In all my attempts at Barkley, this was the first one where I felt I had been beaten by the physical demands of the course, rather than by mistakes or the numerous other challenges out there. It seemed that maybe, I just couldn’t do it. I didn’t lose my pages, or decide to quit. There were no briars to the neck followed by aimless wandering around Gobey’s long abandoned mining camps. Well, actually I did do some aimless wandering around Gobey, but by that point a finish was already out of reach.
After five people finished the full five loops last year and this year not even five people finished two loops, it’s easy to assume that the race overshot a bit on difficulty. I’m still not entirely sure on that, and there’s actually something oddly appealing about not knowing. I’ll save those thoughts for the end. If all you’re here for is the quick summary, refer to the illustration below (or click here for the full size image).
What’s Next First
I’m nearly two months late with this post, even though most of it is a compilation of what I shared on social media shortly after Barkley. Mainly, I’ve been busy preparing for my biggest adventure ever: the Appalachian Trail. It’s always been my holy grail. Now might be the best, possibly even the only chance I have to do it. The timing also provides a further opportunity to support many of the areas along the trail that were devastated by Hurricane Helene. You can track here and support Helene recovery here.
I’ve also started writing blog posts for Envelop Risk, the company I’ve helped build over the past decade. There’s a lot of overlap between the mindset needed for something like Barkley and for a startup. I’ll be showing that overlap through some of my experiences. The first three are posted on the Envelop website (scroll past the news & reports to the ones labeled Blog, or follow the individual links below). More will be shared during my time on the Appalachian Trail, aligning with visual content shared on Instagram and other platforms.
These are shorter more focused posts compared to the lengthy ramblings and race reports here, and much moreso than my personal blog please visit and share. This is an incredible opportunity to bring together these two areas of my life, and it’s the main reason I’m now able to pursue some of my biggest “maybe one day” dreams, like the Appalachian Trail.
But for now, back to Barkley.
Loop 1 – Où est le livre?
The sun continued to rise over the ridgeline and cast its warmth through the campground, the temperature steadily rising from below freezing to the forecast highs in the 70s. In my first two years at Barkley we had late starts and I tossed and turned all night. This time I had slept for over 10 hours. Finally, at 10:37 AM the conch sounded to indicate one hour until the start of the Barkley Marathons.
I joined Max King near the top of the first climb. He looked as strong as I expected, and I thought we might be together for a while. Almost as soon as we started down, the outer part of my quads locked up completely. It had happened at the start of a couple recent runs, and I had no idea why, but I did know all I could do was back off and wait for them to loosen up. I hobbled down the rough terrain to book one as multiple groups of concerned runners passed. Not long after that, Max had an even worse fate with a race-ending knee injury.
I regained ground on the climbs, and my quads got gradually less bad on the descents, until I was back in the lead group with Maxime Gauduin, Sébastien Raichon, and 2023 finisher Aurélien Sanchez. I was fine not understanding their conversations, but was acutely aware of how much more difficult learning navigation must be if English isn’t someone’s native language.
My water filter wasn’t able to keep up with the heat. The dangers of becoming even more dehydrated outweighed the risk of becoming ill from the clear mountain water, so I started chugging flasks straight from the plentiful streams left by the weekend’s heavy rain. Storms and ice make for the most dramatic Barkley weather stories, but I would much rather be a bit cold or wet than hot.
By the time we reached the tower it was just me and Maxime. It took us 7 hours, the sun already starting to set on a loop we had thought we might complete without our headlamps. We made it back to camp in 9 hours and 50 minutes. My only other loop 1 time over 9 hours was 9:29 in 2017, when we started at 1:42 AM in dense fog and made numerous navigation mistakes. This year we lost a few minutes to the expected loop 1 small mistakes, but mostly, the loop had just been that hard.
As my pages were counted, I gave some thoughts about the course. I was quoted as saying, “This course is perfection.” What I actually said was, “This course requires perfection.” I had been doing the math in my head. I thought that with 4 error-free loops, it was still possible. There was no margin for error, none of the usual “buffer” for mistakes, napping, or low points. It had to be perfect. Then I would have a chance, maybe.
Barkley loop 2 – Return to Gobey
Its beady little eyes shone like mirrors from my headlamp as it charged. “Rabid raccoon defense” wasn’t part of my Barkley prep, but I raised my poles to do my best. I stood a better chance than if I had been in the direct path of the tree that had earlier crashed down like thunder nearby. Suddenly, it darted down a hole with its striped tail waving farewell. I had been standing in the same direction as its den.
One crisis averted, back to the other: Maxime and I missed book 7. We had needed perfection, and this wasn’t even close. Our hopes of 5 loops were over, so I shifted from racing to exploration. I knew I was farther along the creek than the book could possibly be, but I was curious what was there so I kept going. Eventually I met powerlines and could see where they leveled off to cross Gobey Road.
I hadn’t ventured there since 2016, when an early mistake cost me an hour and led to 4 loops entirely solo… which in turn led to the knowledge needed to finish in 2017. I made note of every slope, confluence, and odd looking tree or rock as I headed back up towards Maxime and also Claire, who was still wandering the nether on loop 1.
When we found the book, two loop 2 pages were missing. We were no longer in the lead. I stopped for water and a light jacket as Maxime and Claire continued. I had nearly caught up on my loop 1 dehydration, but hadn’t fixed the large calorie deficit that inevitably followed. I also wanted to navigate solo from there – forcing myself to focus, analyze, and soak more of the course in.
The good news is that I hadn’t experienced any of the “sleep attacks” I had on the first night of both the Spine Race and Tor Des Geants. It was one of my biggest fears going into Barkley – that I once again wouldn’t be able to stay awake. Of the half dozen solutions I was trying, it seemed at least one was working.
As day broke, renewed physical energy joined my steady alertness. I made my way over the familiar southern section. It was the one part of the course that hadn’t changed in the decade since my first Barkley, but I was still carefully studying landmarks for the counter-clockwise direction. I passed Maxime and Sebastien as I started the smooth runnable descent from Chimney Top and made it back to camp almost right at 25 hours into the race. In 29 Barkley Marathons loops, it was my worst one ever.
Not everyone in camp was sure I would continue. It was obvious a finish was no longer possible, and some assumed that I would have no interest in anything less. I had quit once before after two loops when I was in much better shape. But my mindset has evolved quite a bit over the years. Plus I’ve always been much more likely to get back up after being knocked down than after sitting down. One person remained in front of me. A finish might not be possible, but we could still have some fun.
Barkley loop 3 – The Fire Tower Menagerie
I was the subject in an experiment – observed closely but with care to not influence my actions at the top of Rat Jaw. For the 1st time in about 30 hours, I sat. My first two loop transitions combined had been just 15 minutes, my best ever.
My competitive side was back. The “well I’ll show you” annoying little brother who never knew when to quit, the underdog who first started a loop 5 with minutes to spare before napping within sight of the gate. I hadn’t felt that at Barkley since 2017 – the focus, the urgency, the drive to conquer my final loop rather than relax and enjoy it.
I was thrilled for Tomo Ihara when I heard he was the one in front, still going on this tough course. Amongst the many great people in this sport, he’s one of the best. But he became my motivation. Must catch Tomo.
Unlike Spine, nothing discouraged me. Slight error? Fix it, continue. Hot climb up Rat Jaw? Cool off, continue. Almost step on a copperhead? Check if it had any friends, continue.
Just after nightfall, I caught Tomo. The timing was perfect – we were heading down to book 7, the same place where I wandered down to Gobey on loop 2. Tomo wasn’t confident of the descent and I wasn’t confident of the book location. Together, we nailed it.
I thought we both had plenty of time to finish the Fun Run. Then with two hours remaining I realized I was in trouble. I was on the new section of the course, my first time ever doing it in the counter-clockwise direction, and it was at night. My sense of urgency continued to grow as I lost precious minutes to small mistakes and repeatedly underestimated how much time each part would take. I pushed with everything I had – running up steep climbs, then blasting straight down through briars and anything else in the way (including a skunk that I still can’t believe didn’t spray me).
I collected my final page with just under over an hour remaining. It had taken us an hour to get to the book from camp on the previous loop, and the direction I was traveling now had more ascent plus the added challenge of doing it solo at night. I felt the surge of adrenaline, and bolted up the final climb. I lost a flask, then a glove, then my other flask, then a cord on my pack got caught on a tree and I just kept going till the cord broke. My headlamp went to low battery mode, and the BOA dial on my shoe got knocked off. I was falling apart like a cartoon race car.
I reached the short trail into camp but worried if I stopped running my body might stop entirely. With less than 10 minutes, I finished the only Fun Run. But without Tomo, there would have been none.
Recovery
One of my first thoughts after this year’s three loop Fun Run was that it hurt more than each of my five loop finishes. I still think it’s true.
Mentally there’s been worse. In 2017 I finished wearing a grocery bag and hat I found in the briars. I wasn’t sure if I was just dreaming after falling asleep on the mountain. It took a while to come back from the brain fog, sleep deprivation, and general fatigue. Since then, I think I’ve gotten more used to those aspects of recovery, so that even if it’s the same it feels more normal.
Physically, I’ve never pushed that hard at the end of Barkley. Last year at the top of the final descent I thought, “I’m glad I don’t have to push hard here.” This year felt like gunning for a downhill Strava crown, trying desperately to keep my feet under me as gravity did the rest. Finding that final few percent of effort can make recovery a few times worse.
The heat and dehydration were also a factor. Recovery was rough after Old Dominion 100 last year, when it also got hot and I was pushing hard at the end to get the 2nd fastest time ever in the 2nd oldest 100 miler. I wanted to see the next person finish, but instead I was puking behind the bleachers. That was one of the most miserable evenings I remember having after a race, but then the next day I was mostly fine.
Although seemingly unrelated, the heat and hard final push also made my briar cuts much worse, contributing to more inflammation and edema. It was too warm to cover my legs (although I might try tape on the front next time), and when time was running out there was no weaving my way through briars – just straight in at full speed and hoping they give way. But as always, the cuts heal too.
As I’ve now done for around 30 years (age is also a recovery factor, but we’ll focus on the variables that aren’t a one-way street), I joined some friends post-race at Big Ed’s. Mental and physical recovery affect one another, and it was great to turn a corner.
The edema, aching, and sleep and GI issues continued for a week. But 10 days out, I suddenly felt renewed (not full strength when training, but “normal” when at rest). I’m thankful every time I come out of these events without injury or long term complications. I also got one of my regular blood tests a few weeks after Barkley to be sure things are as they should be. Each year I usually do a normal panel with my annual physical and then separately a more extensive analysis through Inside Tracker.
Reflection
Thank you so much to the race, my family, and other support including Maggie Guterl, for another opportunity to get out there. 🙏
Rigid pre-race goals are great for motivation and preparation, but for post-race evaluation they often fail to account for the actual circumstances. After each of my events I now distill my satisfaction down to two seemingly simple questions:
- Did I do my best?
- Was it (or would it have been) worth it?
The answer to both questions should be the same. This time they were both yes.
Possibly the greatest thing ultrarunning has given me is simply the ability to honestly answer both of those questions. It requires knowing what my best is, and what my best takes. Far too often people have no idea what they’re capable of and think “I gave it my all” when it was really just “I experienced mild discomfort.” What our best is isn’t nearly as important as simply having the ability and motivation to be able to give it.
Barkley isn’t sadistic. If anything, it’s existentialist. When no one finishes, the armchair experts come out even more. “What a pointless, arbitrary event! It was intentionally impossible. This is absurd, running through briars looking for books hidden by an old chain-smoker.”
Yes, yes it is. Barkley is a satire. All races are absurd, as are other sports, and art, and music, and most things that give us joy or meaning. Let’s race the distance a Greek messenger ran over a millennium ago, but a bit longer so the king can see the finish. Let’s have 11 people try to tackle someone running a ball up a field, or 5 people try to put a ball through a basket on a court with random lines drawn on it. How about we make sounds with just the right frequency & timing then move our bodies around to it? Or bring a tree inside, put ornaments on it, then take it back down a month later?
All of these things are absurd. None advance society, provide fundamental needs, or ensure the survival of our species. Most things that make life worthwhile are inherently not worth anything. Their value and meaning come only from what we give them, or from contributing to things that do matter – e.g. pursuing arbitrary big goals made me much more capable of dealing with Hurricane Helene recovery.
Were 5 loops at Barkley impossible this year? Maybe. Was that intentional? Definitely not. Am I upset about it? Also no. Actually, it’s an opportunity I hadn’t had there in a while – to push myself until there was nothing left, to now be searching for what I could do better and how I could go farther. That, to me, has meaning.
One of the greatest luxuries many of us have is the freedom to find and choose our own joy, meaning, and challenges. I don’t hope my kids run Barkley, or ultras, or any distance at all. If they do, great. But what I hope is that they have faith in and do the things that matter, then beyond that choose whatever absurd, pointless activity they want, share it with others who have the same passion, and then pursue that as far as possible until eventually they DNF like everyone else who has ever lived. That’s life.
The Course of Course
I’m not going to avoid addressing the course difficulty. Yes, it was harder – about 10% more vert, bringing it to ~15K feet per loop. The weather was tougher too – 77F / 25C is toasty for Barkley. Two nights earlier had 4 inches of rain with a tornado watch, one night later had snow flurries. That’s East Tennessee in March.
The best measure of difficulty isn’t whether I, or anyone else, can finish. The race is meant to have goals that are out of reach but maybe possible for the full spectrum of participants. When only 10 people finish a loop, and only 4 finish two… then maybe it was a bit difficult.
The course has continued to adjust over the years as gear, training, nutrition, strategy, and the strength of the field have all improved. It’s asymptotically approaching the true limit of what’s possible, and as it does then any small change is going to appear to be huge. It doesn’t take much to go from five finishers who are all within 1:15 of the cutoff to having no finishers. In my opinion the 2019 – 2022 courses were more difficult than 2023 – 2024, and 2025 was the most difficult it’s been. The course, and the runners, will continue to recalibrate. And the weather will continue being unpredictable.
It’s fun to point out that more people finished five last year than finished two this year, but of course all of last year’s finishers would have been expected to at least finish two this year (as others who were there should have). Without some of the big mistakes, my Fun Run also wouldn’t have been so dramatic and I would have at least made it to loop four.
I’ve tried to look at this from a few angles:
1) Time comparisons. It was my slowest ever loop 1, despite being daylight and not having major mistakes. Loop 2 was my slowest ever of all my 30 loops, and loop 3 was my 3rd slowest ever (my 2022 loop 3 when I lost my pages was 2nd slowest). There were some small mistakes this year on loop 3 but nothing big and I still don’t understand how that took me 15 hours. I absolutely should have been able to start loop 4 this year, if I had made fewer mistakes. But I don’t see how the math could have worked out for a loop 5.
2) Maps. I’ve roughly mapped out the course, and it came to about a mile farther and 10% more vert than 2024. It also had less runnable terrain.
3) Margins. I think this course was roughly 7% more difficult (Frozen Ed’s calculations had it at 6%). In the past decade the fastest finish was Aurelien’s 58:23 in 2023, roughly a 3% margin. The only person who has snuck under 58 since a major change in 2014 was Jared’s 57:53 that year. Long gone are the days of people finishing the race with plenty of time to spare.
4) My perfect race. Last year I tabulated all the mistakes I made, with time loss estimates. If absolutely everything had gone perfectly – no errors at all, no minutes lost to finding books, no napping, 100% effort to the end… I think I could have done roughly 56 hours. If this year’s course was 7% harder, that would have put me at 59.92 hours.
Those are all just numbers. As for my feelings towards them, I still don’t know. There are so many achievements that probably would have never been attempted if people had just looked at the numbers. There really is a lot of appeal in having it be back to something I’m genuinely not sure I can do. There’s also a lot of appeal in striving for that theoretical perfect race to come in at 59.92 hours.
But realistically, I don’t think absolute perfection (including perfect conditions) at Barkley is possible, nor should it be. Part of it the puzzle is being able to effectively deal with problems as they arise, and always knowing that there’s theoretically more time to be found, more improvements to be made.
With all due respect to all finishers, I don’t think a performance equivalent of any prior finish would have finished on this course. If another finish isn’t possible for me, but still is from someone out there who might do the race, then fantastic. It would be absolutely incredible to see that performance.
In any case I look forward to seeing what I can do, to have that experience of going until I simply can’t. The only real reason a finish needs to be possible is to provide that carrot on the end of the stick to get people to reach as far as they possibly can. Laz has said that it’s the finishers who are robbed of that experience, of finding just how far they can reach.
Each year there are humorous “computer projections” of how each person will do. This year mine just said “finds his limit… early.” It turned out to be pretty accurate, for now.
Gear and Nutrition
Note: I have relationships with many of these companies. For a full list, see Partners.
This section is mostly a copy / paste from last year. The main changes were around nutrition, from working with Vic Johnson. I went in with a much more concrete hydration plan, a better caffeine strategy (more slow, steady, and proactive rather than reactive big doses), lower fat (RIP Nutty Buddy Bars), and higher protein (Birthday Cake Tailwind has double the protein of the other Recovery flavors). I believe that was a big reason why I didn’t have any sleep issues like I’ve had in other recent races.
I relied on the La Sportiva Cyklon throughout (actually the same pair, since I forgot to swap before loop 3), and the Ultimate Direction Mountain Vest (the same series that I’ve used in every Barkley). For light, I again used a Petzl NAO+ as my main headlamp with an Actik Core as the backup. I used Harrier Trail Running’s Helvellyn poles, which were light, sturdy. and comfortable.
I used XOSKIN’s XOUNDERWEAR throughout as well as their socks (toe socks with a pair of normal socks over top), with zero chafing or blister issues. I had some KT Tape on my right ankle, similar to this video. I didn’t do the third strip, as I find it doesn’t stay in place. Instead I wrapped a third strip around the back of my achilles and around to the forefoot on each side.
For nutrition I again used Tailwind in nearly every flask, accounting for almost all my hydration, electrolytes, and about half my calories. I used a Tailwind Recovery roughly every 5 hours. I aimed for a Maurten gel every other hour, and added an assortment of snacks (higher carb, lower fat) for a goal of around 300 total calories per hour. My coach, David Roche, has been crushing it with 90+ grams of carbs per hour, but for these longer durations and lower intensities neither of us currently believe that’s the best approach.
And that lost glove? They found it when they went to collect the books.
Thank you for taking the trouble to write this up. I love that race and I love your write ups – both say as much about life as they do about running with many lessons to understand and learn.
Good luck on your Appalachian Adventure.