Night Trail Racing at La Belle d’Orgères: What 15K Taught Me

What surprised me most about my first race run entirely at night wasn’t the dark. It was having to slow down when my legs could still pick up the pace. My headlamp lit up the trail, but I couldn’t yet read it as well as I do in daylight.

On Saturday, November 1, 2025, I’d picked the “15 km - Trail nocturne” (a 9.3-mile night trail race) at La Belle d’Orgères, in Ille-et-Vilaine, in Brittany, in western France. The plan: a 7 p.m. start and just one aid station on the course. A format short enough that the night itself would be the main new thing.

I’d come from the Vendée, on France’s Atlantic coast. I’d run with a headlamp before, both in training and in other races. But a race in the dark from start to finish, with a bib on and the urge to keep up with everyone else, was something else.

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At 7 p.m., faces disappear behind the lights

At the sports complex in Orgères, beams were sweeping between the runners. Some were finishing their warm-up. Others were checking their lamps one last time, a hand held in front of the light.

It was around 55 °F (13 °C). The air was damp, but it wasn’t raining [1]. I’d brought a lightweight long-sleeve top, my running vest, water, and a small backup light. After a few minutes of jogging, I wasn’t cold anymore.

My Petzl Swift RL was charged: the 1,100-lumen model, with a headband that splits in two at the back. I’d worn it on two training runs, enough to know the button and switch modes without taking it off.

A runner next to me asked a question. I turned toward him with my light on. He dipped his head slightly. I pointed the beam at the ground right away.

“First night race?”

I said yes. My headlamp in his eyes had already answered for me.

Under the start lights, it was hard to tell what my lamp was really putting out. I’d chosen Reactive Lighting mode, on the middle level: a sensor measures the ambient light, and the lamp adapts its brightness and beam pattern [2]. I planned to start that way and adjust if needed.

When the group took off, I mostly heard shoes. The faces were gone, leaving silhouettes, a few voices, and patches of white moving forward together.

I’d lined up in the middle of the pack. I was aiming for around 1 hour 20 minutes, but it wasn’t a must. The first challenge would be not running right away at the pace my legs were begging for.

My Swift RL held steady standing still, less so on the run

The first few minutes exposed an adjustment my practice runs hadn’t fixed well enough. The lamp shifted slightly with every stride.

It wasn’t slipping over my eyes, but it moved enough to shift the beam and make me want to nudge the lamp back up with my fingers. After a few times, I realized that was going to get old fast.

I stepped aside to retighten the headband. I’d left too much slack, worried about ending up with a band of pain across my forehead. Once everything was better adjusted and the back section properly spread out, the movement dropped off noticeably.

The second problem was the tilt. The center of the beam was landing too close to my shoes. I could see the ground right at my feet really well, but spotted what came next too late.

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I checked the problem on the move first, then stepped aside again to tilt the lamp up slightly. This time, I could look at the next stretch of trail without lifting my chin too far.

I stayed on the middle level of the reactive mode for most of the course. On one stretch where I wanted more light, I briefly switched to the next level up. But the most useful change had been mechanical: a steady lamp, aimed at the right spot.

Looking back, my training runs had mostly answered the question “Does the lamp work?” I should have spent more time on “Does it stay in place when I run?”

Seeing a root isn’t the same as judging it

The most unsettling section was nothing dramatic. A narrower trail, a few rocks, and low roots. In daylight, I probably would have run right through without a second thought.

This time, I could spot the obstacles without always being able to judge their height. A root looked almost flat until I was right on it. A pale rock caught my eye when the real trouble was just past it.

At first I stared at the ground way too intently. I’d check a single foothold, then rush to set up the next one. My running had turned into a string of small corrections.

A runner passed me without seeming to speed up. He was just smoother. I followed him for a few strides, then let the gap open up: copying his footing wasn’t helping me read the trail.

I shortened my stride. That gave me back a less choppy motion, without trying to match my daytime ease right away. The light was enough to see the roots. What I was still missing was the habit of reading them.

On the more open sections, other runners’ lights nicely widened the area I could see. Then someone would take a turn and part of the trail would vanish. The contrast was surprising.

I was also worse at judging distances. A light seemed close, but several curves still lay between us. On the flip side, I’d sometimes catch up with a silhouette sooner than expected. Eventually, I paid less attention to the lights ahead and more to my own rhythm.

The ground was wet in places, but it didn’t rain during my race. A few surfaces threw back a bright glare. It wasn’t an evening of thick mud or nasty weather: my hesitations didn’t come from the conditions. I was simply learning.

At the aid station, I forgot to tip my head down

I’d planned to stop briefly at the only aid station on the course. Pull out my cup, drink, take off again. Simple enough not to need a strategy.

But I repeated my mistake from the start: looking at the person serving me with my headlamp aimed at their face. This time, I caught it on my own.

I tipped my head down and held out my cup. My routine was flawless, as long as you didn’t count the lighting.

The stop also let me take stock. My legs were still responding well. I was warm while running, with no reason to add a layer. My focus, though, was starting to fade.

Nothing to do with drowsiness or a big energy slump: I was just getting less precise. I’d glance at my watch for no real reason, then look up a little late. Wherever the terrain changed, those small catch-up strides from the beginning came back.

I headed out a little slower for a few minutes. I didn’t need a big push, just to get back to running cleanly.

On a smoother stretch, I finally stopped thinking about the headlamp. It stayed put, lit the way, and let me forget about it. I could hear my breathing and another runner’s footsteps behind me. We ran for a while without talking.

That stretch is what made me want to do it again: no sweeping view, no memorable descent, just a few minutes where I’d found my place in this different kind of race.

The finish, about 1 hour 20 minutes later

As the finish got closer, the voices came before the lights. Then the lights of the sports complex took over from the headlamps.

I finished around 8:20 p.m., after about 1 hour 20 minutes of running. It was still mild for early November, around 54 °F (12 °C) [1].

Once I’d stopped, I loosened the headband. I hadn’t touched the fit since early in the race. The Swift RL wasn’t what held me back that night. My reading of the trail in the dark was.

To do this format again, I’d keep this lamp. Above all, I’d redo my practice runs with a few pickups and some changes in grade, so I could get the fit right before the start.

For a much longer event, I’d look first at comfort after several hours, runtime in the mode you’ll actually use, and whether the battery can be swapped, rather than maximum output.

My takeaways for the next night race

My takeaways for the next night race fit in just a few lines:

• Check the fit while running, in the clothes you’ll race in.
• Check the tilt on the move, then step off to the side to change it if needed.
• Plan your runtime and backup lighting based on the model’s instructions and the race rules.

La Belle d’Orgères gave me an approachable first taste of this format, without making me feel I’d mastered the night. Most of all, I found out that an ordinary trail could call for some very practical learning.

I thought it was mostly my legs I had to get ready. I also had to learn how to look.

Worth watching

In under four minutes, REI covers the gear you need to run after dark, the mistakes to avoid, and how to get the most out of a night run.

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Damien Poirier-Boucard

Running, trail running, triathlon and mountains

Damien is the athlete of the bunch: running and trail running, triathlon, trekking, biking, and the mountains. He spends a huge amount of time outdoors, shares his race reports, and reviews our articles on endurance sports and mountain hiking.

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