Rules for Trail Running

This past summer, after years of admiration and interest toward the sport, I finally took up trail running. I think that running, in general, is one of those things that can get in your blood and always remains a part of you, even when you’re not actively engaged in it. It’s like a little voice inside trying to call you back home. I was a passionate runner from adolescence through my twenties, but got away from it due to injury, then somehow two decades passed in the blink of an eye. And while in that time I did try to take it up again in little fits and starts, it wasn’t until November 2023 that I finally got back into a consistent routine.

When I learned that a local trail group- the Cache Trails Alliance- hosted a summer race series called El Oso Loco (“the Crazy Bear” running a different course each week from trailheads throughout the Bear River mountain range near Logan, Utah) it felt like a great opportunity and natural progression in my training. I’m relatively new to Logan, still getting to know the area and trying to find some sense of community here, and wanted to use this as a steppingstone as I transitioned off road and built toward dreams of eventually running ultramarathon distances. Admittedly, signing up required a small leap out of my comfort zone (I was a bit intimidated, still trying to get my legs back under me and having never actually trail run before) but I was eager for the chance to learn and grow, and in hindsight it proved an incredible opportunity for all of the above.

Given the novelty of this, and wanting to focus more on the experience than concern over how I placed at each event or my overall time, I set a personal goal to help recognize one major takeaway from each run. During each week's race I would come up with a new rule based on what I’d see or experience out on the course; a lesson I was willing to commit to and carry with me moving forward.

I think it’s important to note that at this point in my running journey I’m not necessarily seeking podium finishes. (And that’s probably a good thing!) What’s more tangible to me is honoring the blessing of being able to get out into nature and move my body, and embracing deeper meaning in discoveries along the way.

That said, here’s my list of trail running rules established during the six races I ran during the El Oso Loco series of 2024...

Rule 1: Always Smile at Kids

June 5- Logan River Trail/ Bridger Lookoff- 8.7 miles/ +862’ elevation

Let me begin by explaining that there were two course options for each race of the series. Every week was different, but the short course was generally 4-6 miles in length, and the long course 8-10. Again, this was my first taste of trail running, and logic would tend to nudge most beginners toward the shorter option. But logic has never been my strong suit. I also planned to use the series in training for my first ultra- a 50 miler I was registered for in August (if that comes as a surprise, please revisit the previous statement regarding my relationship with logic) and I wanted to pack in the miles for training. So I chose the long.

I should also note that I struggle pretty bad at times with anxiety- social and otherwise. Going into this first race I was fighting through that and a whole bevy of related concerns. I wasn’t sure how hard the course might be to follow, or the speed and skill level of other runners, and was obsessively worried that I would either get lost or left in the dust. I was convinced that I’d be a burden if volunteers had to wait for me to finish, or at the very least make a total fool of myself. None of this could have been further from reality- the course was well marked and the volunteers were just awesome the entire series- but it did cause me to go out harder than I should have. I ran fast the first few miles trying to hang with the main pack, and then the real climbing started and I hit the wall. By the time we got to the turnaround I was really feeling it, and while the rest of the race was mostly a gradual downhill, I was hurting. It was a grind all the way back to the finish line.

The start and finish of this race was on the Logan River Trail- a popular path on the edge of town- so coming back I met a lot of families heading out on evening strolls. I caught the gaze of several kids who paused to watch us runners go by, wide eyed with curiosity. It reminded me of a time years ago when I was out east, somewhere in Connecticut, hiking the Appalachian Trail.

A friend who I was hiking with and I came to a roadside pullout where we met a man and his daughter who had parked to read an informational sign. They were on a day trip from New York City, neither had heard of thru hiking before, and they were both blown away to learn that we’d walked there all the way from Maine. I remember there was weather moving in and we really needed to keep moving, but the Dad was just tickled and full of questions so we took the time to chat. The little girl, probably eight or nine years old, was timid at first, but you could see her face light up at our stories and just knew the wheels of imagination were turning in her head. By the end of the conversation she was all smiles and popping off questions of her own.

“You know,” my friend said after we finally told them goodbye and parted, “We’re gonna get rained on… but we just opened her a door to a whole new world.”

I reflect on that day often. It really cemented the realization that if you are doing something unique and beyond mainstream norms, or even beyond what is familiar to others, you automatically become an ambassador for that activity and have the chance to make a positive or welcoming impression. Even in moments so fleeting, you can spark someone’s curiosity and inspire wonder that might lead to them trying it themselves. In the context of the encounter it doesn’t matter how skilled or experienced you actually are, how you might be feeling or (in this case) your placement in the race- you can create favorable influence by how you carry yourself.

So even though my legs had turned to jelly returning along the Logan River that night; even though my vest was rubbing uncomfortably, I had blisters from my new trail shoes and I just wanted that race to be over, I made it a point to return the gaze and smile at every child I met along the way. And that became my first rule of trail running, for future races and training alike- to always smile at kids. Adults too, when I can muster it, but especially at kids. You never know where that impression might lead.

Rule 2: Always Show Up (Even If You Have to Show Up and Hike)

June 12- Jardine Juniper- 9.6 miles/ +1902’ elevation

I almost talked myself out of the second week. Admittedly there was a bit of an intimidation factor. The first race had been harder than I'd expected, and this course was longer with over twice the elevation gain. But I had some legitimate reasons too. Following the previous run I immediately drove through the night for an art festival in Iowa, spent the weekend exhibiting there, drove back to Utah, worked a pair of 10 hour shifts at my full time job, matted photos and did other prep work, and still needed to set up my booth for Summerfest Art Faire, which started in Logan the next day. I was exhausted, and even pulling up to the trailhead that afternoon I almost convinced myself to turnaround. Almost.

Pre-race jitters got the better of me again and I started a little faster than I wanted to, but quickly remembered lessons from the week before. I slowed, still feeling nervous about the long arduous climb ahead, but fell into stride with a group that put to example a practice that previously felt strangely foreign to me- that sometimes in running, it's okay to walk. Of course in theory I already knew this was part of trail running, especially when you get into longer distances. It can actually make more sense when hiking allows you to conserve energy while moving more efficiently and safely over steep or technical terrain. But I come from a competitive track/cross country background, and honestly the longest race I'd ever run prior to this year was a 5k. So while I knew it was acceptable, I still felt uneasy about walking during a race. I personally feared it would look like weakness or failure and signify giving up, until I saw it put into practice. The runners around me would slow to a walk, often just briefly for a minute or so to catch their breath or when the climb got steep, then pick up their run again. All without hesitation or shame. And finally accepting this and allowing it myself was an absolute game changer. That point in this run may have genuinely been the most pivotal moment of my entire summer. It was like suddenly when I let myself walk, all the anxiety I still felt about these races; all the self imposed pressures and self consciousness I carried- it all just melted away. I was able to look around for the first time and really appreciate the scenery. I exchanged jokes with other runners and cheered on the leaders as they passed on their way back down. When I finally made it to the top of the climb and the trail looped to descend back to the finish, I fell in with a couple and we decided to let loose a bit. We let gravity take hold, picked up the pace and absolutely sailed the last four miles back to the valley. By then the evening air had cooled, alpenglow was starting to light up the peaks and misty fog was rising from the stream beds. We were giddy with effortless smiles, striding out and moving just as fast as momentum would carry us. The landscape felt magical and motion carefree. It was like being a kid again. It was so much fun.

In hindsight, I think that this was the night that I went from loving the idea of trail running, to really falling in love with trail running. And I wouldn't have experienced any of it had I given into the urge to sit this one out.

Rule #3- Always Be Learning

June 19- Temple Fork and Spawn Creek- 9.1 miles/ +2602' elevation

Week three delivered the most challenging course yet, with three times the elevation gain of the first race, almost entirely packed into a four and half mile climb. By this point of the summer the weather had also grown extremely hot, and these factors compounded to bring quick risk of over exertion. Fortunately the race organizers are experienced local runners and trail users with an intimate understanding of the conditions and terrain. Given the dangers at hand, runners were encouraged to hydrate well, assess our own abilities, and able to check in and start early if we anticipated the need to slow down and allow ourselves extra time. I gladly accepted this option, and headed out about fifteen minutes prior to the normal start.

This early departure put me in a unique position to study the techniques of more advanced runners over difficult trail, when they began to catch up with me a few miles into the race. (I'd previously just gawked in disbelief as they pulled away from the start.) I'd make it a point to pause and step off to the side to let faster runners pass- you should always follow good trail etiquette; it doesn't matter if you're racing, hiking, looking for Sasquatch, whatever... be considerate to others- and then I'd really pay attention to their different strategies. When they'd charge over obstacles, when they'd choose to walk, their pace on different pitches, and any other lessons I could take away. Later on the steep descent I practiced my form, trying to get a better feel for how to run downhill quickly while still maintaining control. I did fall and eat it once, but I'm finding out that's part of the sport too. Is it really even a trail race if you don't finish with a little dirt in your teeth?

Of course trail running also presents opportunity for more important lessons, such as what you can learn about yourself. How you respond to adversity and what you're made of. Beyond the physical- and another benefit of slowing down a bit- it gives you plenty of time to delve into personal matters or get lost in deep thought. It's also an incredibly immersive outdoor experience, and if you can lift your eyes briefly off the tread in front of you, there's so much to be gleaned through observation of your natural surroundings, such as in the vegetation, weather and geology.

There's a lot more than Strava stats to be taken from every run, and I look forward to the chance to learn something significant each time I lace up my shoes.

Rule #4- Always Take Pictures

June 26- Right Hand Fork #1- 8.2 miles/ +1504' elevation

I think this might have been my favorite race of the entire series. The course was great and the scenery- especially with the clouds and light that evening- was just absolutely gorgeous. Furthermore I was feeling strong and running really well. This in turn, however, caused internal strife different than what I faced most weeks. Should I keep moving, or should I stop to take pictures?

My transition to trail and long distances has required a considerable shift in mindset from the ways I came up running in my youth. Not to go all Uncle Rico again, doting on my glory days, but my experience back then revolved around track, where I was a sprinter, and high school cross country, which I took up because I loved being around running sports. Even the latter felt a little long for me, and back then I couldn't imagine I'd ever take an interest in running more than a 5k. The approach to our training and racing was usually to go like hell, to push yourself to the limit all the way through the finish line. No stopping. No walking. And to be competitive at those distances, that's really how you needed to approach it. So the concept of slowing down on long runs hasn't come naturally to me. But one thing that has stuck is actually advice given a few years ago by someone who has been one of my biggest inspirations and exemplified all the deeper, more meaningful blessings of running as I’ve tried to return to it in adult life. That being to always take the time to stop for pictures along the way.

I'm a photographer, by passion and trade, and so this rule feels pretty personal to me. But with the exception of times I'm indoors on a treadmill, it's one I always make a point to honor. It's just a simple cue that forces you to stop and be present in the moment. I used to do the same thing with long distance hiking too- when I'd be months into a trail and struggling with low spirits, I'd drop my pack and start looking for something to photograph. As you start to look around and appreciate your surroundings, suddenly all the superficial thoughts about pace and pushing harder and harder to the point that you're missing everything else, disappears. Of course we're running, so there is a place for drive and motivation and the desire to better ourselves, but we're also out there to move our bodies and enjoy the blessings of being able to do that. And to enjoy the scenery. So if we're always obsessing over our finish time and taking ourselves so seriously that it takes all the joy out of it, and we can't see the bigger picture, then I think we're kind of missing the point.

Rule #5- Always Keep Perspective

July 10- Right Hand Fork #2- 9.2 miles/ +1592' elevation

I started out having a really hard time with this one, especially on some of the early climbs. I'd walk the steep or rocky parts, but then couldn't get myself moving again. I just didn't want to run. And I was really beating myself up over it because I didn't feel like I was getting any stronger, which was worrisome, because at the time that ultra was just about a month away. I hadn't had as much time to train as I really needed to- working a full time job in addition to running my photography business, art shows in three different states the prior month, being a Dad and prioritizing time with my son, and carrying a cleaning gig for extra money on the side. But I couldn't see any of that at first. I was just angry with myself for struggling and having not put enough work in. This went on for a few miles, until finally I started thinking about the other stuff. Not only those other obligations and the fact- not excuse, as I was trying to guilt myself into believing- but the FACT that I was basically on the go from 5:30 in the morning to often after 10 at night, every single day.

Finally recognizing that whole excuse/fact dynamic was pretty important, especially as it pertains to training, because it falls in with the constant expectation to push yourself to your limits and beyond mentality (otherwise you're not trying hard enough) that I'm trying to break. I have to, because it's something that has broken me time and time before as I push myself to the point of exhaustion or injury. I'm trying to be extra mindful of this because I want to be in it for the long run... figuratively and literally.

Once this sank in, I started to drop my guard and by the later miles of the race I was able to remind myself that this was still my first season of trail running. That it was only my fifth race. That I'd just started running again with any real consistency eight months earlier, after a mostly 20 year hiatus. That in that time I'd gone from not expecting my body to hold up, to only being able to run a mile or two at a time, to feeling like 5 miles on a treadmill was a huge accomplishment, but surely my ceiling. I hit six miles for the first time exactly one year ago tonight (on New Years Eve 2023) though I thought it might kill me. In March I did a run farther than 11 miles for the first time in my life. In May I completed my first road marathon. I then switched to trails, and was now out there running 8-10 mile races over rugged terrain, every Wednesday night. I'd come a long way. In my own internal grumbling and self criticism it wasn't easy to see it. So I had to force myself to seek it out.

Rule #6- Always Run with Gratitude

July 31- Long Hollow to Peterson Hollow- 10.4 miles/ +2528' elevation

Rule 2 be damned, I actually had to miss a couple of races in July. The first was for a planned photography/backpacking trip, and the next was because car trouble kept me from making it to the trailhead. I was determined to be there for the grand finale, though, and while this was the longest course of the summer I was happy to slow down and be grateful for every step. Climbing into the Bear River highlands we ran through aspen and evergreen forest, crossed scenic meadows and passed fields of alpine wildflowers in full bloom. It occurred to me, as it often does in the backcountry, just how lucky I am to be able to see these things. How few people actually ever do. And on this night, the blessing of being able to still get out there and reach such places under my own power really struck a chord. What a gift it is to move our bodies in appreciation and celebration of our good fortune to do so.

Focusing on gratitude helps us to carry a pretty mature perspective that brings a lot more depth to running- or any pursuit, for that matter. And it greatly helps us to be present in the moments and places we encounter along the way. In addition to being thankful for my own health, I also thought about all the hard work that went into organizing these races, building and maintaining trails, and everything else that had allowed me to be there for that experience. It was really humbling, and I am so very appreciative to everyone who had a hand in making this happen.

The El Oso Loco series was definitely a highlight of my year. And in hindsight, I believe these races and lessons were truly critical in providing the mindset and physical conditioning that helped prepare me for my first ultramarathon. (Which I did complete! You can find that story in my "Back to the Hills" post, linked below.)

Thank you again to the Cache Trails Alliance for creating and facilitating this series, and for everything else that you guys do. I was so impressed by the atmosphere at each of these races, and by how friendly and supportive all of the volunteers, and my fellow runners, were. It was a wonderful introduction to trail running, and I can't wait to be part of it again next year!