Plastic Plates and Race Buckles

What if pain isn’t a warning to stop? What if it’s a doorway? A way of stripping away everything we don’t need, the doubt, the shame, the critic? Until all that’s left is the truth: I can keep going. Even when I think I can’t. Stagecoach 100 was a point-to-point ultra that stripped away everything except the truth I didn’t know I was looking for. It left me with questions I can’t shake: What happens when the pain gets louder than the critic? What’s left of us when ego is gone? I’m still trying to understand what I found out there. Come with me into the dark and the dust to see what remains when everything else falls away.

The messy middle isn’t just pain on the trail. It’s the storm we all try to shortcut. In this episode I dig into the temptation of hacks, pills, and perfection. From chasing sobriety with medication, to chasing races with training plans and calorie cuts, I kept looking for the magic pill that would silence the beast. But shortcuts don’t conquer it. They just make it hungrier. This isn’t a polished success story. It’s relapse, shame, perfectionism, weight obsession, and the ugly parts no one shares out loud. If you’ve ever asked “why isn’t this working?” or wondered if you’re the only one drowning in the middle — this one’s for you.

What we listen to while we run says something. Music can be a painkiller, a punch in the gut, and a time machine all at once. Sometimes it’s noise, and worst of all, a crutch. This episode is made up of songs, stories, and one quiet truth: Music is powerful. How we choose to use it can make all the difference.

Send a text This one’s personal. It’s about the part of the story most people skip—the messy middle. The part between the breakdown and the breakthrough, when everything hurts, your mind’s screaming, and you’re still somehow moving forward, even though the wheels are falling off. This episode started with a facebook comment and unraveled into something bigger. I talk about pain, silence, performative vulnerability, and what happens when people respond to your struggle but don’t really know ho...

Every ultramarathon has a map. But there’s another one we never talk about, the emotional topography. In this episode, share the noise and the quiet moments of my experience at the Canyons 100K: a race along the Western States trail that became less about climbing mountains and more about surviving the terrain inside my own head. What started as a hopeful return to long-distance running turned into a raw, unfiltered confrontation with the voices in my head. This isn’t a story about triumph. It’s about tension—between ego and doubt, pain and pride, quitting and continuing. No music. No sound effects. Just me. And the voices I run with. This episode contains strong language and references to mental health struggles, including suicidal thoughts. Please take care while listening. And remember—you’re not alone.

In this follow-up discussion, we go beyond the story and unpack the deeper lessons. Is quitting really failure, or is it sometimes the strongest choice? What are the warning signs we ignore—on the trail and in life? And what “race” are you still running, not because you love it, but because you don’t know how to stop? Join us as we explore endurance, self-identity, and the moments that force us to rethink everything.

We’re taught that endurance is everything—push harder, suffer through, never quit. But what if endurance isn’t always the answer? What if knowing when to stop is the real strength? In this episode, I reflect on a race I never expected to DNF, the ghost of my past self on the trail, and the fine line between resilience and self-destruction. Whether on the course, in careers, or in relationships, when does perseverance serve us—and when does it trap us? What race are you still running, not because you love it, but because you don’t know how to stop?

Six months after quitting a virtual 50-miler, I set out to run a 50K training run—no race, no medal, no finish line celebration. Just me, the trail, and the question: Can I show up and push myself when no one’s watching? What started as a test of physical endurance became something more—a shift in how I viewed running, purpose, and accountability. This is the story of how a failed race, a not-so-quiet 31 mile run redefined what truly matters.