The Hill, the Hurt, and the Finish Line

On Saturday, May 24, 2025, I participated in my first trail race. It was 50 kilometers long. By definition, anything over 42 kilometers (the distance of a marathon) is considered an ultramarathon. So, not only did I participate in my first trail run—I also ran the farthest I’ve ever run.

Why would anyone do this, you might ask? That’s a long-ass run.


Great question! I actually had a friend who was absolutely befuddled when I told her I had signed up for this race. Three months before race day, I told her, jokingly, it was so I could stay healthy enough to go to the bathroom by myself in my old age—but in reality, I needed a challenge.

2024 was a tough year mentally. I had to do a lot of internal fighting with anxiety and depression. So, I decided to flip the script and channel that energy into something physical.

As part of my training, I signed up for the 30km Around the Bay Race and spent most of April’s weekends on the Guelph to Goderich trail—running for 4+ hours, learning how to eat while moving and pace at distance.

When race day finally arrived, I questioned my sanity. Life circumstances had significantly messed up my rigorously planned training schedule, and I felt immensely underprepared.

But I showed up. I started way too fast. I chatted with a few kind racers. At 24km, when my leg cramped so severely I couldn’t bend my knee, a stranger gave me salt pills. I ate a lot of bananas because it was the only thing I could keep down. I may have been a little salty myself to some very nice volunteers—something I do feel terrible about. I cried, calling Travis with broken reception just 5km from the finish line, and wanted to give up. Almost the entire time.

They say you hit a wall in long-distance running when you’ve burned more calories than you’ve taken in and your experience shifts from uncomfortable to unbearable. I think I hit the wall two or three times.

I walked every hill, tripped over countless roots, and can’t remember a single song I heard the entire time I was on the trail. I was out there for almost eight hours. When I crossed the finish line, my mom was screaming, my dad hugged me despite my stench, and I cried again.

Running that race was the hardest thing I have ever physically done. I learned the importance of salt replacement and electrolytes. I was humbled by hills and mud. And I proved to myself that I can do hard things.

After finishing, I told my mother-in-law that this was the stupidest thing I’d ever done (we all say silly things in pain), but I felt hilariously euphoric—after the crash and stiffness, of course. I even felt excited to try the race again in a few years.

If you ever need a reminder that you can do hard things, I recommend joining this race. Now, you don’t need to run 50km—there’s a 10km or 20km loop instead. Or, if you really need to know you can do hard things, there are also 50-mile, 100km, or 100-mile options. I recommend this experience because, unlike a road race, trail running is calmer, quieter, and filled with moments where it’s just you and yourself, working through the pain.

At the end of the day, no one is coming to get you. If you want to go home, you have to finish that race. Reception isn’t great—so even if you call, the call might not hold out. If you need to pee, you finish the race. If you’re hungry, you finish the race.

At my worst—around 46km in, only 4km away from a shower, watermelon, and my couch—the pain I was feeling radiated throughout my body. My knees were weak. I felt blisters forming on multiple toes and both heels. My back ached. I was getting a headache from the lack of salt and water. Then I watched a 60-year-old woman with a 100km bib run past me, and I thought, What the fuck am I doing here?

That’s when I called Travis, crying. Through the broken reception I heard, “It’s all downhill from here. You’re so close!” I finally hung up and started running again—everything in my body screaming to stop.

But that’s the cool thing about humans: we can override the pain. For the next 4km, I repeated, “Your legs don’t hurt and you are not tired.” I sang it to myself, out loud and in my head, to the tune of every song that came up in my playlist.

Sometimes, you just need a reminder that you can do hard things.

May I recommend a trail race for your next reminder?

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