Why I can’t stop thinking about the Florida Trail — and what it taught me about training where you are.
When most runners think about trail running in Florida, they picture flat dirt roads through pine forests, ankle-deep mud, and a humidity so thick it sits on you like a second shirt. Not exactly the stuff of trail running dreams. That was me, too — for a long time. But training for my first 100-miler changed the way I see Florida’s trails entirely. And it changed the way I see myself as a runner.
If you had told me seven years ago, when I first started ultrarunning, that running the entire Florida Trail would one day be a dream of mine — and that I would eventually love Florida, and feel a deep connection to its land, water, wildlife, its unforgiving summers, rolling sand dunes, swampy trails, and suffocating humidity — I never would have believed you.
I started ultrarunning partly because I loved running, being outside, and doing hard things, and partly because I wanted an escape. It gave me a reason to leave Florida, even if just for a weekend. I could sign up for races in other states, see new places, and imagine a different life somewhere in the mountains. I was always thinking about when I would leave for good, what state I would move to, and where I would finally feel like I belonged. I did races in Vermont, upstate New York, North Carolina, Georgia, and California, and I also did some training camps in Arizona.
But no matter how much I complained about the heat, the humidity, the lack of mountains, the traffic, the rent, or the snowbirds — I could never get myself to leave. Part of it was practical — there were things that kept me around, like the gym I owned for almost five years. But part of it was harder to explain. Every time I thought about leaving, something in me pushed back. It was frustrating. I remember thinking, why don’t I just go? What am I waiting for? And every time, there was that same resistance, a voice I didn’t understand whispering — not yet, stay.
Stay for what? I knew I didn’t like living here. So why couldn’t I leave?
What Training for a 100-Miler Taught Me About Running Where You Are
Things started to change when I decided to sign up for my first 100-miler — something I’d dreamed of doing for a long time. My experiences in “shorter” mountain ultras, 50K to 50 miles, made it clear that I wasn’t quite ready for a mountainous 100-miler. It’s hard to prepare for an ultra in the mountains when you live somewhere flat. I’d spent hours on hill repeats and the incline treadmill, and I was proud of what I’d been able to do coming from Florida, but I didn’t feel like my climbing was fast enough to make the cutoffs at some of the 100-milers I wanted to run out of state.
So I had a decision to make. Keep running shorter mountain ultras and delay the 100-mile dream until my climbing got faster, or take a step back from the mountains and sign up for a flat 100-miler.
All I could think about day in and day out was running 100 miles. I didn’t want to keep pushing it off. So I made the decision to sign up for a 100-miler in Florida, and make that my focus for a year. After that, I’d figure out what would come next.
Once I made that decision, my training looked a lot different almost immediately. Instead of trying to force Florida to be something it wasn’t — with hours on the treadmill at 15% incline and never-ending loops of the same two-and-a-half-mile mountain bike trail just to get time on the only “hills” around — I started doing more out and back long runs through preserves, natural areas, and state parks.
What Florida Trail Running Actually Looks Like
Florida is made up of 10 million acres of protected land. It’s kind of unbelievable that, with the development that’s happened here over the last few decades, there’s still so much connected wild space left — most of it easily accessible.
The Florida National Scenic Trail is roughly 1,500 miles long, winding from the Everglades all the way up into the panhandle. Like the other national scenic trails, there are dozens of trailheads spread throughout the state. If you’re not close to one, you’re probably close to a spur or connector — like the beloved Ocean to Lake Trail, which starts on the east coast in South Florida and runs 60+ miles west through preserves and sloughs, eventually linking up with Lake Okeechobee and the rest of the Florida Trail.
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Beyond the Swamp: The Florida Trails Most Runners Never Find
While there’s plenty of swampy, sandy terrain, there’s also beautiful stretches of soft, winding singletrack — under palms, through oak hammocks, or lined with pines that carry a sweet, woody smell.
Birds are everywhere — chattering, cutting across the trail, gathering along rivers, lakes, and canals. Depending on the time of year, butterflies and dragonflies are in abundance, and bunnies and armadillos dart in and out of the brush. And yes, there are alligators — but most of the time they’re off in the distance near the water, quick to slip under as soon as they hear runners or hikers coming.
Over time, I started to appreciate the sand, the water, the swamp — the parts that weren’t appealing at first. They make Florida what it is. And when I learned how important wetlands are for the health of our planet, and how the sand dunes support threatened and endangered species like sea turtles and beach mice, I saw those wet and sandy trails differently. Instead of resenting them, I found myself running through them with reverence and gratitude.
All of this I learned while training for my 100-miler, and it completely changed my experience of where I was living and how I felt about Florida. I still remember those early training runs, right after I signed up, seeing the wildness that was all around me for the first time. How was there so much beauty here, without me realizing it? I felt almost embarrassed, apologetic to Florida for misunderstanding her when I hadn’t taken the time to really get to know her.
I assumed that after my 100-miler, I’d go back to racing in the mountains. That I’d be bored of flat running, that I’d miss what I thought of as “real” trail running. Because isn’t that what “real trail runners” do? They run races with thousands of feet of vert, over rugged, technical terrain. That’s how you get to call yourself a “trail runner”… right?
But instead, on the other side of that 100-miler — which I finished this past January 2026 — I’ve felt a deeper pull toward running more of Florida.
More jungle running, more swamp running, more humidity that rolls off your skin, seeps into your clothes, and makes you wonder if it rained at some point and you didn’t notice. More miles under the blistering sun, where you find yourself praying for the slightest breeze to cut through the heat and give you a few seconds of relief.
And more glimpses into wildness that feels like a secret — like it’s just mine. A kind of Narnia hidden inside a state most people write off as theme parks and concrete.
It’s made me confront something I hadn’t really thought about before — that the kind of trail running I’m drawn to right now might not “count” to other people. No mountains, no big climbs. I’ve had to let go of chasing what would make me a more “legit” trail runner — and follow what’s undeniably calling me.
Seven years after getting into ultrarunning, I can say something I never thought I would say. I love Florida. I love the trails here. I could spend a lifetime exploring them, learning about them, and running them.
When Curiosity Becomes Something You Can’t Ignore
Somewhere along the way, something else happened too. I started thinking about the Florida Trail every single day — the sections I’ve run, the ones I haven’t, the ones I’m a little afraid of, and what it would take to do the whole thing.
At first, I didn’t think much of it. It felt like curiosity, or one of those things your brain latches onto for a while. But it hasn’t gone away. It’s not just a passing thought — it’s something I can’t stop coming back to. It’s there in the background, every day, all the time. The Florida Trail has gotten into me, wiggled its way in between my bones, and become part of who I am.
And I think that’s what a dream feels like.
It doesn’t show up in some big, obvious way, and it’s not something you immediately understand. It just kind of lingers longer than you expect, slowly taking up more space, until one day you realize it’s not going anywhere. And maybe that’s when it changes from something you’re thinking about to something you start moving toward — because there’s simply no other choice but to find out where it might lead.
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Thinking About Trail Running in Florida?
If this piece stirred something — the idea of training for your first trail race or ultra, of finally committing to a distance that feels just out of reach — that feeling is worth paying attention to.
At Wild Dog Athletics, I coach runners training for trail marathons, ultras, and long-distance trail races — including right here in Florida. If you’re curious about what a plan built around your life, your schedule, and your actual goals could look like, the free consult is just a conversation. No commitment required.
→ See the Trail & Ultra Running coaching program
→ Read about the Forgotten Florida 100-Mile race
→ Schedule your free consultation
