At mile 67, I stopped thinking about the full 104 miles for a second.
That number had been sitting in the back of my mind for three years. Ever since DNF’ing at mile 67 at the 2023 Canyons Endurance Run, I’d had 100 miles on my mind and whether I could actually complete the distance.
Now I was standing at mile 67 of the 2026 Grindstone 100 by UTMB. My camera was dirty. My legs were definitely not fresh. But I was still moving, and the next step would take me farther than I had ever gone before.
And, deep down, I knew I wasn’t stopping this time.
Grindstone covers 104.7 miles with about 19,300 feet of climbing and a 36-hour cutoff. And this race report will cover my experience running (and hiking) every step of that distance.
Why Grindstone
Grindstone had been on my radar for a couple of years. I originally signed up for the 100K distance in 2023, then broke my toe and never made it to the start line, so that racing season ended up being a complete disaster.
But it is one of the bigger East Coast events in the UTMB World Series, and UTMB has been a dream of mine for years. So I always had a feeling I would come back. Did I think it would be my first? Absolutely not.
But I knew what had gone wrong at Canyons. My training was not nearly consistent enough to finish that distance in the allotted time. I needed to improve that before this was even achievable. And so I slowly built back up by starting small with half marathons, then building to marathons like Indianapolis and Pittsburgh in 2025, before planning out my entire 2026 to center around ultrarunning.
And I figured why not Grindstone? Trails I’m used to after spending many hours training on them. Only 45 minutes from where I proposed to my fiancee. And a race I failed to show up to in 2023 (only longer). So Grindstone it was.
Training and the Start at Natural Chimneys
Leading into Grindstone, I had the best training block of my life. The run streak I started at the beginning of the year helped with the consistency. It got me back into regular training, which had been a struggle of mine when training for my marathons.
Plus, I spent six weeks in Woodland Park, Colorado, which gave me tons of vert with time at altitude for an extra layer of training. Then I arrived in Wintergreen, Virginia, which is about an hour from the race start at Natural Chimneys Park. So I got over a month of training on the trails, some of the race route and some similar terrain, in the lead-up to the race.
Looking back at my log, the final five training weeks before the taper averaged about 46 miles and 10 hours and 13 minutes each week. The last two of those weeks came in at 49.2 and 51 miles, with roughly 10,000 feet of climbing in each. There was a lot of time on my feet in that block.
And some of those miles took a while. In early August, Kaitlyn and I covered 16.3 miles with more than 7,500 feet of climbing as we took on Pikes Peak in a 6+ hour effort (it was a blast, though).
Once I was in Virginia, I got to practice on the course itself. On August 25, I ran the opening miles of the course. Then, on August 30, I covered roughly miles 47 through 71 of the Grindstone route: 24.8 miles, five and a half hours, and 5,646 feet of climbing. So I got some good training in that helped add some confidence heading into the taper.
Arriving at the Start of the Grindstone 100
Oddly enough, I wasn’t that nervous during those last few weeks leading up to the race. I don’t know if I wasn’t thinking about the race enough or if it just hadn’t dawned on me that it was finally here.
But that changed when we arrived at the expo. I got a lot quieter. I started thinking more. I was in my own head, and by the time I reached the start line, I was nervous, a little scared, and very aware of what I was about to do. And when you’re staring down the barrel of your first 100-mile finish, it’s hard not to think about everything that can go wrong.
Then the race started.
We ran a loop around the park and headed toward the mountains. I felt a mix of everything… excited, nervous, and ready to find out what the next day and a half had waiting for me.
The First Night of My Grindstone 100 Race
After about 4.6 miles, we left the pavement and entered the forest. That was basically it for easy road running.
This was classic rocky, East Coast trail. There were runnable forest service roads and some smooth trails mixed in, but there were also tons of sections with rocks everywhere. It felt like running through a landmine field, just hoping I wouldn’t roll an ankle and faceplant.
As for the weather, I honestly can’t complain. It was cool at night, but warm enough that I only really needed a T-shirt. During the day, it never got so warm that I had to spend much time managing the heat. Especially compared with past editions that had torrential downpours, we had it good. Clear conditions and beautiful weather.
Darkness was already setting in, and the headlamp came on early as the trees blocked out most of the surrounding light. The beginning has a huge climb, which many of the runners had mentioned they’d heard was one of the hardest of the race. I wasn’t sure if this was true, but I had trained on this section before the race, so it was nice to know what was coming.
Eventually, we hit a long and gradual downhill which was completely in the dark, and I’m not going to lie: I enjoyed it.
There was something about the quiet, my feet turning over, and being alone that felt good. I wasn’t in much of a mood to talk. I was still thinking a lot and talking myself through the early miles, one section at a time.
Also, night was where Canyons had fallen apart and I DNF’d, so I was interested to see how I would handle it now with a 6 p.m. start at Grindstone.
At 22 miles, about 5 hours and 11 minutes into the race, I had passed Reddish Knob, which was the third aid station.
My legs were starting to feel the miles, but that was expected. The bigger issue was my stomach. It had started turning on me at this point, and I wasn’t sure how long I’d be able to continue fueling with the homemade gel I had trained with. Plus, I had let my hydration slip, and I noticed when I was peeing. So, a few mistakes, but I had plenty of time to get them back on track as I made my way toward North River Gap at mile 33, where my crew was waiting.
My plan had been to use my homemade gels as long as I could, ideally getting to around mile 50 while supplementing with real food.
Stomach trouble after North River Gap
By mile 30, that fueling plan was in the garbage. My stomach couldn’t take another gel, and I felt super sick. When I entered North River Gap at 2:02 a.m. Saturday, nearly eight hours into the race, stopping only made it worse.
I used the bathroom and thought that would solve it. It didn’t. I took Tums, drank some Coke, and tried ramen noodles, but my stomach wasn’t having it. Largely, it was nice to get a boost just from seeing my crew.
The next aid station was about six miles away, and I think I walked every step of it. At points, I pulled off the trail and dry-heaved. This was probably when I had the most self-doubt. It was just over 30 miles in, and I was already starting to worry about finishing.
By the next aid station, around mile 38, I was able to take in a little Naak hydration mix, some Coca-Cola, watermelon, and pretzels. The pretzels went down easy, so I took some with me.
Over roughly the next seven miles, I sipped Coke and ate handfuls of pretzels to get some calories and carbs in. And it worked really well. My stomach was finally coming around as I made my way toward Dowell’s Draft 1.
That was one of the first major lessons of the race. Ultras are going to have downs. Feeling awful right now doesn’t mean you’ll feel awful forever. If you can keep moving, you give yourself a chance to come out of it.
And, by the time I reached Dowell’s Draft 1 in the early morning, I had largely bounced back. My request for the crew was extremely simple: load me up with Coca-Cola and pretzels.
For some reason, Coke and pretzels were clicking, and I didn’t want to screw it up. That became my fueling strategy for the next 20+ hours. I’d occasionally eat something else, like watermelon or a quesadilla around mile 50, but mostly I stuck with what was working. It had gotten my stomach right, and I was nervous that straying too far would send me down another GI issue track.
Daylight, the “Soul Sucker,” and Mile 67
After staring at a three- or four-foot circle of forest all night, seeing daylight felt incredible. I still had more than 50 miles to go and knew I would enter a second night, but for a moment I just enjoyed being able to see the trail and the mountains around me again.
Then I hit the climb I decided to call the “soul sucker.”
I felt amazing going into it. I came out feeling like a baby that had just gotten his legs. My legs did not want to work by the top, and I spent time hiking just to give them a break before the next climb.
The descents weren’t a break, either. Some sections were so steep that I couldn’t just hike down. I had to run, and every step crushed my legs a little more as my knees really started to make themselves heard in this section.
And somewhere along this section, I’d surpass 67 miles. And, with each step, I’d gain a new PR on distance. More importantly, I felt confident I was going to reach the finish. I had no idea what the final time would be, but I believed that buckle was waiting for me.
Dowell’s Draft 2 and the Lowest Point of the Race
The crew met me again at Dowell’s Draft 2 at 2:39 p.m. Saturday. I was 72.3 miles and 20 hours and 33 minutes into the race. This was where Kaitlyn joined as my pacer for the final 30+ miles.
I had already decided I would finish. I would crawl there if I had to. But leaving Dowell’s Draft 2, I honestly didn’t know how I was going to cover another 30 miles with how I felt. I was extremely tired after being up for over 24 hours. Borderline delirious. My legs were in agony.
And my normal response when I’m struggling is to withdraw and stop talking.
Kaitlyn wasn’t having any of it, though, and came in with the energy I didn’t have. She kept reminding me how far I had already come and how little was left compared with everything behind us.
But, after the 12th aid station at Magic Moss, we were headed toward Camp Todd, and I reached the lowest point of the race. Nothing was going well. I felt awful. And I just wanted it to be over. Worst of all, I knew there were still roughly 25 miles and probably nine hours still ahead.
I felt overwhelmed. The lack of sleep, the pain, and the simple question of what am I doing out here? all hit at once. I was on the verge of tears, which isn’t normal for me.
That was definitely the emotional bottom. But, luckily, it was also temporary.
The Comeback at Camp Todd and the Second Night
By Camp Todd, I had bounced back from my little whine session.
The climb leaving the aid station was another serious test, followed by a long descent that would punish whatever legs I had left. And the climb actually wasn’t terrible. It was steady, the sun fell quick, and soon we were just wandering along the trail before we realized we had finished the climb.
And, honestly, it was the descent that tested me most. It crushed my knees and ankles. Just seriously unbearable pain. And it felt like this descent (which was the same descent earlier when I came into North River Gap 1) went on forever. I never thought it was going to end until I finally was able to collapse into our little foldable chair at North River Gap 2. The last crewed aid station, and the second-to-last aid station before the finish.
And, at this point, it was around 12 miles between me and my first 100-mile buckle.
My knees hurt. My ankles hurt. My legs were shot. But we were going to get there.
I’d stumble/jog/hike my way along to the last aid station, Lick Run, reaching it at 2:08 a.m. Sunday. I was 100.3 miles in, and this was where I enjoyed the best grilled cheese of my life after surviving off of Coca-Cola and pretzels for 20+ hours.
Then it was about four and a half miles back to Natural Chimneys Park.
Finishing the 2026 Grindstone 100 by UTMB
I crossed the finish line at Natural Chimneys Park at 3:25 a.m. Sunday. My official time was 33:19:15, which put me 57th overall, 53rd among men, and 12th in the men’s 35–39 age group.
I had spent a lot of miles imagining the finish. Kaitlyn and I had even joked about which one of us would cry.
I said me, for sure.
But, when I finally crossed the line, I didn’t. I don’t think it had set in yet. The strongest emotion was relief. In most of the finish-line photos, you can see it on my face. I was simply happy to be done.
My watch died, which, whatever at that point. The race was over, the buckle was mine, and the number 67 no longer described the end of my 100-mile story.
I could now call myself a 100-miler.
And there is a zero-percent chance I get there without my crew, so shoutout to them. I finally understand why people say 100-milers are team sports. Every time I entered an aid station destroyed, Kaitlyn, Ryan, Jack, and Ogden gave me something I couldn’t create alone in that moment. Whether it was food, a joke, a boost, or just a reason to leave the chair and keep moving. They were the best crew I could’ve asked for.
So, three years after I started chasing it, I now have that elusive 100-mile buckle.
What Grindstone Taught Me
- A bad section isn’t the whole race. My stomach went south in the 30-mile range. I walked six miles and dry-heaved. Hours later, I was moving well again.
- You don’t have to solve all 104 miles at once. Sometimes the job is reaching the next aid station. Sometimes it’s getting to daylight. Sometimes it’s just taking the next step and suffering for a bit longer.
- Consistency matters. The run streak and the best training block of my life didn’t help me avoid the lows. They helped me manage the lows when they arrived as I drew on experience I gained during training.
- Your crew is part of the finish. This wasn’t an individual accomplishment. They were awake, driving, filling bottles, finding food, and helping me stay in the race. Without them, I’m writing a different report right now.
- The mind can recover, too. I went from nearly crying and wanting the race to end to joking again and chasing the final aid station. The emotional lows pass if you give them time. It all passes if you give it time.
What I’d Do Differently
Pacing. I ran my fastest 50K during this race, which is NOT what you want in a 100-miler. I thought I was keeping it easy, but clearly I could have gone easier. I need to remember that when I think I’m going easy, go even easier. I think that might have helped me keep running farther into the race.
Fueling. I’d still use my homemade gels, but I’d rotate in other foods sooner and more often. I relied on the gels a bit too much in the early miles, and my stomach and palate clearly weren’t having it. Mixing things up earlier would have been better.
Training. This was the strongest training block of my life, but there are still improvements I can make. Speed training at the beginning of the year. More endurance runs and time at pace. And strength training especially. I need to strength train, and that became very apparent by the end of the race when my legs were just crushed.
What Finishing Grindstone Meant to Me
Grindstone was the hardest thing I had ever done. Hands down.
The sheer grit and mental fight required to keep moving was unlike anything I had attempted before. It wasn’t a clean race. My stomach fell apart. My legs were crushed. And I hit a point where I didn’t want to keep going.
But we got it done. Grindstone 100, you beat my ass. And I’m so happy it’s over.
If you want more from this season, read my Rothrock by UTMB 50K race recap.
Leave a Reply