In 2025, I started a job that I liked a whole lot more, moved in with my girlfriend, competed at the backyard ultra world champs, and got engaged to my best friend. BUT this year, uh, in terms of my running goals… I couldn’t hit the broad side of a barn.
And I think that was a good thing?
As per usual, the year started out with a surplus of tasty baked goods in my belly, and copious fat around my lean body (AKA, I was “skinny-fat”). And, my mind was on my new, exciting software development job that gave my life more meaning when compared to my previous one.
In terms of how this impacted my lifestyle, I feel like I need to share a belief of mine:
My life is an ecosystem where work, connection, and passion sustain one another. Fulfillment isn’t a balancing act; it’s a harmony between who I am, who I love, and what I create.
In other words, in the beginning of the year, I was patient with my running performance as I allowed my work satisfaction to take more needed space. And with that, my joy for running was sustained. My training began with a modest 30 miles a week and increased to 100 or so about a month later. I held that level of training for about a month before a longer taper, setting my eyes for another attempt at the fastest known time on the C&O.
As much as I love just running for the sake of running, you should know that I’m also a bit of a dreamer. And, I like seeing my big dreams become my reality.
The C&O Towpath is a 185 mile trail that is almost completely flat, easy to either run or bike on, and spans the length of the Potomac River from Cumberland, Maryland to DC. The supported FKT is held by Michael Wardian (who holds records all over the DC area… among other accolades). Also, compared to other ~200 mile events — which can cost literally thousands of dollars to run in — this one was FREE… and was in my backyard (kinda).
I knew I wanted to give this record a go not too long after I moved to Arlington, so I gave my first go on July 4th the previous year and failed after running a bit more than a 3rd of the trail due to the near 90 degree heat and high humidity — I had terrible stomach issues. So in 2025, it was time to give this another go, but this time, during a much cooler time of the year.
On March 22nd at 5:40 am (we started in the morning rather than at night this time to maximize daylight and warmth as opposed to last time in the Summer when we wanted the opposite), we started in Cumberland again.
I had lots of support; my mom and girlfriend Elizabeth cheered and crewed for me via car and my dad biked alongside me occasionally giving me food and drink.
This time around, everything was looking good and fine. It included lots of father/son bonding, lots of cheering and love, beautiful scenery, no issues with fueling, and no chafing issues (which could have ruined the vibe). After 18 hours and 19 minutes, I ran past 100 miles (a new PR, since I think my fastest one was just from running a bit under 24 hours in some backyard ultra). After 24 hours, I had run 128 miles (another PR for me once again). I was feeling great, and I was on record pace.
After 157 miles, I still had a sizable lead on Wardian’s record, showing no signs of slowing down. After a small walking break at 158 miles, my pace began to be slower than Wardian’s average time, but things were definitely okay, since I had built a significant margin of time that would allow me to still get the record if I continued to slow down over the last marathon. Hope remained.
After 163 miles, I entered the familiar part of trail where I had done training before, and I was shuffling. Barely picking my feet off the ground, I was moving at 15 minutes a mile. My legs were STIFF AF.
At mile 166, I took an intentionally extended, stationary break. I lay on the ground.
Ah, this feels good.
After some time, it was time to get back up. My legs were stiff, so my parents helped me put myself on my two sore feet atop of my swollen, red ankles.
I shuffled again, this time at 30 minutes a mile. Slower than walking. I knew if I kept this pace, I would lose the record. Hope was lost.
16 miles from the finish and still on record average pace, I accepted defeat, I called Elizabeth on the phone, telling her it was over, and my mom picked us up just short of mile 169 to drive us back to Arlington for some homemade pesto pasta dinner.
I didn’t reach my goal.
And everything was okay.
Elizabeth needed to help me out of bed for two whole weeks. The C&O attempt put me in a broken state of nearly perpetual red pain. My new goal was to qualify for Big’s by running a stupid amount of miles at Suffolk Backyard Ultra in the UK.
At the time of registering, there were some real big names in the backyard ultra world signed up. My friend Tyler Rocha from Seattle was running in the event with me, and my mom and Elizabeth would crew me! My crew and I were excited about this international event. Elizabeth and I were excited about the vacation as well that we had planned around the event in Amsterdam and in England.
Anyways, this event was two months away, and my ankles still looked like chubby, ripe tomatoes from the gardens of vegetable hell.
I thought to myself:
This backyard ultra looks very flat. I will forgo hill and stair training and just focus on volume, endurance, and speed.
I thought this was a smart move 😉.
As the event approached, I came to the realization that a large portion of the big names on the roster were not going to show up. To be honest, this put a damper on my expectations.
Is this going to be competitive enough for me to possibly put up a big yard total? I could only run one yard further than second place after all.
I wasn’t so sure. I was now going into the event with the largest PR of the field. A PR that was short of the minimum to get into the big dance.
…but that didn’t matter. Something much more important played with my mind not long into the event. Something with my butt.
Not even a day into the event, my glutes felt like crap. A truly new experience I hadn’t had in any other backyard event. And it was demoralizing. But I continued to run and cross my fingers. I had fun running and chatting with Tyler and the other charming folks in the United Kingdom.
I DNF’d the event after 36 yards — 28 yards short from my best. Despite having a high-executing crew who did all the right things, I failed.
Why did this happen? After some reflection, I realized that I didn’t do the stairs and hill training that I normally had, and that was to blame. It was hard on me. This was my chance to get into Big’s, and I felt that my lack of focused training had ruined it.
What was next? I didn’t know.
The summer was weird. My main goal for the year was to go to Big’s in October (and win 🙃). But that realistically looked completely out the window. During this time, the minimum qualification standard was at ~83 yards or so, and my ticket was at 64 from USA National Champs the previous year. There was no way I was getting in.
My backup plan was to compete in my dad’s backyard ultra (Andy’s) which was the week after Big’s, and that was harder for me to get all that excited about (because there was a much lesser chance I’d get to find my limit). So I didn’t feel like training as much over the summer and early fall.
This was the first summer in a while where I didn’t have a big running goal planned. Instead, I just sort of ran around aimlessly.
I felt that this lack of excitement in running bled into my work and relationship energy. I had fallen out of a high-ambition, high-output routine. It caused me to have some lower points at both work and in conversation with my partner. “What am I training for?” turned into “What am I doing?” across the other aspects of my life that I held dear.
As Big’s approached, the standard dropped lower and lower. 83 turned to 80, 80 turned to 74, then 70… Elite backyard athletes from around the world ran into visa issues, travel predicaments, and an assortment of other obstacles that forced them to not accept their rightful spot at the event. The standard continued to drop and drop.
When I saw that they may be reaching out to an athlete who was on the waitlist with yardage in the upper 60s, I thought something while I was at work less than two months from the event.
Is there a chance I am going to get into Big’s?
I reached out to Ryan Metivier (former USA teammate who was a spot above me on the waitlist) and we had a brief exchange:
Me: Hey, is there a tiny chance either of us get into Big’s? Not sure if you’ve been looking…
Ryan: Yes, I have been looking at that list and just looked at the updated list this morning!
We chatted back and forth with shared enthusiasm and curiosity.
Some time went by…
About 6 weeks from the big day, I got the email. I WAS IN — Ryan and I both got in actually.
I was ECSTATIC. I achieved one of my goals for the year! I had purpose now!
But also, I was a bit… horrified.
The remaining weeks and days dwindled as Big’s drew closer and closer, and something remained a bit deeper in my mind. Like a ripple on still water, there was something that occasionally disturbed my persistent excitement for the event.
I barely got in — 2nd to the bottom of the at-large list to be exact. I felt a bit like an impostor… especially after a less-than-stellar performance at Suffolk.
Also, I was going to compete against the best backyard ultra athletes from around the world… but then again, a significant number could not make it to the event. Often for reasons out of their control.
And for those reasons, I felt like I was going to be running with a couple of bittersweet motivations whether I liked it or not:
Impostor syndrome for barely making it onto the roster
Responsibility for performing well for those who could not make it to the event
With that weight on my shoulders, I knew I couldn’t show up soft — things felt out of balance.
Big’s may sound like a small deal to the layman, but it’s a BIG FLIPPING DEAL to me. Whether I get into the event or not, to me, it’s always the biggest event of the year. And this time, I got in… by the skin of my teeth. It was paramount that I performed my best.
A bit before that time, my training was rather lackluster throughout almost the whole summer. I was routinely running barely more than 100 kilometers a week with no real significant workouts to note. BUT when I got the hunch that I may get into Big’s, I boosted my training to 115 miles a week and did a marathon training run on the C&O. In the off-chance I got into the event, I needed to add some muscles to the legs.
THEN I found out I got in. So I ran some bigger weeks — 150+ miles a week. I did some 40 mile tempo runs, did some stair sessions on the Exorcist steps, and did weight training for my legs at the gym. This all banished handfuls of excess fat from the Earth, never to return until Big’s was completed (I think I lost somewhere around 15 pounds the months leading to the event). I paced my dad for the last 100 kilometers of the Grindstone 100 for my biggest training week, amounting to 36 hours on foot, ~18K feet of elevation gain, and 151 miles. I was feeling powerful. I was ready.
I tapered the final month of training and still kept my strength and stair training in check. I was ready for a barn burner in Tennessee.
Despite the rapid training build up to a brief training block, I got lean, and I was fit.
…I was feeling rather optimistic, and I routinely walked through the goals I had in chronological order:
PR? Definitely.
300 miles? Easy.
80+ hours, likely solidifying a spot on team USA for ‘26? Probably.
4th night? I think so…
400 miles? …I could see it.
100 yards and more? Who knows…
I didn’t run how I dreamed.
So what happened? Well, the show started, I was towards the back with some of the big dogs — don’t ask me how — like Phil, Harvey, the Japanese elites… feeling fresh, feeling fine (killing it), and just having a blast.
During yard 7, my teammate from last year and tent-mate Ron Wireman fell on the trail just past the communal pee-break spot with an already messed up ankle. I slowed down and ran with him to try to motivate him to finish the yard strong. To keep his chin up. But, I could tell things weren’t right. I could read his body language that things were done for him, despite him being extremely far from his PR of 74 yards.
He dropped out. It sucked for him, and it sucked for me. I knew he wanted to go far, and I knew that on a better day, he could do something truly spectacular. Now, during the first day of the event, I was the only member still running in our shared tent.
It was hot. I was having a hard time, but Elizabeth was crewing me and kept me feeling great.
The heat persisted even through the start of the first night, and we knew I was losing lots of salt.
There was news that the weather would be abysmal that first night, and it was truly terrible. It was hot, and it was rainy. It rained, I chafed, it rained some more, and I chafed some more. My crew and I were in a situation. I think lots of runners and crew were in situations.
I was looking forward to getting back on the trail (as usual, I love when you get to go from one monotonous terrain to another in some backyard events), but then word was out that this may not be guaranteed.
The sun came up, and it was still raining. Laz announced that we would remain on the road — the trail was too muddy and dangerous, and chances were great that some runners would exit the event early after a fall. This was a sensible decision that he made, but I still did not desire being on the road. That’s where my head was at, but also, it was where my body was at.
On the second day, maybe 24 hours into the event, I noticed that I had a sharp pain along my IT-band.
Huh, weird. This will probably go away as my other pains do in backyards.
I ran some more and finished the yard, telling my crew about this little hiccup.
Ron and my sister Mary massaged the leg where it mattered, they bandaged my pains with compression sleeves, and they fueled my hope with words of encouragement and delicious foods.
Conversations with the international runners and former USA teammates caused healthy distraction to the elephant in the room, and it allowed me to still have fun.
But, I ran yard after yard, and the pain continued to be painful despite our efforts.
What the F***?!
I was angry. I was baffled. I was sad. I was a bit… embarrassed. This injury was something I never had before, and I was a fraction into the journey of my smallest goal of getting a new personal best. I felt like all the training I put in was being bottle-necked by something trivial. Something dumb.
As I continued to run on the road throughout the second day and then the second night, this stupid injury plainly just slowed me down. It forced me into a weak stride, and my persistent chafing momentarily diverted my attention (by the way, chafing was no big deal in my head, since I ran 60 yards at Queeny with some of the worst chafing known to Dave. I knew chafing was not the be-all end-all).
While listening to the playlist my friends made me for this adventure, I continued to adjust my shorts around my lube-covered inner-thighs and hobbled through the darkness.
During yard 43, the muscle on my left quadricep felt like it was genuinely messed up. It even looked misshapen. My left upper-leg looked puffy, red, and just… weird. It felt like the muscle was bruised all over.
After the turn-around on the road, I looked at my watch. It was going to be close.
Climbing up the final hill, my crippled leg and I missed the start of the next yard. I timed out, and I was out of the event. The big one of the year.
Two years later, I might get another shot, but it’s getting harder to qualify as the standard consistently increases. I can count on that.
P.S. Thank you Mom, Dad, Elizabeth, and Mary for crewing me at this event!
After Big’s I was running through my injury — as per usual — but it just got worse and worse. Usually motion is lotion (so to speak), but this time it was actively working against me.
I spoke with my sports doctor friend while spectating Andy’s, and their ad-hoc diagnosis after some quick analysis was that this was unusual and did point to a typical IT-band injury. They advised to take a break from running and to see a doctor.
So, I decided to end my run streak of 4 years and 1 week (where I had run at least 1 mile every day). It was a tough decision, but my goal of running healthily to my heart’s content was greater than a gimmicky run challenge.
I went to a sports doctor during a scheduled appointment to get an official diagnosis. After an x-ray ruled out a stress fracture, they grew concerned about the severity of the muscle swelling. They put me on crutches and referred me to a nearby location to get an MRI.
Hobbling over to the facility at night while on my props under my armpits, I checked in. After a bunch of loud beeping sounds over the course of 30-odd minutes — which made me feel like I was in a futuristic rave from the netherworld — the examination of my weird leg was complete, and I patiently waited for my results to come in.
The official diagnosis was a localized version of Rhabdo:
“Rhabdomyolysis (Rhabdo) is a condition that causes your muscles to break down (disintegrate), which leads to muscle death. When this happens, toxic components of your muscle fibers enter your circulation system”…
“This dangerous muscle condition can result from overexertion, trauma… Common signs and symptoms of rhabdomyolysis are weak muscles, muscle stiffness, muscle pain”…
“Rhabdomyolysis can be life-threatening”… - clevelandclinic.org
My mind was blown, and I honestly still cannot believe it (since Rhabdo is life threatening). But, this diagnosis made me feel slightly better that now I have a nice, succinct name for the outcome of my failure at Big’s and reason for the end of my run streak: Rhabdo.
So how did this happen? Well, I think there were some things at play:
A sudden, substantial volume ramp up and sustain in mileage from 60 to 150 miles a week over the course of a couple weeks
A quick introduction and persistence of weight training before the event
Heat during Big’s and a lack of fully understanding my hydration and electrolyte demands
And, perhaps accumulated fatigue from an ongoing run-streak of 4 years… but, eh, I doubt it to be honest.
Alright, so I know what to avoid next time. But how was I going to recover and "prepare” for the next big adventure that was a month away? The doctor gave the following advice:
Hydrate a lot.
Do not take NSAIDs.
Remain on crutches and do not run at all until the injury fully healed.
In total, I had about 1 month of “training” before the final running endeavor of the year: Hellgate.
Alright, so in truth, I was still running on my injury while training. In fact, it wasn’t until after recovering from Hellgate that I could say with 100% confidence that the quad looked and felt… normal again.
Okay, so Hellgate 100K++ is a 66.6 mile race I have done now for the last 4 years. It has now come to be the formalized running endeavor I do each year which I just do “for fun” (and expect nothing more). As a bonus, it’s a Western States qualifier which keeps me on track for a possible entry into the race 10 years from now when I’m approaching the ripe 100-miler age of 40 years old when I have more ultrarunning experience under my legs.
It allows me to burn some of the excess fuel I ate while recovering from whatever backyard I ran in October, and it allows me to free up some space for the holiday cookies.
This was the first year I ran the race that was not classified as a Sissy Gate. Dr. Horton says this since the weather was worse than otherwise. There was an ample amount of snow, ice, and cold to make people groan a little before the race started at midnight.
I finished the race with happiness and content. It was my slowest time on the course, but I didn’t care one bit.
P.S. Thank you to my Mom and recent fiancée Elizabeth for getting me through the race with a smile on my face! Love you both.
Here are my goals I wrote in this very blog last year:
❌ C&O supported FKT (around March?)
» Failed it, 16 miles short… but while on record pace!
✅ Qualify for Big’s (at Suffolk Backyard Ultra in June)
» Well, I qualified, but just not at Suffolk.
❌ Win Big’s 🙃
» LOL.
❌ Keep running every day (I’ll hit 4 years of running every day in October!)
» I ended it at 4 years and 1 week, but then I started a new streak that’s now at about 60 days.
✅ Have fun at Hellgate if I run it
» It was a blast as always.
❌ Jarmans 24 hour 100 miler?
» Didn’t fit in during the holiday season.
❌ DO NOT GET ANY INJURIESSSSSSS
» 🤕
As you can see, I somehow got into Big’s and happily enjoyed Hellgate once more… and I failed all my other goals over the 4,000 miles I ran over the year. But, this only says half the picture.
My failures in running pursuits were lessons (I know this is cliche). Here are the lessons:
STRENGTH! Suffolk taught me that a flatter backyard ultra still requires strength! Actually prioritize strength training. Similarly, don’t take the stair sessions for granted. Keep doing these! Side note: I probably increased my strength training a bit too much before Big’s. This needed to be embedded into my routine longer before the big event.
Listen to the body. Based on the whole Rhabdo thing from Big’s (and how good I felt after taking the time away from running), it’s worth it to end a run streak if I see that my injury is getting worse.
Balance is critical. The extended time after Suffolk when I didn’t have anything I was that passionate about to train for made me feel generally… worse. Actively pursuing goals I’m passionate about is paramount to my emotional health. If I don’t have them, it can bleed into the wellbeing of my other avenues of my life. On the flip-side, prioritizing the health of my relationships and work positively impacts my running.
The “Pee Break” puzzle: For years now, I have had issues with — I don’t know how else to say this — needing to take pee breaks too often during running events. I hate it. I need to figure this thing out once and for all.
This may seem like no big deal. I’ve heard the following time and time again which made me brush this off as no big deal:
That’s a good thing, Dave. That means you’re hydrated!
But while annoying in any event, peeing multiple times is particularly problematic in backyard ultras. As it goes on, I get slower and slower. Time becomes ever more sacred. Taking 2-4 pee breaks a loop can easily amount to almost two minutes when doing things properly to prevent chafing.
Two minutes may sound insignificant, but that means for me, a 55-minute loop could be 57 minutes, and a 58-minute loop could be 60 (which means I timed out, by the way).
Through tinkering with different hydration/sodium intake strategies throughout the years, increasing my salt consumption over time, I have been led to the working theory that I require significantly more electrolytes than the typical athlete… but I still do not know for certain.
Because of this, it is part of my new goals for the next year. To figure this thing out.
Get a sweat test done to figure out what my electrolyte requirements are.
Get a new backyard ultra PR (65+)
Qualify for the backyard USA team. I’m signed up for 2 different silver ticket events: Capital at the end of March, Ode to Laz in mid-july.
Finish C&O attempt #3 (if the occasion reveals itself, weather permits, etc.).
Be the last one standing at Big’s national champs.
Hellgate finish #5! “Chicken on a stick” this year.
Keep my new running-streak (of now ~60 days) alive.
No injuries.
How realistic are these? Realistic enough. The ecosystem is healthy, and I’m ready to go. Happy 2026!
-Dave
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