This is the third year that I have ran in the Western New Hampshire Trail Running Series. It’s the first year that I have actually raced it. The WNHTRS is a series of shorter distance, (6 to 8 mile), trail races in the Upper Connecticut River Valley of New Hampshire and Vermont.

A few years ago, when I was learning to trail run, I began running in this series as way to test myself and learn about the trails in the Upper Valley. In 2012, when I ran the “Six in the Stix” race in Newport, New Hampshire, it was the farthest I had ever run! I wondered if I’d be able to even complete the race. This year, I took fifth place overall. What made the difference? Believing in myself, and deciding that I could actually race.

In the short period of time I have been running in competitive races, I have enjoyed them as opportunities to socialize with other runners, test my fitness, and win cool stuff in the raffles. The thrill of running with the pack has been a draw as well—I’ve always been amazed at how much faster I seem to run in a race versus on my own training runs. But, I never, ever thought I could win a race. I only really raced myself.

Over the winter, I ran up a bunch of mountains in the Winter Wild Series. When spring rolled around, I kept running up mountains, (Mt. Ascutney Auto Road/Trail runs on Tuesdays), and I started doing speed-work on, (gasp!), the road once a week. There was a great feedback loop at play in all of this: as I got faster and fitter, I gained more confidence and pushed myself further in my training. That led to me getting even faster and more fit. I found that the old adage was true: it doesn’t get any easier, you just get faster.

When the first race of the series rolled around, I thought it may be a good opportunity to test my progress in a shorter trail race, but I was really focusing on some much longer endurance runs as the goal races of the season. I went into the first race wanting to place in the top 10 overall.

Lining up at the start, I became really excited as I looked around—a lot of the regular guys who finish in the top 4 or 5 were not there. This gave me another confidence boost—the field was a bit thin. I decided then and there that I would race to win.

This was the third time I had run this race, but that mind shift, combined with all of the practice I had over the winter and spring of running in the red and pushing to my limits, totally changed my experience of the race. I ran the race as fast as I possibly could the entire time. I was completely focused on trying to catch up to the runner in front of me, and to not allow anyone to pass me. I was in oxygen debt the entire race.

In years past, I “raced” the course some of the time, but always ended up accepting I was not going to be anywhere near the front by the end. Usually, midway through the race, the run would become about enjoying the trail, losing myself, and not thinking about racing, and then turn back into trying to push myself—usually near the end. I love running like that, and I do it all the time when I train. But, racing to win was completely new to me.

I came in third place that day. It was the best place overall I have ever achieved in a race, and at that point, the hardest and fastest I had ever run. I ran the next two races the same way—running to win—and with each one I successively put out a little more effort, each race ending up being the hardest and fastest I have ever run.

I think that in order to be able to race to win, you have to believe that you can. What was remarkable about this change in perspective was that once I believed in myself, it opened up a new level of effort to push myself to. I discovered there was more beyond what I thought I was capable of. I think that can only be achieved in a race. I think there is something in our DNA about the chase. Most runners have felt that electric energy as they take off with the pack at the start of a race, or the desire to catch that runner just up ahead! That extra evolutionary push can drive your body into new territory and enable you to believe in yourself.