Western States 2025.
I’m going to be real all I want to do is erase the experience from my memory, move on, and pretend 2025 Western States never happened. It sounds ridiculous to say since it’s just a race, but the few days after were some of the saddest I’ve ever been. After 10 days, I can think a bit more clearly about it without letting emotion get in the way. As tough as it’s been, part of me really believes that June 28, 2025 will be the most important day of my career and it is extremely important for me to deeply internalize everything I’m feeling about it as fuel for the next 10 years of racing I have in me.
How did I get here and why is all this attention and emotion invested into this random race with less than 400 people from Tahoe to Auburn? I’ve changed my life path, given up stability, let go of relationships, said no to promising opportunities, all for a special day here and I’m not sure why. Why the pull to Western States specifically and will I ever move on from it? What am I chasing? Is it just a win? Is it sub-14? And why? Is it a deep intrinsic desire? Will I love myself because I accomplished something I thought was absolutely impossible for me nearly a decade ago when I first learned about the race, or will I love myself because of the extrinsic validation from everyone else patting me on the back? What happens next if I’m able to accomplish those goals - what drives me then? Lots of questions and while I used to just brush them under the rug, never think about them and just run my brains off, I think I’m at the point where I need to face them head on and find my answers.
Failing on the stage you once succeeded on feels like the ultimate betrayal. A year ago, this race gave me everything and this year I feel like I’ve been stabbed in the back…but maybe that’s the problem in itself. I went into the day feeling like it was my turn, like I deserved something. I was lucky enough to have four years of what felt like linear improvement here that there was only one option in my mind - to do better than last year. I genuinely thought this is the mindset and belief in myself I needed to actually pull off a near impossible assignment, but I think what it lead to was more of a rigidity that made me less adaptable during the race when unexpected things happened.
I want to make sense of it all but in the end I only have a best guess. That’s frustrating and also a little scary thinking of coming back to this race not knowing why what happened did. To my core, I believe I raced well and within myself. In fact, I even think I raced too conservatively if I really wanted to give myself a shot to win. What that tells me more than anything is that I didn’t have what it took to win on the day, and I am actually very much at peace with that because I have many years of opportunities to make that happen.
That peace is the strange part about it all. Why am I so disappointed if I believe I did my best? The value in writing these experiences down is asking myself these hard questions and forcing myself to think about them. To be honest, I’m disappointed more because I feel like I let other people down. On one hand, I know that no one actually cares. People remember when you do well, not when you fail, but in the face of immediate failure it feels like you are walking around with a sign around your neck that says “DNF”. Not to turn this too much into a therapy session, but I think the number one thing I don’t like about myself is that I care what other people think. I hate the idea of doing this all for extrinsic validation. What a shitty, sad reason to do anything in life. The people that love you love you for you, and not your accomplishments. I suppose when your goals and life experiences are associated with hundreds of thousands of people watching you do your something, it is hard to separate who you’re doing this for and what success really means for yourself.
Alright I think I’m done being vulnerable. Let’s get more into the day. Coming into the race, I defined my one and only controllable goal - to compete. Ultimately, I went to the grave and never came back because I couldn’t stop puking. That’s it. Yes, I’m upset I didn’t make some adjustments on the fly to help with my early GI issues, but it was in the spirit of not wavering from that pre-determined goal, so I can’t be too mad at that. I held myself accountable, so more than anything it was an error in goal-setting. To be successful at Western States, you need to be calm, confident, and adaptable. It is elite to know yourself and be so in-tune with your body that you know exactly what it is telling you at any second in time. Mental toughness is not about ignoring your signals. It is about being confident you can still win by doing what is necessary to address the signals before they become a problem.
My number one mistake of the day was staying engaged in the race too much. To the point where I was ignoring warning signs, refused to troubleshoot, and just keep pushing. I went into hunt-mode and stopped listening to what my body was telling me. I tasted blood and forgot to stop my own bleeding, ultimately having to pull the plug at Highway 49, a mile below the Pointed Rocks aid station.
Recalling the day, the race broke down into six sections for me. The way I think about this is where pivotal moves happened that had an impact on the race. I’m sure everyone racing has a different version, but here are mine. Race recap to follow.
Olympic Valley to Lyon Ridge (Mile 0 - Mile 10)
Lyon Ridge to Robinson Flat (Mile 10 - Mile 30)
Robinson Flat to Swinging Bridge (Mile 30 - Mile 45)
Swinging Bridge to Michigan Bluff (Mile 45 - Mile 55)
Michigan Bluff to Rucky Chucky (Mile 55 - Mile 78)
Rucky Chucky to Highway 49 (Mile 78 - Mile 93)
Section 1: Olympic Valley to Lyon Ridge (Mile 0 - 10)
I was not first up the escarpment this year and maybe that was a sign it wasn’t going to be a good day. Totally kidding, I was really happy where I was at the top knowing the pace was hot. I crested over into the High Country in 10th. The climb didn’t come easy this year. Vibes were good, with most of the boys chatting and making jokes. I remember looking down and seeing my heart rate at 170 at one point. I was definitely working but knew I had to stay in the pack because the pace was going to get pushed as soon as we hit the descent toward Lyon. 37 minutes to the top and I was in 10th. I was right and the front of the race hammered through to Lyon. I kept my position and ran with Hans mostly, sometimes letting a gap open up on the climbs and flats before closing them on the descents. It didn’t feel too hard but it was very clear we were pushing and it wasn’t going to let up any time soon.
Section 2: Lyon Ridge to Robinson Flat (Mile 10 - 30)
Aware of how chaotic the Lyon aid station gets, I prepared and uncapped my bottles about a quarter mile early so I was in and out of there quick. I think I entered in 10th and left in 5th. I really tried to lean on the fact that this was my fifth WSER in a row and one thing I knew for certain was that I was more experienced and had more course knowledge, including aid station positioning, than anyone else I was racing. This allowed me to surge into aid stations throughout the day, knowing when they were coming up, and leaving quickly. In retrospect, I needed to take more time at the aids on this day, but again, I was just trying to race and recreate my strengths from the 2024 edition.
Leaving Lyon, I found myself in a chatty group with Jeff, Vincent, Kilian, Seth, Dan Green, and Caleb at the very front of the pack. It felt like things had slowed down a bit as we hit the steeper, punchy climbs toward Red Star and I definitely felt more relaxed. Looking at the splits, it turns out we still ran historically fast times through this section but it felt easy. I felt like I was warming up and coming to life. I took the lead a mile before Red Star, knowing the aid was coming up, pushed the pace a little to get a gap going into the aid station, and was in and out fast with Jeff, Vincent, and Kilian. We had an awesome group here and were rolling together for about two miles before the rest caught back up. Jeff set the pace most of the way and looked effortless doing it.
Coming into Duncan, I did the same thing, 2 miles before the aid station this time, knowing I was descending pretty well and could get a little gap going. Jeff came with me and we got some space and were in and out before the rest entered the aid. Again, I was feeling great and the pace felt comfortable.
Seth, Caleb, Chris, and Kilian caught up to Jeff and I at the creek crossing and Seth lead the climb up to Robinson. The dude is a phenomenal climber and he effortlessly pulled away from the rest of us once he took the lead. I don’t think he was trying to, it was just really easy for him. It was here where I realized this was about to be a very different Western States than last year. By the top, there must have been a pack of twelve of us all running into Robinson together, where last year I was completely alone in fourth, a couple minutes behind the top three and a couple minutes in front of the rest of the top ten. It was about to be a real race.
Section 3: Robinson Flat to Swinging Bridge (Mile 30 - Mile 45)
Keeping to what felt like was working, I surged at the top, entered the aid station in first with Seth, found my crew at the end of the aid station, transitioned in 20 seconds, left the aid station in first with Seth right behind me. We split 4:17 to Robinson, about ten minutes faster than last year. I wasn’t surprised at all but what I didn’t realize was that was sub-14 pace. Lots of talk about it all year, so it was cool to see that as a group, whether we knew it or not, we were all trying to push each other to that time.
Everything felt pretty great and Seth and I crested the top of the Robinson climb before the infamous half-marathon descent to Swinging Bridge. Before I knew it, Seth decided to take off. I tried to keep steady at 6:20-6:30 pace toward Duncan, and couldn’t believe how far Seth was pulling away from me. I wouldn’t be surprised if he was running near 5:30 pace. At first I was comfortable with letting him go, knowing that would hurt anyone over the course of 100 miles, but then Caleb and Chris caught me and began chasing Seth. I had a huge internal debate with myself on whether or not I should go with them, but I figured it was warming up a lot, this section was exposed, and I needed to keep my downhill legs alive for the last 40 miles of the race. It is crazy to think this was the move that won the race for Caleb and almost won the race for Chris.
I’ve reflected on this a bit. Over the next couple miles, Kilian, Hans, David, Adam, and Dan Jones all caught me. More or less, we ran the same pace to Duncan together keeping each other in sight. The boys who weren’t in sight and never were seen again were Caleb and Chris who just kept drilling the pace down to Swinging Bridge. In my opinion, it is the biggest gamble you can make in the race, because everyone is capable of pushing that move, it’s just about what happens next as you climb your way up Devils Thumb, descend down to El Dorado, and climb back up to Michigan Bluff. Even then, you’re only halfway through the race.
Last year, the opposite thing happened. Hayden and Dan pushed to Dusty Corners to catch Jim, but then slowed down signficantly after Last Chance once Jim caught back up to then, causing a regroup of the top ten at Swinging Bridge, and giving me a chance to still compete. If they were able to keep pushing, they all would have gotten away. Who knows what would have happened next, but at least there would have been separation and a big gap to chase.
I think momentum is everything in this race. When you create a gap, even if you are feeling bad, it is easy to maintain that gap or even increase it than there is to close one when you are constantly just hearing splits that are more or less the same between you and next runner. It’s discouraging how long it takes to close a gap, but it’s encouraging knowing you are holding people off. Caleb and Chris definitely had the momentum as they hit Devil’s Thumb and were strong enough to keep pushing through the Canyons in the heat. The whole thing is so impressive and so gutsy. Truly, hats off to them and are so deserving of the podium after a move like that.
Back to my race… I stayed with Kilian for the most part down to Swinging Bridge, thinking I was running smart and we would be seeing everyone again pretty soon. Seeing my crew at Dusty, they could tell I was flustered at what was happening. I think the only thing I said to them all day until Rucky Chucky was “they are running so fast”. Apparently that was a little concerning to them knowing I was on edge. Still, I felt good, felt like I was running with the right people and not pushing out of my limits, and on top of my hydration and cooling.
Section 4: Swinging Bridge to Michigan Bluff (Mile 45 - Mile 55)
I hit the bridge with Kilian and we had caught up to Seth. Highlight life experience was cooling off and bathing with Kilian in Gordy’s Grotto at the bottom of the climb. I even told him that which got some chuckles. Seth was there too but I feel like I could bathe with him any day. The two of them ran up the climb together, I was feeling ok but tried not to push it and walked when it was exceptionally steep. I think I was only 1-2 minutes behind them at the top which I was fine with knowing I didn’t burn too many matches, although the heat of the day was really becoming apparent. What I was mostly surprised with the gap Caleb and Chris had developed… ten minutes at this point. I tried not to think about it too much knowing there was still over 50 miles of racing to go.
Leaving the aid station, I felt the first signs that my stomach was going to be a problem. To this point, I had been taking a gel every 30 minutes, and drinking 3 bottles an hour, 2 of which were pure water and 1 had 45g of carbs in it. I would take 2 salt pills any time I saw crew also. Totals came out to 105g CHO, 700mg Na, 1500mL fluid per hour + 450mg Na whenever I saw crew. This is standardly what I train with and what I did last year as well. I’ve been training with these totals on and off for over a year, so I did not see any reason why I should change things up knowing it hasn’t given me any troubles before. I was feeling great energy-wise, like I was well hydrated, and had no cramping at all either.
I felt bloated leaving the Thumb and like I needed to throw up. Some side stitches came up too as I was descending down to El Dorado, but I kept sticking to the nutrition plan and tried to just focus on catching the next person, which ended up being Hans at the bottom of El Dorado. I ran every step of the climb up, and while I felt warm, I felt like my legs had a lot of life in them still.
The big shock of the day, and an expectation reset hit me here. At the pool about 2 miles up the climb, I ran into Chamoun who gave me a split on the leaders close to 20 minutes up. I really couldn’t believe how they ran from the top of the Thumb to the top of El Dorado 10 minutes faster than me. I felt like I was moving pretty well, especially for the heat. Being in 9th here, the podium began to become a bit of a stretch for me and my focus shifted less from them to just catching the next person.
Section 5: Michigan Bluff to Rucky Chucky (Mile 55 - Mile 78)
This definitely was not how I was envisioning the day, coming into Michigan Bluff in 9th place, but it’s where I was at. I rushed. I didn’t address my growing GI issues, I didn’t cool down enough, and I went off and chased. I caught Adam quick, and then David on the descent into Volcano. Pretty quickly into 7th now and with my legs feeling great, I was getting stoked despite my stomach wanting to turn inside out.
I saw Tim at the start of the Foresthill aid station and we ran through together. I couldn’t believe how many people were there lining the aid. We could hardly run side by side and the screams felt overwhelming. After what felt like an eternity, we finally hit my crew and it only got louder. Everyone was just screaming in face, not even sure about what, when all I wanted was quiet and to calm down. This lead to me wanting to get out of there as quick as possible when really what I needed to do was take my time and cool down. It was a perfect storm and my stomach was only getting worse.
Tim and I ran through Cal Street very smooth. He asked how my downhill legs were and I replied “The best”. I meant it. I was also climbing better than I ever have on this stretch down to the river, not walking once on even the steep kickers. I was there enough to even point it out, which was music to Tim’s ears.
Throughout our run together, I tried to keep it cool and not mention to Tim I was having stomach issues. Instead, I continued to force down everything on schedule to make sure I could keep us moving at this pace. Last year, I changed up my fueling at Mile 70 and cut the carb intake significantly which I believed had caused my massive fade in the last 10 miles of the race and almost getting caught by Hayden, so I wanted to make sure that didn’t happen again. Turns out being underfueled and still running is better than being stopped on the side of the trail, puking your brains out.
We kept pushing and made it to Rucky Chucky with the gap to 5th and 6th place staying about the same at 2-3 minutes. I needed a hard reset here as I really began to feel the heat and get dizzy in the final 2 miles to the aid station along the river. I sat for a few minutes, first time of the day, put on a new shirt, drank some coke, had a couple Tylenol, and got into the river.
Section 6: Rucky Chucky to Highway 49 🤮🥺 (Mile 78 - Mile 93)
Even thinking about this section makes me want to throw up and cry. Entering the river, I could hardly make it across at first. My vision was blurry and I was tripping on every rock. After a quick reminder from Tim, I instituted Jim’s swim technique from last year which helped a lot with a hard rest. We stumbled up the sandy slope to the Green Gate fire road and then started to run. The legs were there but the groans were coming, which I knew meant one thing. Honestly, I couldn’t wait to puke thinking it would be a one and done thing. We ran all the way to ALT, not moving that fast, but still moving and still running.
Side note: it’s funny how fast expectations meet reality and your perception of a good day changes. Literally the only thing I thought about over the last 365 days was how I wanted to be smashing the stretch from Green Gate to ALT this year since that is where Jim knocked me out last year. Here I am now, barely shuffling along, doing everything I can to just finish the race at a slower time than last year. You don’t think about it in the moment since you’re really just in survival mode, but sometimes you forget how good you really had it.
Just upon entering ALT, we heard cheers for the runner ahead leaving. We had made up a 2 minute gap from Rucky Chucky and were closing. I was hunched over hands on knees in this aid station trying not to let it all out, cooled off while Tim filled my bottles and left in chase mode, certain we would move into 6th place by Quarry.
A mile later, at mile 86, it all came up. Two minutes of the most vomit that has ever expelled itself from my body. 12 hours in, it felt like all 18L of fluid I had drunk throughout the day came out. Thinking it settled, I collected myself and tried to run. 10 steps later I was puking again. I had been here before, about 5 miles earlier in the 2022 edition of States. I ended up sitting at ALT for 3 hours before I could drink something finally that year, and still had to walk the rest of the way to a 23 hour finish because any time I tried to run the jostling made me stop and puke again.
We walked the rest of the 4 miles to Quarry Rd, stopping to puke and cry on my hands and knees a few times along the way. Surprisingly we didn’t get caught and still maintained 7th position. By the time we reached Quarry, I was severely dehydrated from all the puking and being unable to drink anything in the last five exposed miles. I was in a bad place and laid on the cot for 30 minutes. Anything I had to drink at that aid came right back up too. I was desperate to drop out here but we would’ve had to wait until Golden Hour to do so. After about 15 more minutes of sitting, Tim willed me up and we walked toward Walmsley Corner. At this point I couldn’t walk straight and my legs felt like lead, which was weird since I felt like I had them all day. I think the dehydration really crept up on me and serious damage was kicking in.
After what felt like forever and getting passed by dozens of people on the climb, we hit the highway where I saw my crew. I was gone here, making weird noises, crying, feeling like I failed. People were yelling around me, some telling me to keep going and reset at Pointed Rocks, some telling me I needed to pull out and it wasn’t worth continuing to do damage. At this point, I felt like I had nothing in me and it would have taken at least an hour to get up the mile to Pointed Rocks, likely having to stop and puke multiple times on the time. It stopped feeling worth it for me and I knew that I would feel just as disappointed making it up to there, sitting for three hours until I could drink something (if even that), and then walking the last 6 miles in. That is not why I am here at this race anymore, and I am at peace with that even if it may seem disrespectful to the race to others.
My wristband cut and I got in a car. Immediately I started puking again and my crew detoured to the finish line med tent. It was comforting to see my good friend and doctor Andy Pasternak. They strapped me with some IVs and took my blood which showed significantly high creatinine, an early sign of developing rhabdo. At least it felt like some justification around pulling out so close to the finish, but no less heartbreaking.
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And that is the story of my 2025 Western States. I’ve been extremely nervous to sit down and write this because I’ve been afraid of how I would feel about myself and what emotions it would stir up. I’m glad I gave myself the space to calm down, take a step away from social media, go on solo hikes around the Sierra to reflect, and hang out with people I love and who love me back for me. For how much I love this race, the community around it, and everything it has given me, it can take a lot away from you as well - your attention, your self-worth, your confidence in your ability to do hard things, etc.
I think this dichotomy is exactly why it hurts me so much to fail here. There is no other environment that this race produces that makes me feel more like myself. I’m so at home here and feel like I am surrounded by the people that see me for who I unapologetically am the most. Failing makes me afraid I will lose that openness with this community and my willingness to be 100% authentically myself out of fear of being judged and not good enough. Obviously, I know this is not the case and that has only been further affirmed from the love I’ve gotten from so many people after the race, but everyone has their own deep insecurities, whether we talk or blog about them or not, which it makes it hard to fully internalize failure is okay.
If you were to ask me if I were going to race Western States again a couple weeks ago, I probably would have said I need a break from it. Even if I didn’t win, and maintained that 7th position I thought I was at least locked in for I think I would not have returned next year. Like I said, this race consumes so much of your life and there are other opportunities out there worth exploring. Fortunately or unfortunately, I’m not sure which, I don’t think I can live myself without another swing sometime soon. I’ll be trying for a Golden Ticket next season, undecided where yet, and we will see what happens. I look forward to an opportunity to prepare better, implement learnings from five years of mistakes here, and to take a massive risk and go with the big move that will ultimately win the race like it did this year, even if it leads to another DNF and more heartbreak.
I’ll end this with one final thought. To me, there is nothing that lights me more on fire than failing at something and wanting to get it right. This makes the concept of multiple consecutive winners in sport so mind-blowing. There is nothing harder than being at the top for consecutive years because it is so much harder to find the drive once you’ve already accomplished something. The GOATs are the champions that find a way to stay hungry and I am in awe of them.
2025 Western States Endurance Run - DNF
