How Ultra Running Rebuilt My Body, My Mind, and My Life

In March of 2025, I couldn’t move.

My back had completely gone out, and I was stuck on the couch, staring at the ceiling, wondering how things had gotten so far off track.

Just a few years earlier, after retiring in 2018, I thought I had things figured out. I was active in the car community, hosting events through my nonprofit Cars4Awareness and spending time around people who shared the same passion. On the surface, life looked good.

But the truth was a little messier.

Behind the car shows and friendships, I was struggling with my mental health. PTSD had a way of creeping into everything. I smoked too much. I drank too much. I stressed about things that mattered and plenty that didn’t.

Most days started early and ended late. Sometimes I’d be gone all day, sometimes all weekend. And the one person who had always stood by my side — my wife — was often left behind while I chased distractions that I convinced myself were meaningful.

At the time, I believed I was happy.

But sometimes the moment that changes your life doesn’t arrive quietly.

Sometimes it hits you all at once.

The Moment Everything Stopped

When my back gave out in March of 2025, life came to a sudden halt.

The pain was intense, but the stillness was worse. For the first time in a long time, I couldn’t stay busy enough to avoid my own thoughts. Sitting there on the couch, unable to move, I began reevaluating the choices I had been making.

And almost immediately, things started to change.

Someone I had considered a close friend — someone I had recently helped and even welcomed into my home — began to reveal a side of themselves I hadn’t seen before. Or maybe it had always been there and I simply refused to notice.

That friendship ended.

The person who had lived with us for more than six years was asked to leave. The effect was immediate. It felt like a massive cloud of stress lifted from the house overnight.

For the first time in a while, my home felt peaceful again.

But that was only the beginning.

A Second Chance

Not long after that, I underwent back surgery.

The first procedure was supposed to be minor. It failed.

The pain afterward was so severe I ended up in the emergency room, unable to move. Two weeks later I was back in surgery, this time for something much more serious.

Those two weeks between surgeries were some of the longest of my life.

For the first time, I had to confront a possibility that had never crossed my mind before: What if I didn’t recover? What if I couldn’t walk the same again? What if I ended up paralyzed?

Those thoughts have a way of changing how you look at everything.

Fortunately, the second surgery was successful. And as I began recovering, something inside me shifted.

A few weeks later, I started walking.

Then one day, that walk became a run.

And once I started running, I never stopped.

Chasing Something Hard

I set a goal that most people would consider ridiculous.

I wanted to run 100 miles per week.

And eventually, I wanted to complete a 100-mile ultramarathon.

To understand what that means, you have to understand the running world.

Most races start at shorter distances — a 5K, about three miles. Then come 10Ks, half marathons, and finally the marathon at 26.2 miles.

But beyond the marathon is another category entirely.

Ultra-marathons.

Ultras start around 30 miles and often stretch to 50 miles, 100 miles, or even 200 miles and beyond. These races push the limits of what most people believe the human body can endure.

So why would anyone choose something like that?

For me, the answer was simple.

Because it’s hard.

I’ve never been someone who chooses the easy road. During my time in the Army, I pushed myself through some of the most demanding training environments imaginable: Airborne School, Sapper School, Ranger School, the Special Forces Qualification Course, Mountain Warfare School.

Looking back, even joining the Army in the first place was outside my comfort zone.

But difficulty has always had a strange pull on me.

And ultra running felt like the next challenge.

When Ultras Chose Me

The truth is, I didn’t really choose ultra running.

It chose me.

One day during a run, someone asked if I’d be ready to join them for an 18-mile run the following weekend. They were training for a marathon. They were proud, but mostly cocky of the distance obtained. 

I looked down at my watch in shock.

I was already ten miles into my run, and I still had to get home.

That meant I was about to finish a 20-mile day — just four months after back surgery.

That run eventually stretched into 30 miles.

And somewhere during those miles, something clicked.

The Difference Between Road Runners and Trail Runners

Most ultra-marathons don’t take place on roads.

They take place on trails.

Dirt paths, forests, mountains, uneven terrain. It’s a completely different environment, and it creates a completely different mindset.

The best comparison is the difference between track athletes and cross-country runners.

Track athletes chase precision and speed. Their world revolves around the clock.

Cross-country runners chase grit and endurance. Terrain changes. Conditions change. The race becomes less about time and more about perseverance.

Trail runners live in that cross-country mindset.

And that mindset felt like home.

Rebuilding My Body

Training for ultra-marathons is nothing like training for typical races.

For many runners, a long run might be eight to twelve miles once per week.

For me, that became my daily distance.

Five days a week I ran about twelve miles a day.

Then came the long runs.

Two days every week were dedicated to back-to-back long efforts, usually fifteen to twenty miles or more each day.

Week after week, the mileage climbed.

Ninety miles.
Sometimes one hundred miles.

At first my body protested. Everything hurt.

But slowly things changed.

My muscles strengthened. My form improved. My endurance grew.

And eventually my brain began craving the miles.

Over the course of seven months I ran more than 1,400 miles, losing nearly 40 pounds along the way — all while eating more than 3,000 calories a day just to keep up with the demand.

At forty-nine years old, I felt something I hadn’t felt in years.

I felt like I was back in my thirties.

The Real Battle Is Mental

Running ultras isn’t just physical.

It’s mental.

Your body can endure an incredible amount of stress, but your mind has to keep you moving forward when everything starts telling you to stop.

Running thirteen miles every day means spending two to three hours on your feet. Longer runs stretch even further.

Nutrition becomes critical. Without carbohydrates and electrolytes, your body simply shuts down.

There’s a term runners use for that moment: bonking.

Bonking happens when your body runs out of stored energy. It brings dizziness, shaking, confusion, and legs that suddenly feel like they weigh a hundred pounds.

Most runners only experience this during a marathon.

Ultra runners experience it during training.

Often.

The difference is how you respond.

Most people stop when things get uncomfortable.

Ultra runners keep moving.

When our feet hurt, we keep going.
When our legs feel like concrete, we keep going.
When our toenails feel like they might fall off, we keep going.

It isn’t motivation that carries you through moments like that.

It’s determination.

The Unexpected Change

Somewhere along this journey, something else changed too.

My perspective on people.

For years, living with PTSD made me cautious about who I let close. My circle stayed small, and I often expected the worst from people before expecting the best.

But ultra running introduced me to a completely different community.

People who wake up before sunrise to run miles together. People who push each other to grow stronger. People who celebrate each other’s successes like they’re their own.

I call them my Breakfast Club.

They know who they are.

Running with them — and sometimes running alone through the quiet of nature — gave me something I hadn’t felt in years.

Peace.

There’s something powerful about running through forests, along rivers, or beside the ocean. You’re surrounded by things that have existed for millions of years.

It reminds you how small your problems really are.

And how lucky you are just to take the next step.

The Power of the Right People

People often tell me my journey inspires them.

But the truth is, they inspire me just as much.

The running community is massive, filled with every type of personality imaginable. Some people lift you up. Others drain your energy.

Learning to recognize the difference is one of the most important lessons I’ve taken from this journey.

Today I protect my time and my energy much more carefully.

Because I’ve learned something that took me years to understand.

The right people don’t just support your goals.

They make you believe those goals are actually possible.

 

To the few who started as running buddies, who now became my friends. I won’t call you out publicly, but you know who you are. Thank you for allowing me to be apart of not only your journey, but also your lives. I value our friendship and I’m excited to see what the future holds for all of us.