My First (Trail) Running Race Experience:
Chuncheon Skyrace 11K !
( Sept.22.2024 )
When I had been running for less than 100 days and had only managed a couple of 10K runs, I started to dream about trail running. The idea of stepping off the starting line and diving into a seemingly endless mountain trail felt like a compelling reason to push myself to run longer and farther. Beyond running, I’ve always found energy and healing in outdoor activities that take place in nature, like snowboarding, paddle boarding, wakeboarding, and hiking. For me, running through mountain trails felt like another way to fully embrace nature’s gifts – to feel its presence through my body, breathe in sync with it, and immerse myself in it.
That dream remained just a dream, something I wanted to try someday, until I impulsively signed up for my first trail running race after coming across a registration post on social media. With the sudden running boom in Korea, the number of people eager to participate in races skyrocketed, making it nearly impossible to secure a spot in first-come, first-served events. I had heard that just wanting to sign up wasn’t enough. You had to act fast, and even then, luck played a big role in securing a spot in well-organized, high-profile races. Before I knew it, I had clicked the link and filled out the application without hesitation.
A split-second of decisive clicking, and just like that, I was registered before I even had time to think twice.
The race I had signed up for was organized by Goodrunner, a running concept store that has been shaping Korea’s running culture. Long before the running boom took off, Goodrunner quietly established itself on a small street in Seoul, serving as both a hub for runners and a specialty store for running gear. It has consistently fostered a sense of community, hosting four trail running races each year, along with weekly community runs every Wednesday and trail running sessions on Thursdays, open to anyone who wants to join.
Even though I had never tried trail running before, I knew I wanted to be part of it badly. Having already committed to my first race just 120 days away, I wasted no time. I signed up for one of Goodrunner’s trail running sessions happening in just three days. And the day before that session, I bought my first pair of trail running shoes.
And just like that, my trail running journey had begun.
A Day Before the Race
The race was held in Chuncheon, a city about two hours from where I live. To make things more convenient for runners and add to the festive atmosphere, participants were encouraged to check in the day before the race.
The check-in process involved verifying the required equipment for the race: trail-running shoes, a water flask, a personal reusable cup, and a cell phone for emergency contact. I actually found this ‘serious’ moment quite enjoyable. It made everything feel real, as if I was preparing for something truly significant and exciting.
Once my mandatory gear was confirmed, I received my very first race bib. And here it is, my official entry into the race!
Upon check-in, I received my race bib, a body wipe to freshen up after the race, a 'finisher' T-shirt with the event logo, and a bag to store my belongings in case I needed to use the baggage check service the next day.
Overpacked with Fear, But Carrying Courage
After having a balanced dinner to fuel up for the next day’s run, I began packing for the race. Trail running requires carrying only the bare essentials in a running vest to minimize weight, but my fear got the better of me. I overpacked so much that someone jokingly asked if my goal was to get lost!
For me, who struggles with panic at the thought of being lost in unfamiliar places surrounded by unfamiliar people, the biggest fear wasn’t failing to finish or even getting injured. It was the thought of having a helpless panic attack, losing my way, and finding myself trapped in the vastness of the mountains with no way out. I always remind myself that these fears are unnecessary and unlikely, yet this helpless worry remains my weakest side.
But at the same time, I have always been the one to cheer myself on, find courage, and take that step forward.
As I packed for the race, I trimmed down my gear multiple times, doing my best to stick to the essentials while allowing a little extra for my own peace of mind. And along with those extra supplies, I packed plenty of courage.
(left) A glimpse of my overpacked bag: protein bars, meal shakes, emergency meds, a headlamp, and more – enough to survive a small expedition rather than just an 11K run.
(right) The final 'ready shot.' Every time I removed something from my originally overpacked bag, I had to reassure myself, ‘yes, I will be fine.’
Race Day: The Day It All Became Real
The day had finally come – the day I had dreamed of since the very beginning of my running journey.
Excitement filled the air, but so did nerves. Every decision felt more important than usual. Even breakfast required careful thought. Was it too heavy? Or was it enough? Even drinking a cup of coffee became a calculated decision, knowing there wouldn’t be a washroom in case of an emergency. I had been told that the best race-day preparation was to stick to my usual routine and not try anything new. So, I ate as normal, except I limited myself to just half a cup of coffee.
The race venue was filled with excitement, cheers, and a whole lot of energy. Families gathered to support their proud moms and dads, while friends and fellow runners encouraged each other, sharing wishes for a strong race and no injuries. The air was buzzing not just with nerves, but with love and a shared passion for running.
The races were scheduled in two separate waves: the 24K race started at 8 a.m., followed by the 11K race at 9 a.m. I cheered on my cousin and the other runners as they set off for the 24K race. And once they all disappeared into the course, it hit me. Next, it was my turn. My heart pounded at the thought.
Walking around and moving my body to shake off the nerves, I started to feel lighter, feeling like breakfast had already settled. Together with my friends who were also running the 11K, we headed to the nearest café and picked up a potato bun, the most filling yet stomach-friendly option I could find for an extra energy.
By 8:40 a.m., we were standing behind the start line, surrounded by the crowd. Some were discussing the course and their race strategy, others were joking about the beer and soju they had the night before, and some were already thinking about what they would eat after the race. Everyone had their own way of shaking off the nerves as we all waited for the starting signal. We did the same – talking about our race plans and goals, fantasizing about the perfect post-race meal, and easing the tension in our own way. Standing behind the line with friends, I felt both nervous and excited for my first trail race. But having them by my side brought a sense of comfort, knowing we’d take on the 11K mountain course together.
After the countdown from ten to zero, the race began, and there I was, stepping into the trail race I had dreamed of. The realization that I was finally here felt incredible.
I suddenly thought back to my very first run, the day when even a single kilometer left me breathless. And yet, I ran almost every morning to honor the promise I had made to myself. From running 5K on the treadmill to circling the park near my home, tackling uphills and downhills, and pounding the cemented roads of the city, every step had been part of the journey.
Realizing that all of those miles and moments had led me to this point, I felt truly grateful for my past self, the one who had put in the effort to get me here.
From the Start Line to Something More
Soon after crossing the starting line, an uphill appeared. We climbed a narrow and steep uphill path, which serves as a ski slope in winter, leading us deeper into the trails. Since it was still early in the race and the incline was quite steep, most people chose to conserve their energy, walking briskly rather than pushing to run. A bottleneck quickly formed, stretching into a long line of runners. Seeing it, I realized just how many people share a passion for trail running. They felt less like competitors and more like fellow runners, all taking on the same journey.
It didn’t take long for runners to spread out, each settling into their own pace. I, too, ran at my own rhythm, focusing on my goal—to enjoy the race and cross the finish line. Before long, only a few runners remained within my sight.
After passing the slope and entering the trail surrounded by endless greenery, every worry and fear I had packed into my running vest proved to be unnecessary. Running through the trails, side by side with others who shared the same passion, felt like a dream.
As I moved forward, I glanced at the GPX file I had saved on my watch, showing the course’s elevation changes, distance, and route, as well as my heart rate. I mentally mapped out the uphills and downhills ahead, the distance I had already covered, and the miles still left to run. The course was anything but easy, with endless climbs and inclines steep enough to feel like a vertical run. But there was something satisfying about tackling each uphill one by one, watching them disappear behind me. Also, that made the occasional flat ground and downhill feel even more precious.
The race course map, showing altitudes, distances, and checkpoints.
The 11K race featured a cumulative elevation gain of 1,000m, with a single checkpoint at the 5.9km mark, while the 24K race had a total gain of 1,200m, with three checkpoints along the route.
When I registered, I didn’t fully grasp that 11K with a cumulative elevation gain of 1,000m is considered a 'hard' level in the trail running world.
Ignorance truly was bliss!
Although every course comes with its own challenges, I found that one of the greatest charms of trail running was its dynamic nature of the course – uphills to walk, downhills to run, breathtaking landscapes to slow down and take in, and winding trails to focus and push forward.
Uphills are challenging simply because they are uphills. They are my weakest point. I had to focus on my breathing and keep my heart rate from spiking too much, knowing that excessive exertion would drain my energy quickly.
Downhills, on the other hand, present a different challenge. The terrain is unpredictable and often slippery. But perhaps because I’ve snowboarded and skied for years, I wasn’t too afraid of losing my footing. I trusted my instincts. I let my body adjust, balance, and move fluidly over the uneven surfaces beneath my feet.
Even flat terrain comes with its own challenge. It’s the most preferred section not just for me, but for everyone. It’s where runners push their hardest, aiming to shave seconds off their time and test their limits. Although I was tempted to walk after landing on flat ground following the long, breath-stealing uphills, I pushed myself to run. I reminded myself that this was my chance, since I couldn’t move as fast as others on the climbs, I had to make the most of the flats.
As I moved through the course, I became more aware of how each terrain demanded something different from me – strength on the uphills, agility on the downhills, and endurance on the flats. Reading the changing terrain and adjusting fluidly to the landscape made me feel deeply connected to nature in the most enjoyable way.
Oh, and the Check Point is surely another gem of trail running!
The checkpoint served not only to keep runners on pace with time limits for smooth race management but also as a refreshing stop where drinks and snacks were provided. It was a true gem like an oasis in the middle of the race.
A piece of banana and a few orange slices had never tasted so sweet and juicy in my life.
I was a complete beginner, just stepping into the world of trail running, but the deeper I got into the race, the more captivating this sport became. Although there are strategies and techniques for efficient movement and breathing, the only fundamental motion I needed to be on the "field" was simply swinging my arms and legs to move forward. Repeating the simplest and most primal action, more than 100 times per minute, for minutes and hours, toward the same goal, felt raw and fascinating.
Unlike most sports held in man-made stadiums, trail running takes place in nature, where the course isn’t artificially constructed but shaped by the land itself—aside from a few human-made touches here and there.
There were no rules or scoring systems either. The only requirement was to start at the given point and reach the finish line. While runners were expected to follow the designated course, getting lost and finding your way back wasn’t considered a disqualification. It was simply part of the race.
I also learned a new term that day, "side job." In trail running, it refers to accidentally straying off course and having to find your way back. The name comes from the Korean slang for part-time work ("alba"), since it’s like taking on extra effort beyond what was planned. Technically, it means expending unnecessary energy on an unintentional detour, but runners see it as an "extra earning," a mistake that, in some way, might pay off later. A kind of self-consolation, if you will.
After the checkpoint that gave us a much-needed dose of sweetness, steep uphill awaited us. It felt as if the checkpoint was there to recharge us before the upcoming big challenge.
Once we conquered that climb, the course shifted to mostly downhills and flats. Physically, it was easier than the endless, punishing uphills, but I couldn’t let my guard down. With my muscles loosened from fatigue, I had to stay focused to keep my legs from giving out on the downhills.
And then, just around the corner, I saw the Finish Line.
I felt a mix of exhilaration and bittersweetness. After nearly three hours of sweat and effort to reach this point, I was thrilled to see the goal ahead, yet wistful that this incredible journey was coming to an end.
The race was 11K with a cumulative elevation gain of 1,000 meters – an advanced-level course, as I later learned. But as someone completely new to running races, especially trail running, I had no point of reference. Ignorance truly was bliss, and I ran the entire course with pure happiness and excitement. Despite the relentless steep uphills (what some even called a "vertical run") and the challenge of navigating downhills with exhausted, pumped-up legs, the entire journey felt like a dream I never wanted to wake up from.
One Finish Line Crossed, Countless More to Go!
Having finished my very first running event, I felt proud of myself, not just for completing the race, but for confronting and pushing past my weakest points.
About half a year ago, I couldn’t run for five minutes, nor could I have imagined myself running a trail, as cardiovascular endurance was one of my biggest challenges. But the moment I decided to face my weaknesses, start running, and keep my promise of running 5K almost every morning, I began to dream of trail running, and now, that dream has become a reality. Along the way, I also overcame my fear of running into the vast unknown, of getting lost, or feeling trapped.
Trying something new, pushing myself beyond my comfort zone, and exposing myself to new experiences always brings excitement, expands my limits, and fuels me to become a better version of myself.
I thank myself for taking on this incredible journey, one I might have never known had I not tried. And I’m deeply grateful to my friends who ran alongside me, cheering, caring, and pacing each other from start to finish.
The finish line is just the start of my next adventure!
