Chapter 1: The Beginning of My Running Journey

The thrill of running on a beautiful trail was enough to make me smile, but I was taken aback when I discovered I had won the race.

Leaving the tranquil woods behind, I crossed the paved road with some reluctance. As I propelled my weary body up the gravel path toward the finish line, I heard a shout—someone had recognized me. The cheerful sound of cowbells rang in my ears, urging me onward.

As I rounded the final corner, I summoned every last ounce of energy to sprint across the finish line.

At the start of the year, my sister and I set out to be more active, initiating a weekly step competition. After weeks of coming in second to her, I realized the only way to win was to aim for 10,000 steps daily. There's nothing like a little sibling rivalry to spark motivation.

Thus began my walking journey—an endeavor that soon turned into an obsession with hitting my daily step goal.

While I had previously lost weight and maintained it, I hadn’t incorporated any physical exercise into my routine. However, once I started walking every day, both my mental and physical health improved significantly. I began to look forward to my walks, but in reality, finding time for extended walks proved challenging.

I began to think about how I could “cheat” the system. (Not that I wanted hollow victories; they are rather pointless.)

Instead, I realized that running might allow me to reach my 10,000 steps much faster.

Sure, it sounds a bit absurd when I say it out loud, but I found a training program online that set clear goals for each running session. Before long, I was running four times a week.

Let me clarify—I was awful at it initially. But everyone struggles when trying something new. So, I chose to ignore my initial failures and continued running.

I trusted my training plan, and after just a few weeks, my body responded positively, encouraging me to seek longer routes. Living in southern Oregon, I’m fortunate that many paved paths line the scenic Rogue River, and there are ample trails through the woods. Since I always try to spend my free time outdoors, trail running felt like a perfect fit.

I connected with a local group that runs trails and incorporated their weekly runs into my schedule. Their favorite route features a grueling, steep climb to the top of a hill, where I often find myself trailing behind a man who is 25 years my senior—effortlessly beating me to the top.

Each week, as I gasp for air and struggle to keep up, he generously shares wisdom and stories from his five decades of running experience. I've also taken to reading about the history of running, and the more I discover, the more I feel a sense of belonging within this community.

It’s comforting to know there are countless others like me who run for enjoyment.

Motivated by my progress, I decided to register for a 5k trail race. The event also included longer races, such as a 40k and a 10-mile option, and I have immense respect for those who can tackle those distances. One day, I hope to run a 10-mile race, but that day was not today.

Especially considering the race would start at an elevation of 5,000 feet, and it was quite chilly.

Oh, did I mention I chose a race on a mountain, despite living by the river? I already knew I wouldn’t win, but the added elevation made me anxious about possibly finishing last.

While I didn’t genuinely believe I’d come in last, I aimed for a middle-of-the-pack finish and wanted to avoid any embarrassment. Being myself, I did the math to calculate the exact pace I needed to achieve that.

Then my husband chimed in, “Why don’t you just run as fast as you can?” I quickly dismissed his suggestion. After all, I was a serious runner now; I kept a log and everything! You don’t just “run as fast as you can.”

That’s how beginners burn out before finishing—obviously! I knew the pace I could maintain, and I planned to stick to it to finish respectably.

“Run as fast as you can.”

Right.

His comment lingered in my mind for a couple of days. What if he was onto something?

I could run this trail anytime if I just wanted a change of scenery. The mountain wasn’t going anywhere; it had been there for eons. So why did I sign up for a race unless I wanted to see how I fared against others? If that was the case, shouldn’t I give it my all instead of sticking to my predetermined pace?

I decided to challenge myself.

(And yes, before you ask, I did apologize to my husband and acknowledged his valid point. He understood my perspective, and we moved on—life’s too short for pointless disputes.)

With this mindset, I rethought my strategy.

I recognized that the race was flat for the first part, with only the final mile presenting real hills. My plan was to run as fast as I could on the flat sections to compensate for the tough hill at the end. I knew my body well enough to slow down when necessary.

I still didn’t expect to win, but I was determined to give it my all and see what that truly meant.

The following morning, I stood at the starting line with about 25 other participants.

At the starting signal, a few men surged ahead, and I found myself behind them, accompanied by a small group of women. Together, we charged down the gravel path, crossed the pavement, and descended a short, steep slope.

Then, we entered the woods.

Tall trees swiftly dimmed the sunlight. As I ran, the forest transformed into a blur of greens, grays, and browns. The trail twisted and turned along the forest floor, and I occasionally caught a glimpse of a man ahead of me. However, as he pulled away, he quickly disappeared among the trees.

Even more remarkable than the majestic firs blocking the sunlight was how they muffled sound. The only noise I could hear was my own breathing and the soft thud of my feet against the trail’s rich, red dirt.

I soon realized I could also hear the footsteps of a woman behind me.

I felt relieved to have a companion keeping pace with me since losing sight of the runner in front in an unfamiliar, densely wooded trail isn’t ideal. But soon, she began to fall behind and eventually slowed to a walk. As her footsteps faded into the trees, I found myself alone, running through the deep, dark, silent forest.

Forget what I said about not wanting to be alone; it was incredible.

I had run the first two-thirds of the race at a pace that tested my limits, and now it was time to gear up for the next challenge. As I approached the steepest section of the course, my body was working harder than ever, but my speed began to wane.

I concentrated on regulating my breathing, willing it to calm, and tried to alternate my gaze between the stunning scenery and the trail. I knew all my efforts could be wasted if I tripped over a root, but it was tough not to be captivated by the beauty surrounding me.

Oregon’s forests could easily inspire fairytale settings; I’m confident of that.

I finally made it over the hill and back down to the pavement. Reluctantly, I crossed the paved road and left the woods behind. As I dragged my exhausted body up the gravel road toward the finish line, a shout echoed—someone had spotted me. The cheerful sound of cowbells filled my ears, calling me to the end.

With one final push, I turned the last corner and forced myself to sprint across the finish line.

I was elated. It had been a thrilling experience, and I finished stronger than I had hoped.

Not only did I complete the race faster than I expected, but I was also the first female to cross the finish line.

I won the race!

This would typically be the moment I share how you can apply the lessons from my experience to your life—never give up, pursue your dreams, etc.

But honestly, I’m not sure there’s a moral to this story. My victory felt like a quirky fluke, a combination of factors aligning in a way that can only be described as “even a broken clock is right twice a day.” Yet, it was still an exhilarating experience.

In any case, you don’t need me to tell you how to enhance your life. You already know what needs to be done. Instead, reflect on why those things aren’t happening, and then work on eliminating those barriers.

Well, there you have it; I managed to offer a bit of advice after all. Thank you for reading—I appreciate you!