WASATCH 100
The Wasatch 100: A Journey Through the Mental Fog
Let’s discuss the things that do not go as planned. We all have moments we prepare for with intense anticipation, dreaming of "uber-achievement" and sweet victory, only to find ourselves mired in a fiasco of defeat, excruciating mental pain, and loss. Or perhaps, the mind is simply trying to convince you that you failed when, in reality, you did not. This is the story of my journey at the 2025 Wasatch 100—a grueling 100-mile trail ultramarathon through the Rocky Mountains of Utah.
I use the word "racing" loosely here, because I did not reach the finish line. At the 100K mark, I made a personal decision to stop, a choice that led to a subsequent storm of turmoil, anger, guilt, and mixed emotions. Yet, through reconciliation, I have come to adopt the lessons learned. Even though Wasatch did not go according to plan, it remains a viable experience—an ultra-running adventure defined by an abundance of lessons, both realized and yet to be discovered. This race served as the conditioning for my 2025 Grindstone 100, which I undertook just two weeks later, proving I had the stamina to tackle two "hundos" in a single fortnight. I am certain there are deeper lessons within the Wasatch 100 that I have yet to fully uncover. For that reason, I deem it my duty to memorialize the race and walk through those 100 kilometers of the course I covered before succumbing to the temptation to discontinue the flow of the experience.
The Road to the Rockies
To even stand at the start line of the Wasatch 100, one must first be selected through the lottery and fulfill certain pre-race requirements, including qualifying trail work. Having passed those hurdles, the next challenge was logistical. Driving from New York to Utah was not practicable, so I booked a flight instead. Since I was traveling across the United States, I decided to blend the racing experience with a family vacation. We chose to spend several days in Las Vegas before heading to Salt Lake City, and the trip was shaping up to be a true highlight for us.
We arrived in Las Vegas for a four-day stay at the end of August. The weather was scorchingly hot, but our accommodation at The Venetian Resort was spectacular. The garden pool and hot tubs were "delicious," and the brand-new experience of winning and losing money in the local casino was a novelty for my wife and me. However, the Vegas shows were the most rewarding part. The Sphere felt like a sophisticated cosmic object, and while we were impressed by The Wizard of Oz, we were absolutely amazed by the performance of The Awakening. The Las Vegas Strip, with its cafes and endless shops, will remain in our minds as a series of "dopamine-enhanced" memories. Four days were certainly not enough; we will have to return.
We arrived in Las Vegas for a four-day stay at the end of August. The weather was scorchingly hot, but our accommodation at The Venetian Resort was spectacular. The garden pool and hot tubs were "delicious," and the brand-new experience of winning and losing money in the local casino was a novelty for my wife and me. However, the Vegas shows were the most rewarding part. The Sphere felt like a sophisticated cosmic object, and while we were impressed by The Wizard of Oz, we were absolutely amazed by the performance of The Awakening. The Las Vegas Strip, with its cafes and endless shops, will remain in our minds as a series of "dopamine-enhanced" memories. Four days were certainly not enough; we will have to return.
The Danger of Relaxation
In hindsight, I became so relaxed during our stay in Las Vegas that the "lazy multi-day chill" effectively killed my willpower to embrace suffering on the Wasatch trails. Once we arrived in Salt Lake City, the reality of the schedule hit me: we had only one full day together before the race and no time afterward. Our flight back to New York was scheduled for early Sunday morning, while the race was supposed to end Saturday afternoon. This lack of "buffer time" became a determining factor, tempting me to short-cut the race so I could spend at least one extra day exploring Salt Lake City’s wonders with my family.
Environment and elevation were equally crucial factors. The unusual heat that had relaxed me in Vegas continued to weigh on me in Salt Lake City. My watch showed the city at 1,400 meters above sea level, while the highest climb on the course reached 3,200 meters—higher than the peak of the UTMB TDS course I completed last year. I needed more than a single day to acclimate to that altitude, and I paid the price for it in the end. After being spoiled by the entertainment of Vegas, we found captivating activities in Salt Lake City like the Museum of Illusions, but these pre-race hours only relaxed me further. I failed to condition my mind for the gruesome struggle ahead. I succumbed to a form of productive procrastination—hanging out with my wife and kids, avoiding exercise, and simply having fun—while the race day stealthily approached.
Environment and elevation were equally crucial factors. The unusual heat that had relaxed me in Vegas continued to weigh on me in Salt Lake City. My watch showed the city at 1,400 meters above sea level, while the highest climb on the course reached 3,200 meters—higher than the peak of the UTMB TDS course I completed last year. I needed more than a single day to acclimate to that altitude, and I paid the price for it in the end. After being spoiled by the entertainment of Vegas, we found captivating activities in Salt Lake City like the Museum of Illusions, but these pre-race hours only relaxed me further. I failed to condition my mind for the gruesome struggle ahead. I succumbed to a form of productive procrastination—hanging out with my wife and kids, avoiding exercise, and simply having fun—while the race day stealthily approached.
The Swarm and the Shattered Spirit
I picked up my bib a day early and prepared for a few hours of sleep before catching the shuttle from downtown Salt Lake City. The Wasatch 100 is a point-to-point race; you start in one world and finish 100 miles away. The journey began on September 5, 2025, at 5:00 AM near Kaysville, Utah. A crowd of runners rushed forward, and a giant climb—roughly 1,500 meters of elevation gain—started almost immediately. It led me to the 2,700-meter mark, where I cruised through the alpine environment feeling a distinct pressure in my ears, likely from the lack of acclimation.
Before reaching the peak, our group was tested by the universe. In the final third of the climb, runners ahead began yelling and moaning as if in agony. I had no idea what was happening until I reached that section myself. Suddenly, I felt multiple stings across my legs and body. I started running like hell, mimicking the runners in front of me. I realized we were being attacked by wild wasps and did my best to escape their territory.
I survived the first wave, but the trail was narrow with nowhere to go but up. Within minutes, I heard the same painful screams from the group ahead. "Again?" I thought. I sped through the next section, but the wasps were unavoidable. They stung me again, and my body endured agonizing pain. In the chaos, one of my UltrAspire handhelds slipped from my hand and tumbled down an exposed hill. I stopped for a split second, but the wasps were still biting; every second of idling meant more pain. I couldn't risk sliding down the hill without being eaten alive by those "flying beasts." I left the handheld behind. I thought to myself, The race has barely started, I’ve been stung multiple times in two separate attacks, and I’ve already lost a hydration bottle. Awesome.
Before reaching the peak, our group was tested by the universe. In the final third of the climb, runners ahead began yelling and moaning as if in agony. I had no idea what was happening until I reached that section myself. Suddenly, I felt multiple stings across my legs and body. I started running like hell, mimicking the runners in front of me. I realized we were being attacked by wild wasps and did my best to escape their territory.
I survived the first wave, but the trail was narrow with nowhere to go but up. Within minutes, I heard the same painful screams from the group ahead. "Again?" I thought. I sped through the next section, but the wasps were unavoidable. They stung me again, and my body endured agonizing pain. In the chaos, one of my UltrAspire handhelds slipped from my hand and tumbled down an exposed hill. I stopped for a split second, but the wasps were still biting; every second of idling meant more pain. I couldn't risk sliding down the hill without being eaten alive by those "flying beasts." I left the handheld behind. I thought to myself, The race has barely started, I’ve been stung multiple times in two separate attacks, and I’ve already lost a hydration bottle. Awesome.
The Mental Battle at Mile 20
I continued power-hiking, but my quads and hamstrings were burning from the poison the wasps had injected into my system. My high-spirited mood was shattered. Though I eventually reached the top and witnessed the beauty of the morning mountains, I couldn't relax. My mind was tired, and my body was exhausted from the Vegas heat and the altitude. By mile 20, a strange fatigue and a total lack of motivation settled in. I hadn't eaten enough and felt deprived of energy.
At the next aid station, I reached a low point. I used a volunteer’s smartphone to call my wife and complain about my lack of physical power. I was essentially looking for her blessing to DNF (Did Not Finish), even though I had 80 miles left to go. However, after eating and resting, I felt a slight surge in strength and decided to push on. I moved through the beautiful trails, across dirt roads and narrow grassy paths surrounded by rocks and cacti. I only had three water bottles left, and everything felt more difficult than I could handle. I was grateful for my wife's inspiration; after our talk, I felt I could endure. I hit the Great Western Trail and felt a brief moment of "trail surfing," but something was still missing. Every step required a tremendous mental effort.
At the next aid station, I reached a low point. I used a volunteer’s smartphone to call my wife and complain about my lack of physical power. I was essentially looking for her blessing to DNF (Did Not Finish), even though I had 80 miles left to go. However, after eating and resting, I felt a slight surge in strength and decided to push on. I moved through the beautiful trails, across dirt roads and narrow grassy paths surrounded by rocks and cacti. I only had three water bottles left, and everything felt more difficult than I could handle. I was grateful for my wife's inspiration; after our talk, I felt I could endure. I hit the Great Western Trail and felt a brief moment of "trail surfing," but something was still missing. Every step required a tremendous mental effort.
The 100K Decision
After descending the Sheep Trail—where I stopped to take a favorite photo of myself by a lake—I navigated through Lambs Canyon Road, Mount Aire Trail, and the Big Water sections. I don't remember much of the night racing, only that I was tired, demoralized, and struggling to stay ahead of the cut-off times. My mind began to wander to warm bathtubs and junk food. As I crossed the 50-mile point and climbed higher toward the alpine levels, the thought that I wouldn't make it in time began to dominate my thoughts.
It was pitch black as I approached the 100K mark at the Desolation Lake aid station—a remote checkpoint with no crew access. When I entered, I saw three or four other runners huddled in emergency blankets, waiting for a transport out. Their presence was a destructive influence on my resolve. I began to calculate the upcoming alpine scrambles and feared that DNF-ing at a later, even more remote station would prevent me from getting back to my family at the hotel. My mind initiated the defeat before my body did. I signed the DNF form, officially ending my journey.
It was pitch black as I approached the 100K mark at the Desolation Lake aid station—a remote checkpoint with no crew access. When I entered, I saw three or four other runners huddled in emergency blankets, waiting for a transport out. Their presence was a destructive influence on my resolve. I began to calculate the upcoming alpine scrambles and feared that DNF-ing at a later, even more remote station would prevent me from getting back to my family at the hotel. My mind initiated the defeat before my body did. I signed the DNF form, officially ending my journey.
The Aftermath and Revenge
As we hiked down to the shuttle pickup, a strange thing happened: my heart rate normalized, my breath returned, and I realized my legs weren't in nearly as much pain as I had believed. I had made the ultimate mistake—I believed my mind when it whispered that I couldn't continue. That realization began to torture me.
As I rode the shuttle back to the hotel at 5:00 AM, I looked out the window and wondered if I would ever "even the odds." I thought about my experience at the Eastern States 100, where I had to DNF once before returning to conquer it. This felt personal. I reached the hotel, met my wife, and we spent our final day at Antelope Island watching wild bison. It was a nice trip, but it couldn't erase the sour feeling of defeat.
However, that defeat wasn't the end. On September 19, 2025—just two weeks later—I raced and finished the Grindstone 100, fulfilling my entry requirements for the UTMB. Wasatch was a hard lesson, but it paved the way for Grindstone 100 and eventually UTMB. I probably need to come back and finish what I started.
As I rode the shuttle back to the hotel at 5:00 AM, I looked out the window and wondered if I would ever "even the odds." I thought about my experience at the Eastern States 100, where I had to DNF once before returning to conquer it. This felt personal. I reached the hotel, met my wife, and we spent our final day at Antelope Island watching wild bison. It was a nice trip, but it couldn't erase the sour feeling of defeat.
However, that defeat wasn't the end. On September 19, 2025—just two weeks later—I raced and finished the Grindstone 100, fulfilling my entry requirements for the UTMB. Wasatch was a hard lesson, but it paved the way for Grindstone 100 and eventually UTMB. I probably need to come back and finish what I started.