I’ve been a runner most of my adult life, not always consistent, but always coming back to it. I go through phases: some weeks I run five times, other times I take a break for weeks. But running is the one sport that stays with me, wherever I am: no equipment, no schedules, just me and the road (or the trail).
What I love most about running isn’t just the movement: it’s being outdoors, in nature. Even though I’m a member of a fitness club, I’d much rather run through rain-soaked paths or freezing dark winter mornings than set foot in a crowded gym.
Living in a big city like Berlin, you might expect I’d run along streets or sidewalks. But I’ve always sought green spaces, mainly around the lakes near my home. I know every bend and bump on those routes. If I want a longer run, I’d just loop another lake into the mix.
Then something changed: I found trails. Or maybe, the trails found me.
It started by accident, really: on a summer hike with friends and our aging Newfoundland dog. We had misjudged the heat, and halfway through, it was clear we couldn’t finish the hike without risking his well-being. We were still far from home or the car, but near a small mountain café. My friends stayed behind with the dog to let him rest, while I offered to run home and fetch the car.
It was a long way: two peaks, about 13 kilometers and I hadn’t planned to run. But I knew the area well and was wearing good shoes. So I ran. Up and down steep and rocky paths, along a glistening lake, racing to get back as fast as I could.
And somewhere between those peaks, I realized: I was loving it.
That unexpected run lit a spark. It wasn’t just the thrill of moving fast through the wild, or the challenge of the terrain, it was how alive it made me feel. The quiet, the scenery, the solitude. I started seeking out more trails whenever I was at our family’s farmhouse in the Bavarian mountains.
Then I registered for the Berlin marathon and for the first time I had a training plan. I started running more often and a variety of runs, trying out new trails around our family house in the Bavarian mountains. Cross country skiing tracks actually make perfect running trails in summer.
And while I am still fighting with running uphill, I love these trails. They wind through forests, open up to sweeping mountain views, and offer a rhythm of ups and downs that road running never could. You get to know the nature more than ever before.
I began to crave that feeling of being out there, just me, my breath, and the trail ahead.
I have run in heavy rain, through knee-deep snow, on icy paths, and through muddy puddles.
Trail running didn’t just change where I ran – it changed why I run.
I stopped caring about pace or performance. Gone were the days of obsessing over seconds per kilometer, comparing today’s speed to yesterday’s. On the trail, no two runs are the same. One route might be steep and rocky, another soft and winding. Some days I push hard; others I stop to eat some blueberries, pick mushrooms, or catch my breath at a viewpoint. Walking up steep climbs stopped feeling like failure, it became part of the rhythm, part of listening to the trail and to my body.
Enjoying nature has become a large part of my running. I have jumped over snakes, talked to deer, turned back because of wild boar. I have watched eagles, discovered tracks of lynx. I have tried to find a short cut because I underestimated a track and ended up in the middle of a vast blueberry field. I have carried mushrooms for close to 10km, and had a sun bath to re-capture my breath.
Trail running gave me back a sense of adventure and presence. It grounded me in nature, gave me space to think or not think at all. And over time, it made me stronger – not just physically but mentally, too. Running through knee deep snow is the hardest I have ever done.
So now, when I lace up my shoes, I never quite know what the run will bring and that’s exactly the point. Maybe I’ll get muddy, maybe I’ll get lost (just a little), maybe I’ll see an eagle or find a new path I’ve never noticed before. But every run reminds me that I’m alive, moving, part of something bigger.
If you’ve grown tired of the same loop, if running has started to feel like a chore instead of freedom: try a trail. Pick a path that winds into the woods or climbs a hill. Forget about your pace. Walk when you need to. Run when you feel like flying.
Trail running doesn’t ask you to be fast. It asks you to show up, to be curious, to breathe, to feel. And once you’ve felt that – really felt it – you might just fall in love, too.
