No Business 100

Editor’s note: Sorry for the delay.

I used to think bravery was a kind of invincibility—a calm and fearless resolve before taking on something daunting. But that’s not true. Bravery doesn’t ignore fear; it faces it head-on, choosing action even when doubts are the loudest.

When my friend, Ron Maver—a 100-mile trail race veteran—challenged me to tackle the No Business 100 with him. I wanted to accept, yet I couldn’t ignore my nerves. This race was unlike anything I’d done before: trail running and 14,000 feet of elevation in Tennessee’s rugged backcountry.

I told myself I could handle it. After all, trail running was just slower, right? I had this idea that if I could push a 6:30 min/mile pace for the Louisiana Marathon, then a steady 15-minute mile on trails would practically feel like a stroll. I pictured myself moving calmly through forest paths, conquering hills with ease, almost as if the slower pace would somehow make it easier than road racing. It wasn’t until much later that the absurdity of my own logic hit me. With a hefty dose of overconfidence, I’d completely overlooked the reality of 14,000 feet of climbing and the rugged, relentless nature of Tennessee’s mountains.

In that moment, I had unknowingly planted myself on Mount Stupid—thanks to the Dunning-Kruger effect. I wasn’t just in over my head; I’d talked myself into a steep learning curve that I wasn’t prepared for.

Training

Six months after signing up, the true challenges of the No Business 100 were beginning to hit home. My training base was in Hilton Head, where the tallest “peak” was a bridge barely scraping 75 feet above sea level. Trails were scarce, and there was nothing remotely technical to prepare me for Tennessee’s rugged terrain. Still, I clung to the idea that fitness was fitness. With enough miles under my belt, surely I could make it work, right?

I began a dedicated training plan in July that was largely designed around building leg strength. Over the following 3 and a half months, I would build my weekly mileage to a peak of around 110, while also completing two lower body strength training sessions and at least 2 hours on the stair

climber each week.

My weekly mileages were as follows: 75, 70, 80, 86, 82, 100, 71, 100, 100, 100, 75, 95, 95, 110, 80 before entering a 12 day taper

In late September, I drove out to Dalton, GA to get some trail experience at the 35 mile Georgia Jewel race. This would be my one training weekend on similar terrain as No Business. With the race on Saturday, I planned on spending a few hours on the trails Thursday and Friday to get as much experience in one weekend as possible.

On Thursday, I planned to run 15 miles. This is where I quickly slid down from Dunning Kruger’s Mount Stupid and into the valley of despair. My naïveté was obvious but more importantly painful. I tore up the first hills, and was quickly humbled on the technical single track trail. My stomach, endurance and legs completely gave out on me 6 miles in, and I slowly walk/jogged back to the car. My mind spiraled, and I genuinely didn’t think I could complete the 35 mile race on Saturday, let alone the 100 mile race in 5 weeks. I spoke with Tony that evening and slowly convinced myself that I had gone out on that run too quickly, and that I needed to be more patient on the terrain. (Duh)

On Friday, I decided to do a more reserved 6 miles that went much better. I was far from confident, but at the end of the run I still had a gas tank, which counted for something… I made my way back to my hotel, and began dreading the fate tomorrow would bring.

On Saturday, I made my way to the starting line and we piled into buses that would take us 35 miles away to begin the race. Despite having some stomach issues for the first 10 miles or so, the race went surprisingly well. I was patient with the hiking early, and it saved enough stamina to close the race strong. I crossed the finish line in second place, and felt as if I could have completed an 100 miler that day. My legs held up well, and my fitness proved to be strong. What a difference 2 days and a little bit of experience makes.

Coming back to Hilton Head, I was beginning to feel confident. Despite being at the beach, with no real elevation training, the plan seemed to be working. I had two more dedicated weeks of training before entering a taper.

In the final weeks, I had a minor tweak in my back that forced me to pull back on the strength training. However, when I entered the 12 day taper, I felt healthy, fit and optimistic about race day.

The Race

My crew of Tony Bruno (coach/training partner), Greg Petorak (college friend) and Fionna Mahoney (beautiful and funny girlfriend) loaded up the car and arrived in Jamestown TN around 4p on Thursday (10/24). Tony and I went for a 3 mile shakeout before the crew and I joined all of the other runners at the 7p “Welcome Pasta Dinner”. Accompanied by a plate loaded with spaghetti, we listened to Lindsey Sexton tell her story of completing No Business twice while battling breast cancer. Her story included run-ins with hornets and bears, more things that I had not yet considered… However I was in too deep now, so we returned to our cabin for one final sleep before the 2024 No Business 100.

On the morning of the race (10/25), I worked through my pre-race routines and we made our way to the start. There may have been a slight self-inflicted mishap with my race bib, but luckily it was quickly rectified with plenty of time to spare. In the minutes before the race, Tony and I sat by the car and I tried to talk about anything other than the race. I laced up my shoes, prepared my pack for the first segment and made my way to the starting line. Promptly at 8a, we took off on a flat service road. My watch beeped and flashed an 8:02 pace for the first mile. That pace wouldn’t last long… We made our way up toward a ridge line, and I was quickly confronted with the technical trail running and elevation changes that I was expecting. While enjoying some incredible views of the mountains and tree-lines, I settled behind a female runner that effortlessly navigated the terrain with what I assumed was significant trail experience (Amy Stulman and I would end up finishing within a few minutes of one another. Despite us only running together for these few miles early, we were often at aid stations at the same time. Thus, our crews became friends with one another.)

After this first segment of around 8 miles, I was quite relieved to step off an unnerving suspension bridge and be greeted by my crew. They helped to refill my water bottles, restock my nutrition and quickly get me back out onto the trails. The first segment had gone well but I knew that a long race and plenty of elevation was ahead.

I spent time with a variety of runners, and tried to learn as much as I could about their techniques and strategies. As I shared a few miles with Brock Everhart, an Ohio native, we talked about college football and eventually, he passed along a strategy that I employed for the duration of the race: hike the uphills, and run the downhills/flats. (This proved to be a wise strategy… I could have used you a few weeks earlier at the Georgia Jewel, Brock….)

Around mile 20, I began running with Daniel Austin from Colorado Springs. We seemed to have similar fitness and goals for the race, so we decided to run together. (This turned out to be a strong team, and I’m beyond thankful for his friendship during this race.)

Daniel and I were making good time together when we rolled into the aid station at mile 25, and I was greeted again by my wonderful crew. At this point, pacers were allowed to join their runners so Tony jumped in with Daniel and I. The three of us were joined by Brian Zickefoose, and the conversations/jokes made for smooth miles. As the next aid station drew close, my stomach had begun to tie up. The temperature had risen above 80 degrees, and I had consumed very minimal solid food. I was simply hoping that the gels and tailwind would hold me over.

When we approached the aid station at mile 37, my stomach was in a complete knot. I tried to down about half of a hamburger (my stomach would send that back up about a quarter mile later) and use a few handfuls of ice to cool myself down. With Tony completing his segment, Daniel and I departed the aid station refueled and restocked. We wouldn’t see our crews again until after nightfall, as the next aid station was at mile 60.

After leaving the aid station, we encountered some severe elevation changes but continued to make good time. Daniel is much stronger climber than I am, and the combination of climbs and my stomach began to weigh on my morale. I relied heavily on Daniel’s pacing during these miles and hoped that my energy would come back.

As the sun began to set, we put out headlamps on, and the temperature started to cool. Despite my stomach still in knots, we had been moving through more runnable sections and my energy/morale had improved.

That was until we neared the aid station at mile 60. With about a half mile until the aid station, we came to a horse trail with soft sand, and loose rocks on a severe downhill grade. With rocks slipping out from underneath our feet, we slowly descended. After I had completed a curse-word laden tirade and the descent, we waded into a knee-deep river crossing of about 30 feet. As my shoes filled with water, I came to the realization that severe blisters had developed all over my feet. With each step, I identified another hot spot.

We exited the river and as my shoes drained, a broken version of me made its way into the aid station to see my crew. From here, we would do a 6 mile loop, return to this aid station before making our way back across that river crossing and back up that horse trail. It was all I could think about. Putting my burning feet back into that damn river.

My crew got me refocused. They got some steak for me, and I forced down my first solid food for several hours. It didn’t sit well at first, but I knew my system needed it.

After slowly exiting the aid station, Daniel somehow found a better version of me and forced me to start running again. I’m not sure whether it was the fat/protein from the steak or what but my stomach finally settled down. We returned to form during that 6 mile loop and I rolled back into the aid station with some newfound optimism. We were 66 miles in but I had found some bounce again.

Once we loaded back up with fuel and water, Daniel’s brother joined us for the next 9 mile segment. As I stepped up to the river crossing, I thought “if you have to eat shit, don’t nibble.” With no hesitation and Daniel’s brother navigating, we took off again.

I was unaware at the time but Daniel had been fighting some achilles tendon pain for a few hours by this point. As we neared the next aid station, the intensifying pain had slowed Daniel down to a walk. I ran ahead, hoping to reconvene at the next aid station. (Unfortunately, Daniel’s achilles became too inflamed and he was unable to continue after this aid station.)

We had settled on a plan that I would change shoes and clothing here for the final 27 miles. Irrationally, I didn’t want to change anything. My mind was telling me that it wouldn’t help, that my feet were so bad, and that taking off the shoes would cause even more problems. Fionna and Greg quietly and correctly thought I was being stupid. Tony loudly and correctly told me to sit down and let them change my shoes. In a development that surprises no one, the combination of new socks, shoes and clothes was exactly what I needed. Although I was going to be running alone for the remainder of the race, the change made me feel fresh and I began moving well for the next few segments.

By the time I rolled into the final aid station that my crew could access at mile 87, my legs were tightening up but I was still optimistic about finishing in under 24 hours. I was in pain, but everyone at mile 87 was in pain. I loaded up with the supplies I would need for the final 15 miles and set off to drain whatever I had left in the tank. The first 3 miles were manageable single track, and I was moving pretty well. Then I came to a steep downhill of technical rock that took every last bit of quad strength I had left. When the trail finally flattened out, I made my way through several creek beds that torched my calves as I jumped from rock to rock, trying to stay out of the water. With about 10 miles to go, my legs had nothing left to give. My jog had become the pace of a slow walk, and any steps up or down were done on all fours so I could use my upper body.

I arrived at the final aid station (about 4 miles from the finish and my crew) delirious, and after listening to the food options about 4 times I realized that I only needed water and tailwind. With a severely deteriorated IQ and nearly worthless legs, I began making my way to the finish. Slowly, I began to recognize the service road that had served as the backdrop of my first mile. I knew I couldn’t muster up another 8:02, but I told myself that if you can just put your head down and hammer for 10 minutes you can finally rest. After what felt like a mile, I hear a familiar voice next to me. Tony had run back from the finish line to find me. (My pace had deteriorated considerably, and my crew was understandably nervous about a potential injury. I had failed to properly check in at the last aid station, so my crew assumed that I was at least 5 miles from the finish. Tony had planned to run back to find me and “run” the final 5 miles with me. I’m sure he was pleased to find out that he only had to run less than a mile.)

Tony ran with me for a few hundred yards until running ahead to let me close it out on my own. I crossed the finish line in 13th place with a time of 25 hours and 44 minutes.

Special thanks to Tony, Greg and Fionna for being the best crew I could ask for. You were unbelievable, and I couldn’t have done it without you.

It was an incredible experience at the No Business 100. The race directors, photographers, crews, aid station workers, etc. put on an exceptional event. I can’t recommend it enough.

I was honored to share the trail with some incredible runners, and genuinely great people. Brock, Amy, Daniel, Brian, and many others I won’t soon forget.

Don’t scroll down unless you want to see some ugly feet.