First Timers and Old Hands: Who Makes Our Trail Community
Every race I put on, I spend part of the morning near the start line watching faces.
Some of them are easy to pick out. They’re standing a little too close to a friend, checking their shoelaces for the third time, looking down the trail like it might bite. They’ve never run a step on dirt. A buddy talked them into it a few weeks ago, or maybe last Tuesday, and here they are. Others have been sneaking out to the trails for months to get ready, and today is their first time with a bib pinned on. Either way, it’s the same look: nervous, excited, and not quite sure what they signed up for.
Then there’s the other group. They’ve done this every weekend for years. They know which turn gets muddy after rain and which climb is worse than it looks. For them, race morning is old hat. But don’t mistake old hat for bored. They’re just as eager to get out there, just as ready to push themselves, and just as happy to hang around the finish line afterward swapping stories.
I’ve come to believe our community needs both of these groups. First-timers bring the wonder and future; regulars hold the culture together and keep it growing.
The first-timers keep us honest.
I love watching first-timers come back across the finish line. Something has shifted. Not in a dramatic, life-changing way. It’s quieter than that. They went out as someone who “doesn’t really do trails” and came back as someone who just did. There’s mud on their legs, a scrape on a knee maybe, and a look that says they found something they didn’t know was out there.
That look is good for all of us. It’s easy to forget what it felt like the first time you ran through the woods with no pavement and no traffic, just roots, rocks, and your own breathing. First-timers remind the rest of us why we started. They bring the wonder back.
They also bring the future. Every regular out there was a first-timer once. If nobody new shows up, a community gets smaller and older every year until it’s just a handful of friends running the same loop. New faces keep it alive—and they keep it growing.
The regulars hold it together.
The regulars are the backbone. They show up in the cold, in the rain, when the course is a mess. They volunteer when they’re not racing. They know the course, the aid stations, and the people.
Most importantly, they set the tone. When a nervous newcomer asks a question at the start line, it’s usually a regular who answers. When someone is struggling on the back half, it’s often a regular who slows down to run with them for a mile. Nobody asks them to. It’s just what trail runners do, and newcomers learn it by watching.
That’s how culture gets passed down on the trail. Not through rules or signs, but through people who have been doing this long enough to know that the finish time matters a lot less than how you treat the folks around you. That’s why both first-timers and regulars matter so much.
Where the two meet
The best moments at our races happen when these two groups meet. A veteran telling a first-timer that the hill ahead is the last big one. A regular waiting at the finish for someone they met at mile three. A first-timer asking, “When’s the next one?” and a regular saying, “Come run with us Saturday.”
That last question is my favorite. It’s the sound of a community growing.
First-timers bring energy and curiosity. Regulars bring experience and welcome. Together, they create something bigger than either: a group of people who look out for each other, keep coming back, and keep bringing friends. That’s why our trail community works.
So if you’ve never run a trail race, come find out what you’ve been missing. If you’ve run a hundred of them, look around at the start line next time. Somebody there is about to have their first one. Say hello. Then stay a little longer, and you might help make it their last first time. Either way, the trails are better when you show up.
See you on the trails—and maybe at the finish, too. Until then, keep showing up.