Last year I won High Lonesome in a course record time of 18:52 minutes. 50 minutes ahead of Jimmy Elam’s 2023 mark. When I look back on it, I didn’t have any low points. Everything went better than expected. I rewatched some of the livestream and finish interviews and I even said as much. I used exclusively precision nutrition for the first time in a race and I had no GI distress or issues. My crew and pacers were phenomenal. My wife Annie was there with me. My mom got to witness me race for the first time since high school. My cousins and friends came out to cheer. It was everything I could have hope for. So why am I back?

In January my answer to that question was that HiLo has everything I’m looking for in a race. It’s a great course, amazing organization, phenomenal volunteers, and some competition to push me. I’ll compare it to our friends Raph and Emily’s wedding that had ~ 40 people, it was intimate, everyone met everyone and the couple got to hug all of their guests after the ceremony. We boogied hard too! So so different than large weddings where I might meet a few folks, I likely feel overstimulated, and I’m less convinced on the value of my presence. Some of the volunteers that I met during check in at HiLo are also racing. A lot of friends from the Roaring Fork Valley are running and volunteering. It’s a heartwarming, inspiring weekend in a stunning setting.

As time has passed and the race has inched closer, some other whys have surfaced. In 2023, I was curious about returning to Western States because my 11th place finish in 2022 was defined by running while sick with covid and not racing to my potential. I knew I could do better. In returning to High Lonesome, I don’t know if I can do any better and that is the part I’m so curious about. We need more data. | Fuck around and find out. Whatever mentality you want to inhabit, when things seemingly all went perfect in 2025, this year I feel like I can truly test myself to see what I can mix up. Can I run 18:19 like my livestream review exploring wasted time predicts? Can I run 18:08 which is what my coach Danny and I landed on when we looked at pace and GAP from last year? Can I break 18 hours and finish before midnight? Will any of this matter to me if my crew forgets to pick me up a burger so I have something to eat at the finish?

I have the chance to explore the periphery of my ability at a race that I know well and have performed well at. As a curious cat, that is a real motivator.

The next why that I’m especially psyched out of my mind about is racing with Ryan Sullivan again. Ryan and I first raced at Gorge 100km last year and finished 4th and 5th. Both slightly disappointed with our finishes having both ran solid races. He then went on to win San Juan Solstice and then we met at HiLo. We ran together from ~mile 30 to mile 55. Ryan had a tough day and dropped around mile 73 last year. At the finish, it might have been the exhaustion or imbalance in my brain chemistry, but I was effectively in tears thanking Ryan for the shared miles and said that of anyone in the sport right now, he feels the most like my equal.

I’m not naive. I know that Ryan and I aren’t Hayden and Zack, nor do I think we should have any acknowledgement as rivals. But Ryan Sullivan is among my favorite competitors to race. A big part of that is the person he is. Ryan is great. He is a funny dude, easy to hang out with, and appropriately committed to his work (is that how you put it when you went to med school and residency etc… and then work part time as a doctor one week a month so you can enjoy the mountains and running?). In May, we ended up on the same flight itinerary to and from London for the Ultra Trail Snowdonia, where we got to go to a premier league game together, hang out in Wales, and eat great Indian food. Ryan’s a homie. At one point I offered him a non-alcoholic beer and he responded, “no thanks I’ve been trying to quit those things,” and opted for a full octane beer. With my familiarity with Al Anon and my sense of humor, I rank this up there with one of the funniest things I’ve heard this year.

Some might think I’m just writing this to get in Ryan’s head before the big race but odds that he reads this are slim to none. Build him up, talk about how great he is and then absolutely pulverize him tomorrow, you know? There’s always a chance. But I know deep down that the only way I’m running sub 18 hours is if he is there to push me as much as possible. On our shakeout run this morning, we were open and transparent about our goals and then when we returned to the public sphere, we resorted to joking about sabotage. Ryan is among the best competitors out there for me, and I suspect me for him. Anyone who thinks I chose High Lonesome cause it will be an easy win or pontificates that the race lacks depth of competition, you have your opinions. I think of it not as the quantity of competition, but the quality. For me, when I heard Ryan was in, I was in. I’m looking forward to carrying Ryan to the best 100 mile race of his life and whooping his ass in the process.

There are some other big reasons I chose High Lonesome. My wife Annie is 8 months pregnant. It feels so real now that I’m comfortable publicly talking about it. We had a 12 month fertility journey to get to the starting line of pregnancy so our thinking around this topic has been guarded. That said, as a guy, I found our fertility journey and subsequent IVF process to be really isolating. I wish I’d seen or heard from other partners who had experienced similar challenges. So if you know me or not and you want to talk, please reach out (after Saturday morning). With an August due date for baby girl, I dreamed of getting into Hardrock for the 2026 edition. I didn’t. I knew that traveling at this time would be tricky and that a proper summer 100 miler would be my last big hurrah before baby girl Colt-Oppenheim joins our circle. I’ve learned to live with and embrace uncertainty, but with a paradigm shift in my near future, choosing a familiar race did feel like taking control of one realm of uncertainty in life. Please don’t read that I treat a 100 mile race decision with the same attention as upcoming parenthood - I don’t. I think I gave the decision around which big effort to do the appropriate amount of thought considering the hundreds of hours of focus I pour into these races. Personally, I can’t wait to finish as soon as possible so I can return to nesting and planning the welcome party for my new best friend.

So here we are. The race starts tomorrow morning at 6am. I’ll get to think about my baby daughter and Annie for a concentrated 18ish hour mindfulness session. If things get tough and I feel like this it’s hard, I can think of how badass Annie has been through the heat of summer and pregnancy — I can trivialize my meager 18ish hours of suffering in the context of pregnancy and labor. I’ll get to share miles with Ryan Sullivan. My dad '“Race Day Rick” and step-mom Diana, my sister Robin and my brother-in-law Matt and my nephews Greyson and Alexander will all be out cheering for me. Drew Petersen has agreed to crew me for the fourth time (I have to start paying him) and my coach Danny Blake has been pouring attention into all of my spreadsheets — what a powerhouse of a community at my back. I’ll get to feel the upwelling of love and support from my crew, family, friends, volunteers, and other runners.

But how will I run 44 minutes faster by Monarch Pass and hold that pace to the finish to try to get close to a midnight finish? I’m not Ludo, but I do think he has a great argument for leaning into the downhills at altitude more than the uphills. I’ll need to properly run douche grade climbs and not resort to hiking. I’ll need to move swiftly through aid stations. I’ll need my pacers Jon, Luke, and Wes to pull me along at an aggressive clip. I’ll need Ryan to push me and I’ll need to push back. More than anything, I need to embrace discomfort. This race and the pace I’ll be running isn’t going to be comfortable. But I’m going to lean into discomfort as much as I’ve learned to lean into uncertainty. I’d rather leave tomorrow knowing more about myself than as a two-time HiLo champion.

p.s. I’m totally going to send this to Ryan and see if I can get in his head. On our shared flight to London, right before takeoff, I texted him, “safe flight” and it kinda freaked him out. He’s weak. I know I can take advantage of this weakness 😉.

In 2020, I reached out to Ultra Trail Snowdonia about a race entry. My friend Peter Howe made plans to do the race and shared that it was a region reminiscent to the White Mountains of our home New Hampshire. Something happened in 2020-2021 and I didn’t make it over to Snowdonia. 2022-2024 I was ramping up for Western States. And last year I prioritized Gorge 100km to try and qualify for team USA. So for 2026 - Ultra Trail Snowdonia had my full attention as my first big effort of the year.

Kudos to Paul Cornut Chauvinc — he took command of the race early on and never let off the gas. When we got to the course’s high point on Snowdon, Paul had a gap, Jean-Phillippe was close behind him. Keith Wigley, Tom Joly, David Norris, Harry Jones, and me made up a UK/US chase pack. Running with these guys was awesome. Early on Harry was quite strong on the hills and Keith was acting as our tour guide on the more technical descents. David and I took a wrong turn in the town of Blaenau Ffestiniog and sadly our super group was divided. I maintained some contact with Harry, David, and Tom, but I never saw Keith again.

On the climb Moelwyn Mawr (~50km), the weather really turned on and it never really turned off. Visibility went by the wayside and so it was with the mountains, meandering single track trimmed by steep drop offs into the abyss. Running is fun to talk about, but for me, Snowdonia was all about falling with style. In total, I must have fallen close to 30 times in the race, which is more than I’ve fallen the rest of my lifetime of running combined. Falls are categorized below with the number of times I took each fall and an example.

Scary rocky fall: 3
I had my first scary fall a couple minutes into the Snowdon descent, slipping on wet rock and falling off the trail. I was at the high side of a switch back so I merely fell onto the trail below after bouncing off a few rocks. Shaken for sure, I re-focused and caught up with the squad.

Bog fall: ~6
For roughly eight miles of the course, we were running through bogs. We have bogs back in the White Mountains, and I’ve never really wondered what it would be like to run across them without bog bridges. I’ve naively taken the bog bridges for granted. Traversing the first bog section, Keith was just ahead and jumped a large wet spot. “Bog” he shouted and pointed, like cyclists do when theres a pot hole. I also jumped, my left leg submerged to my hip, my torso face-planted onto the squishy ground and my poles catapulted out of my quiver and landed a few feet ahead of me. Tom landed just to my right, David followed Tom’s route and also crossed safely. At another point, the race videographer was standing mid way through the section that is titled “Ilyn edno bog snorkling” on strava. I saw the bloke and I knew my fate. I tried to choose a line along the fence but the water was clearly too deep and wide there. I geared up and leaped and “kerrrplop” - I went into the drink waist deep. The videographer knew what he was doing standing there.

Slippy grass on 30% descent: 10+
These were the worst as they were so frequent and there was always potential that I’d land on a rock in the grass. My primary concern with these falls was dislocating my shoulder as I’d fall back and be catching myself at high velocities. The wounds I have from these falls are reminiscent of the ever-dangerous slip and slides of my youth, it just takes one piece of gravel under the tarp and your leg looks like you got knifed.

Slippy mud on 1-5% descent: 10+
This fall category is the most embarrassing, because often I was moving quite fast and passing 100 mile runners when the mud sharks would strike. At one point a kind woman screamed after me, “slow down, you’re going to hurt yourself!” — while I think she was right I wasn’t interested in heeding her advice.

Slippy grass on 30% ascent: ~3
This final fall category was the most demoralizing. With the 100 mile race mostly ahead of us, some 300 runners pressed on up steep grassy slopes and left what can only be described as a boot pack. Like in snow, deep footprints that actually offered some flat surface to get purchase on for the next step. Picture muddy brown Jesus footprints in grass instead of sand. These footprints also offered some false sense of security, cause after all they were slick mud. Slipping backwards when I’d plant my poles way out in front of me to power through the next few steps made me feel like a bumbling fawn on a plastic children’s playset.

At the final crew stop in Beddgelert, I took 5 minutes to put on a new winter base layer, a dry rain layer, and have some warm food. I learned that I was in fourth, as David Norris took a wrong turn and followed the 50km course. My race plan was to really start hunting from Beddgelert at mile 51 until the finish (66mile race). Early on the climb up Moel Hebog, I looked back and saw Tom Joly’s stylish purple rain coat. By the bottom of the next descent, Tom caught up to me and encouraged me to stay with him, saying the next section was a tricky one to follow.

I did everything in my power to stay on his heels and he pulled me along for a couple of miles. Eventually I lost contact with him though, and it cost me. Let me call your attention to mile 58.

Only 7 feet of elevation gain on that mile and it took me over 24 minutes. This section of the course was scary in the conditions we had. Some 100 miler runners asked me to stay with them across the slick rocky ridge with cliffs dropping away below. It was sketchy enough that I felt guilty for continuing on at my blistering fast 24min/mi pace but after a few steps, I disappeared into the fog and rain. After the race, some other runners shared that they felt there was a real chance of dying on that ridge. I can empathize with them. In my mind I was thinking about the life choices that somehow got me to that slippery trail, feeling cloudy headed, in the clouds, perched above a cliff.

There is a scene from Jim Carey’s Liar Liar in which he knees a radiator, punches himself in the face, smashes his head beneath a toilet seat, and dumps trash on himself. All I could think about on the final steep descent down Y Garn, after putting my foot through one of the rock wall ladders and taking the metal rung to my shin, was this: “I’m kicking my ass!” I reminded myself that I signed up for this race free-willingly. In fact, for the first 50km or so, I was even having type 1 or type 2 fun (the bogs really sealed the deal that UTS100km this year was type 3 fun). After the race, Nat pointed to the bibs and they read, “Beautiful beyond belief. Savage beyond reason.” We got a good chuckle from this.

I finished in fifth place, a bit off of my goal. At the finish, Keith, Tom, and I were all within ~15 minutes of each other. Had I wanted to truly compete for a win at this race, I should have gone over and scouted the entirety of the course in advance — this race more than others — it felt like knowing the route and what to expect would have been hugely helpful. As it was, I got to share some miles with some great guys. I got to do a race I’d been dreaming of for many years and what attracted me to the race — the fact that it had a reputation of being a proper mountain race — was indeed true. Nat and I totally fell in love with Wales. We explored the mountains, slate quarries and mines, pubs and castles, and saw lots of sheep. In terms of fairy tale beauty, Wales might be the prettiest place on earth. Rugged mountains meet expansive fens and valleys lush with bluebells, moss, and ferns. Thank you Wales, thanks Ultra Trail Snowdonia. Thanks Nat and Tess for crewing and supporting!

In September, I was really fit. I was coming off a win at High Lonesome, an FKT on the Mahoosuc Traverse, and getting fired up about a fall race at Ultra Trail Cape Town or JFK50. Training was fulfilling and the mountainous miles were flowing with ease. It was a major bummer to learn that I needed a 10-12 week full stop from running to reset this calf and to be able to return to training. In retrospect, 10 weeks of inactivity was likely the longest I have gone without any type of run/endurance training or even a felicitous jaunt in more than a decade.

I’m here two days away from starting the Ultra Trail Snowdonia 100km. It’s currently pissing rain outside. My training has been great the last couple of months. And while I toed the line at the Chianti 73km, I was woefully unprepared for the amount of ascending and descending in that race and I ran my legs off trying to keep pace with the leaders. I dropped at 50km and afterwards realized that was the first 30 mile run or run over 4 hours that I had completed since August. I took that defeat in stride and counted it as successful training. I ended up segueing that run into a week of training in Mallorca, which holy shit, is one of the most beautiful places I’ve visited.

Mallorca inspired a week with 20,000 feet of vert along technical limestone ridge lines and the beautiful GR222 trail, which I’d love to go back and run in completion. When we got home from our travels, I settled in to a nice routine of solid mid-week runs with vert and then ~10,000ft of vert between two weekend runs. I managed to hit ~20k four weeks in a row and leaned into climbing/descending stimulus. On one Saturday that I ran over 10,000ft of vert, I was pleased that my quads and hamstrings both felt fine afterwards and responded well to a faster 20 mile run with 2,500ft of climbing/descending the next day.

As I prepared to fly to the UK, I looked back at my Training Peaks and the trend lines from the last four years. A couple things stuck out. The data is only as good as the inputs and it’s worth noting that at times I’ve had some funky HR data. Additionally, fitness in Training Peaks is contingent upon being prescribed workouts with an expected effort and then calculated by comparing the actual effort. Six months ago, I wasn’t even running. And in the last six months, we have been very slow to reintroduce workouts and vert as my calf returns to form.

But I do see a steep incline in fitness as I built back from scratch. I also see that the data shows I’m not quite to the fitness level as last summer. This build has been remarkably consistent and paired with the anecdotal data of four strong weeks with vert and little hamstring/ quad fatigue, I’m really excited about my potential for this race. Maybe the graph will show a dramatic jump in fitness after Saturday.

I still have lots of questions and I like working through my insecurities and doubts before a race so I’m familiar with what will surface for me: Is my calf ready? Will this foot pain around my cuboid be problematic? Am I making the right gear decisions so that I’m prepared for 40ºF with rain and 20mph gusts of wind? Am I fit enough to go with the leaders and compete, cause that didn’t pan out for me at Chianti? Have I studied the course and refined my race plan as much as possible?

For me, the beauty of ultra running is the baked into the uncertainty of it. I don’t know what is going to happen. I can manifest and visualize all I want, but come race day, I’m trying to turn a "What if?” into “What is.” What if I go out tomorrow strong and steady and dress warm enough and eat and hydrate even when it’s 30º early on and what if my downhill legs hold up and my ankle feels good all day and by the time I get to the runnable terrain around mile 40 I’m in a good place and I can motor that flowy section and still be in good positioning and spirits coming into Beddgelert and hammer those final three technical climbs and push to the front or separate from the pack in the wind and rain and take Ultra Trail Snowdonia all of the way to the line? That’s a sick what if. Now to make it a what is.

As it was, I was selected as the second alternate for Team USA long course squad at WMTRC in Canfranc. I should say that racing Worlds was my A goal for 2025 and I really wanted to race in Canfranc cause it’s a technical mountain range and often that type of terrain suits me. Through the summer, it seemed like my chances of actually racing were pretty good. The first alternate, Tyler Green got the call. I had spoken with Jim Walmsley and he was less than confident that he would run (thank God he did amiright?) In mid August, I got the note from the team manager that every runner on the long course team confirmed their plans to run.

The time for World Championships came and I really felt like I was fine. Then all of the sudden I got hit with this wave of grief. I’m not one to get FOMO, but holy shit I felt like my heart was dropping out of my chest. When I got the above photo sent to me, I responded “You’re breaking my fucking heart.” That’s how it felt. I knew how close I was to this goal, to getting the chance to represent Team USA again and to fight for another gold. It crushed me.

When I shared this with my sports psych - I told him I felt embarrassed by how much I cared and by how badly I wanted that experience. I told him I felt silly for throwing a pity party, but I know I could have contributed to team USA’s success had I the chance.

He responded in a way I didn’t expect. He said “Jeff, I’m glad that you are having a pity party. It’s means you chose a goal race that you really cared about. You should always try and seek out races that have pity party potential.”

So there you have it — choose races you care about so much that you’ll potentially throw a pity party if you can’t make it or they don’t go your way. His comment helped me refine my plans for 2026 — I want my “why” to be as powerful as possible.

Mike McMonagle sharing the story behind his photo of Caleb Olson that Nike shared and what that means for his role in the sport. To me, this moment speaks both to the time and dedication needed to succeed within the sport, but also the adjacent careers within trail running that are having more success. Captured in the photo, Caleb Olson on his rise to being one of the seminal figureheads in our sport and the radical airflow shirt that was the biggest conversation-piece of gear this season and marked the beginning of ACG’s return to the sport. See his post for more.

Prediction for next year

The men’s winner of Western States also wins UTMB and it will be either Jim Walmsley or Kilian Jornet. Every time I hear predictions like — “oh you have to hyper-focus,” or “there’s no more dark horses,” or “you have to go out with the leaders, the days of winning from behind are over,” or “there is no attrition at the front end of the sport anymore,” — I count the times these things happen in the following months. Sometimes the talking heads forget that at it’s core, this is a sport that positions the athlete against the terrain and conditions first and foremost. If runners forget that, they fumble. If they remember this truth, they can compete with other equally prepared and attentive runners. This year, there has been a lot of attention around Ruth Croft and Tom Evans going all in on UTMB and winning. That worked for them, but that doesn’t mean it’s the only recipe for success. I firmly believe Jim and Kilian are capable of winning Western States and doubling back to win UTMB. I put a lot of weight on experience as an ingredient of success, Jim and Kilian have the talent, work-ethic, and experience to pull off such a complicated double.

Prediction for 5 years from now

ITRA gains traction with World Athletics, Golden Trail and the support of PTRA - becoming the one trusted index scoring system in our sport. UTMB gives up on that side of their business and adopts ITRA scores, making it so elites and ascending runners can gain fair access to UTMB races without having to have raced in other (often less appealing) UTMB races. UTMB races are becoming so hard to get into and registrations are filling up so far in advance of lottery day, that professionals in the sport either have to hap-hazardously over-register for races just for an opportunity to compete in the sport we’re making our living from, or be let down at not having opportunities to race/get paid.

Athletes to watch out for next year

Will Murray, watch for him to win two major spring races before returning to Western States as one the potential front-runners. I expect Will to be healthy for States this year and to be in contention for the win until the river. I still expect him to land top 5 and cement himself as one of the strongest and fastest men in the sport. Odds are he goes to Nike ACG.

Rachel Entrekin, if you are not watching Rachel, what are you looking at? With over 20 consecutive wins, watch for Rachel to enter more “mainstream” races and let’s see if she can keep this win streak going. I’m pulling for Rachel, I think she has a refreshing outlook and is the growing face of the 200s, which many think are the future of our sport.

Anne Flower, watch to see if Anne decides to step into the arena of Western States or stay in the Leadville pipeline. Anne seems to have the speed and potential that can translate to a fast Black Canyon and Western States performance. Often runners with great altitude adjustment also perform well in heat (stressing the same system).

Coaching staff of the year

It’s got to be Evoke Endurance— for the last five years, the landscape of ultrarunning coaching has been primarily a two party system, CTS and Swap. This year was undoubtedly the year that Evoke showed up. The names behind Evoke have been relevant in our sport for over a decade. Scott Johnson co-authored Training for the Uphill Athlete and the New Alpinism, Jack Kuenzle has been the only athlete stalking Kilian’s FKTs and successfully dethroning Kilian on some of the proudest routes around the world. This year, we witnessed the fitness that Jack helped Caleb Olson realize at TGC and then at Western States. To follow up on that, Scott coached both Ruth Croft and Tom Evans to UTMB victories. In the last four months, I’ve seen the rise of Scott’s presence and personality in podcasts and Evoke getting more and more attention.

The trend I’m paying attention to

Scott Johnson brought the mountain athlete training for ultrarunning back into focus. I think that in the last few years, training has been influenced most by Jakob Ingebrigtsen and the rise of double threshold. Ultrarunners and trail runners have been applying marathon and track training to their methodology. Because of Evoke Endurance, mountain-specific training is in vogue. Weighted hiking, incline training, and downhill resilience work are all commonplace in conversation. Personally, I love watching Ludo and his Hardrock success. Ludo and Francois represent long-term commitment to mountain training and it certainly works for them.

Run influencer of the year

I am so not the right person to answer this, so I gathered up some guest answers. If it were up to my uneducated opinion, I’d hand this award to Sally McCrae, Max Jolliffe, and Cam Hanes - if for no other reason than their devout fandom in livestream comment sections. Here are the answers of three ultra pundits who pay better attention than I do.

“I nominate David Roche as runfluencer of the year for his carb slurping and that award totally undermines his elite status as a runner.” - Brett Hornig

“Kilian Korth is hot on David Roche’s heels... is the DT Triple Crown of 200s the ultimate ticket to ultra stardom?” - Finn Melanson

“David Roche feels like the only answer here but I’ll add Max Jolliffe for carrying Satisfy on his back and getting a meme page named after him.” - Leah Yingling

Biggest upset

It’s hard to say that the French men upset the Americans in the WMTRC 80km considering that France was the defending champions. I know I approach this with American bias and personal bias as I was the alternate for Team USA, but we put forward a team With Jim Walmsley (GOAT), Caleb Olson (on his ascendency), Adam Peterman (former world champ), Zach Miller (the grittiest runner in the world), and then Tyler Green (Mr. Consistency) and Tracen Knopp (a true trail runner G). With three of the top 10 or so runners in the world lining up for team USA, I really thought it was ours to lose. France showed that focus and developing a team dynamic can transform trail running into a proper team sport, which is what is needed to win a team title.

Another answer that comes to mind is David Roche at Western States. I’ll set the stage with this- Every fan of Max Jolliffe was rooting for Max to win Cocodona 250 in the livestream comment section, despite some runners who are much stronger on paper (Courtney Dauwalter, Rachel Entrekin, Dan Green, Ryan Sandes, Haroldas Subertas). This might have been a sobering moment for some of Max’s fans. I believe Max will continue to grow in the sport and will be more competitive in years to come. In David Roche’s Western States race, he was as much of an elite competitor as anyone in the race. His fans showed up in serious numbers and on June 27th, David Roche did not have his day. I think David handled his struggles at Western States with grace. I think the upset was for his fan base.

Least surprising performance of the year

It’s got to be Katie Schide’s win at Worlds in the long course race. After she placed second at Sierre-Zinal (less than a month after winning Hardrock), the whole sport had this “woah she different” moment. I think Tove’s performance in the short course got more attention, but Katie was not contested in the long course race at all and everyone expected her to win. She really can do it all (flat, steep, smooth, technical, short, long).

Most surprising performance of the year

David Roche winning Leadville 100 and breaking his own course record. I didn’t know he was racing until the day before the race, and I pay pretty close attention. David is so impressive, to be able to set aside his challenging race at Western States having run a brutal 100km in the heat and come back less than two months later to time trial another course record at Leadville is remarkable. I do think that David Roche needs to prove that he can compete in the mix with other runners and get comfortable following and positioning for a strategic strike.

Race I wanted to be at most

Worlds, without a doubt. Getting the opportunity to race in Canfranc would have been a dream. Getting to witness Nina, Tove, Katie, Remi, Jim etc… would have added to the excitement.

Best short content piece

I only watched one episode, but the hype and growth of our sport was felt through David Roche’s road to Western States youtube series. DR brought this long lead-up digestible content front and center and I had friends who’ve never talked to me about ultrarunning asking if I know David Roche and if I’ve been following his build up to Western States. Friends and acquaintances who didn’t know I’ve run Western States. They learned about our sport and States through David Roche’s youtube series and the associated attention it garnered.

Best long content piece

The Finisher about Jasmine Paris. Go watch it. So good. Absolutely mental that she finished Barkley with seconds to spare. Singletrack did a great job with the production of this film and working with the content they had to tell an important story.

Best running meme account

Dead tie between maxjolliffeunsolicitedmemes and dylisms. Dylisms made me laugh harder, MJUM was more prolific and I was shooketh to see that I was made into a meme on more than one occasion.

Best trail running power couple of 2025

Folks, this is HARD. What is up with all of these superstar power couples? I have a hunch that this is the most exciting superlative on my list, so please comment with other power couples who hand standout years in 2025 that I might have overlooked. Okay, I know everyone assumes I will say Katie Schide and Germain Grangier - they are my teammates and friends. In years past, absolutely. They are so committed, so next level good, and typically lift each other up with each performance. Katie and Germain are my runner-up power couple for my 2025 rankings.

The power couple for 2025 is Jim Walmsley and Jessica Brazeau. Jess showed UP this year in a big way. Jess qualified for Worlds. My speculation, if she hadn’t qualified for worlds, odds are that Jim would have passed on his resume spot on the long course team and we never would have witnessed his dominant performance in the most technical 50 mile trail race of the year. Jess had stellar races at Chianti, Broken Arrow, Templiers and seriously came into her own as an athlete in our sport.

Biggest curve ball

Michelino Sunseri getting pardoned by President Trump. I’ve been encouraging Michelino to write about this whole debacle because Outside.run keeps fumbling the story and we all want to hear the actual scoop. Of all the things that happened this year, to me this is the story that could actually evolve into a book/ memoir. Michelino represents a lot of the best parts of our sport in unrivaled passion, fun-loving, and commitment to the lifestyle of being a mountain athlete (he has bartended for the last 12 years allowing him to spend longer days in the mountains).

Biggest ball drop

Hands down Grand Slam track. Like, how do you let this happen? I think Grand Slam track cemented track and field’s reputation as being not a fan-driven sport and I wonder if we’ll ever see traction outside of the summer olympics.

I should say the Arizona Monster 300, but I get the sense that folks weren’t especially surprised to see this from Destination Trail Races? Not sure - I’ve yet to experience one of their events, but the comments coming from that race were reminiscent of Fyre Festival.

Honorable mention goes to Hardrock, for intentionally picking Caleb Olson after he had clearly emailed them asking them not to pick him. I feel really bad for Caleb in this situation. Other runners who prayed for one of those special consideration picks could be resenting him for putting his name into the lottery without 100% full commitment to race Hardrock. I think his decision to put his name in the lottery shows humility. I love that Caleb put his name in the lottery in hoping to start his build to an eventual Hardrock berth. Why the board of Hardrock ignored his email and picked him anyway is a mystery — perhaps they thought the race has the clout that Caleb would change his mind and show up to race Tom Evans. Sorry Caleb, we think you’re great and this was an unfortunate position to be put in.

Three words to describe the year in sport

Raw dog ultras. - Scott Jurek in response to Jim Walmsley’s statement around ditching pacers at golden ticket races and at Western States. I love Scott’s take on this and how he distilled a full conversation around professionalization in sport and the meaning of true competition into these three comically brilliant words. Kudos to you Scott.

What are your reflections and predictions?

Let me know your thoughts. What should I be paying closer attention to? What matters to you in trail running at the moment? What needs more recognition? Where is the sport going?

The process: Starting in November of 2024, I “fueled to perform” for any run over 60 minutes. This meant carrying extra fuel with me always. It also meant that I was adding 250+ grams of sugar a day to my diet or the equivalent of 2.5 liters of Coke (the recommended daily intake of added sugars is 25g a day).

You may have heard that gut training goes beyond just fueling during training, it also includes eating a well rounded diet, high in protein, and a lot of food. This part I’ve always been good at. When my conditioning coach Danny Blake brought me on, we tracked my diet using a calorimeter for a couple of weeks. The numbers showed I consume ~8,000 calories a day and ~200g of protein a day. Notably at that time, I was also consuming very few added sugars. I don’t have a sweet tooth but Oreos are a go to ski touring snack cause ya know, winter is bulking season. All of our bodies are different, for me 6,000 - 10,000 calorie range has always felt good depending on my training load.

In 2025, I would routinely consume 300g of sugar and 1,200 calories before having my daily breakfast burrito, which is over 1,000 calories. It would be 8:30am and I surpassed 2,200 calories for the day. There were some days that I would return home from a long run or workout and I would have already consumed 600g of sugar and 2,400 calories before eating breakfast.

The progress: Early spring we felt like my stomach was doing well with quantity, but I was having some issues with various products. In training efforts up to three hours, I’d have no issues, but in races my stomach would start rejecting some drink mixes around four hours. At Chianti I added more variety into the equation and had issues. At Gorge I made a great plan with Danny but still ran into issues with this feeling of acid reflux. At Broken Arrow I tried to narrow down the issue and used just one product as a control — sure enough I had the aversion and reaction.

The success: I made the fast decision to cut that product out of my calculus for racing and training. I made the decision to prepare my bottles exactly how the packaging suggested as that is the best chance for absorption — I had been overdosing drink mix into my bottles to have more carbs in one bottle and plain water in another bottle. In the final weeks leading up to High Lonesome 100, I leaned into a simple plan using Precision hydration and fueling. Each hour I would consume a 90g gel, a 30g bottle with 500mg electrolytes, and a bottle of water totaling ~120g of carbs and 500mg of electrolytes. I would add in more electrolytes at aid stations and add in another 30g gel with caffeine every two hours.

At no point did I struggle with fueling and at no point over 100 miles did I fade or lose energy. Cha-ching! Success! We did it! Big thanks to Precision for making a product that worked for me.

The repercussions: I see the dentist twice a year. Once in November for x-rays and once in May for a routine cleaning. I love my dentist. The first time I saw Dr Gnar, he looked in my mouth, took off his glasses and asked, are you a runner or a cyclist? With curiosity, I said that I am runner and asked why? He said, “those calves.” Well, at his office last week, one year into high carb training, I got x-rays. I have six new cavities. I haven’t had a new cavity since 2018.

Turns out a diet equivalent of 5 cokes a day is bad for dental hygiene. Obviously, but I knew this! I would try to brush me teeth after every run and wash my mouth out with water after eating pouches. During High Lonesome, I even brushed my teeth at mile 70 mid-race! With my fueling figured out, I was stoked to approach a fall race with my new found energy.

In September, I strained my calf. For anyone who has done this, I’m sorry. What a humiliating/ frustrating/ absurd injury and recovery. Okay, for me it’s humiliating cause I was playing whiffle ball and I was in the outfield catching a fly ball anddddd pop! I felt my medial gastroch go. It’s frustrating cause for close to 8 weeks I’ve felt fine and mobile, but the recovery is 10-12 weeks of no running/explosive movement. I digress.

In mid September, I stopped mainlining carbs and sugar. What happens when you take that sugar away? In concert with this change in exercise and diet, my GI system went haywire. I’m talking about going to the doctor for stool tests cause I thought I had Giardia again haywire. Stool tests showed no signs of pathogens. I was on imodium and prescription stool hardeners for over 5 weeks and they had little to no impact.

Then, I got cleared to spin inside. I reintroduced my sugary drink and beloved 90g gels. My stomach and GI system returned to normal. With a few days of rest between aerobic activity and sugar intake, everything went to shit again. I’m starting to feel like I trained my stomach to expect 200g + of sugar a day and the gut biome found balance with that. I trained my gut for racing and now it wants that food all of the time. I spend much more of my life not racing than I do racing.

The future: Going forward, I will definitely not be training my gut in this way. I found something that works for me and I’ll use the fuel during long efforts and occasional key workouts. I will brush my teeth religiously after training runs with my new special prescription toothpaste (sigh). I will save a lot of money on carbs. I don’t regret doing what I did, but a note of caution to those who might be considering training with high carb — there can be repercussions. I’d rather have the squirts occasionally in a race than unpredictably each day of normal life.

To set the stage, On offers really impressive (and appreciated) professional development to the athlete teams. This 360º support is meant to support athletes in all aspects of life ensuring that each athlete can be their best self, their best on competition day, and is set up for success after their career in competitive running. Within this support system, athletes have access to sports psychologists, nutritionists, career counseling and well as workshops with experts in entrepreneurship, social media and personal branding. During the two day athlete summit, athletes split into small groups each day to explore two of aforementioned workshops.

Personally, I wanted to make the most of these opportunities with an expert consultant learning alongside highly motivated runners. In the social media session, one difference that was highlighted again and again was the difference between being a professional athlete and being a professional mountain athlete (something I identify as). Let’s explore this:

Professional track and field runners train in highly controlled settings. Their daily routines are almost completely prescribed: Sleep well, eat well, warm up, threshold training session or road run, post-training meal, stretch/plyos, nap, spend as much time horizontal as possible, eat, sleep, repeat. Travel for races is not meant to be an adventure. As many variables as possible are controlled.

Mountain athletes often emphasize maximizing movement in the mountains. Certain days each week might resemble that of a track and field athlete, while other days might include running on ridge lines, mountain biking, road cycling, ski mountaineering, or hiking. Training is more shaped around the life that mountain athletes are living and travel for races often includes scouting new trails and embracing the local mountain culture. Sure, we control the controllables, but within reason and hopefully we have a great time.

Which of these fundamentally comes across as a life that onlookers might want to copy? The nature of being a mountain athlete is itself influential, as there are a lot of people who use instagram as a form of escapism from their daily grind or office job. Any of the many activities a mountain athlete does in a week would be surreal. Even as a professional runner, I look at what my peers at OAC are doing and I’m not envious or interested, I’d say I’m curious. I understand it is the requisite training required for their discipline, but I see them as athletes who have influence, less so as influencers.

Do I look at myself as an influencer? I’d like that answer to be no. I have a fraught relationship with social media - it doesn’t make me feel good and if I didn’t have sponsor commitments, I don’t think I would have an instagram account. Pair that with working in the ski industry and managing a brand with an instagram account, I find that I describe social media as a necessary evil in my life.

If I didn’t have a full time job, I feel that I would view instagram and the idea of being an influencer quite differently. After all, for an athlete, building one’s personal brand can lead to continued work and influence after prime competition years are past. But if we look at these two athlete groups, I think leaning into the role of influencer for track stars threatens their credibility as athletes. The image we expect to see is catered photos by brand-hired photographers during impressive workout sessions going into the big meet. For trail runners, the races we pursue are less understood, the distances, while being incomprehensible, are more inspiring, and the sport is inclusive for both pros and participants. Sure, the brand-hired photographers aren’t with us on mountain adventures and that often means trail runners turn the camera around on themself, something common for influencers to do.

Do we see many adults signing up for local track meets to give their go at the 3000m steeplechase? Not really. And if you are someone who does, hell yeah, more power to you. But we do see this enormous growth in participation of trail and ultramarathon races. Trail running is special for this reason. I think trail runners fit into the category of influencers partially for this reason. The same can be said for professional rock climbers, mountain bikers, and skiers. These mountain athletes are doing activities that large swaths of the general public enjoy and identify as their primary passion.

I have fought against the idea of being an influencer for years. In contracts I push back against too many social media requirements. I try to embrace being a well-rounded human who is not single-minded and only focused on running. Yet, if you were to look at my instagram, the only content I really post is running content in an effort to appease sponsors or at least bring my race results to their attention. Am I cheating myself and my followers by not showing more of who I really am? Am I missing the mark on building my personal brand? Or is this just emblematic of my dislike for social media so I am only using this evil the necessary amount?

What are your thoughts on this duality? Do you think mountain athletes can be stand alone athletes or is the nature of our passion inherently influential? Who are you most influenced by in the track space or trail running space and why? What about the mountain sports space? Are there any track and field influencers who aren’t elite athletes? One runner I think about is Allie Ostrander, amazing runner, but the last few years she has leaned into being an influencer. Has that jeopardized her status as a pro runner or is it expanding her reach and value to brand partners? Or both? Riddle me this, what about Kilian Jornet?

Other topics that relate to this that I’m interested in exploring: Agents in trail running, should they come from the mountain sports world or from the track and field world?

Are brands better positioned to have an impact in trail running if they come from a mountain sport background or from a road running background? One interesting example here is Raide Research, they came from ski but are now leaning strong into the trail run space. Are folks going to adopt Raide as core trail running because they have proved their understanding of movement in the mountains in the ski world?

Lastly, is it just me or is the link between trail running and alpine skiing growing stronger and stronger? For a decade I felt like a bit of a loner straddling these two communities, but I’m seeing more and more athletes dabble or commit to both sports. Share your thoughts in the comments or email me.

A 5am alarm put me caffeinated and on the road by 5:30am. Fortunately the Oquossuc Grocery opens at 5am on Sundays, so I was able to stop and pick up my final provision: beef jerky.

I arrived at Grafton Notch at 6:40am with time to use the outhouse and get ready. I told Annie and Peter I’d start at 7am sharp, so they could track my location and have an idea of my timing. I downed a full 90g gel and half a liter of electrolyte mix before taking off, as I wanted to carry one less bottle and my vest weighed close to 15 lbs already. I carried a 2L bladder, 5 full soft flasks (one with a filter top), 6 precision 90g gels, 1 caffeinated precision 30g gel, a sleeve of electrolyte tabs, the aforementioned beef jerky, my phone, a skida, and a wind breaker. This has been a brutally dry August (no rain yet 25 days in) and the reports I got said the only reliable water was 6 miles in and 23 miles in.

At 7am, I took off from Grafton Notch and headed up Old Speck. The vest felt heavy, but balanced. I had two soft flasks in my belt, two in the vest, and one in my hand. The first mile I had a hard time calming my heart rate. 15:41 elapsed with 911 feet of climbing. That’s a pretty strong pace for this terrain and technical footing. At the top of the Old Speck climb, I turned left to go to the fire tower and tag the summit. I was hammering. Hillary ran this section in 56 minutes. When I got to the fire tower, I snapped a photo and looked at my watch, 56:05 - holy cannoli. The day was not looking like it would come easy.

Through Speck Pond at 4.8 miles, I was still flat on Hillary’s split, 1:11 elapsed. These first 15 miles I had seen before, but in the opposite direction. I was pretty shook by how technical the descent down the Mahoosuc Notch was, so steep and loose with huge steps. I didn’t look at my split at the foot of the notch, but instead focused on my footwork and hand placements through the “hardest mile of the AT” (think American Ninja Warrior training grounds). Up, over, under, around, between - anything you can do to a boulder, you get to do hundreds of times over. I reached the turn at the Notch Trail to start climbing - Hillary had been around 2:08 elapsed here. My watch read just at 2:00. This is the first area I identified that I might be able to break away from Hillary. The data showed that she slowed a bit on this climb. HA. The second I started climbing I understood why, it was the terrain of the notch but paired with a 40% grade incline.

Here’s a question for the Mainers — why is South peak north of North Peak? I spent a good 20 minutes ruminating over that quandary. I summited South Peak in around 2:18 and remained about 10 minutes ahead of Hillary across North Peak and the plateau leading up to Goose Eye. I opted to take the 0.1 mile spur to the summit of Goose Eye as Hillary included this summit and the legendary Chris Goetze included this summit. I hope future attempts will align with this stylistic choice.

On this section, my mind wandered to how cool it is that Hillary Gerardi and Katie Schide will both be racing the 80km race at World Championships in Canfranc, Spain this September. Before knowing that Katie would be repping team USA and Hillary would go on to win the French qualifier to rep France, my heart was set on racing the 80km at Worlds. Canfranc is supposed to be super technical terrain and that’s what fired me up about getting there. I didn’t qualify for the team this past spring and the closer the race gets, the more bummed I am to miss it. Katie, Hillary, and I all worked in the AMC hut system. It would be a dream to get to race each other on the world stage. For me, I’ll keep dreaming but I’ll be cheering super loud and proud when those two duel it out and I know they’ll represent the White Mountains and hut kids well.

I crossed the border into New Hampshire and my adductors started seizing from all of the high steps. What was I greeted with on my arrival to my home state? The climb up Mount Success, which is just bouldering. No joke, I threw a heel hook in there. It was comical. To have adductor cramps and then be faced with a couple hundred feet of climbing where every step was close to 5’ tall made me laugh out loud. I love the White Mountains and the sick folks that built these trails. I downed my one caffeinated gel to get me fired up for being back in NH. By the top of Mount Success, I had extended my gap to over 20 minutes, but more notable was I had reached 16 miles in under 4 hours, so I was now averaging faster than 4mph. For anyone unfamiliar with the Whites, I’m sure that sounds like a pathetically recreational pace, but that is the golden mark here in this terrain. (Plus, I’d climbed much more than half of the vertical gain and covered the most technical part of the route.)

The long descent to Gentian Pond was carpeted with dry pine needles. I had moved out of the naturally dank cool air of the notches and was now in the heat of the day in a spruce-fir forrest that smelled stale and dry. At the turn for Gentian Pond, I still had about two liters of water so I opted not to fill up. I ate the aforementioned beef jerky as an homage to the great Chris Goetze who stopped here for 10 minutes to eat a steak during his 1958 FKT. Within a few minutes I regretted the beef jerky. It was so salty. I suddenly desperate with thirst. I passed Upper Gentian Pond - murky still water - undrinkable. I remember reading that Chris Goetze squeezed the water out of sphagnum moss he was so thirsty. Dream Lake was up ahead, fingers crossed for easy to access water.

My dreams quickly evaporated as new trail work rerouted the Mahoosuc Trail so it no longer comes close to Dream Lake. I could see it in all of it’s glory, but I couldn’t afford to go off trail to the water. I kept pushing on. I sucked the nozzle of my bladder until it was dry. I tried to get a little more out of it while ducking to pass under a fallen tree and took the tree squarely to my shoulder. SHEESH. I felt like Jim Carey in Liar Liar -“I’m kicking my ass, do you mind?”

The combination of being very thirsty and not knowing the trails started to get to my head a bit. Paired with a fresh raspberry on my shoulder and a dead arm, I was officially suffer questing. I found a tiny trickle near Page Pond and filled up a bottle. I should have filled two, but I wanted to keep moving. I didn’t want to look at my phone to see Hillary’s splits or to check where I was on the route. I knew that the critical turn was on Mount Hayes and that I had to stay on the Mahoosuc Trail. I kept hammering. I thought, is this Mount Hayes? as I summited a peak, but there was no AT turn. Damn, I must have forgotten about an entire summit.

This final five miles travels through a long stretch of deciduous forrest and the smell of Beech and Birch leaves coating the trail hit me with the first signs of autumn. My watch read 6:00 hours. I was still climbing what must be Mount Hayes. Hillary took about 38 minutes from the top of Mount Hayes to the finish. I pulled out the final 90g precision gel and downed the whole thing. I thought of something Ben Dhiman said that he had heard Kilian say that at the end of a race, you should consume whatever sugars you have on you. It’s go time.

On the final descent down to the power station and canal, I was thinking about Peter Howe. Peter was meeting me at the finish. He is a newly minted uncle; his sweet sister Phoebe and her husband Scott just had a baby boy, Ellis. During a lot of my longer solo adventures, I think about friends who we have lost. I spend time with our memories - John “Tidbit” Fox, Luke Richardson, Matt Caulo. I thought of all three of those friends during the day. But I kept returning to baby Ellis and how special it is to think of Ellis growing up in this community. I had my first real pangs of responsibility around keeping these special places for the next generation. It was a bit bizarre, I have a slew of nibilings and lots of friends with kids, but thinking of Ellis while I was out on the Mahoosuc Traverse made me want to step up and advocate for these wild places all the more. To contrast this, I also had my nephew Indy screaming “Shabbat Shalom, I want some more corn” echoing around in my skull. He had been “singing” this at dinner last night.

As I made the final turn onto the last long straightaway, I saw Peter pop into the road. My watch read 6:38 or so. I was running all out, trying to finish in 6:40 or under (an hour faster than the previous men’s record). I shot down the loose dirt hill, ducked under the metal support beams of the bridge, and ran across the iron walkway over the Androsccoggin River. A few steps on the other side of the river and I was at the sign. 6:40:53. A mark I am proud of, and one that I hope will be beaten in the coming weeks, months, or years, as that would mean other runners are giving this route the attention it deserves. This is among the most historied FKT routes in America and for such good reason. Dylan Flewelling, Dan Curts, Jack Kuenzle (when you’re healthy), Katie Schide, Jordan Fields — runners who love this area should come test their legs. You won’t regret it. A day in the Mahoosucs is guaranteed to be great.

Peter is one of my favorite humans in the world. He had Moxies cooling in the river for us. We swam and rinsed off. We shared our reverence for the route, for Hillary Gerardi, for Chris Goetze, for Ben Nephew and Ryan Welts. A big thanks to Peter for inspiring me to get into this sport, for his friendship, and for the ride back to Grafton Notch.

Old Speck (3.5mi): 56:00
Speck Pond (4.8mi): 1:11
Mahoosuc Notch base (7.0mi): 1:42
Notch Trail (8.0mi): 2:00
South Peak (9.0mi): 2:17
North Peak (10.3mi): 2:36
Goose Eye (12.0mi): 3:00
Mount Success (16.0mi): 3:55
Gentian Pond (18.6mi): 4:26
Dream Lake Turn (20.7mi): 4:52
Paige Pond (22.2mi): 5:11
Cascade Mtn (24.3mi): 5:38
Mount Hayes (26.0mi): 6:03
Finish (29.58mi): 6:40:53

In my hut years, one man ruled the FKT scene - Ben Nephew. He is still the most decorated FKT artist in my opinion (lots of folks made new FKT routes during covid and it felt a bit like folks posting FKTs every run they went on). For a long time, Ben had more FKTs than anyone, and I’ll defend those efforts as legitimate efforts on aesthetic routes with well documented histories. In the White Mountains, FKT efforts have been documented in the periodical Appalachia as well as on message boards and amazing blogs. Ben maintained one of those blogs and it was his effort on the Mahoosuc Traverse in 2014 that brought this off-the-beaten-path route to my attention.

Mahoosuc Traverse: 28.3miles, 11,000ft of gain, notably includes Mahoosuc Notch, the hardest single mile of the Appalachian Trail.

In Ben’s blog post, he writes about racing the ghost of Chris Goetze - a mountain runner active in the late 1950s that was decades ahead of his time and leagues above the rest. For many, the Mahoosuc Traverse’s association with Chris Goetze adds to the appeal. The fact that Chris put up an effort in 1958 of 8hrs 7min, besting Bob Monahan’s 31 year old record and did so while stopping for 10 minutes at Gentian Pond to eat a steak is just all time mountain lore. It’s the stuff that captivates the running community around the White Mountains and makes this region so special. Chris’s record lasted from 1958 until 2014. Let that sink in for a bit.

I didn’t get the chance explore the Mahoosucs until 2020 (mostly cause I moved to Colorado). That summer I got out on a fun mission linking up ~16 miles of the route with my fellow New Hampshirite and trail running inspiration, Peter Howe.

Now five years later, I find myself in New Hampshire and Maine for a 3.5 week stint and an available window to test my legs on the historic Mahoosuc Traverse. As a hut kid, I was quite tempted to give the Hut Traverse another go and attempt to reclaim that crown for hut kids worldwide. Jack Kuenzle has the Hut Traverse record and it’s super stout. In my first few weeks back running in the White Mountains, I had the hut traverse on my mind so I didn’t do any recon on the Mahoosucs.

A couple weeks of running in the Whites and on Maine’s equally rugged trails, beat me up more than I anticipated. Last weekend I ran the Bigelow Traverse in a strong effort (3:47) and then biked back to my car - absolutely stunning route, but I could feel the compressions from the huge step downs in my lower back. Shoutout to Dylan Flewelling who set the FKT on the Bigelows earlier this August in a blazing 3:39. This is one ridge I am hungry to return to.

After a week of lingering soreness from the Bigelow Traverse, I decided that 45 miles of this terrain on a Hut Traverse would likely be too much on the chassis right now, and that leaning in to my original objective would be a more fitting expression of joy and fitness. Fellow AMC hut kid Hillary Gerardi currently holds the overall FKT on the Mahoosuc Traverse in 7 hours and 16 minutes.

Despite Hillary’s repeated advice to do a proper recon because of the numerous turns and side trails and detours, I’m deciding to go ahead with an attempt without the proper recon. For the first time ever, I loaded a .gpx file onto my watch, so we’ll see if that ends up being helpful in the least.

My good friend JP Krol did a Mahoosuc Traverse on Wednesday of this week and his report was “I hope you choose to do a Hut Traverse instead. There’s no water out there, man. It’s dry as a bone. You’ll get more out of the fitness you have where water exists and the AMC has dug lovely wells and have friendly hut crews with brownies, instead of traversing a… beautiful wilderness and pumping water through a filter flask at a single water source and being very very dehydrated.”

Ringing endorsement right? You might be thinking, “seems like Mahoosuc is a bad idea with no recon and with no available water Jeff. Maybe Hillary and JP have good points.” Well, I’m thinking that too. But I’ve learned a lot from these mountains and I’m ever a student, so might be high time for a new lesson. I guess I’ll find out Sunday.

Forecast for Sunday looks overcast with a high in the mid 70s. I’ll have my friend Peter Howe coming to help run shuttle and at least track me a bit so I don’t dehydrate into a raisin. Monday and Tuesday of next week look like rain, which would be nice in terms of water, but the advantage of all of the rocks on the Mahoosuc Traverse being currently dry can’t be understated. Dry footing on this technical terrain is a win. At Jordan Field’s urging, I tracked down a bladder for my vest and in addition, I’ll be wearing a waist belt with two bottles, will have two bottles in the front of my vest, and two flasks in my hands. I’ll carry a total of 5L and a filter from the start and fingers crossed the available water source at Gentian Pond at mile 20 is still there. I’ll pack some beef jerky to eat in honor of Chris Goetze (and as a nod to Hillary’s good style).

There is some beauty in the fact that this Sunday is August 24th, which is the same day Chris Goetze first attempted the Mahoosuc Traverse. There might also be some foreshadowing in the fact that he failed, got lost, and returned on August 28th to set his 56 year standard. We’ll see how the day unfolds!

I look up and there is a smaller bearded man with a bucket hat having himself a mighty start to the race. He’s sprinting. I settle into a nice pace accounting for adrenaline and excitement. We turn onto the road and I take in my surroundings, Ryan Smith, two time HiLo winner, and Ryan Sullivan, who I anticipate will be my strongest competition are in step with me. Scott Traer is within earshot and we share some pleasantries. Making our way down the first descent around two miles into the race, we catch the rabbit that sprinted off the front. He introduces himself as Andrew and says he’s honored to get to share some strides with us. Really sweet guy, I take a mental note to see how his race goes.

We turn off of pavement and onto a gravel road. Ryan, Ryan and I are running shoulder to shoulder and our shadows are enormous. Soft morning light rises over the Arkansas River Valley and the white chalk cliffs of Mount Princeton shine bright against the Sawatch Range, still sleeping, lightless in the background. A steep grade change as we hit the Colorado Trail. It’s just the three of us now.

My race plan: take it easy at altitude, be able to race the final 40 miles and finish strong.

I hadn’t really thought about the start though - this first ~10 miles before climbing over 10,000 feet for the next 60 miles. Am I running too fast? Trying too hard too early? These miles feel unstrained. As the first climb steepens, I drop into a lower gear and start hiking. I take note that Ryan and Ryan both are running without poles. I’ve got my poles in a quiver and don’t really plan to unsheathe them until the climb up Antero.

Ryan and Ryan run away from me a bit, but we all regroup to share a pee break. I pass through the first aid at Raspberry 1 in first, a couple minutes faster than Jimmy Splits. My crew started referring to Jimmy Elam as Jimmy Splits, as he had the course record. I like the nickname cause it reminds me of Jimmy Buckets (Jimmy Butler’s nickname in the NBA). At this point, Jimmy Splits has enough stout 100 mile efforts that his splits are pretty reliable regardless of the course. I can’t help but think that people watching the race are going to assume I’m setting this fast pace for the first 7.3 miles. I let the thought fade out of focus.

Ryan and Ryan are gabbing a good bit behind me. I love running with other people, but something about leading the race has me tuned into my own effort and not engaging in the discord. The trail gets punchier as we climb Brown’s Creek and I comfortably switch between 5-8 hiking strides and then roll back into a jog many times. I can’t tell if the Ryans would prefer to run these little knuckles but they’ve been compliantly in step thus far. At the first sustained steeper grade, I step aside and pull out my poles. Both Ryans shimmy out of sight ahead of me as I resort to power hiking. They don’t ease up their running strides.

By the top of Antero pass, they have a couple minute spread on me and I relax knowing that I don’t want to be running with anyone on the descent down Antero into Alpine. I try to settle but my body feels mids at best. Some hamstring pain creeping into my hip. My stride feels more labored than smooth, but I remind myself I’m at 13,100 ft. At 9am I take a 650mg Tylenol to help ease the thoughts of pain and perhaps ease the pain itself.

I run within myself for the remainder of the five mile / 3,500 foot descent making sure to stay on top of eating and hydrating. I fill my filter bottle at the final creek crossing and begin the five miles of “douche grade” to St. Elmo 1. I practiced this section of course and I know what a sustained but comfortable effort feels like, though between this “douche grade” and the climb from St Elmo 2 to Tin Cup, I think this grade is sneaky hard and could be an area where runners hemorrhage significant time. Passing through Iron City Campground, I wave to Steve the camp host who we met two weeks before.

Right turn then left turn through St. Elmo. If High Lonesome had permission to make this a spectator spot, this would be one of the all time aid station/ spectator locations in ultrarunning. It is so rich with history, wickedly quaint, and in an unbelievable setting. Two ladies are standing arms akimbo in the middle of the road being chatty Cathys. I see my friend and photographer Oliver Sutro in the trees up ahead. I screw with him by running arms akimbo like the ladies for a few strides. Nice to have some lighthearted fun.

As I round the corner into the aid station, I see Ryan Sullivan leaving and Ryan Smith just arriving. I’ve just closed a 5 minute gap in 5 miles and it felt easy. This is the first time all day that I acknowledge I might be having a special day and that perhaps, I can’t trust the signals my body is giving. I’m moving really well. I’m three minutes up on Jimmy Splits.

I take what I can get in terms of easy runnable miles over Laws Pass and hike everything that feels strained. I’m starting to trust my instincts on running by feel (and hiking by heart rate and respiration rate). On the descent down into Cottonwood, I set my internal governor at 8min/mi pace - no need to overcook my running legs early.

Ryan Sullivan and I share a fist bump as he jogs out of Cottonwood Aid and I pull in. Through the first 31 miles and 5h27m, I’ve consumed 600g of carbs, 2300mg of electrolytes, 3500ml of fluids on top of my glycogen stores from breakfast. For the first 60 miles my mantras are supposed to be “Patience is the practice” and “Self care” - don’t worry about anything other than me.

Power hiking up the backside of Law’s Pass, I get a glimpse of the rest of the race unfolding behind us. Rachel Entrekin is leading the women’s race and is a chipper as can be. The out and back brings me a lot of joy and every passing runner is a “Let’s go, good work, thank you.” I try to think of a cooler greeting to share but it’s too taxing of a thought and I keep saying, “Strong work.” The thought crosses my mind, “isn’t this play?” Through the trees I see some red, “could that be Ryan?” I’ve closed the gap to less than a minute all by hiking and he looks a bit fatigued running most steps.

Ryan and I link up in St. Elmo 2. He shares that he had a low point on Law’s Pass. We’re both keen on working together these 4 miles of douche grade to Tin Cup and the start of the Continental Divide section. Working together the miles go by pretty quickly. An inflatable unicorn dances its way toward us and the volunteers bring the energy hooting and hollering as we run into Tin Cup aid. Ryan and I are both quite reserved and fill up on water, say our thank yous and venture onto the single track for an 8 mile Continental Divide section ranging from 11,000ft and 12,000ft in altitude.

I’m waiting to pull my poles out until my heart rate tells me I need them. We hear “Look at this power train” from a jovial Jason Schlarb who is out for a run before commentating. I’m ready to start hiking, but with Schlarb cheering us on and jogging with us for a minute, I’m running and trying to keep form. It’s clear Ryan also has a ton of respect for Jason, we all chat briefly through a couple mindless CDT switchbacks. Jason carries on in the other direction and I pull out my poles and start hiking. Patience is the practice.

God, eating and drinking is hard at 12,000ft. I should have eaten more early in the climb. From what I can tell, Ryan isn’t eating either. Is this reassuring or more of a sign that I need to be eating? These miles don’t come easy. Ryan hasn’t seen this section of trail and he jogs ahead on the bench leading up to the Alpine Tunnel. I’m not jogging up here but I can still hike like I’m a hut kid in the White Mountains. I fill a bottle and drink the whole thing. I down 90g of carbs. If he is jogging, I need to be eating. Self care.

When I visualized my race, I forced myself to be comfortable with being behind the ghost of Jimmy Splits and behind Ryan. As it stands, Ryan and I run into Hancock together, four minutes faster than Jimmy Splits. Annie hands me a flask of coke and I down it. I gut close to 150g of carbs at this aid station between gels and coke. Jon Harrison is joining me to pace the next 34 miles. Ryan is getting ready to go. I introduce myself to his pacer Erik Sorensen and we head to gear check. I’m comfortable with a little social hour and Erik paced Katie last weekend at Hardrock so I’m keen to hear how it was. Gear check must be taking longer for Ryan - Jon and I leave before them and from here to the finish, we won’t share another step.

I’ve been above 11,000 feet for ten miles now and I’ll remain this high or higher for the next twenty miles. High. I’m feeling it. But fortunately, I feel supported and don’t feel lonesome out here. Drew Petersen and Annie have been an all-star duo and the first couple of miles Jon and I share reinforce my decision to have him pace me. He asks me about some of the recent NBA trade news, about the Trailblazers and the prospect of Jrue Holiday playing with Dame Time. This is one of my favorite topics, but I can’t lean into the conversation — it’s too energy intensive. Jon gets the picture and we return our focus to the trail.

At Lost Wonder Hut I use the outhouse and take a solid BM. What a joy to poop mid-race in a toilet, get to read some comics on the wall, and use both toilet paper and hand sanitizer. I eat a cup of ramen noodles and re-up on electrolytes. Jon and I roll out of the aid station just as Erik and Ryan come in. We bump fists and saunter off.

We’re approaching the Headwall climb. This climb has been living rent free in my head since I connected with Jimmy Splits a couple weeks back. Jimmy mentioned that Tyler Fox ended up in his bivy sack on this climb in 2023 and that it is definitely the crux of the race. I didn’t get a chance to review the climb in training, but I paced Tim Nooney through this section back in 2019, although it was nighttime.

Jon and I move well up the switchbacks to Boss Lake Reservoir. Every Alpine Lake I see I daydream of a world in which I’m an angler and get to take a break and wade into the water to meditate in rhythm. But alas, I need to keep power hiking. I don’t remember this long carriage road hallway section of the climb. Am I overdoing it? I check my watch and my heart rate is 108bpm. Okay, my heart rate monitor has officially died, I can feel my heartbeat reverberating through the water in my hydration vest. “Jon, let’s dial it back a little. We’re almost through the crux, I don’t want to push too hard too early.”

Jon Harrison might as well be racing. I have a feeling he could pace me the whole damn race and be as calm and collected as he is now. “Sure thing my man. You’re looking great.” Up. Up. Up. We pass Hunt Lake, what a divine place to camp. Breaking into the open alpine zone, boulders and scree abound. “They just came into sight as we went out of sight. I don’t think they saw us but they are about 7 minutes back.” I register Jon’s comment but I’m too focused on staying calm and moving with ease. I point out a camera man hiding in the rocks as we push up the 20% grade switchbacks and we wave.

Two things are on my mind as we crest the top of the Headwall at 12,500 feet.
1. What the hell are we looking at?
2. This is when I’m allowed to start racing. I don’t want Ryan to have any contact with me from here to the finish.

It takes a second for Jon and I to get our bearings. We’re completely turned around in the southern Sawatch. Is that the Taylor Park Reservoir area? Wait, no we’re looking east, oh shit that’s Salida! Running the Ridge along the Continental Divide to Monarch Pass is one of the highlights of High Lonesome. It’s quintessential ridge running with the valley falling away towards Gunnison on one side and Salida on the other. Long stretches of trail provide visibility for a mile or more ahead. We hammer to put a gap on Ryan. I want to average 10:00 miles from here to the finish. I think I can. I know I can.

Passing through Purgatory Aid, someone calls out that I’m really pushing for Caleb to get a tattoo. I didn’t know about this bet, but the stakes just elevated a little. Running down into Monarch Aid all I can think about is brushing my teeth. I’ve eaten over 1,500g of carbs and my teeth feel like a fuzzy carpet.

Then I see Annie and I’m completely overwhelmed with love. There’s confidence I get from being married to such an amazing woman, but sometimes during races I spontaneously get overwhelmed and start crying. I think to myself, “use the love. Let’s go!”

Brushing my teeth is heavenly. My whole crew cheers me on as I ditch the vest and poles, move my required gear to my belt, and get handhelds and then… I’m forced to eat a cup of ramen and drink some Coke, seconds after spitting out my minty fresh toothpaste. So it goes, heaven only lasted a second.

Jon is sticking with my, another 16 miles of his pacing perfection. Turning off of Monarch Crest, the trail becomes comical. “Satan’s slip and slide”— it’s loose dirt and baby-head size rocks on a “road” that rollercoasters between 10% decline and 30% decline. With two handhelds I’m drinking way more fluids than I was with the pack. I have to pee desperately, but the road is too steep to slow down. I calm my mind and bladder and pee my pants like a grown man.

“Jeff, I’ll set the pace at 9:00 pace if that sounds good.” - I respond “Great.” A couple minutes go by, “hey Jeff, we’re running 7:30 pace, how are you feeling?” - I acknowledge that I might be getting greedy, but the turnover feels effortless and we don’t slow down. In and out of Foose’s Aid in under 10 seconds. They weren’t set up yet, but I only wanted water. A yip yip from my high school friend Noah Williams and a “Let’s go New Hampshire” holler came from the tent. This FIRES ME UP! We’re flowing and the sun is setting in a full orange and raspberry sorbet sky.

Jon tells me that I’m 18 minutes up on Ryan Smith at Monarch. I read between the lines, Ryan Sullivan is fading. I mentally pour one out for Ryan Sullivan - I’m a huge fan of his. We’re rolling. The weirdest thing is happening. The deeper I dig, the better I feel. I’m not going to screw this up. Focus of eating, focus on drinking. Headlamps on.

“We put another minute per mile on both Ryan Smith and Jimmy Splits in the section to Foose’s.” I register Jon’s words but I’m doing the math in my head to figure out if I can finish before midnight and break 18 hours. Okay — impossible. 18:30? That’s going to be a real stretch even with how well we are moving. I can definitely break 19 hours though if we are able to roll 10 minute pace.

On the climb up to Blank’s Cabin, I’m feeling worried about losing Jon as my pacer. Should I ask him to take me to the finish? That’s 50 miles on his legs. That’s a lot to ask. There is a delta of about 1.2 miles between what my watch reads and the race’s numbers. Quick math check - 15:55 elapsed. 16.9 miles to go. We cruise into Blanks, I down a 90g gel and turn to Wes, “We have 3 hours to run 17 miles, can you take me there?” No hesitation, he starts running.

I drop into a fugue state. I feel like I’ve been here before. I feel like we’re running so fast but not making progress. The discrepancy from my watch is playing mind games on me. Are we past the point where the loop reconnects? I think yes. Wes says no. It’s Wes’s first time pacing and he’s doing a great job. His bright white Ultra Pros are perfectly reflective in my headlamp and watching his footwork deepens my trance. Every 20 minutes Wes - “Jeff, time to eat and drink.” I’ve tasked him with this but does he know how much I’ve eaten today? I don’t have the energy to tell him off. I just keep sipping.

Thank god, the 0.5 miles to next aid station sign. We keep trudging. This is the longest half mile of my life. “Wes, will you give a yip?” - I want to hear the aid station and get fired up by my crew. There’s a quiet rumble from up ahead but not much energy. As we run in my crew is on the fringe of the aid station clearly looking to do a quick transition and send me on my way. “I need to stand for a second.” I chug some water, finish the gel I have open, and compose myself. Drew hands me two handhelds and puts three gels totaling 150g Carbs in my belt. “Y’all my stomach is done eating today, I’ll keep sipping but I’m not going to eat those.” I don’t have the energy to argue, I jog out with the food in my belt still.

Annie calls after me, “You’re going to break 19, keep it up!” I look back at Wes’s shoes and elevate into a focused conscious state. “Wes, let’s work this climb good and then we’ll be cruiser to the finish.” My bladder keeps releasing. It’s almost sip for sip at this point. I smell rank. Whatever, it’s all for glory right?

We’re pushing hard. I think I’m still feeling good though. I can’t decipher if my mind or body is tired, or if I think this should be hard and thus I’m making it hard? We crest the top of the hill. I know I’ve got the win. I know I’ve got the course record. I keep digging a little deeper and in this weird dystopia where everything goes right, I keep feeling better and better.

At the turn onto Chalk Creek Drive, Drew Petersen joins our party to pace me into the finish. Some cars are just coming down from crewing their runners at Hancock. We get a couple hoots and hollers. We turn left onto Rodeo Road. Wes and Drew are a stride in front of me. I feel something I’ve never felt. I care about leading this climb. “Hey fellas, I’d like to lead to the finish.” They both oblige but they’re still one stepping me a little. Screw it. I double down and start hammering the hill harder, racing them so they know I’m serious and I want to be in front. “What type of celebration should I do at the finish? You guys got any ideas?” Drew and Wes laugh, but don’t share any ideas of note.

We turn onto the field and just like that, I cross the finish line. My wife, my crew, friends, my mom, Caleb, and a couple other folks cheering me on. I’m beyond myself. 18:52. Fifty minutes faster than Jimmy Splits, all in the last 30 miles. I give out some big hugs (hoping nobody thinks I smell too ripe).

After a group photo, Caleb invites us to sit by the fire and chat. All I want is a burger. It’s 12:52am and there are no burgers to be found. Annie gets me some leftover french fries that are pretty perfect in the moment. I ask about Ryan Sullivan and Ryan Smith. I want to stay for their finishes. Caleb tells me that Ryan Sullivan dropped out. Ryan Smith just passed through Raspberry and will be an hour and change. We settle in by the fire and chat away. Surrounded by my crew, pacers, and with Annie by my side, I’m overwhelmed with gratitude. I had my perfect race. The patience paid off.

Postscript: I followed up the with small bearded man in the bucket hat who took the race out fast. His name is Andrew Higgins, he’s from Birmingham, AL. He finished in 32:41 and has done a slew of the toughest mountain hundreds in the country.

I knew that I was into High Lonesome around the new year. When I sat down with my coaches Danny Blake and Corrine Malcolm to map out the year, my season goal was to win a World Championship with Team USA in the 80km race. That meant I’d have to place top 2 at Gorge Waterfalls and qualify for the team. As a contingency plan, I elected to race a couple of high profile 50km races to help build out my resume as the only race finish I had in 2024 was a win at the Sean O’Brien 50km.

I raced Black Canyon 50km and maybe I expected more from myself in my first race in 13 months, but a 6th place finish was not representative of my fitness. At the end of March, I raced the Chianti 46km, and while I finished 8th, I was proud of that result for how hard the day was and for my decision to stay focused and race hard the final 10 miles. When I got to Gorge Waterfalls 100km in April, I had six full months of training under my belt. I’ll be the first to admit, I got my butt whooped. Adam and Tracen really ran away with that race and I missed the early move at mile 32 to stay in the mix. I finished 4th, under the previous course record, but not enough to cut the mustard. I was devastated. I didn’t want to admit it cause I wanted to be a good sport. I also want the USA to send the best possible team to World’s, but I really wanted to be on that team. It took a while to appreciate how good of a race I really ran.

The team for Worlds was announced and I was informed that I was second alternate on a team of six. The fact that my name was even in contention with the likes of Jim, Zach, Caleb, Tracen, Adam, Eric, and Tyler was wildly flattering. But as it goes with imposter syndrome, I told myself it was a pity vote and that they didn’t expect me to end up on the team. Leave it to me to say the things I imagine others might be thinking.

In mid April, I accepted that regardless of how things would shake out with the World’s team, I would get in the best shape possible for High Lonesome. This was always the plan, and High Lonesome was always going to get my full focus. I think the timing between HiLo and World’s is great and fitness for HiLo would translate well to steep hiking and technical terrain in Canfranc. But knowing I missed an auto-spot on the team, I was eager to have a race I would be proud of. The men’s start list for High Lonesome looked strong, with Ryan Sullivan and Tyler Green as standouts I’d keep an eye on (I was also a bit eager to race Tyler Green, who as first alternate had been bumped up to the team when Eric Lipuma opted out).

In my build for High Lonesome, I planned my peak weeks around racing the Broken Arrow 46km and pacing Jeff Mogavero at States. I’m a realist, I didn’t think I really had a chance to qualify for the short course World’s team, but 29 miles with 8,700 feet of climbing is good stimulus. Between Gorge and Broken Arrow, I averaged 65 miles a week of running with 10,600 feet of climbing. Not slacking, not overkill, just right for keeping my training load in step with my life balance. It felt manageable with some focused threshold efforts and hill work each week, as well as a focused strength session every Thursday. My typical week would look something like this:
M: Rest day or dog jog (max 60min)
T: Hill sprints or track work RPE 9/10 (max 90min)
W: Floating recovery (~90min, up to 12 miles, try to stack some vert)
T: 1/3Threshold workout totaling ~30min at RPE 8/10 (~90min). 2/3 Strength session featuring eccentric loading, stability work, hip complex, hops, vestibular stimulation, squats or deadlifts following by explosive jumps. 3/3 Social run in the evening, 5-6miles.
F: Spin out on bike or ~75min of easy vert
S/S: ~5-7hrs, 38mi, 8K of climbing split between two days.

My Thursdays were pretty intense. That day of the week is a bit chiller in terms of work calls so I feel like I can fit the afternoon strength session in. Most weeks I would feel the strength session when I woke up Saturday for my long run of the week. This made my Thursday - Sunday block pretty challenging every week, but manageable. By Tuesday speed sessions I’d feel recovered and zippy again. For the final four weeks of training leading up to race week, I had three peak weeks and a taper week:

June 16: 83 miles, 18,700ft of ascent, 13h13m, raced Broken Arrow 46km

June 23: 87 miles, 16,700ft of ascent, 14h4m, long run with Max Joliffe and paced 20 miles of WSER where Jeff Mogavero and Kilian battled back and forth.

June 30: 101 miles, 19,900ft of ascent, 16h42m, a longer 19 mile mid-week steady state effort and then back to back long runs on HiLo course. This was just six days of running, I also did 2 hours on the bike.

July 7: 46 miles, 7,300ft of ascent, 7h16m, speed work and steady state

In the week leading up to High Lonesome, I felt like garbage. I know that I am super susceptible to the taper tantrums. I get them BAD folks. For example, the night before placing 3rd at Black Canyon 100km in 2022, I woke up to go to the bathroom and both of my calves seized and I fell against the desk in our hotel room waking up my dad. I was terrified. He wasn’t worried.

Side tangent: Can we just talk about how amazing it is that my dad has such blind faith in me? He doesn’t do my training with me, he doesn’t look at my training, he really has no tangible way of knowing my fitness. Yet every race, he looks at me with this certainty and belief that I wish I could see in my own reflection. Anyone else have a parent like this? It’s like because I’m his offspring, he just knows I am going to succeed. I was the sperm that won, so shouldn’t I keep on winning?

On Tuesday of race week, I did an 8 mile run with 20 minutes of steady state and felt TERRIBLE. I didn’t look at my watch, I didn’t want to know how slow I was running. Mechanics, mind, motivation, muscles, all of the M’s felt shitty. Upon reflection though, I was actually moving really well. Thursday of race week, my crew captain Drew Petersen and I did a shake-out run on the first 2.5 miles of the course so I could see the start and finish. The feels? Like manure. Caca. Throw me out with the trash. The reals? On our jog back up the final hill we were among the 5 fastest times on that stretch of course.

It’s this final week where it is so important for me to calm my mind and have positive, effortless distractions. Drew took over all of my spreadsheets on Tuesday of race week. I had a couple hours left in Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows which is so captivating and harmless so I listened to that on the drive to Buena Vista. I did make a quick pit stop in Twin Lakes to see Germain and Katie so they’re magic could rub off on me. The Tour de France is one of my favorite sporting spectacles, so that was on for a couple hours each morning. Finally on Thursday, Drew and I walked over for packet pick up. I did a pre-race interview. And we elected to hand-off dinner duty to my cousin Billy who is the head chef at CU Boulder and knows how to cook for 13 people.

With those final details addressed, all that was left to do was get a good night sleep. I’m reading a book called Into the Magic Shop: A Neurosurgeon’s True Story of the Life Changing Magic of Compassion and Mindfulness by James Doty. It’s a wonderful read, but interestingly, the author walks through how to do a body scan to slow down your breathing, calm your mind, and fall asleep. Without knowing it, this is the same body scan my Mom introduced to me before the Reno Junior Olympics in 2000 at age 9. I smiled as a worked through contracting and releasing each muscle group. I exhaled and meditated on the muscles that seized or cramped. I let me mind fall out of focus and into a state of involuntary function. I passed out.

At the root of it, this is how I want to approach life. I like being a “yes” person and living a full life brings joy to my journey and keeps every day interesting. Maintaining a regimented training schedule can work in opposition to this life approach. Run training requires discipline and compromise, at times it requires saying no. On Tuesday night of this week, my closest friends from Carbondale went out to play nine holes of golf. None of us are really golfers, which typically makes for a good time. This was an occasion that I recognized called for a “soon, but can’t tonight.”

On the flip side, in my lead up to High Lonesome, I said yes to a childhood friend’s wedding on Long Island. I said yes to spending a week in Tahoe and meeting my baby nephew Bridger. Yes to pacing Western States (I also said yes to golf with my dad and brother, none of us golfers, loads of fun). I said yes to renovating our kitchen this summer. Yes to helping out with volunteer trail work in the last couple weeks. Yes to dinners with friends and family. Yes to hosting my parents in the two weeks leading up to the race. Yes to lots of time with my nephews. And yes any time my wife needed support as her summer job is full on and she’s amazing. Lots of yeses certainly impacted my ability to train at altitude and prioritize ideal race prep. C’est la vie.

In 2022, in the wake of my debut at Western States, I sought out a coach to help me hone the sharp end of my training. I explored a couple of options, but the one criteria I really leaned on was I wanted a coach who had been a nordic skier cause nordic skiers seem to understand the value of adventure as a source of training. When I linked up with Corrine Malcolm in September of 2022, I quickly learned that I also got a coach who values a balance of life and sport and has an acute EQ when it comes to recognizing when my life balance is wonky.

My early 30s have been ripe with adulting, which can be fulfilling, challenging, daunting, and uncontrollable all at once. I’ve found pockets of time over the last couple of weeks to visualize my race at High Lonesome and to sort through my doubts, my mantras, and my motivations. One of my primary doubts that surfaces: “I didn’t spend enough time above 10,000ft.” Rightfully so, High Lonesome spends some 60+ miles between 10,500-12,500+ feet. I also ponder if I’ll ever be as fit as I was before 2023 States. The project is progress. I have to remind myself that all of this fitness is accumulative (and that my race at Gorge 100km this spring might have been my best race ever). The fitness is there and growing.

My plan is to run my race and to race the course. I know in modern day ultras, we all want to see competition between runners, but if I’m being honest, I think Ryan Sullivan is fitter than I am at altitude. His San Juan Solstice performance was stellar. I fear trying to match him through the first 60 miles could put me into a deficit. Patience will be my practice and I plan to have running legs the final 40 miles of the race to finish strong. I anticipate I will be behind Jimmy Elam’s course record splits (and possibly Ryan) for close to 80 miles, but I know I can close effectively and run a historically fast time at this race.

Right now, while I am out racing High Lonesome and pushing myself to my limits at 12,000ft, I’m not going to find strength in my threshold work or my hill repeats. Sure, those efforts keep my legs moving well. The strength I need to dwell on is mental and I’m going to find that strength in my people. I have a big crew coming out to support me this weekend at a race that discourages large crews and spectators. I understand why they want to keep the impact minimized. For me, it is incredibly hard to say no to my loved ones when they ask if they can show up for me in these big life moments. I want to say yes. I want to share in this expression of joy, hardship, and endurance. I don’t think I’d have it any other way and hopefully my friends and family are respectful and make the weekend more fun for others.

It’s interesting for me to think about my “Why” for High Lonesome. For races that I haven’t done before, the “Why” is grounded in a new experience, traveling through a new landscape, and pushing myself on terrain that inspires me. I’ve seen what other really strong runners have done here at High Lonesome and I’m hopeful and excited to get the opportunity to test myself along the divide. Whether my future sights are set on Hardrock (fingers crossed) or a return to UTMB, or some other mountainous race at elevation, my experiences on the High Lonesome course are going to equip me for success down the road. Decisions to push or be patient and the associated outcomes are more data to fuel my future success.

I’ve heard the saying, “you only have so many matches to burn” in references to 100 miler races in one’s lifetime. I’m super stoked to be burning one of those matches today. No prize money. No sponsor incentives. High Lonesome is a race that has always inspired me and is close to home so some of my favorite people can share in the weekend with me. It’s these memories I’m out forging with friends and family that will help build my mental fortitude for future life.

Thanks for reading. If you’re reading when this email sends, think of me. I’m likely just wrapping up the divide section around mile 45 and approaching Hancock to have Jon Harrison join me as a pacer. I could use your energy and support. 🤲

*The title of this post and opening line alludes to a Loudon Wainwright III song that has been a favorite of mine for over a decade.
”Have high wide and handsome carved on my head stone,
With the date I was born plus the date that I died,
Then take one from the other - all that's left is a number.
Just remember I laughed twice as hard as I cried.”

My wife Annie and I left Montebelluna Friday afternoon and drove 3.5 hours down to Toscano (I love the Italian name for Tuscany). I booked accommodations for this race quite late and with 4,000 runners descending on the rural region, we ended up staying at a castle about 30 minutes from Radda in Chianti. My business partner Thomas and his awesome daughters joined us for the weekend. We kicked it off with a 7 course Beef dinner at Dario Cecchini, world famous butcher of Panzano. From lardo to beef tartar to Bistecca alla fiorentina - we ate so much cow.

On Saturday, we made it over to see the finish of the 120km races and got a taste of the UTMB Chianti chaos. Despite rain, mud, and thousands of cars in a quaint village without the infrastructure to support an event of this size, the vibes at the finish were all time. I picked up my bib this and we bopped around Siena in search of a dinner that wasn’t beef. I outlined my nutrition plan for the race and laid out my required gear. In talking with Annie, it came up that there were some really fast guys in the field, including the Francesco Puppi. Before bed, Annie looked at me straight faced and said “I don’t believe any of those guys are faster than you.”1

I carried that with me. The first descent was beyond comical - 650 feet of steep slip and slide mud with tight turns - we all looked like Mario Cart characters trying not to spin out. The first two miles we hit 5:30 and the lead group formed around 6 runners. As we hit the first climb, I dialed back my pace slightly to focus on footing and not slip. Use my skiing ability to my advantage by bombing the muddy slick downhills and try to conserve energy on the uphills by not slipping back, this was my strategy.

Around 10km, I lost contact with the lead group by 30m or so. On the next climb, the seventh runner Arnaud caught up to me. We worked together for a couple of kilometers until he also put a slight gap on me. Marcos then caught up to me and passed me with conviction. I was having difficulty staying in it. I started to tell myself that the podium was no longer in reach, that in 9th place at mile 14, I was too out of touch. (Marcus actually went on to get third so kudos to him - he ran such a smart race.)

If I want to stay in it, then stay in it damn it! The runner in 10th caught up to me and I told myself, NO. There is no way you let him pass you. The last two runners to pass you gapped you and were gone. Stay in front of Seb, cut him off, do whatever it takes. Compete! This is where I landed on my mantra. There is no butter side up.

Background: I’ve had friends (including my wife and siblings) say that “Jeff’s toast always falls butter side up.” I want to be clear, I wasn’t born with a silver spoon in my mouth. I didn’t come from money or have the easiest upbringing. What they are referring to is that I often manifest things… successfully. The smaller examples include raffles; I win an abnormal amount of them. The larger examples - whenever I’ve looked for work or housing, it always seems like something “falls into my lap.”

In 2022, I really wanted to be on the World’s Team for the USA and go to Chiangmai. To my good fortune, I was selected and our Men’s 80km team won gold. This is where things get murky - cause some folks would give me a slight head tilt and look that says “butter side up! Again!” As I am currently on a campaign to try to get back on Team USA for WMTRC in Canfranc, this hit me mid race. Did that opportunity fall in my lap? Did a world championship just get handed to me? Or did I work for it?

Chianti: I start asking myself, “How badly do you want this? This race isn’t just going to come to you. Black Canyons didn’t come to you. When you line up at Gorge, everyone there is going to be fit and is going to want a top spot in the race. What makes you think any of this will be easy? Were you just given an opportunity in 2022 or did you work for it? There is no butter side up. At every point you’ve shown up and put in the work. For over 25 years now you’ve been running and training for this sport. There is no butter side up.”

I stayed in front of Seb. I started pushing harder, and harder. There is no butter side up. At mile 21 at the bottom of a screaming downhill, I passed Annie and Thomas and the girls. They made signs for me - I felt a wave of appreciation for how special life is. Then I returned to focus. Jim Walmsley drove by and cheered minutes later as I transitioned from the flat to a climb. My legs started cramping. For the last ten miles, I’d been slightly nauseous and I hadn’t forced enough calories. Suddenly it felt hot also and I was low on water. When’s the next aid station? How long is this race?

I downed a gel and kept pushing. Stay ahead of Seb. There is no butter side up. Eventually there will be an aid station. I wish I knew the course better, but alas, nothing to change at this point. Pushing up another long climb, Jim and the Hoka team were out cheering and he slapped me on the back. So now I’ve got Jim’s superpowers, don’t let them go to waste. Push, you’ve got Jim’s climbing legs.

I eventually made it to the final aid station and poured water on my head. Revitalized! Even when it’s not that hot, cooling is so effective. I filled up my bottle and started running out as Seb ran in. A Steep downhill with a stream running down the trail, some winding switchbacks, a road crossing, a super steep paved hill. Some guy said, “5 minutes” and I thought, oh sweet, I’m 5 minutes from the finish. Another hill, I must be climbing back up to the town. Marion Delespierre ran by cheering (she snapped the below pic). I could see the castle in Radda in Chianti on the horizon. I must be close.

Then a sharp turn and a long steep descent. Oh fuck me, I’m going away from town. I just want to be done. Up ahead a get a glimpse of two runners and a switch is flipped in my mind. Give me two more miles. The earth through the vineyards is fully saturated. It’s either mud or puddles. Another climb, another turn, another descent. I see Arnaud up ahead of me, no more than a quarter mile. My watch hits 28 miles. How far is 46km? There is no butter side up, keep pushing!

I start laughing when I go down a short pitch and I’m back on the start of the course, climbing the 650 muddy trail that we destroyed earlier in the day. Reaching for literal olive branches so as to not slip. It’s not fast, it’s not pretty, it definitely hurts, it’s definitely gritty. Up some stone steps, through a tunnel, narrow village corridors and to the finish. I see Annie and the girls cheering. I cross the line and give Arnaud a hug. I didn’t have the runway to catch him but I tried. I didn’t give up. I put four minutes on Seb in the last four miles. I ran 28.5 miles at 6:18 GAP in super shitty conditions. And I found the fire to carry with me to Gorge in three weeks.

Over the following weeks into February, I started feeling some pretty extreme pain in my “thass” - that thigh ass transition area. It felt like my ischial tuberosity was fracturing off of my pelvis. Nordic skiing and ski touring were intolerable. I had a couple dinners where just sitting down my pain was 7/10. Speed work was too painful, running was too painful. I had some planned travel to Italy for work in March and I didn’t get in for an MRI before that trip. I kept training, trying to make the most of the fitness I had been building and holding on hope for Canyons 50km where I’d get to race Eli Hemming (big fan and I like racing competitors who are the best at their discipline).

Upon return from Italy, I finally got an MRI. It showed two torn labrums - unsurprising - and some minor swelling at the connection point of my hamstring. Hamstring tendinopathy is the catch all for this inexplicable pain that moves through the middle and top of the hamstring. I got scheduled for a Toradol injection and was assured it would last 12-16 weeks, that I wouldn’t be hurting myself if I kept training, and that I could still race Western States.

It was the second week of April. States was 11 weeks away. I was regularly feeling nausea from the pain. In my heart of hearts, my gut was telling me to pull from Western States and give my body a rest. I even saw Anthony Costales make that decision and I felt like I had a frog in my throat, knowing that I too should call it. BUT, the doctors said I would be fine. My head was spiraling. I asked for help. I called friends in the running world and asked about sports psychologists. I asked On if there was any assistance available through our team. On connected me with the team sports psych, a benefit that they covered on my behalf.

“Crushed by uncertainty”
”My physical injury is ballooning into a mental injury”
”I can’t control my thoughts.” “I’m slipping.” “I’m depressed.” “It would be easier if I just got hit by a car and the decision about my race was made for me.”

This was my headspace when I started working with my counselor. We took some drastic action. The lesson “if you don’t make time or space for having a quiet mind, it won’t happen” really stuck with me. I eliminated all podcasts and audiobooks from my daily routine. If I was working, I did work. If I picked up my phone to scroll or dick around, that was the trigger for me to go lie down on my back for 10 minutes. Reading was acceptable. Watching cycling races and basketball was okay as a relaxing activity.

Whether my counselor did or did not think I should race, he effectively held a mirror up to me and I clearly wanted to race. We put a plan in place. My coach, Corrine Malcolm and I decided to bring on a full time strength coach to help target the hamstring area and build resilience through my hip complex. All of my speed work was moved to the road bike. The thought was, “if Jim could do it in 2022, why not give it a try.”

In May, I had a couple of good training weeks. At the WSER training camp, I was feeling confident in my ability (I also had so much fun running and hanging out with everyone — really made me long for a running community in Carbondale).

In early June, a family crisis that I had been dealing with started to get more acute. A relative was suffering with alcoholism and my expectations of them, specifically around my wedding at the end of the summer, were causing me a great deal of stress. We traveled back east for some friends’ wedding the weekend of the 14th and we ended up putting an offer on a house in Carbondale while we were away. We had stopped looking for houses to remove that from our plate before my partner started an intense summer of work and before I had the big race, but this house really fit all of our desires.

On Monday, June 17th, we had our final wedding to-do before Western States - our food tasting. We had a great dinner and after dinner, I was going to get a nice 10-12 miles of faster hilly trail running in on the drive home. As we drove from Aspen down to Carbondale, we got a text that our offer for the house was accepted. I think this is supposed to feel exciting for people. For Annie and me, it felt like a wave of dread and anxiety. How were we going to manage this with our schedules? How were we going to afford this? What would this change feel like? This is just so much to take on before our wedding.

A few days later, I flew to Reno and headed up to Olympic Valley. I had ongoing pain in my hamstring. I was coordinating an intervention for my relative the week after Western States and trying to find affordable rehab facilities for them. I was signing endless docu-sign forms and trying to negotiate the price of the house that we were buying. I was exploring timeframes for painters to come paint and what work we could do to the house prior to moving in with the big question, could we move in before our wedding?

Folks. I was fucked. I couldn’t keep a clear mind for the life of me. Annie took 48 hours off of her crazy summer work schedule and flew out to witness Western States for the first time. I wanted so badly to make the most of it.

How about that race eh? Must have been very cool to watch the 2024 Western States. I’ll speak from experience, passing through Dusty Corners in 19th place and 9 minutes under my expected splits which were already 5 minutes faster than I had run in 2023, I couldn’t believe the race unfolding in front of me. All I wished was that I was able to be in the mix. As I descended into El Dorado Creek and started the climb to Michigan Bluff, my story was written. The cramping and seizing in hamstrings and right arm at mile 12 had morphed into a fully blown posterior chain. My body was a rhombus.

I looked at Cody Reed, Drew Peterson, Jeff Mogavero, my friends and my family who were there supporting me. With a clear mind I told them I was done. I had walked from Michigan Bluff to Rucky Chucky. My body was screaming with pain for 7 hours.

When my counselor and I connected a couple of days after the race, he was surprised to hear how well I was dealing with the defeat. Straight up, the odds were stacked against me. I had three major life stressors happening simultaneously and I was feeling an on-going injury. I was nutso for thinking I could ask my body to perform that day. I shared that the only thing I regret was not listening to the gut feeling I had in April. But considering the journey I had been on, I was so grateful to have an amazing strength coach and an amazing sports psychologist. And let’s be real, I was grateful to have shown up for my relative, to successfully purchase a house, and to get to plan a future with the love of my life.

There was no trade-off to be had. I wouldn’t change how I behaved as a partner, a friend, a brother, a son, or an athlete.

The next two months after Western States were as intense as you might imagine. My body didn’t feel good. We were busier than ever before trying to renovate and move before our wedding. Family descending on the roaring fork valley. Everything went off as planned. We had a magical wedding, complete with getting covid and hosting a super-spreader event. I still found solace in the quiet mind practices I learned from my counselor and from reading Pema Chödrön.

The week after our wedding was the On athlete summit in Portland, OR. I got to ride in an uber with Hellen Obiri, eat dinner with Dathan, and bowl with Ollie Hoare and Yared Nuguse. I was surrounded by contagious energy and excitement for running. I got out and ran every day while I was there. 4 days in a row. Best streak since before Western States. And I didn’t stop there. I’m over 14 weeks into consecutive, “feel good” training.

After the move and the wedding, after my relative showed up for me as a sober attendee at our wedding, after these major subconscious stressors were behind me, this veil of pain in my hamstring was gone. I have been seeing a traditional Chinese healer since July. During every visit he would insist that I might not be injured at all, and this feeling might be purely somatic. I would get so frustrated by this notion. Yet here I am, 9 months after the onset of the pain, thinking he might be right.

What I once described as a physical injury that was ballooning into a mental injury very well could have been a manifestation of stress all along. There is no mind and body here. There is a Jeff. It’s a complete connected system at play. I feel that. I feel that so intensely that I now even question the smallest niggle and ask, “what else is going on in my life that could be contributing to this?”

2024 was destined to be a big year for me. I thought it was going to be the year that I went toe to toe with Jim Walmsley for the WSER cougar. I’m so glad that Rod Farvard got to be that guy.

This year was a big year for me. It’s the year I married my best friend. The year I showed up for the loved ones in my life. The year I planted roots in the community I love. And it’s the year I embraced uncertainty and welcomed faith in some power greater than myself.