Once upon a time, on the winding paths of the mountain, an adventure that would mark the beginning of a new passion. I, an amateur trail runner, stood there, on the threshold of my first official race. With 45km of distance and 3000m of elevation gain ahead of me, excitement and apprehension mixed in a whirlwind of emotions.

The adventure had begun a few months earlier, when, tired of the monotonous loops of my local park, I had felt the call of the trails. Trail running was an enigma to me, a world where performance was measured as much by willpower as by speed or endurance. So I had traded in my old sneakers for a pair of sturdy trail shoes, purchased on a site dedicated to this budding passion.

On D-Day, the start of the race was like a living tableau, populated by concentrated faces and legs stamping with impatience. I, an anonymous person among all the caterers present, felt strangely calm, as if all the tumult of the world had fallen silent to make way for my breathing and the beating of my heart.

The first kilometers were a revelation. Nature opened up to me, alternating between forest trails, rocky passages and stream crossings. Each climb was a challenge, each descent an adrenaline-tinged relief. But it was in the effort that I discovered the true essence of trail running: a personal quest in the midst of immensity.

I had barely started the first difficult climb, short of breath and my heart pounding, when a voice rose from the edge of the path: "Courage! Every step is a victory!" This simple sentence, spoken with conviction by a volunteer, reminded me that every effort, however small, brought me closer to my goal.

Further on, as I was crossing a particularly technical passage, another volunteer, smiling despite the morning cold, encouraged me: "You are stronger than you think!" Her words, like a balm on my doubts, gave me the strength to overcome the obstacles under my feet.

However, the euphoria of the early days soon gave way to the reality of endurance. Around the 20th kilometer, my legs began to weigh heavily, every stone in the path seeming to conspire to hinder my progress. It was here that I made my first major mistake: neglecting the importance of nutrition, I had not eaten enough before the race, naively trusting my willpower to carry me.

Cramps crept in without warning, turning every step into a challenge. In those moments of doubt, I drew on the encouragement of volunteers and fellow runners, an unspoken solidarity that formed the beating heart of the trail community.

It was in pain and exhaustion that I learned my most valuable lesson: trail running is not a fight against others, but an intimate conversation with oneself. Every kilometer covered, every meter of elevation climbed, was a step closer to understanding my limits and my inner strength.

Halfway through the course, at a refreshment point where I stopped to regain my strength, a group of volunteers greeted me with warm encouragement: "Well done everyone! Don't forget to hydrate!" Their kindness and wise advice were a precious reminder for me of the importance of taking care of yourself, even in the euphoria of the race.

In the final kilometers, as exhaustion threatened to take over, a voice carried by the wind reached me: "The finish is not far, don't give up!" This message, simple but powerful, resonated in me like a call to draw on my last reserves of energy.

These messages, scattered along the path, were like beacons in the night, guiding my steps when fatigue veiled my determination. They reminded me that, even in the most solitary challenges, we are carried by a caring community, united by the love of the mountains and of surpassing oneself.

And then, after hours that seemed to stretch into an eternity, the finish line appeared on the horizon. My feet, guided by a mixture of will and instinct, crossed the threshold that separated the test from deliverance. The emotion that gripped me was indescribable, a mixture of pride, relief and a deep gratitude towards the mountain, which had welcomed and tested me.

Looking back at the path I had taken, I understood that this race was not only a physical challenge, but an initiatory journey. Trailrunning had revealed me to myself, teaching me humility, perseverance and respect for nature.

This first trail race was much more than a competition; it was a metamorphosis. From then on, each trail, each climb, each descent, carried within it the promise of a new adventure, a new story to live and tell.

As I share these words, I can't help but smile, already thinking about my next race. Because in trail running, every finish is just the beginning of a new quest, one more step on the infinite path of self-discovery.

And you, what is your story?