One Race. One Relationship Test. 26 Kilometres of Mild Chaos.

This trail race had it all: deep damp woods, mountaintop views, and mental plot twists. Buckle up! This is what it looked like inside my head while running Rompin’ Rockwood.

Some quick context first. This past weekend, my husband and I ran a tough 25k trail race in Saint John, NB. The course twisted through rooty, rocky, rain-soaked woods. I didn’t realize it until afterward, but this race has a reputation for being one of the hardest out there.

With over 100 people in the 25k and nearly 400 across the 10k, 25k, and 50k combined, it was a big day.

Across the 3 hours, 17 minutes, and 15 seconds it took me to finish, I went through just about every emotion possible. Here’s how it played out.

At the start, I surprised myself.

“Wait, am I 2nd female? Ok wow, let’s do this… push your pace, try to stay close to the leader, maybe I can overtake her towards the last few kilometres.”

Suddenly, it felt real. I was racing with a chance of standing on the podium. I leaned in.

The effort caught up to me. Another girl had already passed me and I knew I couldn’t keep that pace for another 20 k, so I stepped aside.

“I’ve got 20k to go and I can’t keep this pace… Or I’ll die if I do! I’ll wait for John, it’ll be better to run it together anyway.”

I waited a minute for John, and once he caught up, we settled into a rhythm and ran together, chatting and enjoying the trails.

Out of nowhere, John surged ahead and vanished into the trees.

“Oh wow, John’s got lots of energy – he’s crushing this! Go babe, you’ve got this!”

Five minutes later:

“Wow John, what a jerk move… I waited for you and now you’re leaving me in the dust?!”

I went back and forth between being proud and annoyed. It was a mental tug-of-war.

(We laughed about it at the finish line. And yes, I’ve done this to him in several races too, so I suppose I had it coming. )

Now it was just me and the trail. My brain and body switched into beast mode because I knew I still had some juice in the legs and I was in the final push of the race.

“Ok let’s friggin go… I can at least try to keep my position, push myself on the straight sections since I suck at the rooty/rocky parts. Run hard where it’s straight! Stretch your legs girl – make some space between you and whoever is behind you!”

I zoned in and focused on running fast and strong. No looking back – eyes straight ahead.

Something wasn’t right. I should’ve been close to the finish line, but instead I was climbing up a mountainside on hands and feet.

“Are you kidding me?”

“This is a joke right?”

“Where is the flippin’ finish line?! Wait, am I accidentally doing the 50k?”

I was spent, frustrated, and starting to question everything.

 

At last, I could hear the crowd. The end was near.

“Ok, homestretch, I can do this! Might puke on the finish line but at least I’ll be done. Come on legs, keep moving!”

Every part of me hurt, but I let out a guttural sound and pushed up the final hill.

“I made it!! Oh my gosh, that was the hardest race I’ve ever done but I did it!!”

Crossing that finish line was pure satisfaction. Every hard step and every messy thought was worth it.

Racing makes me feel strong, tested, and alive. Of course, it can also make you want to vomit, cry, curse, and question your life choices.

But for me, it’s about something bigger.

It’s about seeing what I’m capable of. About knowing I gave it 100%. Racing helps me keep life in perspective.

Because life is short. It’s fragile. It’s fleeting.

But for now, I’m alive and kicking. And I’ll keep showing up and pushing myself, for as long as I can.