For a race that’s now part of the World Trail Majors, Québec Mega Trail (QMT) still feels like it was organized by a local run group. It’s way too professional to call scrappy, but too heartfelt to call slick. The aid stations mostly run like clockwork (and they seem to double in size each year), but there’s a hand-knitted warmth in the way volunteers cheer. The course is brutal, yet never loses its Québécois weirdness, where a boulder garden doubles as a punchline, and a final climb can feel like a joke. That contradiction is the heartbeat of QMT. And it still knows how to scale without selling out and to grow while staying rooted. In a time when many races are leaning into polish or spectacle, QMT somehow gets more real the bigger it gets.

QMT is one of North America’s premier ultra events. Yes, not only Canada. A multi-distance festival rooted in both inspiring and fun terrain. The event spans a classical three days across many distances: 1  km, 6 km, 15 km, 25 km, 32 km, 50 km, 80 km, and the new “queen” race, 137 km with ~6,500 m elevation gain. The flagship course links the famed Sentier des Caps in Charlevoix to Mont-Sainte-Anne, threading through boreal forest, mud soaked dense singletrack, rivers, and ancient boulders. I wouldn’t be surprised if it draws around 4.000 participants across all distances.

In a 2021 interview, founder and race director Jean Fortier spoke of preserving the region’s history, all of which carve a narrative of human and geological passage over time. Starting in the mid-2010s, QMT quickly rose from regional event to international spectacle. Now it stands proud as part of the World Trail Majors circuit and the official host of the 2025–2026 Canadian Trail Running Championships. It’s a true mix of locals, Canadians from across provinces, and international athletes and elites.

Between 2021 and 2024, QMT included a 100-mile race (~165 km I believe my watch said), with sub-20-hour performances by Sangé Sherpa and JF Cauchon. The women’s record also pushed into the mid 20 hrs with Anne Champagne as the final record holder. I know how incredible these times are, having paced two-time winner Kelsey Hogan on her push to a course record in 2023.

For the 2025 edition, organizers made an interesting choice: the 100-mile and 110 km events were merged and replaced by one 135 km race. According to Fortier, the decision grew from athlete feedback and the desire to fully highlight the region’s trails, including a new leg passing through Cap Brûlé. Fortier explained that the goal was to fully showcase the stunning trails of Côte-de-Beaupré and Charlevoix by refining the course to create the best and most exceptional experience possible. The right move to elevate the race’s competitiveness.

To be honest, my first reaction was a sad one. I ran QMT 100 in 2022 and it didn’t go how I’d hoped. By halfway, I was steadily gaining ground on the top five, with enough left in the tank. Somewhere around the 100k mark, my right knee gave up, which made running no longer an option. Just a stubborn hobble to the finish line, but not how I wanted to. So I always imagined I’d come back to rewrite that part of the story. Still, my thoughts quickly turned into admiration for the decision. Not every course needs to be 100 miles, and not every event needs to have one (but what about a 200 miler…?).

The QMT is a great representation of the region, but not all of it use to be equally magical. The original distance required a late-race loop (~25km) that to me always felt disconnected and anti-climactic. By trimming it, the organizers distilled the race down to its most iconic and immersive segments, preserving the spirit of the region without compromising distance for distance’s sake. Perhaps not necessarily bold, but a rare and wise decision to prioritize meaning over mileage.

The new 137 km route focuses on the heart of the race: deep woods, punchy climbs, the typical techy east coast trails, and the inevitable Mont-Saint-Anne. It is a tighter, more intentional experience. For a race that lives in the lungs of Charlevoix and the soul of the boreal north, that feels right. This distance offers a sharper ratio of ascent to distance now. Structurally, it’s shorter, faster, and crucially, more accessible to elites.

This weekend, Xavier Saint-Cyr, 23(!) and almost anonymous, slipped into legend with a breakout win in 17:18. His spirit and pace was relentless, watching him fly through the aid stations was truly impressive, never showing any doubt he would not finish this race in first. In the women’s field, Marathon des Sables champion Maryline Nakache ran smart and ruthless, slowly catching up the front of the pack, closing hard, and eventually finishing fourth overall.

The other distances flared just as bright. Élisa Morin shattered the QMT-50 course record by 40 minutes(!) in a race she didn’t even plan to win. Dany Racine ran it by feel and memory, eschewing his watch and letting the Mestachibo guide him. At the QMT-80, Claudine Soucie ran from the front with wide-open joy, while Jean-Philippe Thibodeau earned his national title by chasing down the returning winner American Eric LiPuma. Of course an honorable mention has to go to my friend Kelsey who finished third, and second Canadian, even though she did not have her day.

The terrain is the race
When we zoom out to see what this region has to offer, we quickly notice that the QMT trail and the terrain grabs you by the ankles (or kicks you on the knee…). From slippery roots to slick slabs of granite, the course shapes not only the pace but the spirit of every runner. Each geological feature here tells a story of rivers carving canyon walls, logging roads repurposed, ancient Laurentian stones. The terrain is relentless, but it’s also the source of QMT’s soul. To run here is to submit, read, respect, and respond it.

The race kicks off in Baie‑Saint‑Paul, a charming riverside town nestled in the Charlevoix meteorite crater, where the first few kilometers follow a mix of paved roads and tracks along the St. Lawrence’s edge before peeling off into the La Baie and Gabrielle Roy trails. This section invites you to pick up the pace from the get go, crossing Le Massif, a ski resort perched high above the St. Lawrence River, with trails that tip and weave through boreal forest before crossing into the Sentier des Caps. This temptation to go faster might be also a reason why this race is harder than it looks.

This long trail stretches through the Charlevoix highlands and brings runners over the Laurentian edge, where the trail surges upward and onward across both punchy and flowy hills. These ridges are part of the Canadian Shield, one of the world’s oldest geological formations. Underfoot, you feel the ancient granite, gnarled roots, and shifting topsoil. A trail that moves as much as you. Boreal pine and spruce trees lean into the wind, and occasionally, the forest opens to a dark vista of the river below. This is a grounding scenic reminder of where you are and how far you have to go.

Beyond the signature draws, QMT is full of moment-in-the-muck: clamps of mud that suck at your shoes, flooded singletrack that forces boots deep into peat and yank at your calf. Between the rivers and forests, the terrain shows both its resilience and its mischief. The vegetation is classic taiga, with thick moss, Labrador tea, wild blueberries in late season. The forest feels both lived-in and feral, especially at night, when your senses are still 100% dialed in at this point.

Reaching Saint-Tite-des-Caps offers a very brief reprieve. Most runners look very rough at this point. The trails flatten slightly, the footing steadies. It’s a transition zone, a moment to reset between the relentless grind before and the chaos to come: the Mestachibo. The river-carved spine, which threads along the Sainte-Anne-du-Nord River. Famously technical, runners clamber over boulders and tiptoe across slabs, as your legs grow weaker. You cross suspension bridges and trace the river’s whitewater in a kind of moving meditation. The Mestachibo is a full-body conversation with land and water.

Soon after rises the Jean-Larose Falls, where water crashes in sheets beside you as mist clings to the air, cooling skin gone raw from layers of sun-crusted mud. The path rises clean and relentless up a long wooden staircase that threads through a tunnel of green and cascading sound. No tricks, just metronomic steps making you ask yourself if you’re still in it. This geological theater merges the noise outside with the noise within. In the four last years I’ve been here, I have seen only a handful of runners looking ‘good’ at this point (and usually they end up winning the race).

Soon you can hear the announcer’s voice echo across the slope, the crowds cheering runners into the finish. A final relief within reach. But QMT has a cruel sense of theatre. The iconic ski and mountain bike hill appears not just as a final climb, but as a symbol for the race. Not a mountain that would strike fear, yet, these last sections bite back hard. The hill is steep and the footing uneven at times. The wide ski runs tilt upward with every step. It demands everything you’ve saved, and punishes anything you didn’t. Just when you summit, wrung out, eyes scanning for relief, you’re sent back down, only to climb two-thirds of it again. It’s a design choice unique to QMT: brutal, original, strangely comme il faut.

Still, one does not simply crest Mont-Sainte-Anne twice and cruise to glory. The final descent peels off into the mountain’s backside, humming with the quiet of backcountry trails. The forest folds in around you. Back to remote and quiet. The finish line never feels miles away though. Then, almost without warning, you reach the final sequence with two river crossings that slap your senses back to life. It is a final baptism, a symbolic cleansing before return. The terrain levels, the crowd’s cheers begin to rise through the trees, and the base draws and pulls you in like gravity.

QMT is a distilled expression of what trail running in Québec means. It’s rugged and surprising, carved from a land that doesn’t cater to comfort. On paper, the numbers may not intimidate, but in practice, the terrain tells a different story. This course asks for more than fitness. It demands technical skill, patience, adaptability, and a willingness to meet discomfort with curiosity. It embodies the character of Québec trail culture: understated, fierce, deeply connected to land, language and community. For newcomers, it’s often a revelation. For locals, it feels like rite of passage.

What makes QMT stand out isn’t just its difficulty. It’s the way the course is designed with originality and a sense of play. Most of the trails are stitched together with intention. The beauty isn’t in the views, but in the sequencing and sudden shifts in rhythm. The organizers choreographed an experience with every segment in purpose. Truly, this might be one of the most professional and thoughtful race organizations in the world. Logistically on point, but never sterile. Competitive, but always grounded in warmth and respect.

The Que-munity(?)
My French is what it is, basic. Not enough to read between the lines. Now, I understand most, and can manage easily in any race in Quebec. Okay, sometimes still not enough to follow a joke, like about my rough looks (I always mimic a zombie). Yet, when I did my first race in Quebec, the QMT 100, I was nervous in that quiet way you are when entering a new culture that doesn’t quite belong to you. Yet, at no point did I not feel included in this race I didn’t fully understand (and I’ve had many different experience across the globe), even back then when the race was quite smaller.

Language is not just language here in Quebec. Yet, I have never felt that tension in the air during QMT race weekend. Not the kind of defensiveness that makes sense if you know Quebec’s history, and the kind of closing-in that doesn’t, if you’re someone arriving in good faith. This race exists as a crack of light through all that noise. It would be easy to imagine a trail race like this being insular. It doesn’t. That’s not to say, it isn’t a space without politics, of course it isn’t (as you know from my writings). But at QMT the community and culture feels restorative and generous.

Sure, many volunteers barely speak English. Still, this community of volunteers, organizers, spectators, runners and crews is bilingual where it counts: in gesture and intention. You don’t need to explain what you can’t explain, people meet you where you are. Aid station captains switch from French to English if they can, and they will do their best. The signage works. The support works. No one makes a spectacle of being inclusive. It comes naturally.

It’s worth saying, because outside of these trails, that’s not always the case. Language can be protective or politicized. But QMT isn’t a proxy for any of that. It’s simply doing something that some of the province is still struggling with: holding space for complexity without erasing anyone in the process. QMT sidesteps the performance. It shows what it looks like when a community is grounded enough in itself to not feel threatened by difference. It shows that you can be deeply Québécois, rooted in land, language, terrain, grit, without drawing tighter lines around it.

No one’s asking you to fake fluency. They’re asking you to show up, and to keep moving. That’s the shared ethic here. It’s how trail communities work, and QMT in particular has built a rare cultural event that feels like it belongs to a place, without turning that belonging into a fence. As a guest, you won’t struggle here. You won’t be left behind. You’ll be spoken to in words you know, and gestures that don’t need translating.

Final thoughts
This year, I didn’t race. I came to crew and help out a group of friends from Montréal. As expected, if felt good to just be there. There’s something about crewing that makes socializing make sense to me (as an introvert): not all-in-your-face and not too loose either, with a shared purpose, tasks to do while having fun, people you already like, and a place you all love. That might be the secret gift of a race like QMT: it makes room for every kind of person, even the kind who needs quiet to feel included.

In a world where big races often bend to spectacle, QMT makes its mark with something meaningful and original: throughout design and strong decisions rooted in care for runner and race experience. QMT’s organizers, clearly more in love with the experience than race hype, have done something special. Every year, they’ve looked at growing, not in numbers, but in experience. Not to water it down, but to sharpen its soul. I’ve rarely seen this happen to an event. The new 135k distills the route into something tighter and more intentional. It doesn’t chase a distance, it chases more meaning. What remains is still brutal. While there are inevitable transitions throughout the course, every feature feels placed with purpose, and every transition feels earned. 

Logistically, it’s grounded with Mont Saint Anne as both a basecamp and a finale. It has a tangible athletic vibe, high-end and more affordable housing, well in reach for any tourist. Aid stations are well spaced and aid stations are easily accessible. Crew access has been reduced in some zones, not to be punitive, but to protect safety for everyone, the terrain and to reduce vehicle traffic (another bold-ish decision that speaks to the race’s values).

QMT is growing. There’s a French live stream and drones everywhere. The whole production grows bigger every year. Yet, it’s rare to see something scale without losing its shape. So far, QMT has managed. I’d say that’s a pretty typical Quebec mentality. Maybe because it was never trying to be impressive. It just wanted to be what it is. That intention is still there, in the way the course unfolds, in the way everyone greets you, in the silence between aid stations.

QMT also is still personal. Maybe that’s the best you can ask from a race: to grow without forgetting why it started. QMT is a race that’s evolving on its own terms. That’s what makes QMT one of the most iconic trail races in North America. If you’ve never been here, never run in Québec, never thought about this race, let this be your sign. I am definitely considering racing it next year!