In two weeks, time, Bob and I, along with our Trail Trekkers crew, will once again be standing at Light-line Aid Station during the Guzzler. It’ll be our fifth year volunteering there, welcoming runners as they reach the 70-kilometre mark of one of Australia’s toughest trail races.
We’ll probably get very little sleep.
We’ll be cold.
We’ll make hundreds of cups of noodles, refill bottles, hand out snacks, offer encouragement and send weary runners back into the darkness.
And I honestly wouldn’t want to be anywhere else.
People often ask why we volunteer so much.
The dictionary describes a volunteer as someone who willingly gives their time to support a cause or community without payment. While that’s true, I don’t think it comes close to explaining what volunteering really is.
For me, volunteering is about connection.
It’s about standing beside someone during a moment they’ll remember for the rest of their life.
It’s about helping without expecting anything in return.
It’s about being part of something much bigger than yourself.
Looking back, I’ve realised volunteering has quietly woven itself through almost every chapter of my life. As a teacher, so much of what we did happened long after the school bell rang. Helping children become curious learners, supporting beginning teachers as they found their confidence, coaching young athletes, organising events—none of it ever felt like “extra work”. It simply felt worthwhile.
Helping people has always filled my cup.
One memory from the Guzzler has stayed with me ever since our first years at Lightline.
A father and his daughter, who was about twenty years old, had trained for months to complete the 100-kilometre race together. When they arrived at our aid station, the determination on both their faces was unforgettable.
The father’s feet were in terrible shape.
Not just a blister here and there—but the entire soles of both feet had become one giant blister.
Every step must have been agonising.
We helped him as best we could. Fresh socks. Food. Encouragement.
There was every reason to stop.
Instead, he looked at his daughter, gathered himself, stood up and kept moving.
Together.
I often think about that moment.
It wasn’t really about trail running.
It was about commitment.
About courage.
About the promises we make to ourselves and the people we love.
Being there to witness moments like that is an incredible privilege.
Every runner who reaches our aid station carries a different story. Some are chasing a personal best. Some are overcoming injury. Some are proving something to themselves. Others are simply trying to finish.
For a few minutes, our job is to become part of their story.
We help them eat, drink, smile, regroup and believe they can take the next step.
Then we watch their headlamps disappear back into the night.
I still get goosebumps every year.
That’s the gift volunteering gives me.
Not because I’m giving something away, but because I receive far more than I could ever offer.
I leave every event inspired by human resilience, kindness and the incredible communities that form when people come together with a shared purpose.
It’s one of the reasons Bob and I created Trail Trekkers.
Yes, we love trail running.
Yes, we love hiking.
But more than anything, we wanted to build a community where people feel welcome, where friendships grow naturally, where everyone has a place, and where giving back is simply part of who we are.
Our community explores together.
We connect with each other.
We stop long enough to breathe.
Whether you’re joining us on a trail, helping at an event, cheering on a stranger or volunteering beside us at an aid station, you’re helping create something much bigger than a single day in the bush.
You’re helping build a community.
And perhaps that’s what volunteering has taught me more than anything.
The greatest reward isn’t what you give.
It’s the people you meet, the stories you witness, and the feeling that, for just a little while, you were part of someone else’s incredible journey.
I hope we’ll see you beside us on a volunteer adventure one day.
I promise you’ll leave with a full heart.
Tracy Baker
