On May 30, 2026, I completed the North Fork 50k Ultramarathon in 7:02:45. It’s something I felt I needed to do to challenge myself this year, and I realized something important along the way. There’s a difference between challenging yourself and chasing something. The challenge is about sharpening who you are. The chase is about fixing who you are. It’s the bottomless lie that anyone or anything achieved will finally make you enough. I get it. I’ve been there.

I needed a challenge, but I also felt the siren song of the chase.

Some context. Over the years, I got tired of how I answered the question, “Have you ever done an ultramarathon?” It was some version of, “Well, no. But, kinda yes…I mean, I used to do 30-mile ruck marches once a year in the Army…and that was including weight…and, well, I DID the 2006 Best Ranger Competition…and that’s 60 miles in 60 hours…and blah, blah, blah.”

In 2025, a few of my close friends did the North Fork 50k. It was rooted in my buddy, Kyle’s, desire to do a 50 at 50 – very cool. I declined the invitation. I felt my body didn't need the stress. I should note that Kyle and I have done a number of runs together over the years – Team RWB Old Glory Relays, Run As One, Mt. Evans Ascent, Run Ranger Run. We’ve been doing these runs together for over a decade. They’ve been meaningful, challenging, and connecting. I should also note that Kyle and I were Rangers together; we literally met in Bagram, Afghanistan, in 2003.

Kyle asked me to join him in the race.

This was the first time I opted out.

My opt-out became a missed-out.

I regretted not doing the 2025 race together. Not because I wanted to race, but because I missed the together part that has enriched my life.

But there’s more. I knew I needed to challenge myself in 2026. My workouts had become stale. I’d plateaued, I was bored. Additionally, I have a collection of physical injuries accrued over the years that went ignored. I could manage them by maintaining fitness without challenge. I got tired of it. I got tired of not feeling like myself. So I committed to the challenge because I needed it, and I knew it would force me to train differently, or the course would injure me.

On January 13, 2026, unplanned and unprompted, I made a bold commitment from the stage alongside 200 of my PTMA colleagues as they were making bold commitments for the year. I raised my Marriott conference pad with the words, “Run the North Fork 50,” before the group and declared my commitment to myself before others. Blayne’s response on stage was priceless. Kelly’s response (when I got home) was less than enthusiastic!

Some more context. Kel has been by my side for 25 years, providing medical and emotional support, watching me beat up my body in the chase for glory – a blend of seeking higher peaks, more adrenaline, greater accolades, and at times self-worth. She has insider information that no one else has.

“What are you trying to prove?”

She had her reasons to suspect that I was (once again) baited into the chase.

“I’m not trying to prove anything. I’m trying to challenge myself.”

I had my reasons to seek the transformative power of challenge.

But after nearly 25 years of marriage, I’ve learned to pay attention when Kel offers caution. Her question inserted caution, not doubt. Was I chasing something – another accolade? Was I chasing someone – that younger version of myself who ran fast, rucked far, and spit nails? I mean, I honestly don’t miss the Rangers, but sometimes I miss that Ranger. Was I in for the challenge, or competing in the chase?

I wouldn’t fully get my answer until mile 15 of the course.

“Hey brother. We’re running a race I don’t want to run. Cut-away.” By mile 15, Ben and I were at 2 hours, 55 minutes with ~2,000’ elevation gain, and my heart rate was consistently at 163 BPM (~10 BPM above my Zone II plan).

“You’re looking great, and I want to get back to my race plan. Drive on brother.” Ben and I had discussed this prior to the race (we would run together until one of us wanted or needed to break off). It was unemotional, yet fulfilling to me. It was the challenge, not the chase.

Twenty years ago, that Ranger would have never backed down from a chance to push the pace with a partner or bury anyone in a footrace. Regardless of the cost. Mile 15 was the moment it all came together. All the months of training, all the advice, all the coaching, all the support. It all came together in that decision to run my race and enjoy the work. That was the challenge I had aimed for.

It wasn't about finishing. It was about how I chose to finish.

The moment I let Ben go and settled into my race, I committed to enjoying the challenge instead of winning the chase. In doing so, I protected my back instead of proving I’m tough. I stayed in Zone 2 instead of chasing a finish time. I enjoyed the scenery, encouraged other runners, and absorbed the experience instead of fighting it.

Throughout it all, I experienced all the standard ultramarathon moments – wrestling the need to intake calories while my stomach just could not take another bite, the doldrums of miles 16-19, a mid-course pit stop in the woods, and the excellence and support of the aid station volunteers. I now know what a NASCAR driver feels like being supported by a pit crew!

But most importantly, I experienced the joy of the challenge and the treasures hidden in the crucible.

I remembered who I am.

I let go of what I used to do.

I prioritized the purpose instead of a prize and completed a challenge with my friends.

By nightfall, Kyle and our buddy Mike were completing the 50-mile version of the race – their race – together. We met up as they got back into Morrison, traded adventure stories, and celebrated together. Ben ate pizza with his family. I ate pizza with mine. Everybody won together.

It's not lost on me that I completed the North Fork 50k exactly twenty years after placing third in the Best Ranger Competition.

Twenty years later, Kelly, Jaden, and Elli were still standing with me at another finish line.

Turns out they couldn't have cared less what place I came in. They were just proud of me for running my race.