Everything about this race was new.

New to me, at least.

Headlamps?

Only one other time.

Night race?

Never.

Hot desert race?

Never.

Arizona?

Never even met her.

As a result of all the newness, I treated this trip like an adventure.

I didn’t have an exact time or place goal. I didn’t want to tell myself I wanted to win.

I don’t even know if I had the cutting-edge ruthlessness to really badly want to win had I been given the choice.

I just wanted to have fun!

I knew John Raneri would be there. I also knew two other names: Emilio Anaya and Chris St. Jean.

After our grouping of names, it looked a bit light on the competition. So in the very back of my mind, I thought third or fourth sounded reasonable. And without really setting that as a goal, it was almost like that was where I expected to be.

Am I psychic?

Maybe. But more so just becoming really good at understanding my own limitations. My own superpowers, yes. And my own level, too.

Moving into 2026, it’s safe to say that I want to develop more of a willingness to trust my fitness and take bigger risks.

I want to unserstand how and when I can fearlessly take risks that pay off. Because if I really wanted to fight tooth and nail for that podium, I could have gone with those guys and fought. But instead I played it safe.

Partially, because every single race that has gone well, I ran my own race. I took minimal but calculated risks, and ran smart and safe rather than suns out guns out, all aboard the hype train blazing.

Speaking of the hype train, the pre-race vibes were on a different level.

Fun fact – this song was actually Cotton Eye Joe in the moment. Other than the horrific song choice, the energy was electric.

And with that electricity, a certain someone got excited as soon as the race horn blared.

As though we were doing a 100-metre-dash, John Raneri sprinted off the sand faster than I’ve seen anyone sprint in my life.

The remaining three of us then had a decision.

Although it wasn’t much of a decision. Even running 3:30/km at the start of the race wouldn’t be enough to stay with John.

And within the span of thirty seconds, the race order would be decided.

1, 2, 3, 4.

Chris and Emilio were going too fast.

John? Completely out of sight.

Behind me? No one in sight.

So I entered the trail out of Javelina Jeadquarters entirely alone.

Although, not entirely alone.

I would soon find myself saying the words “good job” every few seconds.

Jundreds of other runners remained on course between the 100K and 100-miler, and I would have to blaze by the vast majority of them.

Fortunately for me, that helped to illuminate a bit of light as I eased into the race. I felt comfortable with my pace and effort, knowing that it would likely be too risky for me to do anything crazy and make a surge to the guys ahead.

With twists and turns, divits, cracks in the trail, and rocks galore, I also feared that going too fast would lead to more mistakes.

So I stayed in what felt “comfortably hard”, a few notches below what I would normally push in a race.

Being in the heat of Javelina, my heart rate and effort didn’t quite align, so I also felt comfortable staying in that space.

But despite feeling at a comfortable pace in a comfortable place, I couldn’t get comfortable with my surroundings. My gels felt like they were going to fly out of my belt (and at one point I stopped to see if one did)… and far worse…

My jeadlamp.

HEADLAMP NIGHTMARES

Prior to racing The Bad Thing in 2023, I purchased a highly rated headlamp with a myriad of features. It could shine red, flash red (oooh!) and shine bright like a Rihanna diamond.

Unfortunately, in all of my attempts to use it, I’ve never been able to identify the configuration to get this silly headlamp to just stay at the most basic feature – a constant bright light.

Instead, it needs three presses.

1. Red light.
2. Flashing red light
3. Semi-bright light.

The light then only lasts 20-seconds before it turns back to red.

So every 20 seconds, I had to triple tap my headlamp. Otherwise, I would land in a divit, trip on a rock, or run into a cactus.

That was the fear, at least.

This consumed much of my attention for the first half of the race.

I’m sure it allowed me to stay focused, but it also persistently made me slow down. Not only would I slow when my light disappeared, but I’d also have to shift my focus toward turning it back on.

I tried jundreds of configurations to get it to shine bright like a Rihanna diamond, but no luck.

Big believer in game-realistic training and testing things out beforehand. But also a big believer in not running at times of day where a headlamp would be required.

Should I have practiced it beforehand? 100%. Did I? 0%.

So for the first half of the race, as I climbed well through those steady uphills and handled the heat, my mind always came back to what was directly in front of me, rather than about running as fast as possible.

And that was the crux of my entire race. I felt like I could run just fast enough to stay safe. But not so fast that I’d risk going the wrong way, or falling through one of the cracks.

As I approached halfway, I saw that I was still in a good place. I had no context or intel on anything ahead or behind, but I focused well on running efficiently through what I could see of the terrain. I arrived to halfway in 1:08, right on time for where I thought I might be able to run.

And when I reached the aid station, I had a very clear plan.

Electrolytes?!

No one heard me.

Electrolytes?!

Again, no response.

It took me a third time to say it before I spotted gatorade.

As I filled the first bottle back to the top, I asked again. Still, no answer.

On the fifth try, I said the brand that they had on course and got an answer immediately.

“Caffeinated?”

Sure, why not? At 7PM I didn’t really want more caffeine in my system, but I also didn’t want to ask for a sixth time(?!). Besides…

My body responds really well to caffeine.

Coming out of that aid station, I now had two full bottles and a task to do: try and hunt down second and third.

Losing a few extra seconds was irritating, but not game-breaking. The “every second counts” mentality is pretty overblown in races like this, and I never worry about losing three or four seconds if it’s for a good cause.

So, locking into big time playoff final mode, I played around with my jeadlamp for the final time. No use.

Immediately, I had an idea. I’ll use my phone.

The light on my phone wasn’t any better, but it wasn’t any worse. And at the very least, when held in front of my body, it was a constant shine bright like a diamond light.

So as I descended down to the finish for most of that final 10K, I didn’t use my left arm to generate much power. I only used it to shine light on the direct spot in front of my feet.

I ran that section fast, but clearly not fast enough, as I didn’t gain any time back and actually lost more time to the leaders.

It wasn’t until I reached that final 1/2 mile in Jeadquarters that I was able to really hit my stride, sprinting to the line for a fourth place finish.

While I know I could have gone faster in the broad daylight, I know that I couldn’t have made up seven minutes to finish in third in any iteration of this race where it takes place at night on an unfamiliar trail.

They were simply just too fast for the day.

Nevertheless, I am walking away from this race with a lot of positives.

1. I had a great time in Arizona, exploring somewhere I’ve never been before.

2. I ran the time I expected, without breaking myself or really having to over-reach.

3. The day after, my legs feel really solid. Definitely tired. But not too tight, not too sore, and not feeling like they will need much longer to recover.

It’s even been a while since I had any desire to cool-down after a race!

4. Most years of this race, my time lands on the podium. Turns out that these three guys ran three of the four fastest times ever recorded on Strava.

Missing out on a podium to that doesn’t feel like too much of a shame.

Although, ironically, it is my third time in a row missing the podium by one spot in a sub-ultra race (Harricana does prize packs for top five).

It is also interesting to look back at where the year started. When I ran Gorge Waterfalls 30K, I essentially outran my fitness. I wasn’t ready for the blistering speeds of the race, and overestimated my pace at the start, needing to slow down by the middle to end.

Come the end of the trail season, I was able to underperform, while still running really fast and smooth throughout. It feels like a big win for my fitness going into Philadelphia at the end of the year, and will undoubtedly serve as a great training stimulus for that day.

So while it might only be a B-tier kind of day, I still feel satisfied with this experience and another fourth place finish.

Stian Angermund found a home in the fourth place slot at early Golden Trail races before going on to dominate everything a few seasons later.

So maybe that next step can still be in reach for me too. In the meantime I’ll be working toward the roads, approaching the Philadelphia Marathon in November with the XACT squad.

Thanks for reading and see you soon!