A 9:00 PM start time for an ultramarathon with no clear ending in sight seems like the plot of some sadistic horror movie. But it wasn’t a movie—it was the 2023 Southern Tour Ultra: Last Man Standing.

I ran this race back in 2022 and took 2nd place with 20 hours and 84 miles of running, so my goal (I thought) was to come back and surpass 100 miles on my way to winning the race. That’s not exactly how things went down, though.

My friend Darin and I arrived at the venue before 6:00 PM with enough time to set up our camp and get mentally prepared for the sufferfest ahead. There were many other runners and crew there already, and the party was just getting started.

The following 3 hours moved quickly, and soon, the 40+ of us participants were gathered in the corral, ready to head off into the night on the quest to be the last one running.

As with most Backyard Ultra/Last Man Standing races, the first few hours are rather uneventful and are simply a test of patience and aid/nutrition strategy. This one was no different.

Around 3:00 AM on Saturday, the lack of sleep and the late start time were clearly creating issues for many of us on the course. Expectations were being reconsidered, and the negative energy was palpable. Most of us were awaiting the sunrise to revitalize our spirits.

As the sun rose, I regained my composure and settled in for the day ahead. By this point, a handful of other runners had dropped, feeling accomplished enough to have just made it through the night.

The mid-morning hours were easy enough, but the exhaustion and repetitious act of running for 48 minutes and then resting for 12 turned my legs into dead weight. My feet were cramping, and my lower back was tightening up. I began to question my durability and endurance.

Shortly after lunchtime, I realized a few more runners had dropped, and some others that were pushing strong throughout the event were now showing signs of weakness. I gained a boost of energy from this realization and continued to chip away at the miles.

That was until mile 75.

At mile 75, my mentality had shifted, and suddenly I started saying things like, “I think I’m just going to make it to 100 and then call it.” I was looking for my out.

Then something happened. Jeremy Reynolds, last year’s winner and cofounder of The Ultra Running Guys, didn’t make it back in time to start the next lap. The remaining few of us lined up, and I took off as fast as possible. A few minutes down the course, I ran into Jeremy as he walked his final lap back in, clearly struggling but still smiling. I walked up to him, gave him a friendly hug, and told him, “thank you.” I thanked him because had he not beat me last year in the way that he did, I’m not sure I would have pushed myself the way that I did in training and in other races over the past year leading up to this event.

As we parted, I was a bit emotional as I continued running the course as hard as possible. It’s because I realized something both freeing and crushing at that moment. I realized despite the reasons I had said why I was coming back to this race—to surpass 100 miles and win the whole thing—the real reason I came back was to not lose to Jeremy (who, in my mind, was going to win the race if I didn’t). When Jeremy pulled out of the race, I was confronted with the fact that I no longer had the motivation to be out there, my discipline was waning, and I’m still guided by my ego far more than I’d like to admit.

After this very revealing and confusing lap, I made it back to the start/finish and discovered that I had pushed way too hard, and my legs were completely fried. Maybe I self-sabotaged. Probably. But the truth was that I was on borrowed time, and I was ready to call it. I was equal parts relieved, ashamed, and exhausted. I went out for one more lap, suffered, and walked it in mostly with only about 30 seconds to go before the next lap. I looked at the other runners still in it; they were IN IT—I was not. I called it, shook everyone’s hands, and soon I was sitting passenger in my truck, in and out of sleep while Darin drove us back home.

20 hours and 84 miles of running. The same result as last year.

Now that I’ve had a few days to digest the experience, I still feel a bit embarrassed that I got so wrapped up in the ego-driven competitiveness that a format like this can create, but I’ve made peace with it. Like all of the ultras I’ve ever run, I’ve learned so much from this experience, and probably during a chapter in life when I needed these lessons the most.

I’ll be back again. And next time, it’s me against me, just like it was always supposed to be.

Southern Tour Ultra: Last Man Standing (2023)

URE Marathon (2023)

Shakori 40 (2022)