the morning shakeout | issue 555

Good morning! I’m not entirely sure where to begin here, but this past weekend I got to be a part of one of the most historic days the sport of ultrarunning has ever seen, and writing this week’s newsletter is my attempt to process it all, so please bear with me.

This is a story that started getting written a year ago, if not several years prior. A little over two weeks before last year’s Western States Endurance Run I drove out to Auburn to assist my friend Vincent Bouillard with a point-to-point run from the Rucky Chucky river crossing to Pointed Rocks, which is roughly miles 78 to 94 on the course. I’d be helping to crew for him during the race and this was a good opportunity for me to be useful and for us to spend some time together before he took the line. After the run we grabbed a bite to eat in town and Vincent shared that he and his wife Kamilah Journét, who I met at UTMB in 2018 and have stayed in close touch with ever since, were expecting their first child later in the year. He also asked me if I’d be interested in coaching him and working together toward his future competitive running goals. I told him yes, of course, and that was the last we talked about it until a couple weeks after the race.

Last year’s Western States, Vincent’s first go at the oldest and arguably most prestigious 100-mile race in the world, did not exactly go to plan. Even though his training had gone pretty well, Vincent had been struggling with gut issues in the months leading up to race day. During the race itself he had to pull off the trail multiple times early on and was already pretty depleted when we saw him at Michigan Bluff (Mile 55.7). Eventually he dropped at Green Gate (Mile 79.8), which was not an easy decision for him to make, but absolutely the right call given the circumstances. By 9:15 that night we were eating burritos on a sidewalk in downtown Auburn and talking about coming back in 2026.

At the risk of skipping over a lot of stuff, Vincent and I officially started working together last July. He was still navigating his gut issues through the summer, but managed a tenth-place finish in the 82K at last September’s World Mountain & Trail Running Championships in Spain, helping France to win the team title. After that race he took some downtime, became a dad to his daughter Nola in December, and secured his golden ticket to this year’s Western States at Chianti in March. Two days after the race in Chianti he texted me a screenshot of his registration confirmation for Western States along with a note: “Let’s go win this thing.” I wrote back: “Game on! I started drawing up plans to do exactly that yesterday. Let’s talk tomorrow or Wednesday.”

Fast forward to last Thursday. I got to the rental house in Olympic Valley that afternoon along with the rest of our motley crew. It was the same place we stayed last year and walking through the front door it felt like coming home. I went up the stairs, gave Kamilah a hug, and heard her six-month-old daughter Nola giggling with Vincent in the background. There was a calmness to it all and I knew right then and there that it was going to be a memorable weekend.

I had given Vincent the day off from running, but after dinner he mentioned that he hadn’t left the house all day. We kicked him out immediately, instructing him to go get some fresh air, and he took Nola for a walk around the block. While he was gone, I told Kamilah that two things jumped out to me right away: he looked strong and healthy, and I’d never seen him so happy and relaxed. All too often when it comes to performance I see people get hung up on numbers and what they did and didn’t do in training—and I don’t want to discount the importance of those things, because they definitely matter—but to me, getting a feel for someone’s mood tells me a lot more about how things are going than any measurable metric. For what it’s worth, at one point midway through the training block Kamilah texted me that Vincent was coming home excited after nearly every run, which told me everything I needed to know.

Friday more or less went off without a hitch (minus the fact that Vincent almost missed bib pickup because he was napping—maybe he was a little too relaxed!), culminating with our final crew meeting that afternoon. Vincent shared with the squad that our motto for race day was “Every Second Counts,” which he borrowed from the TV series The Bear, and he even had it printed on the back of our crew shirts. We knew it was going to be a tight race and a fast day, and I reiterated to everyone that we had to operate with a sense of urgency, but we couldn’t rush. It was important that we took the time to get Vincent everything he needed at each aid station before sending him on his way, even if it took an extra second. True to form, we wrapped up the meeting pretty efficiently, triple-checked the crew bags and coolers to make sure we had everything we needed, filled the cars with fuel, and called it an early night.

I set my alarm for 3:30 AM on Saturday. The plan was for Kamilah to drop Vincent off at the start by 4:30 and we’d be on the road to Robinson Flat by 4:40. I barely slept, waking up every hour like a kid on Christmas morning who couldn’t contain his excitement. At 2:30 I was wide awake and when I heard Vincent moving around the kitchen I shut off my alarm and went upstairs to join him. As we sat there in the dark drinking coffee, we quietly went over the race plan, which I had distilled down to two words: Steady Pressure. We knew it was going to be fast and that people were going to be doing all kinds of crazy stuff. Staying calm and keeping the early effort under control were going to be the biggest keys to things going well. Not much else needed to be said. Just like when I’d arrived on Thursday, there was a calmness to the whole scene and I just knew that something special was about to happen.

Our crew’s car got to Robinson Flat (Mile 30.3) just after 7 AM. A couple hours later, Vincent came through in third, less than a minute off the lead and looking relaxed. I knew from following the coverage that there had been some movin’ and shakin’ happening before and after that aid station, which excited me more than it worried me because Vincent wasn’t involved in it. He was running great and holding his spot in the field. The pace was already quick and despite the cooler-than-usual weather conditions it felt far too early for anyone to be taking big swings at the front. Vincent was in and out of aid in about 30 seconds and, before we knew it, we were back in the car and on our way to Michigan Bluff, just past the halfway point of the race.

We got to Michigan Bluff with plenty of time to spare. Last we heard, Vincent was running in fourth at Devil’s Thumb (Mile 47.8). By the time he reached us at Mile 55.7 he had passed Jim Walmsley and was back in third, just under 11 minutes off the front. I’ve seen a lot of things go to shit for people at this point of the race but he looked totally fine, which was a relief. While we were swapping out his bottles he didn’t say a word other than to calmly ask someone he knew (who wasn’t in our crew) how Thomas Cardin, the other Frenchman in the field, was doing—and then he was gone.

From there we hustled down the road to Foresthill, just past Mile 62, where not much had changed other than the fact that Francesco Puppi had closed the gap on Hans Troyer, and the two of them more or less hit Cal Street at the same time. I watched them closely as they left and both looked a bit worked at that point, which I made sure to communicate to Vincent when he rolled through 11 minutes after them. As our crew was getting ready to head out of Foresthill, Ryan Montgomery came charging down the trail, laser-focused and determined, and honestly it worried me a little bit. He was on a mission.

The next few hours were spent hanging out in a shaded parking lot before our last crew stop at Mile 94.3. Francesco had taken over the lead from Hans by the Cal-2 aid station, and Ryan had caught Vincent to move into third by Mile 70.7, opening up a little gap. By the river crossing at Mile 78, however, Vincent had covered the move and taken over second place. At that point, Ryan was a little over 90 seconds behind him and Hans was nowhere to be found. Most importantly, the gap to Francesco was less than five minutes and the chase was on. On the live stream we caught a drone shot of Vincent running up the hill to Green Gate (Mile 79.8) and he looked so smooth. There was still a long way to go, but I knew at that point no one was going to outrun him to Auburn.

We got word a little while later that Vincent was less than 90 seconds back of Francesco at Auburn Lake Trails (Mile 85.2) and by Quarry Road at Mile 90.7 he’d moved into first and opened up a two-minute lead. We waited for him at the Pointed Rocks aid station (Mile 94.3), the last time we’d see him before the finish. He came through and was out of there in less than 30 seconds. As he exited, I ran alongside him from the other side of the fence and shouted, “Let’s go win this thing!”

As we left Pointed Rocks, we saw Francesco running down the trail about four minutes back. Brandon Johnson from our crew ran ahead of us to fetch the car as the rest of our giddy little gang hustled behind him. We got to Auburn in about 15 minutes and let Kamilah and Nola out before we parked so they could get situated at the track.

The energy at Placer High was palpable and I was praying to some unknown god not to let Vincent trip on a root or loose rock in the final miles. Kamilah and I stayed on the infield while the rest of our crew, all colleagues and close friends of his, went out toward Robie Point to run our guy home. A kind woman named Kelly who reads this newsletter came over to congratulate me on his win. I politely asked her to hold off on that for five more minutes because I didn’t want to jinx anything before he had the tape held up over his head. The finish line announcers then notified everyone that Vincent was approaching the track and spectators converged all along the back straightaway, three to four people deep on both sides, and it was LOUD. Eventually a couple cameramen burst through the gate, followed by Vincent, some more media, and the rest of our crew. I was standing halfway down the back straightaway and could feel my body shaking with excitement. As Vincent approached, I threw my right hand up in the air and he slapped it on his way past, never even breaking stride. It’s a moment I’ll never forget.

Less than a minute later, he crossed the finish line in 13 hours, 46 minutes, and 15 seconds, a new course record by a little over 23 minutes. I sprinted across the field, worked my way through the media scrum, and watched him hoist the finish line banner above his head before he shared a moment with Kamilah. (Writing that just brought the goosebumps back.) It was an incredible, unforgettable day, and it couldn’t have happened to a more deserving athlete or person. This was one of the greatest performances, not to mention one of the most exciting head-to-head races, in ultrarunning history. The top-four men’s finishers all finished under the old course record, and it took a sub-14-hour effort just to get on the podium. What a privilege to have a front-row seat and watch it all unfold live. (The women’s race was an all-timer too, and I recommend reading about it on iRunFar or watching a replay of the live broadcast on YouTube.)

I quickly congratulated Vincent and Kamilah before seeking out the rest of our crew—BJ, Gabe, Forrest, Jared, Sean, Danielle, and Graham, as well as junior members Nola and Lewis—and we all exchanged hugs and high fives on the infield. As I wrote after last year’s race, ultrarunning is very much a team sport. Everyone on our squad was committed to the cause and played an important role in making the day successful and memorable. Last year’s experience brought us closer together, and this year’s outcome was a collective achievement. Twelve months ago we all sat on a sidewalk together eating burritos and plotting our return to Auburn; this past Saturday we enjoyed them trackside while celebrating a win that Vincent sealed over the exact stretch of trail where this all started on a random Thursday afternoon last June. You can’t make this shit up!

That’s it for Issue 555. Please forward this email to an unsuspecting friend who might enjoy it, spam your group chats with the web link, and/or reply to me directly at your own risk.

Thanks for reading,

Mario

P.S. I’ve been asked a lot since Saturday how Vincent pulled off such a performance, and the short answer to that question is that we trained for it. The longer version is a lot more nuanced, of course, not to mention a little too long for this newsletter, but you can read it right here.

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