When we think about trail running, we usually picture elite athletes running at a pace and across distances we can hardly think is humanly possible, usually following an iconic trail  around Mont Blanc, across the Reunion island, or along the black and mysterious Scottish ridges of Glen Coe. But the beauty of trail running lies in the thousands of amateurs, putting on  their gear to go out and explore their surroundings as often as possible, pushing their own limits, and creating their own adventures in their local environment.

I am one of them, and when I go home, I never miss an opportunity to run on the Terrils,, the closest translation would be coal mountain, but it feels cold and impersonal, those are an intrinsic part of the North of France history in which I grew up. Any family here has relatives who help to dig down hundreds of meters in the ground to find the precious black nuggets and those mountains made of wastes — 339 across the region — give you the scope of the task. In a time when the word immigrant  often sounds like threat, it is important to remember that many of those workers have been invited by the French government to leave Poland, Italy, Algeria or Morocco, to only list the main ones, to leave their life behind them in order to contribute in the industrial revolution of a foreign country.  

I grew up seeing their imposing silhouettes, so for me, Terril is their name, and they have their own little nickname, those ones are the twin of the 11/19, with their height of 146m they are highest ones in Europe, and this is our playground, where we find what we need to prepare our next challenge.

The ritual is always the same, waking up, quick look at the weather, fixing up a energising breakfast, checking the kit and snacks before heading out. This morning of April is grey and gloomy, and before I get to the old mine, I get caught in the rain, but it doesn’t matter because I am too excited to get there to be bothered.

I am not the only one who didn’t opt for the lazy lie in. I can distinguish a couple of groups, I decide to challenge myself and try to catch them on the way up. The atmosphere is very friendly, “watch out for the youngster behind you” throws one at the front, “I’m to old to become a good downhill runner” replies the last one. As we reach the bottom of the slope, we exchange a few jokes and go in our own direction.

 It really feels like a community, we don’t know each other, but we all are present for the same reason. Different level of fitness, different goals, different pace, different stride,  but a same playground, a shared passion to evolve within our own mountains and a common respect of our environment. From an unspoken nod to say “hi”, an honest smile meaning “I feel your pain”, to a few encouraging words, but even when the faces look drawn, everyone pulls a bit of energy to keep that cohesion alive.

“It was worth it just for this view” — I brutally stopped in the middle of the slope, when I realised it was too risky to keep rushing downhill with my gaze attracted by the view. After a few seconds, I realised those words weren’t just what I was thinking, but were coming from another trail runner, savouring the same vista. For a brief moment, the dark silhouette of the other Terril and the mine shaft were poking out, leaving the rest covered by a white fluffy  blanket blending in with the sky. The only sign of life in this alien landscape, was three minuscule strands covering the head of coal mountain, three human silhouettes. It was one of those moment, when everything seems to have been laid out by a painter to create a perfect composition, only giving you a brief moment to register it before the stiff breeze wipe it off completely. Raindrops start to land on my head again, there isn’t much to look at anymore, back in a cloud I can only see a few meters ahead of my feet, tracing a charcoal stroke on this blank canvas as the track emerges in front of me.

A few minutes later, as I reach to top of the second summit for the 5th time, another face emerges from opposite side of this steep black cone, we reach the summit at the same time and share a smile that would have been enough to express it all, we cross and as we engage our descent on the opposite face, I hear him sighing “I’m threadbare”, I smile thinking at how my own shape. The feet aren’t as precise in the crumbly gravel, I briefly look at my watch — 1005D+ — the goal of the session is reached, my leg muscles agree, it is time to run back home. Let’s enjoy this last one. The pain, the rain and the tiredness were definitely worth it.

If there is one thing that every trail runner have in common, whatever their playground is, it is the will to discover their environment, to be part of it, to experience it under every possible light and weather conditions. And nor the pain, the rain or the cold matters when we are fortunate enough to witness that glimpse of harmony, that no picture or word would give thanks to. 

Location : Loos-en-Gohelles, France
2019