Eastern States 100 has been on my radar for nearly two years. Shortly after completing my first ultra (East Fork 50K) in August 2024, I set Eastern States — and ultimately the Pennsylvania Triple Crown — as a goal. I knew at the time it was a lofty one, but it wasn’t until this past weekend that I realized just how ambitious it truly was.
The Challenge
Eastern States describes itself as “graduate-level trail running that will both test and fulfill you in so many ways.” It’s regarded by some as one of the hardest hundred-milers in the US, spoken of alongside races like Western States and Badwater 135. The website alone should give readers pause: “If you need to ask whether you are prepared, the answer is likely ‘no.’”
So what makes the race so challenging? A handful of crucial factors:
The terrain. Pennsylvania trails feature some incredibly technical, rocky terrain that slows runners down — often forcing you to hike sections you’d normally be able to run.
The elevation. Eastern States boasts an impressive 20,000 feet of both climbing and descent. At its steepest, the first climb hits a 52% grade according to my watch. This race often felt like we were either going up or coming down.
The heat and humidity. Temperatures this year ranged from 65°F at night to 85°F during the day, with 100% humidity at the start line. Before the sun even came up, my shorts felt like I’d just climbed out of a pool.
Limited crew access. The race allows crew and drop bags at only four locations (miles 17.8, 43.2, 62.9, and 80.5). While that’s more than some races offer, knowing you might go nearly a full marathon without crew support can be daunting.
The wildlife. PA trails are known to be littered with rattlesnakes. Watch your step!
All of these factors add up to an average finisher rate of roughly 50% — and this year specifically, just 45%.
The Context
Coming into Eastern States, my year looked very different than I’d wanted. I finished my first 100 in November (Fall Creek 100) and came out of it with a minor overuse injury. As a result, I wasn’t back to running until February — and with a full race schedule ahead, that meant a fairly aggressive ramp-up in mileage.
March through May went off without a hitch. Mileage climbed to some pretty intense 70–80 mile weeks, and I crammed in a few races along the way (Hyner 50K, Tie Dye 50K, and Worlds End 100K — Hyner and Worlds End being the other two races in the PA Triple Crown). Worlds End was my ‘A’ race for the first half of the year, and everything about the build went fantastically. I finished in 16:06:35, but walked away with another overuse injury in my ankle and shin that had presented itself roughly 50K into the race. In hindsight, this set me up poorly for Eastern States — for reasons that will become all too apparent.
After Worlds End, I took a few weeks to drop mileage and recover. My training during this interim block bounced all over the place as I tried to build fitness while managing what my ankle and shin could handle. I spent a lot of time on the treadmill doing incline work to alleviate some of the strain and build stronger mountain legs for the race.
Despite the setbacks, as race day approached, the data showed I was at roughly the same fitness level as I’d been heading into Worlds End. So what did I do? I swung for the fences.
The Data
As a bit of a data nerd, I took it upon myself to run the numbers on every previous PA Triple Crown finisher’s times, comparing how each runner fared across Hyner, Worlds End, and Eastern States. The pattern: Worlds End took roughly 2.5 times as long as Hyner, and Eastern States took roughly 1.9 times as long as Worlds End.
The challenge with raw numbers is all the variables they don’t account for: Were the runners actually racing each event? What did their training look like? What was the weather? Was someone just having an off day? I knew all of this — but I figured that across six different years and 169 finishes, the data would at least give me a rough idea of my potential.
My goal became 30 hours, with a stretch goal of getting as close to 28 as possible.
The Race
The “gun” (the race director’s voice) goes off, and the runners are set loose. The first 3.5 miles are about as easy as you could ask for: roughly a mile of road followed by 2.5 miles of relatively flat singletrack. Having run the start of the trails the day prior, I knew there wasn’t much room to pass early on, so I went out toward the front of the pack. Worlds End had given me a degree of confidence that a single 100-mile finish did not warrant.
One of my goals going in was to attack the first climb. It comes 3.5 miles into the race: roughly 1,250 feet of gain over a single mile, peaking at that 52% grade. It’s probably the harshest climb of the race, and I felt every step of it. This is also where I made my first mistake — I simply went out too hot. My heart rate spiked to 178 bpm and I was redlining. But what can I say? I felt great!
That pattern continued through the first 17.8 miles: hitting the climbs hard, taking the descents fairly easy to save my legs for the back half. I came into Lower Pine Bottom (mile 17.8) at 4:30 and made a quick 4-minute stop with my crew to eat, swap water bottles, and change into a dry shirt. I was out fast and hit the next climb.
That’s where everything started to go wrong.
Very shortly into the climb, nausea and GI distress came out of nowhere. I’ve dealt with GI distress countless times before, but this was different — a stabbing pain in my stomach, like when you throw up with nothing left and your stomach just won’t settle. On top of that, my heart wouldn’t calm down on the climb. My heart rate wasn’t particularly high, but it felt like it was beating out of my chest. Both problems would continue, to varying degrees, for the remainder of the race.
Still, if I’ve learned anything from prior bouts of GI distress, it’s that the best plan is to just keep moving. So that’s what I did. I finished the climb — albeit with a few stops to let my heart settle — and at the top, I got back to running…
Just kidding! My stomach couldn’t handle it. I quickly found that the jostling from running and the steep descents only made things worse. So instead, I walked. And walked. And walked. From mile 20 to 43, I may have run a total of four miles. The terrain certainly didn’t help — the first 50K packs in roughly 7,000 feet of gain and descent — but it was more than that. I felt zapped, and my stomach refused to calm down.
By the time I reached Ritchie Road (mile 38.5), spirits were a little low, but my legs still felt great. I came in, crushed four melted freezer pops, and drank some ginger ale. I think it helped settle my stomach, because I managed to run a bit more of the next section before rolling into the Hyner Run aid station at mile 43.2.
Legs still felt great, spirits were high, and — crucially — I was eating! Normally when GI distress hits, I have an incredibly hard time getting food down, but this was a different beast. Being able to eat was a game changer. I slammed some food, got into dry shoes (we’d gone through half a dozen creek crossings by this point), and hit the trail.
This is where I discovered my secret weapon. My wife had done some research before the race and found that Zofran ODT is a common prescription some ultrarunners use to combat nausea and GI distress. On the climb out of Hyner, I popped my first one, and within an hour — I WAS RUNNING AGAIN! It wasn’t perfect, but I could run for a few minutes at a time, and I picked off quite a few other runners. Spirits were high, legs felt great, and I was moving.
It was during this section that night set in and things got more challenging. As time went on, the Zofran wore off and tiredness crept in. I started doing the mental math on cutoffs and how long each section would take me. The descents became increasingly difficult, and I began to wonder whether I could actually do this. My original goal was to reach Tomb Flats (mile 62.9) around 9 PM. I came in at 12:35 AM.
Despite the delay, I took my planned 20-minute stop for a full reset. New clothes, because we’d just crossed a waist-deep river. New shoes. New bottles and gels. Food. And most importantly: a new Zofran and a pacer.
Eric, my pacer, and I set off out of Tomb Flats running, and that 10-mile stretch would prove to be one of the best sections of the entire race. I’d connected with Eric through a Facebook pacer group, and for someone who was a complete stranger before the race, I could not have asked for a better pacer. We had some great conversations on the move, and he kept me pushing forward. We made it to Cedar Run (mile 72.7) feeling good and took six minutes to reset.
Cedar Run to Blackwell (mile 80.5) was tougher. Closing in on the 24-hour mark, I was starting to feel sluggish. On top of that, the gels I was carrying weren’t jiving with my stomach, and I couldn’t keep them down. I’d describe this section as “surviving” rather than “thriving,” even though it was arguably one of the easier stretches of the race. It’s funny how quickly things can flip mid-race. Around 5:30 AM, just before Blackwell, I stopped for a short 5-minute dirt nap. Making it a full 24 hours without needing any sleep was a huge win in my book, and it set me up well for the rest of the race.
Eric and I rolled into Blackwell shortly after 7 AM in great spirits. Another quick aid station reset — and my final Zofran of the race — and I left with Matt, my second pacer, who would see me through from Blackwell to the finish.
From this point on, I knew I had time in the bank, so it was simply a matter of moving forward. Blackwell to Sky Top (mile 85) is one giant blur of climbing and descending. But at Sky Top, I got to try the famous Sky Top pancakes. Other race reports describe them as the best pancakes in the world. I’m not sure whether people are serious or whether it’s just mile-85 delusion talking. I won’t claim they’re the best in the world — but they were absolutely worth the price of admission, and a wonderful reset before heading into the final 18 miles.
Much like Blackwell to Sky Top, both Sky Top to Barrens (mile 93.1) and Barrens to Hackett (the mile 99.3 water drop) were giant blurs. My GI distress continued and there were some decent climbs, but Matt and I also got back to running, knocking out stretches at a sub-12-minute pace. After Hackett, things started to clear up for me, even if I was a little delirious.
The final 3.8 miles climb 534 feet in the first 1.2 miles, plateau for roughly a mile, then plunge 1,100 feet over the last 1.5. Up the climb, I was dragging and delusional. But by the time we crested the top, I knew we were home free. My legs still had energy, and there was a group of about a dozen runners ahead of us. As we hit the singletrack descent, I vividly remember flying past them shouting “On your left!” and “Use ‘em or lose ‘em!” On the final descent, Matt and I were bombing the hill, holding a slightly reckless 7-minute pace wherever we reasonably could. As we reached the bottom, we could hear the crowd and see the open field. I scooped up my three kids (ages 2, 4, and 6) and ran across the finish line with them at my side, my wife capturing it all on camera.
The Verdict
As I said at the start, I didn’t fully grasp the challenge of Eastern States until after the fact. It’s not just hard. It’s a race that does everything it can to keep you from finishing — and maybe that’s the point. Running 100 miles is hard enough on its own. But layering obstacle upon obstacle on top of it? That’s life. Life is hard, it’s messy, and things don’t always go how you plan. What matters isn’t what happens to you — it’s how you respond and problem-solve when things get hard.
Until next time, Eastern States!
Final time - 35:09:29
Per angusta ad augusta