lonely. I am on my own.

So, while I love trail running from the deepest of my heart, I’m not sure if I have the tenacity to keep doing it forever. If given the option, then yes, I’d probably want to do it forever, with my partner and my kids someday hopefully.

But if I ever decide to stop one day, I’d like to think that it would not mean that I have lost the battle against conquering my pain, discomfort and loneliness. That would not mean that I lack the grit needed.

But maybe, I’m at a different phase in my life, where I’m battling another fight.

While I have long accepted the nature of the loneliness in trail running, every week I am reminded how grateful I am to be found (or adopted?) by people who offered their hands and their company in covering miles with me. The distance and the heights are more fun when done together. Getting lost in the nature doesn’t seem as scary when done together.

Thank you, to those who watched me grow patiently and who grew together with me.

This time I can say with confidence that I‘m now better prepared. Does it mean that I will finish on time? Am not exactly sure, because there are so many external factors that contribute to one’s performance in trail running. What I know for sure is that my runs are powered by my determination to some day look back at that day and say to myself how strong I was for trying my best.

Finish lines, not finish times.