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What happened to camp shoes? I remember my first hike where the versatile synthetic clog was perfectly strapped to my pack for every mile. Whether to change out of heavy boots to cross rivers in, or for gardening projects while in town, Crocs are stylish and perfect. As my dad says, “They weigh practically nothing,” which is about as much info as is needed to make the addition to an ultralight backpacking kit. Now I will not try to further persuade you to take Crocs on the trails, because if you haven’t decided after the above argument, then you are already lost. But what I will do below is show you some of the most intriguing styles of Crocs and which personality type they mesh best with. At Freeoutside.com we are a Pro-Croc zone. Here are our Croc recommendations and the personality that fits with each style! “Spotted Cougar” There is an old lady in there with a flair for fun. Maybe you enjoy knitting or cross-stitching, but gosh darn it, you also are a thru-hiker. You have a wild side that easily escapes the weekly bridge games you attended before your thru-hike. Maybe you like to play cribbage on the trail, but you can also drink malt liquor with the youngsters. These Crocs show the world that you are multi-faceted. “Not Your Moms” Floral Print You are reserved. Getting any pattern on your Crocs was a reach. But even though you hate to admit it, letting go and having fun is exciting. The outdoors is to break up the routine and continually climb up the corporate ladder. Now when people say you don’t have fun, show them your Croc. “Ain’t No Hippie” Tie Dye Fun is fun, but the more unstructured the better. These Crocs are the first chance you have had to find your true self without the judgment of those around you. Put your tie-dye on and never take it off. You have found your community, home, and perfect Croc. “Can’t See Me” Camo Sometimes it is just better not to be seen. For you, the outdoors is a personal spiritual quest in which the others on the trail are simply fellow truth seekers. These blend in much like you like to blend into the forest and become one with nature. Your personality has pointed you towards these Crocs, now don’t lose sight of the camo or it may be gone for good. “So Hot And?” There is just something so hot and steamy about Mother Nature. Not only does it perfectly fit your personality, but the feeling of dirt on your skin feels better than living in your comfort zone. The hot peppers on these Crocs perfectly match your flair for fun. “Cold Foot Clog” Not every hike starts in the desert and even if it does, there are those among us that get cold feet. It’s daunting to venture into the cold and vulnerable environment of nature. These Crocs are for those with perpetually cold feet. If you are a foot sweater, I would look elsewhere. “Everyone is a Star” If you are a star for all the mere mortals surrounding you to look up at, why don’t you display stars on your feet? Your feet are the real MVP, so treat them like the stars they are. Buying any of these Crocs will correctly display what you think of your feet. “Pretend to Smile” “Why can’t we all just be happy.” Well since that is an open-ended impossible question, let’s ignore it. If you rarely smile, these are a good reminder of what the facial expression actually looks like. They are best for people with strong frown muscles and a continually furrowed brow. They make every trip outside the house a “happy” one. “Your Dad wants his Sandals Back” This sandal is perfect for the person who acts older than his age. It says, “I look like a dad, but I’m not yet.” What these lack in style they make up for in functionality. Combine the grace of a river sandal with the name brand of Crocs. Order yours today and pair them with your best dad joke. Crocs Review

It was a three-year process to make a movie, but now that it's finally out, I wanted to share how the idea even came about. It was not a lifelong dream, not a grandiose plan, or even a well thought throw decision. Here is the story of "Free Outside". The Pilot In the middle of shooting a pilot for a TV series, I got word the crew wasn’t being paid. I immediately gave the executive producer a call and was viciously yelled at. All the promises, planning, and relationships we had built in the process was crumbling. He wasn’t happy with the director, the producers, or the footage, and was pulling the plug without even paying the crew for their time and expenses. After eight days of shooting, the dream of a TV show came to an end, and none of us were paid or reimbursed. It all had come crashing down so quickly. But, instead of sulking, we came up with a plan. The next goal After multiple phone calls, meetings, and planning sessions, we decided to make a movie ourselves. We had no experience only a fresh taste of what it would take. I was going to break the 486-mile Colorado Trail unsupported record, carrying all my food, gear, and camera equipment from the start. The crew would shoot the attempt, but since it was an unsupported record, we would have no contact with each other throughout the record. We were going to shoot a feature film with no communication between the subject and the film crew, all while trying to break a four-year-old record. No one had ever made a movie like this, and we had never made a movie. With the record attempt days away, the crew all began to arrive in Durango. I was in one hotel room planning my strategy to break the record, charging batteries for my camera, and learning how to use my microphone, and the crew was in the other room strategizing on where to get shots of me on the trail. Their only information would be from the public tracker I would be carrying to verify the record. The Start of the Colorado Trail Record Two days later, I drove to the trailhead at 6 am, walking out into a flurry of cameras and microphones with extreme focus. Then I set off on my nine-day unsupported push across Colorado. The race was on. Immediately, the trail climbed to 10,000’, and soon, I was throwing up everything I tried to eat. Then it got worse when it began to rain the first night. By the second night, it was snowing. I kept throwing up in the altitude and even caught some of the action on camera. The climbs kept getting tougher, and my confidence kept shrinking. Nine days is a long time to push toward a single goal with no support system. With 200 miles left, I began to hallucinate. To stay on pace, I cut out sleep, and the effects were growing. Sticks turned into slithering snakes on the ground. Trees morphed into witches staring at me along the trail, and every rock changed shape into a dinosaur. With days left, my grip on reality was waning. The trail dropped in elevation, and my hunger immediately caught up. I consumed all my leftover food in hours. With 50 miles to go, I only had a few packets of peanut butter. But, as the rations disappeared, the end got closer, and my resolve grew. I began to run. In the meantime, the crew was driving all over Colorado to capture the essence of the trail and my crossing of picturesque passes and vistas. It was the first time many of the members had been camping. The rental car got a flat tire, water froze, and drones died in the cold. Keeping the equipment charged was a full-time job, and the crew getting in any sleep was a false hope. Despite lacking communication, there was a shared passion for making this project, born out of a massive failure. It was about doing what we had set out to do. Then, the last night happened. The crew waited at one last road crossing, the last place they would shoot me before the finish. But I didn’t show up. I had begun my final push too soon. My tracker had slowed down. For hours at a time, it wasn’t moving.  My body was shutting down. I tried to push through the night, but every hour, I had to lay down and take a nap. The energy was gone. The food was gone. And the record felt more and more unrealistic. The Finale When the sun finally rose, I had forty miles to the finish and twelve hours to get there. With every last bit of resolve, I did it in eight, coming into Waterton Canyon to cheers and a camera crew waiting to capture the climax of the unsupported record attempt. It was the first contact in over nine days, and we just hoped each other had filmed enough along the way to make a movie. With a total team of eight, we shot the first feature film of an unsupported record. We brought on an editor, a sound designer, a musician, and a colorist and turned that footage into a movie over the next two years. “Free Outside” the movie toured for a year after that and finally is being released into the world. One failed TV show and the disappearance of a dream turned into an even bigger success and one we did all ourselves. With a budget that would shock most filmmakers, we made a feature film! So, help us make this film a success by spreading the word, watching it, and giving it a review!

Beyond the training, goals, and learning how to race, running is a personal activity that helps so many other aspects of my life. That is a large reason why I often run alone or occasionally with a small group. I don’t enjoy the spontaneously competitive group run, so I shy away from them. But, after being out of town for the last two years, I was finally free to sign up for the Scummy Summer Slammer. It is an event put on in conjunction with the Bozeman Run Club and organized by Malory Peterson and Kyla Maher. The route runs from Bozeman to Yellowstone nearly entirely on trails for 80 miles. This year I signed up to do it. The Before Part The information session happened a couple of days before the start of the three days of running, and I showed up so exhausted I was a shell of a person. It was after a long day in the mountains, and I contemplated lying in the grass multiple times. But in my first showing of how strong I am, I remained upright and did my best to keep one eye open and my ears on the speakers. I know everything was essential information, but I cannot remember any of it to relay here. You will just have to do the Scummy Summer Slammer to get all the insider info. The Driving Part We met up to carpool to the trailhead at South Cottonwood much too early for me to get my usual 4 cups of coffee down, but I waddled across the street carrying my camping stuff after saying goodbye to Ted and my two succulents, which seem to have as much energy as I do these days. We piled in a car, and to set the tone for the weekend, Allison and I shared a single front seat and hoped for a safe ride. Promptly at 7 am… or a few minutes after… the Scummy Summer Slammer began. Ok, Now The Running Part Fueled by too little caffeine, I stayed in the back with the cool kids and hiked. It was a rolling trail across some creeks before climbing into a beautiful meadow. We made our assault on Mt. Blackmore on continual switchbacks perfectly set at a grade that makes you consider running them but not want to. So we didn’t. The Scummy Summer Slammer had very little running up to the top of the 10,154’ Mt. Blackmore. And on that summit, it hit me—this was about community. Not running, not winning, not covering miles—just wonderful people. Nearly every other runner was on top of the peak, taking a break at the same time. We laughed, split a beer, and then began the descent. This whole group thing was FUN! Log Crossings to limber up I ran down with a few others and connected back to a spur trail that led us up a route formerly known as a trail but had since been overgrown, burned, and otherwise reclaimed by nature. But that didn’t stop the 30-some-odd tough runners that side-hilled their way across deadfall, ridges, snow, and rain. Then we hit the road. What a great feeling thinking that it would be smooth all the way down to camp for the night. It wasn’t. Evan and Sam trying to find the views at Scummy Summer Slammer This was where the hurdling portion of the event began. Deadfall littered the road. Somehow trees always choose to fall perpendicular, right across the roadway every time… or at least those are the ones I noticed. But many other runners were around, and we easily showed our athleticism every few feet with a new jump, limbo move, or army crawl before the road finally opened up, and we ran into camp for the night. It wasn’t just a camp, it was a party. Everyone had tents out, and twenty-some people were crewing the runners, cooking dinner, and cheering on each runner as we came in. The whole community was rallying around this event, encouraging each other and helping everyone be successful. It was the most purely supportive event I have ever been a part of. Any worries that the experience would be tainted with a competitive vibe were gone. Malory had a team of people making dinner, Kyla was yelling for people on the megaphone; high-fives and hugs were everywhere. Everyone finished the first day within two hours of each other. It was so fun to witness and be a part of. Exhausted from the first day, I perfectly stayed up way too late… knowing I would be tired when we started again at 7 am the next day… but I am never one to miss out on a good time… so I didn’t. The Scummy Summer Slammer Group on Blackmore Day 2 This event isn’t only a running event, it is really a full weekend of living in the backcountry with support. So, even though we didn’t request one, we got a full wake-up call from the megaphone in the morning. When I say I am not a morning person, I truly mean I am not a morning person. I naturally woke up at 5:30 but didn’t even start packing my backpack or having breakfast until 6:30. Where did that hour go? If you find it let me know. But somehow, I managed to get to the hoard of runners waiting to start only slightly late, and with a raucous cheer, we charged up an old dirt road to begin day 2. They charged. I walked. For five miles, I walked. Then the climbing began, and I felt even better about walking. The energy for the day hadn’t arrived yet. The first Scummy Snowfield We climbed up to the top of Hyalite Ridge after our first intimate interaction with snow. About 100 yards of leftover winter was a good introduction to what was to come. At the top of the pass Devin and I opted for an off-trail ridge traverse to connect to the high point of the adventure at Hyalite Peak. It was a fun side-hilling adventure where apparently, my only goal was to collect as many rocks in my shoes as possible. But we did it without a problem and were rewarded with the most picturesque scenes of sprawling mountains, ridges, and spots of snow stretching far into the distance. The Gallatin Mountain Range is truly one of my favorites. Once we joined back with the others, we saw this massive snowfield. It was about 200 yards of steep snow down into a basin. Everyone else had to climb it, but our ridge route dropped us right on top of it. So, we slid down for the fun of it. It was the perfect glissading angle, and the speed probably rivaled a children’s roller coaster. At the bottom, we turned around and climbed right back up it, and I tagged the peak with most of the other runners out for day 2. Camaraderie and enjoyment all around once again. This is where we joined one of my favorite trails—the Gallatin Crest Trail. It follows the spine of the mountain range all the way to Big Sky, and that was our route. The Hyalite Snowfield Finally, my energy had arrived, and I began to run. The trail was occasionally dotted with cairns but relatively easy to follow, especially with the silhouettes of runners scampering along the crest. It was beautiful, with 360-degree views and the miles passed much too fast. A couple of rough snowfields and I was soon descending to Windy Pass. Another trail junction and a quick downhill to Portal Creek Trailhead, then the day of running was over. But the social events of the day were just beginning. The camp was already roaring with activity as Malory had people cooking, helping runners, a first aid area, and the other bustling sounds of a vibrant community. A few runners came in just around dark, and despite the intensity, vertical gain, and length of the day, everyone was accounted for and unscathed. I enjoyed a small fire with Alva, Sam, Calvin, Emily, and a number of other runners and crew, sacrificing sleep for socialization. Then it was time for bed. Day 3 This was a short day, but Kyla and Malory still forced us up for a 7 am start. Fine, but I certainly wasn’t going to start out fast again. We climbed back up the road we had come down and rejoined the Gallatin Crest Trail at Windy Saddle. This led us over a few more jagged peaks but maintained a smooth trail even through the switchbacks. It was a glorious day and the final one of this great adventure. The miles were quick, and everyone ran most of them. Then we got to the descent to Ramshorn Lake, and I knew I wanted to try out this ridge that led to the boundary of Yellowstone. Allison was brave enough to come along on the off-trail route despite my lack of any form of beta. My method of “figure it out” is prone to not working out, but she was still game. We had a very steep and rocky climb up on top of the THE FORTRESS. Pretty cool name for a mountain covered in scree and loose rocks that made it almost impossible to climb. But we did it. The beautiful rock of THE FORTRESS on the off-trail route From THE FORTRESS, it was a straight shot on the ridgeline to the top of Ramshorn Peak. It was a straight shot but by no means a flat one. It was a slow and demoralizing ascent to the top of the cool-looking peak by just putting one foot in front of the other. With the lack of footprints and the large community of bighorn sheep, it was pretty obvious that few (if any) people ever came this way. We hit the peak, took a photo (maybe… can’t remember), and then started running down to 320 Guest Ranch, where Scummy ends. Ramshorn Peak But, that is not the end of my stories. Half a mile after the peak, we came across a day hiker carrying a jug of water. We had been hearing a sound like a clown car honking its horn since the summit, and we couldn’t figure out what it was. At one point, Allison even asked if that was the sound of me farting (it wasn’t). Then when we closed in on this hiker, we heard him loudly screaming “HEY BEAR” every few minutes. When we passed, we saw an air horn in his pocket. He was surely keeping every grizzly for 100 miles informed of his every movement. We ran by him, giggling. A couple of miles from the trailhead, we passed a few other Scummy Runners and then a group of hikers. As Allison passed, they said, “Entirely too spunky,” and since, that phrase has been discussed more than any conspiracy theory to figure out what they were even referring to. After all that discussion, we still have no answers. We hit the trailhead, ran another mile down the road, and ended at the guest ranch. We had completed Scummy. 23 people finished all three days of the amazing community event. It was just so impressive how such an event could be put on to be accessible, difficult, supportive, and beautiful all at the same time while having respect for the lands it takes place on. I am so lucky to be a part of this awesome community, and I cannot get over how rewarding it was to spend quality time with such amazing individuals. The Scummy Summer Slammer Finish sign

I enter every race with some sort of goal. I am competitive, but a goal has to extend beyond depending on the performance of others, so I aim to find something that will push me and ignore placing when determining if a race was a success. Sometimes the goal is survival. One of my proudest races was a 100-miler that went very poorly. BUT, I got myself to the finish and persevered through a number of different challenges. I also learned about my amazing ability to puke for hours on end. It was a win, even though the time, place, and performance were not what I would have wanted going into the race. THAT SAID… Last year I got second in this 12-hour nighttime race, and if I said that I wasn’t gunning for a win, I would be lying to you. So, I set my “A Goal” high. Victory, a course record, and all the fame and fortune that comes from a local twelve-hour fixed-time event at night. My “B Goal” which actually should have been my “A Goal,” was to run consistently throughout the race, but with the attention span only slightly longer than a goldfish, I often forget my B Goal. Training I went into the race with a plan but without rest days. My running volume has been quite high recently, but through the ups and downs of life, it has been important to use running as an outlet to take time for myself. BUT, I didn’t ignore rest days. I simply ran 20 miles on the days that weren’t rest days. Would I recommend this? Certainly not, but with four races in five weeks, I wanted to test my body and see how quickly I could bounce back from longer efforts. High volume days, two rest days a week, and a bit of an obsession (ok… a major obsession) with running was further enhanced by this new commitment to a strength routine. Was I ready for a twelve-hour night race? I don’t know if anyone is ever ready to skip a night of sleep, but it has been my favorite time to race, so maybe it would work out in my favor. The Race I drove up to Helena fresh off ten days of travel through four states and way too many cities, but I was excited. The month and a half since Cocodona had built up a new appreciation for racing, running and competing, and I was just excited to go out and run with whatever I had in the tank. I threw some bars and gels in a cardboard box, grabbed a running vest from the disastrous mess that is my car, and went to the start line. It was a running vest I have never raced in before, but my thought process is always, “It will be fine.” It was… mostly, at least until I showered after the race and the burning reminder of what chaffing can be was very evident. It was one of the strangest starts I have ever been a part of. After a short race briefing, the clock hit 8 pm, and we all just stood there (the race was supposed to start at 8). Finally, someone crossed the start line, and we all began our race a few seconds after the scheduled start. It was muddy, pouring rain, and apparently uninviting to all of us. So, we hesitantly waited until someone broke the seal. But then it was on. The race consisted of an 11.5 mile figure eight that we would repeat as many times as we could (or wanted) in 12 hours. It started in a downpour, but luckily the weather slowly improved, and the lightning disappeared. This is about when I found my rhythm. I was running much too fast, but there was still a person in front of me, and I was prepared to push myself for half a day. I followed about 100 yards behind on the 3.5 mile climb to the top of Mt. Ascension and then took the lead on the four mile descent back to the middle of the figure 8. The start-line puddles…gross Race face and rain protection At the transition, I didn’t stop at my car or the aid station and started the second loop of the course. The ground was much less muddy on this side, and my legs felt great. The first loop flew by, and I was starting my second one in under two hours. It was dark, and I pulled out my overpowering headlamp. A “life hack” for running at night is always to have a quality and blinding headlamp. Not only does it intimidate the bears and deer in the forest, but it also reflects with blinding intensity off the slick rocks along the trails. I was on my own and entered the ultrarunning trance. With last year’s experience on the course, everything was automatic, and I trudged forward, running many of the uphills and pushing the downhills even more. I was tired at 10 pm, but not exhausted. In fact, I never hit the exhaustion stage… which is really good if you were wondering. A few slips, not enough sips of water, and I finished the first half of the second loop. My brain was on autopilot, and my eyes wandered to the sprawling lights of Helena. It was the perfect weather for me—Cold and uninviting. Nineteen miles in, and my feet were hurting. I wore shoes suited for mud and slick rocks, but with less of each than I anticipated, I hurriedly changed into road running shoes during the transition. The road shoes are lighter, kinder to my feet, and (in my mind) faster. So I wore them for the rest of the race. Twelve hours is a long time, especially when those are the twelve hours that most people are sleeping. But I use a few mind tricks to make it feel more manageable. Every 11.5-figure-eight stood on its own. Yes, my mind did wander, and try to do very complex math to see what kind of pace I was on, but usually, after a few minutes of losing my brain in the midst of long division, I gave up and brought my thoughts back to the present. I aimed to finish each lap in about two hours and then focused on being very efficient during transitions. These transitions at night are one of the main reasons I like to do this race. It is great practice, and I think these unique opportunities to practice otherwise unpracticed aspects of races have benefited me greatly. Night running looks like Star Wars light speed. Taken at a blistering 6 miles per hour! Everything was going great, and then I ate a cracker. Well, “ate” is probably the wrong word. I grabbed a handful of light snacks from the aid station and started eating them, and then a misstep on uneven ground, and I was choking on the least offensive food the aid station had to offer. Coughing on crumbs began and didn’t subside for thirty minutes. As I passed other runners at night they must have wondered if I was dying, but at least they heard me coming and let me pass easily. In every adversity, there is a silver lining—that definitely is not true, but it is nice to pretend in the midst of a race. Once I had dispensed of the crumbled mess coating my throat, I threw down the hammer. To the tune of a few ten-minute miles that I could have sworn were six-minute pace. But, it was mile number… a lot… and things just feel faster at night. The daylight was coming, and I had to finish my fifth loop with at least two hours left to be able to start my sixth. I tried, well, I sort of tried. Time was slipping away, and it soon became apparent I wouldn’t get in a full sixth loop. I came in eight minutes after 6 am and could only log miles on the shorter (4-mile) portion of the figure eight. But, I wasn’t disappointed, in fact, I was a bit relieved. I had tied the course record with nearly two hours left, and I figured I could get in another eight miles at a more leisurely pace. I thought this until the mental struggles of an ultramarathon started. I lost all my steam on what I wanted to be my second-to-last loop. The adrenaline was gone. I began to wonder why I was even continuing to run and log miles. What was the point of it all? Was it an existential millennial crisis caused by too much avocado toast? Likely. Can you tell I am ready to be done? Mile 62 ish My pace slowed, but not quite to a crawl, and I got to 61.5 miles with about an hour left in the event. I didn’t want to go out for another four miles, although I knew I would make myself do it. BUT, even though there was no way I would let myself quit, I was going to use a psychological boost for the last hour. The aid station had Coke, and instead of simply having a cup of it, I asked for an entire can to drink over the next hour. It was exactly the pick-me-up that I needed, and I sprinted around the last four-mile loop—well… I thought I did. It was my slowest lap, but it didn’t matter. I finished about twelve minutes before the official end of the race and took a seat, content with 65.5 miles. Done… FINALLY It was a wonderful race, and because of my great success, I would like to thank the following: –First: The weather for being colder than last year –Second: The great camaraderie with the other runner and the wonderful organization of the race directors even in the bad weather –Third – My wonderful support from Janji, Sea to Summit, and Readywise for not questioning my decision to race way too much –Fourth – My great job in not forgetting to pack anything crucial –Fifth – The invention of road running shoes because I seem to run best in them –Sixth – David Goggins for having such outlandish quotes that can provide me twelve hours of laughter and entertainment during a night race. If you made it this far, you receive the award of my gear list Shorts: Janji Transit Shorts Shirt: Janji Helio Tech T-Shirt with homemade holes for breathability Rain Jacket: Janji Rainrunner Trail shoes: Topo Mtn Racer 3 Road Shoes: Topo Athletic Cyclones Headlamp: Petzl Nao+ Backup headlamp: Nitecore NU25 Electrolytes: Salud Watch: Coros Vertix 2 Pack: Salomon Body Glide: still chaffed Nutrition: Goldfish and Readywise dried fruit Redbull: Cringe but it works Charged Crystals and earrings of course! See? It was a perfect figure 8 shape

The race started off with a bang. Actually, I cannot remember if they actually just yelled, “Go.” 5:00 am in Black Canyon City, and the sun was threatening to rise, but I still opted to use a headlamp. I have learned to be a cautious starter in these long endeavors. So, I played it safe and slowly jogged along a couple of groups back from the leaders. My headlamp lit the way, and I focused on making deliberate steps to find some rhythm. Finding this rhythm and full immersement in an activity is why I have been so drawn to long races and adventures. But, Cocodona 250 would teach me a number of lessons. The Before It was my third year doing Cocodona. I showed up with about 340 miles of racing to start the year. I had already foregone three full nights of sleep to start off 2023, but physically I felt great. Even with a few minor injuries creeping up through the first four months of the year, I was able to back off training almost completely in April to show up healthy. With lots of experience tackling long distances, I was confident in the race if I was healthy. Ok ok, I felt healthy. I ran a lot. I had a weird training plan that peaked a month before the race. I was confident I could cover the miles. BUT, I was in a weird headspace. Ever since the John Muir Trail, I had been struggling with the start of races. The fresh memories of pushing through a couple of rough days and nights in the Sierra always took over. I managed this feeling pretty well through Across the Years “Last Person Standing” and Jackpot 48. But leading into Cocodona, a number of further stressors took over, and I could never find the visualization and acceptance of what was to come. The impacts of organizing tour dates for a movie, losing clients, and traveling way too much are just a few things that weighed on me. \ Memories of the first 33 miles kept me up at night. 2021 had been rough, and I remember how much the heat and climbing had impacted me. I kept slipping into this trap of telling myself that I was “bad at heat.” While I am not the best in the heat, this sort of attitude is something I am usually good at attacking and finding some string of positivity to lean on, but I just couldn’t find that mental and emotional confidence this year. I followed a strict sauna program, ran in the heat in New Mexico a week before the race, and even put in some hot treadmill miles to find confidence. But, these trepidations leading into Cocodona were only the beginnings. The Race It was rolling hills on the Black Canyon Trail to start. Then at mile 2, we all had to get our feet wet. The Agua Fria had more water running in it than I had seen in May. So, to begin the most difficult 33 miles of the course, we had wet feet. My plan was to hold myself back and run smart. I just needed to survive the beginning. But, like so many of these long races, a number of people took off. I pushed pretty well, maybe even too well, as the day started to heat up. <— *Wet Feet At Mile 2* I chatted with the other runners, joking, and enjoying the sweeping views as we climbed into the Bradshaw Mountains. But, then my energy began to disappear. I knew this feeling, I have had it five distinct times before. If I didn’t act quickly I would start to suffer heat exhaustion. I layed in a scrap of shade and tried to let my racing heartbeat relax. Two minutes later, I got up and started uphill again. But, things were getting worse. I sat down again, and Sally McRae came by as I was a lump in the shade. She offered Tylenol and I took it while getting up to join her. Two minutes later, it all began. I vomited everywhere, right in the middle of a story from Sally. The runner behind me laughed and offered me a piece of ginger. The puke was cartoonish, spraying liquid, and all the calories I had consumed all over the bushes near the trail. But, I took the ginger, thinking one piece would solve all my problems. I tried to stay with the witness to my puke, but my stomach soon turned again. More vomit. I was losing calories, water, and lots of energy. I sat down again and soon was face down in a pool of my own puke. It was a bad start to the race. Pete Kostelnik sat down to take a break to check if I was a runner or a corpse. Not doing well on the climb The puddle of puke pic Laying down after the heat takes it toll He left, and I slowly crawled onward. More puke, but more forward motion. It took me 10 hours and 25 minutes to cover the first 33 miles of the course. The leaders had done it in under 8 hours. But not only had I fallen way behind where I wanted to be, I had no calories, no hydration, and I couldn’t keep anything down. I tried soda at the aid station and then moved on down toward Crown King as quickly as I could. My crew would be there, and I could get this stupid shirt covered in vomit off. I was in 68th place. The run to Crown King was eye-opening. I got to meet so many new and inspiring runners. I was not feeling great, but the stories were motivating. One runner had been a heroin addict turned sober badass ultrarunner. These stories are all over ultrarunning, and chatting with the other participants is one of my favorite ways to connect as an introvert. I got to Crown King and didn’t want to eat anything. My crew tried to find things I was into, but I knew it would only come back up. I jogged off for the next 34 miles without crew. Climbing out of Crown King went pretty well and I even passed people on the downhill, but on the Sentinel Highway, I began to vomit again. These pukes were traumatizing. My whole body would seize, and I would fall to the ground dramatically. The heat had messed me up, and my body was off. I took a few breaks and really tried to focus on keeping my heart rate down, but nothing helped. As it got dark I linked up with Elle Spacek, and we covered a few miles efficiently into Arrastra Creek Aid Station. I was dying. I sat in a chair and eventually laid down. I needed to get some water down at the very least. Between crew and friends, we had decided that I needed to be able to keep water down fairly immediately, or my race would be over. So, I took my time and managed to slowly hydrate while lying down. It was painful, but after 30 minutes, I needed to keep moving. Things would not keep improving by sitting. The feeling didn’t improve, but I only puked once in the next section. Small sips of water stayed down, but I wasn’t adventurous enough to try food. So, I trekked on, under the power of water. I got to Camp Kipa late. Soda sounded good, and I wanted the caffeine in Coke. So I downed some, waited for a few minutes, and Mike McKnight walked out, then Pete Kostelnik. I expected them to be way ahead, but they both looked beat up by the race. With a little nudging, I convinced both of them to continue down the hill with me. Racing is fun because of the people, and when you get to run with the best, you have to take advantage. Mike was on the verge of calling his race, but I think the commraderie and the simple suggestion of running together really helped us all turn our races around and enjoy the next section. At Camp Kipa, I was in 72nd place. It had taken me 20 hours and 53 minutes to cover just 63 miles. That is not the time I expected or wanted. We ran well and had fun together, despite a couple of wrong turns, and before long, we got to the first location we could have a pacer and only the second time in 71 miles that we had seen our crew. I did not want to waste much time. My body could handle liquids, and it was time to make up some of the awful first day. I ran with Julie for the 7-mile section, and we saw the sky turn from night to day. The birds chirped, and my pace quickened on the way into Prescott. It was the first time I actually thought I could turn this around and not simply death march my way to the finish. In Prescott, I picked up Kyla. I grabbed a little food, but I didn’t trust it yet. I relied on a Sour Patch Kid or two at a time and a small sip of water. I needed to keep this stomach progress going and made the plan with my crew that I would try eating at the Fein Ranch Aid Station. In the early morning, I was able to run most of the miles through the Granite Dells and then hit a long expansive flat section across some hot fields. Kyla was a great pacer because she just filled me in on all the gossip about everything, while I simply tried to maintain a solid 10-11 minute mile. We had to cross the valley before ascending Mingus Mountain, and in the middle of it was the Fein Ranch aid station. I felt better than the moment the race started. I ate some eggs, and potatoes, and even tried a Floda—A flat soda from Satisfy. It was… fine. My pure look of “Joy” with Kyla Zach joined me as we crossed Fein Ranch. There was no trail, and it was pure cross-country travel with eyes glued to the simple line in the GPS app. Zach kicked a cactus and had to de-shoe just to get the thorn out, but he soon caught back up. We made multiple zig-zagging wrong turns, but we finally joined a road and made it to the Mt. Mingus trailhead. This is where my climbing legs took over. I passed a number of people on the climb, and at the top, I jogged it into the Mingus Mountain aid station. I came into Mingus in 23rd place. I didn’t want anything other than a refill on my bottles and to keep going. So, to the amazement of my crew, it was only a couple-minute turnaround. Calvin joined me on the jog out, and we passed more people. The exhaustion of the puking and a sleepless night was wearing me down, but I still had a very comfortable downhill to lean into, and legs that felt strong. Then in the middle of the section, just when I was finding my stride, I got a couple of texts that threw me. I was finally feeling immersed in the race, but then the whole world outside the race and the current stressors, and life situations presented themselves. There was a palpable shift from enjoyment to extreme stress and anxiety. It was the middle of the afternoon, and I could only dejectedly lumber on. I tried to talk to Calvin about everything, but I had lost it. I was exhausted, anxious, stressed, and defeated. It became a just hold-on situation. Luckily, there was no reason or need to stop, so despite feeling like complete $%&# and such an emotional shift, I was able to jog on and log some good miles into the Jerome aid station. I climbed up to 12th place. But, now, I didn’t even feel like I wanted to be out here. I was so stuck in my own head. The real world had poked its head into my race and all it took was a couple of texts at the least expected time to break me into a stressed and anxious frenzy. So, I had a beer in Jerome. I tried to treat it like a mental reset, change my clothes and compartmentalize mentally. But, I couldn’t. Running through the rugged Granite Dells Calvin jogged on with me as it turned to night on a heinous downhill cross-country section through cacti. Then he kicked a cactus, just like Zach had earlier. Just like my other pacer, Calvin sat down and took his shoe and sock off to try to pull out the needle. Luckily, I kicked no cacti throughout the race. We jogged the series of trails and the road to Dead Horse State Park while calling his wife, and my good friend, Emily, just to get some positivite energy and try to get out of my mental funk. Night two had begun, and I had used so much energy on day 1 that it was catching up. At Deadhorse State Park, I was eating enough for my sanity, but my crew also kept stuffing more into my pack. We had a disconnect about the amount of food I wanted to try to consume, and since I had a cautious stomach throughout the race, I probably ended up carrying lots of extra cumulative food weight. Instead of calories, I began using Red Bull for energy. My mental and emotional state was a wreck, but my body could still move. I jogged off with Zach and covered the first half of the section very quickly. And then, I shut down. I needed my first dirt nap and tried a five-minute one. It worked for a mile, but then I began to hallucinate. Chicken feet were sticking out of the ground, and a pirate ship lay beached nearby. The hallucinations were hitting harder and sooner than any FKT or race in the past. Zach helped me press on and used all the right tricks. “It is only a couple miles to the aid station,” he would tell me, but I continually met his ploy with doubt. It wasn’t that we were moving slowly, but inefficiently. I needed about 20 minutes of sleep badly. I jogged when I could but mostly stumbled along until we finally reached the aid station. I immediately crawled into the back of Kyla’s truck and passed out for 25 minutes. Waking up, I was ready to go and jogged off with Kyla. Running still felt really good at mile 150. The sun rose as we came into Sedona for a quick stop. I ate multiple breakfast burritos and quickly pushed onward up a big hot climb out of Oak Creek. The heat didn’t hit as hard, and I passed a couple of runners on the climb. We ran fairly well into the aid station, but it was once again a frustrating morning. I was just so tired. The muscles felt good, but I was so depleted mentally and emotionally early in this race. Sedona views from Cocodona It was a very quick transition at Schnebly aid station, and I ran the 12 miles with Calvin to Munds Park. I could maintain an 11-12 minute mile and push it into the single digits on the downhill. Calvin is very fast and soon became a really fun pacer to try to push some quick miles with. I was over-wasting time at the aid station, so as quickly as I could fill my bottles and eat some food, I was off on a 21-mile section with Kyla. This was when things got even more weird. Running into Munds Park with Calvin I ran out of motivation. I didn’t stop jogging—because the pace felt automatic—but I began to mentally and emotionally break down. I was struggling to see the point of it all, the stress and anxiety of the day before, and the demoralizing start weighed heavily, and I just jogged along and treated Kyla as my therapist. But, we covered the miles fairly quickly despite not seeing a sole. This part of the race was especially difficult because after Schnebly Hill and through Fort Tuthill (33 miles) I had no contact with other runners. It felt like I was just out there running. The feel of the race had disappeared, and my mind drifted to stressors and problems that I could not solve while in the middle of a race. It was a battle, but we made it to Fort Tuthill. Everything was stressing me out, and I was on edge. I was jumpy, and anxiety was nearing panic. I needed to get in front of this and eliminate any other triggers. Going into Fort Tuthill I told Kyla I really wanted to avoid the livestream and just try to hold it together. I didn’t want to say anything, and I just wanted to get in and get right back out. This is where she shined. She told the operator that I was not interested in being filmed, and I composed myself. Luckily, this was the aid station where I made up for many lost calories. I had two impossible burgers and slammed a Red Bull before jogging off with Calvin. The food helped, and my pace was in the 8-9 range for several miles. I was trying to make the final 38-mile push… and then BAM! Hallucinations hit hard. The cliff became a giant robot staring right at me, and I suddenly stopped and stared back. My eyesight got crazy, and everything began to bounce. This happened on the John Muir Trail, and it feels like a giant earthquake is happening. It is tough to stay upright and even more difficult to focus on where to step. I told Calvin I needed a nap, and a few minutes later, I was up and running again. But this time, after only a mile, the world went sideways, and I couldn’t see. My vision was deceptive. I could barely make out where I was or move forward. In fact, the tunnel of trees in Walnut Canyon was so strange I struggled to figure out which race I was even running. The last six miles were tortuous. I took another nap or two, but they had diminishing effects. With spurts of running and just trying to move forward, I finally made it to the Walnut Canyon aid station and passed out. I just needed 25 minutes, and then I slammed… another Red Bull and took off. My dirt nap in Walnut Canyon as captured by Calvin A couple of miles later, I realized that my crew had stuck enough quesadillas in my pack to fuel me for 100 miles, but I couldn’t blame them, I had eaten like a king at Fort Tuthill, and I had no requests or even words at Walnut Canyon, so I had plenty of nutrition for the last 21 miles. There were two runners ahead of me, and I wanted to catch one of them. I was really excited about the Mt. Elden climb simply because I love climbing and especially on tired legs at the end of a race, it makes it such a fun challenge. Just a climb over 2k feet to end a race. We crushed the climb, even with my road shoes on the snow, we were quick. Then the wall of wind hit. The road down was tough, but with a runnable grade, we took advantage, but it was so cold, yet my body temperature regulation was so broken that I decided against another layer. We hit Buffalo Park, and the true descent began. For the last couple of miles, I kept my pace in low 8s and finally felt a feeling of gratitude for my body. It had put up with all my feelings, anxiety, and mental woes to simply continue on forward. I passed one of the other runners right near the end and turned the whole thing around with a 6th place finish. All the people that helped get me to the finish! The Learning This was a learning experience. At some point, I was going to learn that I simply cannot compartmentalize everything going into races over and over again. The three races this year took a toll on me mentally, and the stressors of life came in to haunt me emotionally at mile 115. The race was a battle, not against the other competitors, but against myself and the natural inclination to give up and sulk. But, I pushed on and learned that I can. I just hope I don’t have to do it like that again. Here is the gear I took for Cocodona 250 this year #cocodona2023 #cocodona250 #cocodonaracerecap

It is 2023, and I am a couple of days away from lining up for my third Cocodona 250. What keeps me coming back? I am not totally sure what makes this event so fun, but it really is. The atmosphere, volunteers, and the other runners make it a fully immersive multi-day experience. It is different from FKTs, just as fun but totally different. It is like socializing while doing an FKT. With two previous runnings of the course, the only real strategy I am going to abide by is respecting the first 50k. It is going to be hot, and I don’t always do great in the heat, so I will take the Bradshaw Mountains conservatively. Training for Cocodona 250 in Montana PC: Matt Hines What am I going to wear? Somehow this question has blown up and become more asked than even questions about hallucinations. But, I have some good stuff planned, and you can be sure I have animal print, dresses, and unicorns packed. But, what I wear will be completely decided in the moment. As for the actual running stuff… I recently signed with Janji. I have worn their running clothes on numerous FKTs (including the John Muir Trail), and they are fine with me adding things like a tiger sweatshirt or a knit sweater (my sister knit it), to accessorize the kit. Cocodona 250 Gear List Shorts: Janji Transit Shorts I have an eccentric pattern that will add some color to the Arizona desert. But, overall the pockets in these pants and the lightweight yet durable material is why I wore these on the John Muir Trail and they will be my shorts for Cocodona. Pants: Janji Mercury Pants Even in retrograde, these pants work really well in the type of cold around Flagstaff. These passed the test on the John Muir Trail, so I feel good about wearing them through the night for Cocodona. Shoes: Topo Athletic Cyclones Road running shoes for the comfort and to see if they can work on the trail. These are closeout shoes because I am very cost conscious. I like the wider toe box, but they do wear out quickly. I have some trail shoes just in case too. Hat: More like a halo because I will feel so enlightened running Cocodona Finding my Zen for a 250 PC Matt Hines Socks: Every Pair I own Last year I wanted to change socks a lot more than I had planned. In fact, Ginny on the crew did laundry halfway so that I had more clean socks. I will probably start in the Swiftwick Maxus REPREVE short socks in the heat, though. Rain Jacket: Janji Rainrunner This is the most breathable shell I have used with vents all around, so I will carry it as a windbreaker even if it is not going to rain. Nutrition: Goldfish and Readywise dried fruit The staples of a balanced diet. The goldfish crackers provide enough seafood that I don’t need to consume sushi mid-race, and the fruit lets me pretend I am eating healthy. Electrolytes: Salud I don’t know what black magic this company puts in its formula, but it works for me. The options with caffeine don’t make me jittery, and the options without don’t seem to lead to cramping or anything bad. Salud can sponsor me if they want. Shirts/Tops: You are going to have to tune into the live stream Watch: Coros Vertix 2 This thing will last the entire race without needing a charge. Trekking Poles: Gossamer Gear LT5 (If I use them) I am not planning on trekking poles, but I may take them up Mt. Elden at the end of the race or even Mingus at the midway point. Trekking poles burn more calories. Pack: Salomon or Ultimate Direction I have not decided how I will carry everything. There is a hefty water carry requirement at the beginning, so I haven’t picked out which pack will be the best through there. Also, the nighttime backpack may have to be a little heavier. Headlamp: Petzl Nao+ and Nitecore NU25 I have used both of these options for years. The Nitecore is substantial, but I keep it as a backup and use the overpowering Petzl for night travel. Sunscreen: Sawyer Less oily than most sunscreens and stays on throughout most of the day. Body Glide 3 days out there, some stuff is gonna rub. Charged Crystals and earrings of course! Wish me luck and much fun! ****I may take a Sawyer Squeeze filter for the first 37 miles, but I haven’t decided upon this and how much water I am going to carry. I am not a planner, and lots is in flux still.**** Me and my friend Ted PC Matt Hines How to follow Cocodona 250? Live Tracking: https://cocodona.com/live/ Live Stream: Link Here #ultrarunnning #howtofollowcocodona #trailrunning #cocodonalivestream #trail #arizona #jeffgarmire #janji #cocodona #Aravaipa #cocodona250

So, what would possess someone to enter a race of endless loops for 48 hours? Well, since I am no Nascar fan, I do not know what has possessed me to enter these loop races, but hopefully, describing what happens within 87 loops around a 2.3-mile route will justify my decisions… or not… who cares. I decided to do a 48-hour race sometime last year. I had no plans for when I would enter such a unique fixed-time race, but I wanted to see how far I could go in two days. I don’t know exactly how I landed upon Jackpot in Las Vegas, but it probably happened because Rachel praised the race for the last few months and has won it every time she has done it. So, after a week of travel, including Michigan and Los Angeles, we drove into sin city the day before the race. We were so early that Rachel suggested we go on a run. Sometimes we aren’t very creative, and a run is the only option we can think of to fill our free time. It was a beautiful jaunt through petroglyphs, but we didn’t see any. I had done this route once before and been amazed by the number of ancient drawings, but this time we talked so much that we missed it. We literally maybe saw one or two petroglyphs because we were not paying attention. Foreshadowing for the race? Probably Now, running endless loops in the desert may sound boring, and it could be… actually it probably is for most normal people. BUT, we in fact are not normal people. In my abnormal experiences with such things as loops, mind-numbing road walks, fire detours, and treadmill (Dreadmill) running, it is a wonderful opportunity to think. There are few obligations, and the opportunity to escape into thought is perfect. It is a beautiful gift of time to spend however you choose. It can be introspective, meditative, and even mentally relaxing. BUT WE DIDN’T DO ANY OF THAT. The Race At 7 am, we left our hotel and hit the start line. We stayed at the Stratosphere hotel and really embraced the people-watching experience that Vegas can be. As we left to run for 48 hours, our inspiration was the people at the slot machines, who also looked like they had been up for 48 hours. Our common bond hung in the air like the fact I had forgotten deodorant. Our pre-race preparation included me buying Red Bull, a giant box of Goldfish (Pepperidge Farm sponsor me!), and Sour Patch Kids, and Rachel buying Monster energy drinks and Poptarts. We have our styles, but they both involve a messy car. We “set up” the front seat as a defacto aid station and figured we might be ready to begin getting “loopy.” Rachel already had duct tape on her brand-new shoes, and I was wearing a “new” shirt purchased from the natural habitat of human beings—the Santa Monica Goodwill. Other runners had entire tents, tables, multiple crew members, and specific nutrition set up. We did not, and we were ready. The winning nutrition strategy Jeff’s Nutrition Strategy Goldfish: The largest box available at Walmart Red Bull: The original flavor because it tastes fine and wakes me up Sour Patch Kids Day old croissants: filling but not fulfilling Rachel’s Nutrition Strategy Poptarts: a superfood Monster Energy Drinks: But only the white ones because she is classy Some of Jeff’s Goldfish and Sour Patch Kids Rachel warming up with 3 minutes to go before the race Now, Rachel has won this race every time she has done it, so I knew I should just stick with her at the beginning. That is my entire race plan in one sentence, why overplan a 2.3 mile course? I had my goldfish… what could even go wrong? So, after a very anticlimactic “Gooooooooo,” from Jamil Coury, we were off. The 100-mile USATF championship started at the same time as our race on a slightly different course so it was crowded out there. But I unexpectedly enjoyed all the people. Racing has been this wonderful opportunity to do physically challenging things in the presence of others. For most of the past 12 years, all my endeavors were solo and very secluded. Despite being an introvert I have grown to really enjoy the opportunities to race and interact with others! In these loop courses (this is now my 4th), it is so cool to see different people multiple times throughout the event and build a relationship and a rapport with them. We shot off the start line at a blistering 9:54 pace. Others in the 48-hour started much quicker. But with Rachel’s experience and my background of solo stupidly long adventures, we did not care. “Let them run away from us; this race thing will take a while to shake out.” Our strategy was to not care. Our paces were perfect for each other, and the miles ticked by. The introspection that often accompanies such a loopy endeavor didn’t arrive, though. We continued to talk and talk and talk and talk and talk and talk and talk and talk and talk and talk and talk and talk and talk. We made jokes, and puns, and just had fun conversations. A specifically memorable conversation was spending thirty minutes making Brad Pitt puns and jokes. If you are confused, you are a normal person and should be! Or you can choose to feel left out and have a Brad Pitty Party. A few hours into the race Rachel ran by the race photographer and waved her hands around. Shortly thereafter, she decided we should do funny photos for the rest of the race. Why would I argue? So we did. A collection of our incredible poses for the camera. Doing our civic duty of bringing fun into loops. Kevin Youngblood with the captures A connection with Kevin Youngblood, the race photographer, was quickly formed, and all three of us were laughing at every one of our new poses. We took this joke so far it hurt—literally. For one photo, I lay on the ground, and Rachel acted like she was pulling me. We switched the next time, and I was pulling her. Then I did the wheelbarrow with my hands on the ground and her holding my legs up. We did a fake proposal, took prom photos, ran backward, and even changed into each other’s clothing. When I say we took this joke a long way… I mean it. Like we took it so far that it became dumb, but we aren’t quitters and continued posing until it became hilarious again. “Like we took it so far that it became dumb, but we aren’t quitters and continued posing until it became hilarious again.“ We didn’t get one normal photo out of the race… nor did we want one. The photographs were a fun way to break up a seemingly monotonous loop. But to us, it wasn’t even monotonous—we just chatted the entire time. All through the night and into the next morning, we really didn’t have much silence or break stride. Those around us commented on our consistency, and we replied with a shrug. We just didn’t even notice; the miles just passed almost as a side effect of our continual chatter and fun time together. It was hot out there in the desert. I tried to use sunscreen and stay cool, but the heat always gets to me. Living in Montana probably doesn’t help. But, I think Rachel suffered the most significant aftermath of the weather. Wear your sunscreen kids! The shorter days seemed to work in my favor as it cooled off a lot at night, and I could catch back up with hydration and food in the cooler weather. Rachel, on the other hand, is much better at the heat and less accepting of the cold (she doesn’t live in Montana), so she suffered through a night that got quite frigid. As the 100-mile winners finished, the course became a little empty. There were a handful of 100 milers and just a few 48-hour runners who pushed through the first night. In small numbers came a closeness. We came to really appreciate the FIVE different 80+ year-olds running the 100 miler. When I say these guys are consistent, I mean they did each lap at nearly the exact same pace. They didn’t sit around, they didn’t stop, they consistently moved forward. They became our inspiration, and we grew to really enjoy interacting with them. We would say a couple of words as we passed each loop and became increasingly wrapped up in their race as opposed to our own. In fact, we began to only care about them finishing 100 miles. Our race just happened to be the activity we did while cheering for them. With five laps to go, David Blalock (80) made a daring pass of Eddie Rousseau (83) and began increasing his lead. Even over 90 miles in, David was moving so well. His pace never wavered from about 3.5 miles per hour, and it really was a sight to behold. As we finished one loop and began another we heard some cheering and learned David was about to set the 100-mile age group world record, so we had to wait and watch. As he crossed the line, he removed his hat and waved it to the crowd before collapsing into a chair. His time was 29 hours and 47 minutes, which is a good 100-mile time for someone half his age! Inspiration and emotion were everywhere as something so profound and incredible had just moved everyone lucky enough to be there in person. Of the five 80+ year-old starters, four of them would finish, and the one who did not, made it to mile 93! So, if you happen to have excuses… reread this paragraph. Thirty hours in, meant that we still had 18 hours to go. It is when the race starts to feel stale and difficult. But it is also when I started to think about what meaningful goals I should attempt. We had covered the first 100 miles in a blistering 19 hours and 54 minutes, and closed out the first 24 hours with about 115 miles. We were well ahead of any pretend schedule we had made up before the race. Had we gone out too fast? Probably, but people in our race had also gone out a lot faster than us, so I wasn’t too concerned. We used our photo opportunities with Kevin to break up the laps and incorporated a very rigid walk schedule. On every loop, there were 2-3 places where we would walk for 100 yards. It broke up the loop and probably helped our pace overall. Whoever is in the background really makes this photo, so Thank You! The dreaded night 2 began. We were both getting tired, and the wind was pretty brutal. The forecast all week had been for high-speed winds beginning on the second day, and we figured our fast pace to start might actually help if we had to take some time off the course because of the weather. Well, the wind was bad, but never quite bad enough to justify some sleep. So, as it grew dark, we kept running into the dumbest headwind. The wind is frustrating and even more frustrating when you haven’t slept and are 170 miles into a running event. We took a short break in the warming tent and another short break to change socks in the car before trying to wrap up a few more miles and considering sleep. It felt like we were just stuck in a loop… well, we were. Everything happened on a 2.3-mile path of pavement and dirt. It is safe to say that after 40 hours, we were getting tired of it. Around midnight, Rachel opted for some sleep, and I decided to keep going. On day 2, as the miles piled up, I had this addicting fascination with trying to get to 200 miles. It just felt like a fun goal to chase, and I thought I had a chance. The other male competitors were also relatively close, so I figured if I got to 200 I should also get the victory. I tried running a few quicker loops to set up an easier morning, but nothing is fast after 180 miles. Eventually, I was one eyeing it and needed sleep. I checked the standings and saw that after being tied with the leader a few hours ago, I had pulled away to a 7-mile lead. Sleep was necessary, and it was acceptable. Rachel had set up a large foam pad with some blankets in the middle of the grassy field near the car, and I crawled under the covers. I didn’t even take my shoes off, it would only be a 20-minute nap, and I didn’t really want to have to put them back on. I fell asleep quickly but also woke up shivering uncontrollably. Two things contributed to this: 1. I had been awake and running for 185+ miles and over 42 hours 2. My water bottle had leaked all over me while sleeping. I had meant to remove it from my pocket, but tired minds do not always deliver. My alarm went off, and I got back out on the course, mostly happy the liquid all over my jacket was water and not pee. Don Reichelt was in second, and we ran a VERY fast loop together. When I say fast, I mean we probably held 11-minute miles. At the end of the loop, he decided to slow down and walk. He was in second, and I figured another lap or two and I would have a solid lead. So, the field didn’t matter anymore, simply just getting to 200. As I grew loopy, the Aravaipa team was so great about getting coffee and food out, and it turns out one of the volunteers had even read my book. I was pretty delirious, but I tried to talk to everyone, even on the second night. There is always a balance in trying to run and compete in a race while not being an asshole to other runners and volunteers. It is hard to be exhausted, pushing toward personal goals, and feeling the need for quiet, only to have someone else want to chat and interact. I try my best to stay present and interact with all the other great people out there, but on this second night, it was especially hard. For some reason, everyone seemed chatty during the one period of the race I was not. Rachel was up and moving around 3 am, and I welcomed her back with open arms. Having a partner moving at the same pace again was so great for morale. The loops went by as I entered the 190s. 200 was a realistic goal as the sun rose into the sky. Rachel’s lead of 50 miles over the second place woman continued to grow. It wasn’t too much of a competition as our friend Amy had opted to call her race early because the wind was so awful. But, that unfortunately meant there was little competition pushing Rachel. It didn’t seem to matter, though, as she also closed in on her PR for the 48 hour. The second to last lap was the hardest. With 196 miles, I was pretty over everything. I had two hours left to get two more laps in. The wonderful volunteers had made me a pocket full of quesadillas, and I just had to put one foot in front of the other a few more times. It wasn’t the physical toll of 196 miles but the mental chasm of knowing that I had to do every one of these hills one more time. The last lap wasn’t the hardest, but the second to last, just knowing it wasn’t the final time around this dreadful loop. But, I got through it, got it done, and made it around to the last lap. It was more a relief than anything. I was so ready to be done and had already decided to call it right at 200. Just your typical “Morning Run” There are a number of reasons I decided not to try to get another lap in or log more miles. My main goal was to push myself, do my best, and then chase a tough goal as I recognized how my race was going—and I did all that. The second reason is that I often struggle with not letting myself appreciate and be proud of achieving a goal. So, with the goal of 200 miles, what did getting 202 matter? I was proud of 200, and with a little less than an hour remaining, I turned in my ankle tracker and sat in a chair, proud and content with my race. Rachel ran another loop to reach 190, setting her new PR for the 48! We finished first and second overall. We were not tired at all at the end of the race What I learned There is something special about finding a person that you can talk to and run with through exhaustion and wind, especially wind, for 40 hours. AND at the end of it, we weren’t even sick of each other. Also, these fixed-time races are pretty neat because you can do them however you want. They cater to all aerobic abilities, ages, and goals. It brings people together on a small course where they get to interact throughout the race and support each other. This differs greatly from the mountain races I have done in the past. During Beaverhead 100k, I didn’t see anyone for a couple of hours. Lastly, there are many races out there, but I have grown to appreciate what Aravaipa does with their events. They work so hard to give the first-place runner and the last-place runner an equally special experience and seem to have a formula for putting on great races. Now go out and run a stupid amount of circles yourself. There is nothing quite like going to a destination city and choosing to only see 2.3 miles of it… over and over and over again. Lots of style on the men’s podium!

The greenery of Olympic National Park is striking. Long strands of moss, giant trees, and some of the country’s most diverse plants and ecosystems are all located in Olympic. It is a diverse landscape with many different ecosystems. Between Olympic National Park’s mountains, beaches, and rainforests, there is a perfect trail for any visitor. Pros and Cons of Hiking in Olympic National Park Pros Access to four different bioregions Diverse and abundant wildlife Many different trails and hikes of all distances Cons Extremely rainy. Wettest spot in the lower 48 Difficult to access the interior of the park A long drive from any major city My first trip to Olympic National Park was for the Pacific Northwest Trail. It was a five-hour drive from my hometown up to the northwest corner of Olympic National Park. The drive took all day, but my reward was camping on the beach. The sun set spectacularly over the ocean, and the dull thud of waves crashing into the beach was the perfect white noise. My first night in Olympic National Park was magic. My first trip to Olympic National Park was to start the Pacific Northwest Trail. Any route that explored so many different environments rose to the top of my list. Exploring on foot Growing up, we were never the family to drive a loop in a national park and check it off the list. We were the family that backpacked three miles into a lake, stayed three days, and then did so three years in a row to ensure we thoroughly experienced the location. Immersing myself in a landscape is still my preferred way of experiencing somewhere new, but I have expanded my daily miles. In the mountains of Olympic National Park while on the Pacific Northwest Trail Olympic National Park is one of the most diverse national parks On my west-to-east traverse of the national park, I carried tide charts and waded through saltwater along the coast, camping with a beautiful view of the sunset over the Pacific Ocean. My route left the sand for the rainforests, and I was glad I packed an umbrella. The green was vibrant, and water was everywhere. Strands of moss dangled off massive trees. But, then, I climbed higher, and the moss disappeared with snow in its place. There were views of Mt. Olympus, alpine lakes, and Hurricane Ridge down to old-growth forests on the east side. Hiking and Backpacking in the Olympic National Park Olympic National Park is in the northwest corner of Washington. It is on the Olympic Peninsula and a long drive from any major city. Planning even before the hike begins is paramount. A visit and even the individual trails in Olympic can range from sand to snow, with rain in between. The weather changes quickly, and the climates and ecosystems end abruptly. It is an unforgiving landscape with very little connectivity. Some trails have ladders and ropes to compensate for the continual washout of the routes. But don’t be deterred by the warnings. By stepping out on the Olympic National Park Trails, you will be blown away by the beauty, uniqueness, and solitude that rarely are found within a national park. Here are a few of my favorite hikes. Recommended Hikes in Olympic National Park Hurricane Hill via Hurricane Ridge provides views in every direction. This is one of the best hikes in Olympic National Park to get a glimpse at how massive its size. The views start before you even leave the parking lot. Early glimpses of the weathered tips of the Bailey Range are filled in with a 360-degree view of the entire upper Olympic Peninsula. At the top of the three switchbacks that take you to the top of the 5,757-foot hill are sights of the Straight of Juan de Fuca, Port Angeles, and even Canada. It is a gentle but continuous climb, 1.6 miles up the exposed route and 1.6 miles back down, gaining about 650 feet along the way. But, the views from the top are worth it. The exposure, altitude, and landscape offer no escape from any hazardous weather, so packing enough for anything is recommended. Hurrican Hill via Hurricane Ridge is a great first hike in the national park not only for its moderate length and steepness but also because of its well-signed length. Both trail intersections and interpretive signs are plentiful to help you enjoy this hike and others you complete in the national park. Rialto Beach to Hole-in-the-Wall A trip to Olympic National Park isn’t complete without a hike on the beach. From Rialto Beach to Hole-In-The-Wall, there is no real trail. The beach is the pathway, and the footprints of others lead the way. It is a flat hike, but bring a map because other islands and notable rocks sit off the coast, waiting to be identified. On my way to Hole-In-The-Wall, I took off my shoes and enjoyed the sand between my toes. Bald Eagles perched in trees and crashing waves under the blue sky made it the ideal day to visit. When I got to the arch, the tide was out so I could walk through its rugged interior. This four-mile out and back brings the possibility of seeing whales, sea lions, otters, and eagles and getting your feet wet. A small creek runs down the sand to the ocean roughly halfway to the arch and requires either walking across a log or trudging through the sandy water. But, if you visit on a day as perfect as the day I did, you will welcome the cool water. Sunset over Olympic National Park Beach High Divide Trail and Seven Lakes Basin Loop To start, Seven Lakes Basin has more than seven lakes. But that only adds to the magic of this epic backpacking route (or hike if you push it in one day). I most enjoyed Lunch Lake and Heart Lake Basin. The view of Mt. Olympus popped out above the clouds, and it felt like a completely different place than spending the previous day on the beach. The trail begins at Sol Duc Falls trailhead and immediately begins climbing through the old-growth forest. A river flows nearby, and the large trees mute any sounds from outside. Further up you go, past Deer Lake and eventually out of the forest. The trail gets more rugged as you gain a ridge, and then the wonder and the epicness begin. This is a difficult route. The trail can be steep and is exposed up on the high divide. Weather moves in quickly, but these same factors lead to impressive views. Forests full of wildlife, wildflowers, and tranquility perfectly describe this hike. The hike is a 19-mile permitted route that may be the worst-kept secret of Olympic. But, since it is permitted, an epic campsite is waiting if you snake through the reservation process. While up there, consider tagging Bogachiel Peak with a short side trip. Most people complete the hike in a counterclockwise direction, which offers the best logistics for arriving at the lakes to camp on the first night. Seven Lakes Basin in Olympic National Park Sol Duc Falls Sol Duc Falls is the shortest and the most accessible hike on this list. But that does not mean that it is not an essential part of a visit to the Olympics. A short 1.8-mile round-trip hike to the falls will redefine what you consider a lush, old-growth forest. And, while short, it still gains 200 feet from the parking lot to the falls. This easy, family-friendly hike starts just past the site of the Sol Duc Hotel (destroyed by fire in 1912). Shade encompasses the majority of this hike, with a thick forest canopy overhead, and the solitude is only broken up by the roar of the falls. The unique part of Sol Duc Falls is that it is ever-changing. The falls will split into multiple channels and cascades with increased water levels. Often lined with photographers, numerous points offer great views of the massive natural force. Hoh River Trail The moss is magical throughout the Hoh Rainforest. The green is so vibrant it requires sunglasses on this unique route. The Hoh River Trail is an out and back that can be extended as far as you would like, with the option to camp along the way, or cut it short after enjoying the wet old growth forests. On my backpacking trip, I was fortunate to see the giant Roosevelt Elk and even enjoyed a few breaks in the rain. This is one of the only times in my life I backpacked with an umbrella. The forest gets over 200 inches of rain a year and is the wettest forest in the United States. That stat alone made me consider carrying a little extra reprieve while logging miles outside of the sanctuary of my tent. As I hiked the length of the Hoh River Trail, I enjoyed finding the largest leaves possible and taking photos using them as umbrellas in the rain. The magnitude and scale of the trees, growth, and greenery make the forest look as though there could be a secret colony of dinosaurs living within it. If the rain doesn’t get your feet wet, a crossing or muddy section probably will. If I didn’t already mention, the trail is very wet. But, it is also popular. It is the most bio-diverse trail I have ever hiked, and that seems to intrigue many backpackers. Reservations for campsites can be made ahead of time, and be sure to pack a very waterproof tent. At one extreme, the trail can be hiked 19 miles up to Blue Glacier, which means it is 19 miles back down. Shielding myself with a large leaf on the Hoh River Trail Conclusion The diversity of Olympic National Park is unmatched. The chance to hike on the beach and in the mountains within the same national park is unique, and with such well-maintained trails and campsites, this national park does not disappoint. My favorite part was camping in Olympic National Park. Seeing the sunset over the Pacific Ocean one day and then rise behind the mountains the next made it a magical experience. There is a hiking trail in Olympic National Park for everyone. Tips for hiking in Olympic National Park Olympic National Park has multiple climates Depending on when you are planning on visiting, craft your itinerary carefully based on the conditions. Because the national park ranges from sea level to nearly 8,000 feet, it is important to consider packing four seasons worth of gear. Snow, rain, and baking sunshine are all possible on the same day. Stereotypical Fog at altitude in Olympic National Park Where to sleep near Olympic National Park? There are a number of campgrounds in Olympic National Park that range from walk-in to full-service drive-in campgrounds. In addition, wilderness permits can be obtained for backpacking in the park. With a permit, you can camp on the beaches of Olympic National Park, and with reservations, there are spots at more traditional campgrounds. I really enjoyed camping at Hoh Campground. There was access to the small town of Forks as well as giant mossy trees all around on the edge of the rainforest. Free dispersed camping is also available on the patches of national forest land. Do you need Bear Canisters in Olympic National Park? Bear Cans are required to camp in Olympic National Park and are recommended for others. The entire coast, Seven Lakes Basin, Enchanted Valley, Royal Basin, and Sol Duc River all require Bear Cans for storing food anywhere that it cannot be hung at least twelve feet high and ten feet from a tree. Bears, mice, and raccoons all have a history of getting into the food of backpackers in Olympic. Parking and Passes in Olympic National Park National Park Passes are required and can be purchased prior to your visit. Once inside the park, there are designated spots and parking lots for each hike.

Thru-hikes vary widely in terrain, distance, and access. Each hike is different, and each hiker is unique, but some factors in the planning process remain the same. Correctly planning a thru-hike can be simplified down to a few simple categories. Depending on the hike, some of the categories may require only a few minutes of planning. On other hikes, however, the entire endeavor may depend entirely on one category. No matter the project, here is a simple way to define the preparation process before hitting the trail on a thru-hike. How to plan a thru-hike Thru-Hiking Gear: Tailoring Your Equipment for Trail Success Gear is a critical factor in thru-hiking, adapting to diverse terrains and conditions. During a recent 40-mile trek through snow-covered ridgetops, I recognized the stark contrast in gear needs from a prior desert hike in Arizona. Altitude changes not only the weather but also the terrain. Navigating a ridge without a defined trail, we relied on pre-mapped water sources and GPS tracks, emphasizing the need to preserve phone battery. Layering up was essential against relentless winds. Planning gear involves considering extremes—sunny ridgelines to exposed snowscapes. Adaptable gear ensures comfort across varying conditions. One challenge in packing for an entire trail is resupplying. Optimal strategies allow gear adjustments based on changing conditions and seasons throughout the hike. Resupplying on a Thru-Hike: Strategic Decisions for Sustenance Deciding how to handle resupplying is a crucial aspect of thru-hiking. In my unsupported 485-mile journey on the Colorado Trail, I carried all needed food—a drastic approach. For longer hikes, planning resupply locations at towns or accessible roads is practical. Choosing between mailing packages and buying from local stores depends on location offerings. I adjust based on appetite, mailing packages for remote spots and buying food locally elsewhere. Effective planning limits carrying 5-6 days of food per section, emphasizing the importance of mapping and planning food resupply. In conclusion, thru-hiking gear and resupplying demand thoughtful consideration and planning. Adaptability is key to ensure comfort and sustenance throughout the trail, enhancing the overall thru-hiking experience. Ultimate backpacking and thru-hiking gear list Finances on a thru-hike, how to pay for a thru-hike Planning the monetary side of a thru-hike is specific to each individual. On my first hike of the Pacific Crest Trail in 2011, I was hypersensitive about each expenditure. Now I plan to be frugal and cut out most things like hotel rooms, but there is a little more leeway to enjoy the occasional beer. The best way to estimate finances is find a trip report or blog of a previous hiker and either reach out to them directly, or see if they post about their budget. This will serve as a guideline when forecasting how much the hike will cost. A safe bet is to have about $1.50 per mile in the bank account to help pay for town amenities and resupply. This doesn’t factor in bills you might still be paying from the home front. Permits and Restrictions Permits and restrictions are another factor that may involve nothing more than a simple Google search. There have been no permits required on about half of my 15 thru-hikes. But on trails like the Pacific Crest Trail, the permit will dictate the start date, plan, schedule, and the feasibility of the entire hike. Beyond permits, consider the restrictions and advice surrounding different places. In Colorado there was a fire ban when I hiked the Colorado Trail. I didn’t plan to have a fire, but if I had wanted to, it would have been illegal. Another factor in restrictions in preparing for bears, mice, and wildlife. Bear cans are required in much of the Sierra Nevada mountains, and bear hangs are required in Glacier National Park. Along with these concrete restrictions, come the added weight of things like bear spray. How to Schedule your thru-hike The schedule of a thru-hike depends largely on the four other factors listed above. The seasonality of the hike is dependent on gear, finances, permits, and the resupply potential along the way. Schedules can include things like pushing back a thru-hike a few days to avoid a winter storm, or adjusting your route around wildfires. The schedule is a personal creation specific to each hike. I start with a spreadsheet, then input every possible resupply location and corresponding mileage. From there I can test different start date possibilities, calculate an estimated end date, and be prepared to start my thru-hike!

Running, hiking, and backpacking are all a combination of physical and mental challenges. It is using strength and an accompanying mindset to accomplish a goal. The goal is simple yet complex, taxing yet basic. The merging and alternating adversity of a thru-hike make the journey the true reward. More than completing an adventure, it is about continually proving that mentally and physically, so much more is possible. Walking 2,000 miles sounds impossible. It sounds too far, even in a car. But every year, hikers complete a mental and physical test unique to the outdoors. There is tough terrain, aches, pains, animal encounters, injuries, stream crossing, and inclement weather. The external and unavoidable challenges alone make the adventure grand. But, a whole different side of a hike occurs within the mind. It is a true test of grit, determination, and the alignment of goals. Thru-hiking is the process of walking becoming a way of life. Some hikers embrace the unexpected challenges and self-sufficiency that come with this. At the same time, others get taken by surprise. Thru-hiking is dirty, taxing, draining, and involves bouts of hunger, sickness, and longing. Treating water, preparing food, and setting up camp each night takes work. It is a challenge to live out of a backpack. The simplicity is deceiving. Every action has elevated consequences and rewards. If a tent is constructed inadequately, a hiker won’t sleep. If water is treated poorly or responsibility is neglected, sickness could ensue. With greater consequences come greater rewards. A change happens mentally at the same time the body changes physically. A body struggles during the first weeks of a thru-hike. Physically it is a shock. Nothing can compare to a daily push of logging miles on foot, carrying everything in a backpack. It is a shock to the body and takes time to adapt. The beginning of the adventure is a physical shock. The miles impact the body more than the mind. Blisters form, and muscles ache; the body is reinventing itself. But then, as time progresses, there is a palpable shift. The mental challenge of pushing through the physical discomfort soon grows to overtake it. On my first thru-hike of the Pacific Crest Trail, I lay alone inside my three-person tent on the first night. I couldn’t sleep. My legs were tired, and my back hurt. The sounds of nature were too loud. Each day, for the first two weeks, I tried to cover 20 miles but continually came up short. Despite being an athletic 20-year-old, it was unlike anything I had ever done. The physical toll of sustained daily effort was something new. My feet blistered and hurt, my body ached, and getting out of my sleeping bag was the most difficult part of each day. Slowly my body worked itself into physical shape, but my mental game was far behind. The mind takes over when the body adjusts to this new way of life. Unabated thoughts flow to all corners of the universe. The natural, wide-open landscapes lead to freedom unlike anything else. But boredom, doubt, and focusing on each stroke of adversity often cloud the thinking. Lonesomeness and incomprehension about the absurd number of miles that await are often the strongest feelings. A thru-hike is a marathon, not a sprint, and comprehending a distance of 100 marathons is too much. I distinctly remember sitting at a picnic table in Big Bear City after completing 270 miles of the Pacific Crest Trail, and a fellow hiker stated that we had completed 10% of our goal. It sounded ridiculous, my feet were calloused, and my back ached under the pressure of the external frame pack. I couldn’t imagine doing what I just had ten more times. It was too much to comprehend, and the statement negatively impacted my headspace for days. In Northern California, I hiked alone for days on end, bouncing between immense appreciation for the beautiful Trinity Alps Wilderness, and sinking into negativity, hoping to come across another hiker to talk to. The extremes were amazing yet challenging to overcome. Finding ways to both acknowledge and deal with the mental challenges on a thru-hike can determine the success and enjoyment of the experience. In the midst of winter on the Appalachian Trail, each morning, I developed a ritual for motivating myself to crawl out of my sleeping bag and start hiking. I would choose a number, often between 15 and 30, and slowly countdown. While the countdown to zero took place, I would try to enjoy the warmth and comfort of my sleeping bag. Another mental trick I developed is segmenting the day into small milestones. I would eat, swim, or do another enjoyable activity at the milestones. The milestones could be as small as a pond or as large as a 10,000-foot pass or town. The key is finding the tricks to keep the mind occupied and positively framing the thousands of miles in front of you. A thru-hike is not measured in miles, physical transformation, or stated accomplishment. The physical form required to finish the hike is found much before the mental. A true thru-hike is the exploration of natural lands and personal boundaries, which typically leads to discovering a new part of yourself. When the challenges shift and a group of people from all different backgrounds struggle through the same challenges day after day, chasing an unimaginable goal, that is what a thru-hike is actually about. Physical vs. Mental aspects of a thru-hike #hikingtriplecrown #calendaryeartriplecrown #backpacking #pacificcresttrail #appalachiantrail #continentaldividetrail #jeffgarmire #freeoutside #hiking #thruhiking

The Grand Canyon Rim to Rim to Rim is a 45-mile out and back across the Grand Canyon. Completing the effort had always been on my mind, but the perfect opportunity had never presented itself. Which basically means I had never made it a priority. But, despite a looming 250-mile race in a week, I drove out to Tusayan, camped in my car, and prepared for the crossing. It was my opportunity to tackle the adventure with 11,000 feet of elevation gain. I had just finished hiking a 35-mile route near Sedona when it dawned on me that this would be the time to knock out the elusive and bucket list Rim to Rim to Rim. After a full day of hiking, I made it back to my car around 7:30 pm, ate a quick dinner, and then drove to the edge of Grand Canyon National Park. On less than 10 hours’ notice, I decided that I would be crossing the Grand Canyon and back in the morning. It is how almost all my endurance endeavors have begun. Crossing the Grand Canyon (this photo is from my first visit in 2018) Explore How to run and backpack Rim to Rim to Rim at the Grand Canyon yourself The Crossing My alarm went off at 4 am, but I was slow to rise. A little coffee and by 5:30 I arrived at the visitor center parking lot and began packing my stuff. I was unorganized, simply just throwing nutrition and water capacity in my running vest. It would have to do. I had no idea which water sources were turned on and which were not on the crossing of the Grand Canyon. I hopped on the next shuttle and started running down the South Kaibab Trail at 6 am. I wished I had started earlier, but getting five hours of sleep was the best I could do. The South Kaibab Trail is steep. There are steps built into it, and for much of it the grade is unforgiving. It is runnable but not with a natural stride length. Each step down is awkwardly positioned just too closely to the previous to let loose and let gravity pull you downhill truly. In just over an hour, I reached the river. My body felt great, considering I had hiked 35 miles the day before. I passed Phantom Ranch and saw they had coffee out. I craved it, and I asked to buy a cup. But they gave me one for free. Half a cup is all it took, and then I was jogging through the narrow box canyons. The weather was still pleasantly cool and quite conducive to running. Not until I neared Cottonwood Campground did I notice the heat creeping into the big ditch. My pace slowed, and I began to feel the slight uphill that would only steepen on the way to the North Rim. I was thirsty. I had already entered a dehydration deficit by not staying on top of fluid intake on the run down into the canyon. Now I would have to work hard to consume enough water and electrolytes for the rest of the day. It was only going to get warmer. By Manzanita Creek Footbridge, I was no longer running. I quickly transitioned to hiking. It would be that way up to the North Rim. Starring up the steep walls of the Grand Canyon was daunting. I was already feeling the exertion of the day wearing on me, and I still had so far to go. The end of this first climb would only mark the halfway point. With the determination to cross the halfway point, I pushed hard, sweat flowing in streams down my face. Others were running the canyon and passed me coming down as I climbed up. Of everyone running the canyon, I had gotten the latest start. With the nerves and the question of if I had started too late, I met an Arizona Trail thru-hiker a few miles from the top. His trail name was Hotwheels, and we hiked a couple of miles together before I went ahead. On the North Rim, I pulled out the avocado I had brought for lunch and carefully peeled it without a knife. Once I had scarfed it down along with an apple, I took off back down to the canyon floor again. It was sad to give up all the ground I had worked so hard to gain, but that is what happens on out-and-back adventures. The miles flew by almost in the same fashion as the South Rim descent. For as tired as I felt on the North Rim, the descent felt great. Being at the halfway point, I felt quite optimistic it wouldn’t be too hard to close out this goal. I blew past the faucet at a pumphouse and all the way down to Cottonwood Campground, where I realized I was out of the water and parched. Right in front of a ranger maintaining the trail, I tried to turn on the faucet. It was dry. The ranger turned around and told me the next water wasn’t until Phantom Ranch, seven miles ahead. In an awkward moment of being caught without checking the signs, I started jogging. Coming from Montana, it was hot. The temperature hovered in the 80s, but without a breeze at the bottom of the canyon, it felt even hotter. My mouth was dry, and I craved water. It was a stupid mistake to pass the pump house faucet, but the only thing I could do to remedy the situation now was to make it to Phantom Ranch. Hiking was more comfortable, but running was faster, so I traded off. The miles slowly melted by, and after tiring of seeing my watch move so slowly, I quit looking at it. And then, as if magically, I arrived at Phantom Ranch. They were still open, and I immediately got a lemonade. I was so dehydrated that I began chugging water. Now I was overhydrated. My stomach felt heavy, but a seven-mile dry climb still separated me from a successful rim to rim to rim. With my water capacity maxed out, I jogged out of Phantom Ranch. My legs felt good on the flat sandy surface all the way to the Colorado River. As I climbed, my heart was in it, but my legs quickly tired. My energy level was low, and I had lost my voice. These are all the usual signs I experience with dehydration. Even though I had plenty of water now, the damage was done. I powered up the hill to the Tipoff and was exhausted. It was hot, and my heart rate was elevated. I walked over to the small shaded structure, laid down for five minutes, and immediately felt rejuvenated. The five minutes of peace and calm were what I needed to reset my body. From the Tipoff, I charged 4,000’ straight up to the rim. It wasn’t fast, but it was continual progress. All the personal reward and gain from attempting a daunting 45-mile day with 11,000 feet of elevation was realized in those last four miles. I crested the final switchbacks in the evening light and felt personal pride. I had done something that had always been in the back of my mind. Now I wonder if I can do it faster. #howtobackpackthegrandcanyon #hikingthegrandcanyon #backpackingroutes #backpackingthegrandcanyon #backpacking #grandcanyononthearizonatrail #canyoucampinthegrandcanyon #runningthegrandcanyon #grandcanyonnationalpark #backpackinggrandcanyonnationalpark #runningacrossthegrandcanyon #gettingapermitforthegrandcanyon #canyoubackpackacrossthegrandcanyon #rimtorimtorim #GrandCanyon #howtocrossthegrandcanyon #grandcanyonrimtorimtorim

We stared up at the jagged peaks, attempting to match them to our topographic map. There were no footprints in the snow. The blanket of white ran all the way up to the portal into King’s Canyon National Park. It was 2011 on the Pacific Crest Trail, and navigating through the Sierra was a constant struggle after a winter of record snowfall. I had learned navigation by map and compass, trial and error. Printed maps were my lifeline and intuition was my skill. It was a true wilderness experience and one of immense learning. At 20 years old I entered the Sierra Nevada Mountains from Kennedy Meadows with eight other hikers. We were a tight-knit group and saw few other hikers in that section. It was a solitary group working together to traverse an untouched landscape. Our steps were on virgin snow, and we had the 12,000-foot passes to ourselves. 2011 was only the beginning of my relationship with the Pacific Crest Trail. I made lifelong friends on my first thru-hike and developed an unconditional love of the trail lifestyle. In the years since, I’ve logged 20,000 more trail miles across the country and witnessed changes both big and small within the long-distance hiking community. The bestselling book “Wild” was released in 2012, and a movie by the same name debuted in 2014. Whether the exposure, the aging of millennials, or some other reason, the long-distance trails exploded with hikers. Entire industries were created around the new influx of hikers. GPS apps replaced paper maps, trail magic became more plentiful, and defined campsites developed everywhere. From 2011 to 2016, the number of finishers on the Pacific Crest Trail quintupled. The Appalachian Trail experienced similar growth with the number of hikers more than doubling from 2010 to 2017. How the triple crown of backpacking has changed in the last decade The Good With the increased popularity, the managing organizations of the long-distance trails received more funding, volunteers, and exposure. From 2011 to 2019, private donations to the Pacific Crest Trail Association nearly doubled. Beyond the financials, businesses sprung up around the trails. Cottage backpacking companies appeared, and gear drastically improved. Business opportunities bled into press websites and even more exposure for “The Adventure of a Lifetime.” Gear innovations transformed backpacking and halved the average base weight. Water caches and trail magic are plentiful for today’s hikers. The trail gatherings of PCT Days and Trail Days grow every year. Stories are shared through social media, and there is never a better time to be an aspirational hiker. The Continental Divide Trail has seen the most physical growth. The route has been moved off roads, cross-country basins, and 4×4 roads onto constructed trails throughout its length. Once considered a route solely, the Continental Divide Trail Coalition has grown dramatically and has all but 173 miles protected. The volunteer hours alone have grown 400% from where they sat only 7 years ago. The community around the trails has blossomed into an amazing resource for prospective hikers. Gear lists, resupply guides, and advice are everywhere. More hostels have sprung up to coincide with the long-distance trails around the country. Nationwide movements and sentiment toward protecting public lands have periodically dominated the news cycle. A once niche community has grown to be a real force in the outdoor space. The Bad With the exponential increase in thru-hikers, the trails have lost a portion of their personal touch. It is impossible to know every other thru-hiker on a long-distance trail. Trail angels have begun retiring because they can no longer handle the strain on their time and resources. Some hikers expect trail magic, rides to town, and an elevated status among other trail users. For me, the buzz surrounding a Triple Crown trail full of first-time thru-hikers instills a cautious excitement. I love seeing hikers’ fascination with nature as they learn how to set up a tent or experience cowboy camping for the first time. It invokes a sense of nostalgia. But this same welcome nostalgia can also be overcome with a sense of longing for the times the trails were less crowded. There’s also now more ‘trace’ of the others who have come before on the long trails. Toilet paper flowers and overflowing trash cans at campgrounds emphasize the increased usage. While it’s always been and continues to be a small percentage of hikers who leave more than footprints on the trails, because the total number of hikers has grown, this problem has compounded. The trail towns along the way have seen both the good and the bad. Business is up, and new establishments that cater to hikers have opened, but the increase happened so fast that the growth is fragile. In 2016 I was asked by a business on the Pacific Crest Trail for the scoop on what types of things to order for thru-hikers. The local businesses want to capitalize and help the influx of seasonal wanderers, but it is a lifestyle they cannot comprehend. The economic boost is real, while the strain on resources is also apparent. In 2011, 150 hikers finished the PCT. Now, over a thousand hikers complete the trail each year. The queue to get a 2020 PCT Thru-Hiking permits reached 10,000 people in December. The desire to be a part of the trail community has never been higher. How the Triple Crown backpacking trails have changed The Same The route of the Appalachian Trail and Pacific Crest Trail remains largely the same. There is no fee to hike either (with the exception of the Great Smoky Mountains National Park entry fee on the AT), and many of the traditions have stood the test of time. Hikers still walk across the Bridge of the Gods into Washington and eat a half-gallon of ice cream at Pine Grove Furnace General Store to celebrate the halfway point. Time marches on, and some things change while others remain the same. I returned to the PCT first in 2016, then again in 2018, and most recently in 2019 to hike the John Muir Trail. Instead of paper maps in my pocket, I now carry a phone with a GPS app. My base weight is a fraction of where it started, and I meet enough new people daily that I cannot possibly remember all their names. We are all hikers. There are more of us, but we still all have the same goal of backpacking on the long trails of America.