Over the last ten years, running has become a huge part of my life. I’m not sure how useful this write-up will be to others, but running preoccupies me enough that I feel the need to document the journey and externalize my thoughts.

On 14.02.2026 (Valentine’s day) I ran my longest trail race: Trail du Mont Agel in Monaco. I expected a picturesque and exciting, yet challenging, adventure. I prepared for it by running 20–30 km every week for a month and a half in the Ślęża Mountain region prior to the event. This involved waking up early, driving for an hour, and starting long runs in the snow just before sunrise. Truth be told, it was much more pleasant than it sounds. The Sudeten Foreland on winter mornings is charming and tranquil. Apart from preparing myself physically for a long trail run, this also gave me the opportunity to become familiar with my trail running equipment, managing the running vest and the logistics of using foldable trekking poles.

My strategy for the Monaco race:

  • maintain the nutrition (1 gel ~every 40 min; packed 9 226ERS energy gels) and hydration (1.2 liters of water intake between feeding stations)
  • maintain a steady heart rate, staying below “sub-threshold”, the level of effort where lactate is produced but still efficiently cleared. For simplicity, my Garmin suggested a heart rate of around 170 bpm. The goal was to stay there regardless of whether I was going uphill or downhill.
  • divide the race into sections: those where I should take it easy (the start and technically difficult parts), and those where I could push harder (a stretch before reaching the mountain peak and the final downhill section in the city).

The day before the race, it turned out that it had rained in Monaco, so we could expect mud and possibly more rain. I also prepared for temperature differences between about 10°C in Monaco and close to 0°C at the summit of Mont Agel. I arrived in Monaco around 7:30 a.m., ate my carbs, and positioned myself at the start at Port Hercules.

My trail running gear for this run:

  • Salomon ADV Skin 12 running vest
  • Black Diamond Distance FLZ trekking poles (with two flasks)
  • Brooks Catamount 3 shoes

Overview Of The Race

  • Distance: 28.5 km
  • Total time 3:58:35 (net: 03:56:00)
  • Average pace: 8:22 min/km
  • Elevation profile: +1578 m / -1568 m
  • Average heart rate: 163.5 bpm
  • Best/worst km split: fastest km 21 = 4:41, slowest km 10 = 13:49
Distance: - Speed (min/km): - Heart rate: - Time: -

Race Log

The loud countdown ended with an abrupt gunshot. And we were off. Whenever a race starts, I tend to do the opposite of the runners around me. Most runners at the start are antsy and full of endorphins. They surge forward as soon as the gun goes off. I start more slowly, allowing myself to find the rhythm and warm up. Long runs give you plenty of opportunity to go fast, but you need to manage your energy wisely.

Once we left the port, we entered Old Monaco through tunnels carved into the coastal ramparts. I took the sound of the waves crashing against the century-old walls as a good omen. We were steadily climbing uphill, as Monaco is fundamentally a sloping city. We scaled dozens of flights of stairs. Soon, we ran through the lovely Exotic Garden of Monaco and, to my surprise, did a small loop inside the Oceanographic Museum - passing large, dimly lit aquariums. Despite the beautiful scenery, after the first kilometer I realized that it was much more humid and warm than I had expected. I was wearing an additional jacket, beanie, and gloves - completely unnecessary, only making me hot and raising my heart rate. On top of that, all those flights of stairs and narrow passages created bottlenecks that caused us to lose our rhythm. Eventually, around the third kilometer, I took advantage of one of those bottlenecks and quickly packed my extra clothes into my running vest. I also ate my first gel; way too early.

Finally, we left the city and started climbing at the base of the mountain. The antsy and energetic runners had to curb their egos. We quickly went from running at pace to walking. It was high time we took our trekking poles out of our quivers and started strenuously driving them into the muddy ground with each uphill step. Eventually, we reached the beautiful town of La Turbie. It carried echoes of an ancient Roman settlement, now mixed with the quaint sight of Frenchmen basking in the sun in front of a brasserie. I was all warmed up and ready to rock at this point. My heart rate dropped to 155 bpm during the ascent, so I could proudly accelerate through the town and reach the first feeding station at 8 km. There, I ate my second gel, washed it down with some water, and refilled my flasks.

The next section led us uphill through a sparse forest along a narrow, rocky path, which soon opened onto a wide stretch of asphalt. That was my signal to push. I accelerated and overtook about a dozen runners; ironically, most of them I would end up seeing several times again throughout the race. Then the critical section of the race began - the arduous climb up the hill. There were only a few moments when one could jog. Most of the time, we marched uphill with determination along a slightly muddy mountain slope.

For a while, my ego took over and I considered overtaking the runners in front of me. After all, this was the section where I was supposed to go all in - so what was holding me back? Well, two reasons, I guess. First, simple courtesy toward my fellow runners. This was my first trail race with paths so narrow and runners packed so densely together. It felt appropriate to pass only if someone truly slowed down. In that case, I would excuse myself (“Désolé!”) and gently move by without bumping into them. But barging past people who were running at roughly my pace felt like an asshole move - especially since I was very likely to be overtaken by them again soon. The second reason was more practical: overtaking means breaking your rhythm. It requires an instantaneous surge in power and focus to pass swiftly and cleanly. I was supposed to stay below 170 bpm; overtaking might have cost me more than I was willing to gamble.

I ate another gel and reflected on how different this trail race was from all the half- and full-marathons I’ve run in my life. Long, flat city races are (relatively) simple and predictable. Unless something highly improbable happens (a cramp or an injury), you can, to some degree, compute the optimal race strategy in advance based on your training data. You set your pace and then run a kind of “mental closed-loop controller,” constantly adjusting to make sure you maintain it no matter what. Trail running feels more like freestyling. The environment is far less controllable, and your body operates in vastly different modes. Sometimes you can simply rush downhill if the road is wide and paved. Other times it’s downhill but extremely rocky and muddy, and your brain must focus on advancing safely rather than quickly. Sometimes you hike uphill, and your body and mind fatigue in an entirely different way. You often - quite literally - rub elbows with runners whose faces are covered in sweat, thighs caked in mud, blood seeping from a scraped knee. For me, this evokes a deeper sense of fraternity and bonding than the ephemeral elegance of city runners. In a city race, you’re energized by crowds lining the streets - cheering, playing music, lifting your miserable spirits. Here, inspiration comes from elsewhere: the stillness of the forest, the rolling hills, the quiet satisfaction of a fresh breeze when you reach the summit.

A gust of wind suddenly hit my face. I realized the forest had thinned out, the path had flattened, and my field of vision could finally register what I had failed to notice before. Ahead of me stood the summit of Mont Agel - now just a small rise from where I was. In front of me lay French valleys covered in morning mist. To my right, the Côte d’Azur stretched from Nice through Monaco all the way to Menton. I could see dozens of kilometers of coastline, where the teal-blue sea met clusters of stylish Belle Époque towns. To my left loomed the Alps, blanketed in snow; I later learned it had snowed heavily around that time. It was a shame I couldn’t sit down and simply take it all in. Instead, I sprinted up the final rise toward the second feeding station. I gulped down another gel, drank, refilled my water, and finally took the long-awaited bathroom break. Oh, and by mistake, I filled one of my flasks with sparkling water - a small but rather silly error.

Running downhill turned out to be extremely technical and, as a result, frustrating. I had a strong urge to sprint and bask in the marvelous landscape, but I had to keep my eyes locked on the ground, carefully placing each step. The path was steep, muddy, and slippery. I noticed myself growing irritated, which I took as a signal that fatigue might be creeping in. Then, finally, I received what I had secretly wished for: a wide stretch of asphalt. As it turned out, we were running through a golf course (I hadn’t noticed that when I was studying the route!). I accelerated and was glad to discover that my thighs were still fresh and ready to carry me downhill - so I let myself go. I forced down another gel, this time with disgust. By then, I was absolutely sick of carbs. To make matters worse, one of my flasks was practically unusable - the CO₂ from the sparkling water had built up inside, and it sprayed every time I tried to drink. But at that point, I didn’t really care. I knew I had enough energy to carry me safely to the finish line, whether I stuck to the plan or not. Soon, I rejoined the same route we had taken uphill, so I knew exactly what lay ahead. I sprinted confidently past the last feeding station near La Turbie - I had it under control.

When I finally reached Monaco, I realized, surprisingly, that there were no runners around me. I had to stay alert to avoid getting lost in the final city section. It wasn’t easy - the course wound through sharp turns, hidden staircases, and even the stairwells of underground parking lots. I switched to the navigation screen on my Garmin and kept an eye on the marking ribbons and volunteers. Eventually, the labyrinth opened up. I saw the port, and then the finish line. I sprinted. Done; 3 hours and 56 minutes. Good. I had hoped to break four hours. At the finish line, I collected my medal - but more importantly, I was rewarded with a glass of beer and a generous serving of French ham and cheese.

Learnings

  1. When in doubt, go to the start line underdressed rather than overdressed. I don’t recall ever being too cold while running (side-note: looking forward to racing in truly cold conditions), but I can recall more than this one instance of wearing too many layers.
  2. The organizers were very strict about mandatory gear and explicitly warned that random checks would take place. This made me pack quite a bit of heavy equipment (e.g., yet another Gore-Tex jacket or even a freeze-dried meal (?!)) that realistically I would never use. Next time, I should be more critical of the contents of my vest.
  3. During the second half of the race, I realized that some runners weren’t using trekking poles at all. I had the impression they struggled, especially on the final uphill sections. I used my poles even on the smallest climbs. This allowed me to maintain my pace and rhythm despite the slight inconvenience of taking them out, assembling them, and then folding and holstering them again. Maybe investing in a proper quiver would make this process more comfortable.
  4. Trail running is amazing, I should start running UTMB Index races, should be a great addition to the rudimentary flat city races I’ve done so far.