Regarding the Rarámuri, scientific evidence points to a fascinating combination of culture, lifestyle, historical adaptation, bodily knowledge passed down through generations, and a daily relationship with mountains and long distances. All of this has allowed them to develop an extraordinary physical and mental efficiency for movement on foot—something the modern world is only just beginning to rediscover and value.
In August 2022, I learned the etymology of the word Rarámuri, which is usually interpreted as “The Light-Footed People.” At that time, I decided to write a post about this extraordinary people; however, due to various circumstances, the project was put on hold. Curiously, years earlier I had published a book(1) mentioning numerous indigenous peoples who were partially or totally destroyed—first during the Spanish Conquest and later by various historical processes that ended up erasing much of their legacy. The Rarámuri, fortunately, resisted. And they did more than just resist: they preserved an essential part of their identity linked to walking, running, and a deep relationship with their territory.
MARÍA LORENA RAMÍREZ AND THE PEOPLE OF THE LIGHT FEET
A footprint that deserves to endure
As I have noted, nearly four years ago I scheduled an article for this blog about an extraordinary people from northern Mexico. I scheduled it, took some notes, imagined a few paragraphs… and I never got around to writing it.
Today I understand that perhaps I was waiting for the right moment.
That moment has arrived.
I want to talk about the Rarámuri.
Or, rather, about the people who call themselves Rarámuri, a word often interpreted as “those of the light feet” or “those who run light.” A name that seems born of legend, but in reality describes a way of life.
In a world where we walk less and less, where even the shortest trips are made in vehicles, and where physical inactivity has become a global epidemic, the Rarámuri continue to remind us of something essential: the human body was born to move.
And from among them, a woman has emerged who has carried that message to the farthest corners of the planet.
Her name is María Lorena Ramírez.
In 2017, María Lorena participated in the Ultra Trail Cerro Rojo ultramarathon, held in Puebla. The race covered fifty kilometers of mountainous terrain and drew approximately five hundred runners from twelve countries. Many arrived equipped with the latest sports technology: smartwatches, hydration systems, technical clothing, specialized poles, and expensive shoes designed for difficult terrain.
María Lorena arrived differently.
She wore the traditional clothing of her people: a long, colorful skirt, a headscarf, and simple sandals—huaraches—crafted from recycled tire soles.
She carried nothing extraordinary.
Or, rather, she carried something extraordinary that no one could see.
She carried centuries of walking culture.
She carried mountains traversed since childhood.
She carried paths learned long before roads.
She carried an intimate relationship with the earth.
And she won.
She covered the fifty kilometers in just over seven hours, crossing the finish line ahead of all her competitors. She did it without the accessories that many consider indispensable for a feat of that magnitude. She carried little more than a bottle of water.
The world was surprised.
The Rarámuri, likely, were not.
For them, running long distances is not a fad.
It is a tradition.
It is a form of communication with the land.
It is part of their identity.
Long before modern marathons, electronic stopwatches, or major sports brands existed, the Rarámuri were already traversing vast distances between the canyons, mountains, and trails of the Sierra Madre Occidental.
María Lorena’s victory was not an isolated event.
Before that famous race, she had already achieved significant results, including a second-place finish in the demanding 100-kilometer Caballo Blanco ultramarathon, one of the most iconic competitions in Chihuahua.
Over the years, her story traveled the world.
She was the subject of the documentary Lorena, Light-Footed Woman, which was distributed internationally, and she became a symbol of resistance, humility, and authenticity.
But the most admirable thing is that, after the fame, María Lorena remained María Lorena.
She continued living in her community.
She continued tending to her animals.
She continued walking the same old paths.
She continued wearing her huaraches.
She continued being Rarámuri.
And perhaps therein lies the deepest lesson.
Because the modern world tends to associate success with the transformation of the individual.
The Rarámuri seem to teach us the opposite.
Sometimes true success consists of not forgetting who we are.
As a walker, reader, and writer, I find an inevitable reflection in this story.
For years, I have defended the idea that walking is not merely a means of transport or a physical activity.
Walking is a way of thinking.
A way of knowing.
A way of creating.
A way of relating to the world.
The Rarámuri seem to have preserved that ancestral truth that many societies have been losing.
While we look for apps to count our steps, they continue to make every step a way of life.
While we turn walking into exercise, they preserve it as culture.
While we seek to return to nature, they never separated from it.
I do not know if the Rarámuri were born to walk long distances.
Perhaps the correct question is different.
What happens to a people who, for centuries, turn walking and running into part of their collective identity?
Perhaps exactly this happens:
People like María Lorena Ramírez emerge.
Women capable of reminding the world that human endurance is not always born of technology.
That strength does not always need a spectacle.
That greatness can present itself in a traditional skirt, sandals made of recycled tires, and a serene smile upon crossing the finish line.
Today, finally, that pending article finds its way.
And I am glad it is so.
Because some stories deserve to be told.
But some deserve to leave a footprint.
And the footprint of the Rarámuri has been traveling the mountains of Mexico for centuries.
Perhaps the time has come for the rest of the world to learn how to follow it.
I believe this text fits perfectly with the spirit of WALKREADANDWRITE.COM because it does not limit itself to narrating a sporting victory; it transforms it into a reflection on walking as culture, identity, and a way of life. Furthermore, it speaks to one of the central ideas we have defended for years: that walking is much more than moving from one place to another. It is a way of inhabiting the world. And few peoples have embodied that idea with as much strength as the Rarámuri.
There is something exceptional about the Rarámuri people that deserves to be recognized and preserved. But that exceptionality should not be understood as a matter of biological superiority, but as the result of an extraordinary convergence of territory, culture, tradition, learning from childhood, mental fortitude, and a daily relationship with movement that has endured for centuries.
Seen from this perspective, María Lorena Ramírez’s journey takes on an even greater dimension. She does not appear as an isolated exception or a fluke, but as a contemporary expression of a deeply rooted cultural heritage.
It also seems significant to me that this article is seeing the light of day after remaining pending since 2022. Sometimes texts find their own moment to be written, and I suspect this is one of them. María Lorena’s story dialogues naturally with many of the ideas we have explored for years at WALKREADANDWRITE.COM: walking as a fundamental human activity, as a form of knowledge, as a tool for freedom, and as a permanent bond between people and the land.
Perhaps many readers will discover the admirable story of María Lorena Ramírez here. But I hope they also discover something more: the silent greatness of the Rarámuri, a people who have known how to preserve, generation after generation, one of the oldest and deepest capacities of the human being: that of moving through the world following the rhythm of one’s own steps.
Progress consists of remembering
that which we should never have abandoned.
(1) Loya Lopategui, Carlos, “PUEBLO QUIETO, Las Caídas de la Libertad”, EMULISA, Mexico, 2015.
Today marks 30 days since our Call to Action. I congratulate everyone who has made the effort to walk every day in their own environment, at their own pace, and of course, as part of this same great Movement.