100 Miles to Close a Chapter
This past Saturday, I crossed the finish line of the Softie 100 in the San Juan mountains. 103 miles with 19,000 feet of elevation gain all while sitting at roughly 10,000 feet altitude. I’m sitting here writing this two days later and I’ve spent most of the day in silence trying to process everything that happened coupled with the fact that my athlete chapter is over. It’s bittersweet because I know I’ll miss it immensely but I also know… I did everything I wanted (and more) and can walk away on my terms.
It Started as Survival
What started as my anchor through sobriety quietly morphed into something I never planned for. I didn’t set out to become an endurance athlete. I was literally trying to find something that could keep my focused and get through the early days of sobriety. Running was that thing. It was simple, solitary, and I could see the returns as long as I stayed consistent. Somewhere between my first race at the Cinco De Miler and the mountains that came later, it became a persona. An identity. Something I was known for before I fully realized I had become it.
When I moved to Denver, I didn’t know anyone. What I found on the trails changed that faster than anything else could have. The trail running community in Colorado welcome me in a way I wasn’t expecting and gave me relationships that’ve become some of the most meaningful of my life. New friends, training partners, and people who eventually became business partners. For most people in Colorado, this is how they know me. Not as a technology advisor or health club founder. As an obstacle course and ultramarathoner. As the guy who runs trails before the sun comes up and in the middle of winter with ice covering his face.
The Second Mountain
David Brooks wrote a book called The Second Mountain. The premise changed how I think about the chapters of my life. The first mountain is the one society tells you to climb. Career, success, achievement. You summit it and discover that the view from the top isn’t quite what you expected. So you descend into the valley and eventually find a second mountain. One that is less about achievement and more about meaning. I think about my life in mountains. Each one its own climb, its own summit, its own descent. And the mountains are mine. Nobody else can tell me which ones to climb or when I have reached the top.
My first mountain was corporate. Fourteen years at CDW and Gartner building a career from nothing, developing a skill set and a network I still draw from every single day. I summited that mountain. I know because I stopped wanting to go higher. I did it.
My second mountain was athletics. 6 years of trail running and competing that took me places I never saw coming. Everything from traveling to Abu Dhabi for the Spartan World Championship to brand deals. Racing opened doors I didn’t know existed and walked me through every single of them. I could see the green lights happening. I did it.
My third mountain is HUMN.
I Don't Go Back
People ask if I miss corporate or if I would ever go back. The answer is no and not because it wasn’t a great chapter. It was awesome and I learned a ton. But I already did that. I climbed that mountain, learned what it had to teach me, and descended with everything it gave me. Going back would feel like is a disservice to my greater self. Athletics is the same. Yes, I’ll still workout everyday but it’s because I love how it makes me feel.
The Third Mountain
Athletics didn’t just make me healthier. It gave me an insider's understanding of the health and wellness industry that I couldn’t have gotten any other way. Competing, training clients, and living inside fitness culture showed me exactly what people needed from a health environment and exactly where the gaps were. What my corporate chapter gave me was the skill set to actually do something about it. The financial modeling, the stakeholder management, the ability to build complex operations from scratch, all of it came from fourteen years in corporate before I ever thought about starting a company. One chapter gave me the insight. The other gave me the infrastructure and I wouldn’t have either without both.
When I crossed that finish line I didn’t feel relief or exhaustion. I felt gratitude. For the sport that caught me when I needed catching. For the mountains that never lied to me about who I was or what I was capable of. For the community that showed up on trails and at finish lines and in the early mornings when the world was still quiet. For the version of myself that this chapter built and handed to the next one.
My third mountain is waiting and I have never been more ready to climb.
HUMN.
Spring 2027.
