Barkley Marathons Recap

The conch shell echoed through Frozen Head State Park at 5 a.m. It was the perfect start time. Cold, but not too cold. Clear. Still. The kind of weather that makes you think maybe, just maybe, something special could happen.

The field was stacked, many with experience on last year’s course. The only major change was the direction. After 40 years, the Barkley Marathons would begin anti-clockwise. The table was set. Maybe there would be a finish.

Before getting into race day, there’s a detail many people missed. The Barkley almost disappeared in the early 2000s. Frozen Head State Park and the Tennessee Legislature tried to evict the race. The 2006 edition nearly didn’t happen. It survived only after Tennessee Senate Joint Resolution 547 was passed on February 13, 2006, preserving the event at Frozen Head.

The 2026 edition took place almost exactly 20 years later. In a race that feels impossibly complex, there is often deeper meaning in the timing. We would start on Valentine’s Day. And the day they set out the map was the anniversary of the race being saved.

In late 2025, Allison and I found out we were both in. It would be our first Valentine’s Day (I always go down to Black Canyon 100k) together, and instead of dinner plans, we would spend it collecting book pages in the woods.

We had both raced Cocodona the year before and agreed not to pressure ourselves to run together. No shared race plan. No expectations. But one mile in, climbing Chimney Top, Allison was right behind me. Valentine’s sunrise.

The hike up was smooth. The sunset was perfect. Folks were chatting the entire way. Then the real Barkley began.

At the crest, runners darted off trail and sprinted downhill toward the first book. It was chaos. Sliding, falling, rolling. The hills at Barkley are steeper than you imagine. And you go up them, down them, and across them all day. Even on a 40-degree descent, you better be moving.

The leaves were thick but dry, a welcome change from my 2021 attempt. We reached the first book with little trouble.

At the bottom of the hill known as Hell, I congratulated Allison on her first Barkley page and began climbing again. This year featured both Hell and Little Hell. What a treat.

To simplify Barkley: you climb a peak to find a book, descend the steepest route into a valley to find another, and repeat. The key is choosing the correct ridges and valleys. This year, there were 16 books.

By Indian Knob, the field had spread out. I tore my page and descended toward the prison behind Max King and John Kelly. I felt strong, likely because I had consumed about 500 calories on the Candy Ass Trail section up Chimney Top.

The prison is always surreal. The race began as a mockery of James Earl Ray’s failed escape. In more than two days, he made it about seven miles. The terrain explains why.

Max and I grabbed our pages, dropped into Stockstill Creek, and ran through the long, dark tunnel beneath the prison. I pulled out my headlamp. We were chasing a strong group including John Kelly and Sebastien Raichon.

Then came Rat Jaw. Two thousand feet in roughly a mile. Brutal, but at least straightforward. The briars were light and the route simply follows the power lines. Max crested with a small gap. He is one of the best mountain runners of our generation. I hit the road, drank nearly a liter of water at the water station, and dove back into the leaves. I was 80% certain I was going the right way, but 100% certain I needed to keep up with this group to have a chance of making it late into this race.

Book four came quickly. I pulled my page and followed Max down Little Hell. This feature gave me trouble in 2021. It is steep and easy to drift off bearing. I stayed tucked behind Max and kept John Kelly in sight. With his experience, that was a smart bet.

The leaves were flying underfoot. Then suddenly, I was on the ground.

The wind had been knocked out of me. I wheezed, trying to breathe. The group was pulling away. Adrenaline surged, and I pushed back up, collected my strewn pulls and chased downhill. I hit the New River too far upstream. I knew this section well from 2021. Mossy pillars. Stone wall. Skillet. The book was under a skillet. It took me 2 hours that year.

John Kelly was just leaving when I arrived. After a few tense minutes of looking, Pete Mortimer joined me and we found the book.

My chest ached, but forward progress was the priority.

Next was Fykes Peak, and a locust tree housing a book. Briars, debris, old mining equipment. It felt like the dirtier section of the course. Quick book. Then a steep descent where every few steps ended in butt sliding.

By the time we hit the creek confluence book, we had a solid group: Chris, Noor, Pete, Lee and others. With that many eyes, the book didn’t stand a chance.

The climbs at Barkley are relentless. Thirty minutes of clawing upward through leaves for a couple thousand feet. Even when you are moving well, the pace feels glacial.

We made a small navigation mistake on a road section and lost about ten minutes. Then another descent drifted too far south. Small errors compound quickly here. Loop two began to feel less realistic.

At the next river book, we struggled to identify the correct tributary. Time ticked away. I finally insisted we go downstream. There it was. Little mistakes compound at Barkley.

Rusty Spoon was the longest, hardest climb of the day. My chest was really hurting now. The fall had done more damage than I realized. It took nearly an hour to reach Bald Knob. One of those thank-God-the-climbing-is-over moments.

In the next valley, I led us directly to a book from memory. The confidence boost was enormous. There is nothing like navigating by map and compass and being exactly right. Especially in the valleys, the creek and valley books are always the most difficult.

We climbed England Mountain toward a clue described as “a large tree that looks like a horse penis.” Barkley directions are equal parts useful and absurd. Lee nailed the book.

Two remained. Two hours until cutoff. Unlikely, but we pushed.

My ribs flared with sharp pain when I shifted side to side. Not ideal on terrain that is never straightforward.

We found the next book in a cluster of boulders. One climb and one descent left.

As we climbed, two headlamps appeared. Lost. They had been searching for hours. Just when you feel on track, Barkley humbles you. We set them straight and kept moving up our final ascent.

I fell behind. Breathing was shallow. It felt like an asthma attack, though I had not had one in months. Near the top, steep capstones blocked our path. Our bearing was slightly off. We traversed, eventually reaching the Cumberland Trail. This meant the top. Praises!

The lost runners were back! They had taken a much smarter line up the hill, so we joined forces. Five of us descended toward the final book.

The last hill was brutal. My left ribs throbbed. I could barely use my left pole. But it was short and with five sets of eyes we found the book. We ran through Big Cove Campground, by the famous yellow gate, and crossed the river, to touch the smaller yellow gate in just under 14 hours.

Taps played for each of us individually.

Loop over.

It was disappointing, but Barkley is always an adventure. I stayed up late to watch Allison finish her loop with all her pages. A Valentine’s Day we will never forget.

Five days later, after painful sneezing, bad sleep, and a grinding sound in my ribs if I move incorrectly, the doctor confirmed a fracture.

The price we pay for love.

Climbing up Rat Jaw at the Barkley Marathons