Years ago, while driving towards El General valley in Costa Rica, my friend Sergio Sanchez and I were daydreaming about creating a new route. That’s how most of our trail running adventures begin, really. We don’t just “find” trails; we live them.
You see, at NomaTrails, we don’t just run. We use our legs, our lungs, our heart as a way to move through the world, just like our ancestors did. It’s not about being super fit or getting thin. It’s about exploration. It’s about connecting deeply with a place, its people, and its soul.
This isn’t some fake, superficial tour. We only go to places where we have a real, personal connection. Maybe it’s where my grandma lives, or the school my kids went to. It’s always about building those genuine relationships. That’s our signature. That’s the NomaTrails way.
This story, about Costa Rica, shows you our style. We find trails this way: going out there and exploring. Every meter of trail we run by has a story we can tell you about. And trust me, these are stories you’ll tell your grandkids. They’ll change you. Be careful, you’ll go home transformed.
The Cerro de la Muerte: A Costa Rican Trail Running Adventure
Everything started with the sentence …no mae, es imposible!!
In December 2016, my friend Sergio Sanchez and I were driving by the only road that passes by the Cerro de la Muerte. I asked him one question: Can you get from here straight to the Pacific? His answer was instant: “No mae, es imposible” (No way, it’s impossible).
If you’re Costa Rican, you know about “El Cerro de la Muerte” (The mountain of the dead). You know it’s one of the highest peaks of the country (3491m). And you know there’s a good reason for its name. Running (or walking) from there to the Pacific is believed to be impossible. We used to share that opinion too.
The legendary running trail we had to find.
Exactly one year after that conversation, we were back in the same place. Somewhere in the middle of the Tapantí and Quetzales national parks. But this time, we had our machetes and our friend Esteban Umaña. If there was a path, we were going to find it, or at least we’d give it a shot. We were putting together all our experience, knowledge, contacts, and a healthy lack of prudence to make it happen.
That morning, we started from 3000m elevation, following a trail that soon disappeared. We knew there used to be a path, but nature reclaims space at incredible speed in the jungle. Hours of tracking, playing a game that required all three of us. Losing and finding the old, lost path, clearing the spaces with our machetes.
The God of the mountains, Sibü.
This is how we’ve found many of the trails we run. We set a plan, we go for it, it looks like it’s going to work, then we go too far and it gets dark.
It’s almost like Sibü (God of the Ará mountains) is manipulating us. Giving us hope, then taking it away. Then, when we’re just about to give up, making the path appear again. Until the night gets closer, and before you know it, there’s no light. And it’s not a good time to be there.
I’ve never felt that kind of cold before. Not in the Alps, neither in the Pyrenees. It was hard to find our way back. There were moments of uncertainty and even fear. But somehow, Sibü allowed us to live another day.
Failed run, but let’s try again.
The next morning, Sergio, Esteban, and I were eating Gallo Pinto at Chespiritos. We looked at each other and said, “Whatever, let’s try again.”
A different running trail, someone heard, someone told a cousin about…
That day we were luckier. We found a trail that let us descend in the right direction, overcoming two valleys. After hours of running, we were where we wanted to be: Providencia.
We decided to run down to Zacho’s house, a man who lives in the middle of the jungle about 18km south. We still had three hours of light. We thought we could do it.
Arrogance is the one sin that Sibü wouldn’t allow.
Sometimes it feels like we are being observed. The Costa Rican legend El Dueño del Monte tells us about the protector of the forest animals. A spirit like an old man sent by Sibü. It seems like he’s always trying to teach us a lesson, us small creatures. And this time it was: “distance means nothing in the jungle.”
I remember we asked a farmer outside the town how long it was to get to Zacho’s house. He looked at us and said without words, “You idiots, do you want to get lost in the jungle?” It was already 3 PM. Then he proceeded to explain, with that beautiful Costa Rican countryside accent, that there was no way we could make it there. That we would have to spend the night in the mountains, and then it might get dangerous.
We, idiots, ignorant (as he told us with his eyes), decided to give it a shot anyway.
In the middle of one of the most beautiful trail running descends I’ve seen in my life, running full speed downhill, our GPS was indicating little progress. Why? How? And then it happened. One of us got injured (I won’t tell you who). What? We injured? No, we are NomaTrails, that can’t be happening. Another failure day? No. We tried to keep going. Every meter downhill, in case we didn’t make it, was a meter uphill to get back to the previous town for shelter. After 45 minutes, it was obvious. We decided to go back, and it got dark again, and we were so far away.
We were at lower elevation, but we could still expect 13 Cº that night. One of us couldn’t even walk without help. We were moving so slowly that it appeared we would spend the night in the jungle with nothing to protect us.
Eating humble pie.
After hours of walking uphill, hungry, thirsty, injured, in need of help, far away up in the mountain we saw a light. After a bit, we found a path that was leading us in that direction.
And there she was… a true NomaTrails welcome.
Maybe Sibü is a merciful God, or at least he was that night. Maybe it was a coincidence. But everything that happened during the previous two days was worth it.
We got to a typical Costa Rican farmhouse in a coffee plantation in the middle of the jungle. We approached the entrance, keeping some distance, and we said, …
–“Buenas, con permiso”… waiting for a response to approach
A woman came out of the house and said to us…
–“ay muchachos” … I guess we were looking really bad and then we answered her with the magical Costa Rican words …
––“¿Señora, me regala un poquito de agua?”…
And water, and food, clothes, and a place to sleep we were given. OMG, how beautiful are Costa Rican people, our people.
Gracias, thank you.
Life had taken me to live away from home. To feel and adopt profoundly new identities. To see good people in different places of the world. But the sweetness and warmth, and more importantly that sense of equity and familiarity that we Costa Ricans share, got to its peak in that place that night.
Don Orlando, Doña Noire, and their kids Nelson, Deily, and Dario, adopted us and took us into their family for that night.
Now going there is going home.
This family of coffee farmers is now the place we run towards. They are our first stop. We found them by chance, and they are now an indispensable, essential part of what we do in our Costa Rica running expedition.
The next day was one of the most epic days in my life.
Next day was a day I will never forget. At that point, we were still so far away from the Pacific, but that’s part of a different story.
*We sleep there every time we take runners to Costa Rica.
Trail Running Adventures Beyond Costa Rica
While Costa Rica holds a special place in my heart, our NomaTrails tribe spreads its roots across the globe. We bring this same spirit of deep connection and exploration to all our destinations. Just listen to Pasquale, one of our incredible guides, talk about his passion for Sicily.
Sicily: From Sea to Mountain and Back
Pasquale, he’s got this fire in him for Sicily. He talks about how we start from the sea, running inland, deep into the rural heart of the island. We push through the Sicilian countryside, past ancient villages nestled in the mountains. We don’t just charge up peaks, no. We follow the land, tracing its valleys, finding its natural paths. It’s a journey through the island’s soul, you know?
He describes descending back towards the sea, often ending up in a place like Isnello, a mountain village where the sea shimmers in the distance. From there, another push, another run above Cefalù. Sometimes the coast just drops into the sea, becoming this massive mountain face, so we might need a quick shuttle – just a small hop – to get us to Cefalù itself. And then? A well-deserved swim in that beautiful Mediterranean. That’s a trail running adventure you won’t forget.
Morocco: Time Travel on Foot and the NomaTrails Tribe
Abdu, my friend, he really gets it. He talks about how our trips, especially in places like Morocco, aren’t just about the miles. Yeah, we run 15, 16 miles a day sometimes, pushing through the desert. But it’s about the people. It’s about the experience. My friends back home, after a NomaTrails journey, we still talk about it, and sometimes, well, tears come to our eyes. It’s that deep. People leave saying, “We want to be your friends. We want to stay in touch.” That’s what our trail running adventures are truly about.
Waking with the Stars in the Atlas Mountains
Imagine this: waking up at 3 AM in the Moroccan desert. It’s pitch black, just the stars above. You’re running behind me for two hours through the sand. We stop, and maybe Abdu, he’s the expert, he points out every single star. You feel like you’re seeing the whole universe. After all that running and walking, you are ready. You’re ready for the most beautiful sunrise you’ve ever seen. That’s the kind of moment we live for. Those are the memories we create with our small NomaTrails groups.
Lost and Found in the Middle of Nowhere
One day in Morocco, it was truly extraordinary. We were running towards this place I didn’t even know, deep in the Atlas Mountains. This isn’t where the tourist buses go, not even close. We’re talking five and a half hours in the *opposite* direction from Marrakesh. We just kept running, backpacks on, not knowing what was coming next. We trust the path, and we trust each other.
Then, suddenly, we saw it: a beautiful valley, a hidden oasis. This place, it felt like time travel. People live there just like they did five hundred years ago. And the people we met? Just incredible human beings. I’ve been trying to learn Berber for nine years, and I still struggle, but their kindness, their openness, it speaks volumes.
Tea with a Berber Family: A True NomaTrails Connection
We were deep in that valley, tired from our trail running adventure, when we saw this family. A young girl, maybe twelve years old, was working by an irrigation channel in a deep canyon. She had this bright, beautiful face. Our own kids, they can be little monsters, but this girl? She just ran off, gathered some wood, and made a fire for us. Immediately, they invited us for tea. Of course, we said yes.
We went to their home, a simple, beautiful place. They shared their tea, their food, their stories. It was a moment of pure connection, something you can’t plan or buy. That’s the heart of NomaTrails. It’s about these unexpected encounters, these genuine relationships that make you feel like you’ve truly traveled, not just through miles, but through time and culture.
