The clock had just ticked past 5am, and I was completely wrecked. I had been running - or more accurately, running, hiking, shuffling, and willing myself forward - since 1pm the day before. We were at the mile 65 aid station of the Big Bear 100 on October 10-11th in Big Bear Lake, California.
My friend Lee had just finished pacing me through a 14-mile stretch that we started together at 2am, and now he was handing me off to my next pacer, Stefan. The two of them and our friend Scot - three of my closest friends from our days swimming together at the University of Virginia - were there to help get me to the finish line. We’re used to doing hard things. But this was a different kind of hard.
In front of me loomed a 3,500-foot climb up Sugarloaf Mountain in the San Bernardino Mountains. Everything hurt. My legs were trashed, my mind was foggy, and I could feel the weight of sleep deprivation pressing in. Skipping a night of sleep is something I would never recommend under normal circumstances, but this race was something special. It was me, 100 miles of mountain trails, and the chance to see what I was really made of. I knew I wouldn’t be getting any sleep that night, but I also knew I had what it took mentally and physically to make it to the finish line.
It also helped that I had planned for this moment.
The Training Block: Building Sleep Consistency
I came into the race with 16 weeks of solid training under my belt. My peak weeks hit 71 and 67 miles, which is not massive by ultrarunner standards, but strong for someone balancing a business, being a husband, and raising a toddler. However, what I lacked in volume, I made up for in consistency. My days were structured, my nights were disciplined, and my sleep routine became a cornerstone of my training.
Most nights, I’d start winding down around 9pm and have lights out by 9:30. On workout days, I’d wake up between 5:15 and 5:45; on rest days, closer to 6:30. That consistency is a huge part of how our circadian rhythm stabilizes. Research has shown that even 30 minutes of sleep timing variability can affect mood and recovery.
The other essential element of my training was support. My wife is incredible, as she let me knock out back-to-back long runs on Saturdays and Sundays, up to 28 and 24 miles respectively, while she kept our son Patrick entertained. I’d aim to get home by 10 or 11am so we could spend the rest of the day together. Training for an ultramarathon is a selfish endeavor in some ways, but we made it work for a predetermined period of time.
My recovery toolkit was simple but sacred: my Lagoon Otter pillow (to keep me pain-free and cool through the night), a Night Bite before bed most evenings, and my go-to white noise playlist. These were just a couple cornerstones to my routine that kept me on track.
The Sleep Bank: Loading Up Before the Storm
There’s an old concept in endurance training called sleep banking, which means getting extra rest in the days leading up to a major event. Studies on military personnel and athletes show that people who get even an hour more sleep per night in the week prior perform better under sleep deprivation and recover faster afterward.
So given the fact that I knew I wouldn’t sleep during the race, that became my strategy.
Here’s what my Oura data looked like during race week:
- Saturday night: 7:53 sleep, 8:28 in bed (Sleep Score: 92)
- Sunday night: 7:57 sleep, 9:21 in bed (Sleep Score: 90)
- Monday night: 7:13 sleep, 8:10 in bed, waking up with Patrick (Sleep Score: 87)
- Tuesday night: 7:27 sleep, 8:55 in bed, waking up with Patrick again (Sleep Score: 81)
- Wednesday night: 7:20 sleep, traveled to CA the next day (Sleep Score: 88)
- Thursday (in Big Bear): 7:43 sleep, 8:43 in bed (Sleep Score: 89)
At altitude, I could already see my body adjusting. My resting heart rate, which normally dips to 40-43 bpm at night, bottomed out at 45 bpm. The thinner air in Big Bear (nearly 7,000 feet elevation) was already having a mild physiological effect. I brought my Puffin pillow with me too - easy to pack and nice and soft before race day. By the time I toed the starting line on Friday, I felt as well-rested and ready as possible.
The Race: Managing Sleep Deprivation in Motion
I’ve never been someone to pull an all-nighter… even in college. I protect my sleep like most people protect their morning coffee or other sacred ritual. So heading into a race that would require staying awake for 30+ hours did admittedly make me a little nervous.
The first 10 miles of the race felt great - flowing, easy, full of adrenaline. The next 10 were much tougher on technical singletrack, a slow steady incline, and in the very warm California sun. But by mile 30, I found my rhythm again and was feeling better. Then as the sun went down, around mile 35, I started to notice something new. I wasn’t just physically tired, I was sleepy. My body was craving the rhythm and timing it had been trained for all year.
Running through the night is one of the strangest mental challenges I’ve ever experienced. You feel your body trying to shut down as your circadian rhythm dips. Your reaction times slow, decision-making gets fuzzy, and even your mood starts to shift. Studies show that cognitive performance can drop by up to 30% after 24 hours without sleep - roughly the equivalent of a 0.10% blood alcohol level.
I forged on looking forward to every aid station, and knowing that by mile 52, I would finally be joined by my pacers, and that would give me a serious boost. Having my friends there - guys who knew exactly when to talk and when to let me suffer in silence - was huge. Through the night, I took two 200 mg caffeine pills at strategic points to stay sharp, and fortunately my nutrition was very dialed in. I used Huma chia gels, Skratch high-carb mix and salt tablets while moving, and ramen noodles, broth, and the occasional cheese quesadilla at the aid station for some warm, salty variety.
Still, the timing, magnitude, and terrain of Sugarloaf Mountain nearly broke me. The 3,500-foot climb started just before sunrise, and while everyone said the daylight would give me renewed energy, that was not my experience at all. The trail was covered in loose, fist-sized rocks that made both the ascent and descent brutal, and it took almost three hours to cover six miles.
But something fascinating happened once we started heading back down. My energy came back. My body temperature stabilized, my alertness improved, and I could feel my circadian rhythm syncing again. It was 9 am - the same time I’d normally be getting into my day - and my body recognized this and said “okay, we’re awake now.”
It was a vivid reminder that sleep isn’t just about hours in bed - it’s about rhythm and alignment.
The Finish Line: And Then, The Crash
By the time I reached the final 20 miles, the finish line was in sight - metaphorically, at least. My goal was to break 28 hours. Scot, my last pacer, set a pace that put me right on the edge. We climbed the final 1,800 feet and hit the last seven miles of mostly downhill terrain. I dug deep, running on adrenaline, caffeine, and the thought of my family and friends waiting at the finish line.
Crossing the line felt amazing. I had told my wife Keavy that I wanted to carry Patrick across with me. What I envisioned as a touching, triumphant moment turned into a hilarious photo op as he immediately cried for his mom.
That night, the adrenaline wore off and I finally crashed hard. We had dinner at our Airbnb, and my friends, who’d only slept a few hours themselves, were falling asleep on the couch. I was in bed by 8:15, and there was zero chance of even my usual (guilty pleasure ) Zillow scroll before lights out.
The Recovery: Rebuilding What Sleep Repairs
With the race done, I was nervous about recovery. Trying to sleep after the 2019 Ironman and the 2023 Leadville 50-miler was horrible; the deep leg soreness makes rest nearly impossible.
This time, I was surprised by how well my body settled. I was in bed for 8 hours and 8 minutes and got 6:43 of sleep. My Oura ring gave me a 78 sleep score, which honestly felt like a victory.
But the real story was in the details:
- Resting heart rate: 58 bpm (normally low 40s)
- HRV: 35 ms (usually 60–70 ms)
- Oxygen saturation: 92% (normally 98–99%)
- Body temperature: +1.9°F
- Readiness score: 48
In other words, my body was wrecked and my nervous system was showing me that. That kind of acute HRV drop is common after extreme physical stress, and my body was clearly saying - please stop!
We spent Sunday relaxing around Big Bear, taking Patrick to the Discovery Center, strolling through town, and getting an early dinner. My sleep that night was okay, though the numbness and tingling in my feet started setting in. That’s persisted for a few nights since - just one more reminder of what 100 miles can do to a body.
What 100 Miles Taught Me
This race reminded me that life balance isn’t about perfect equilibrium. It’s about determination and presence - being fully committed to whatever moment you’re in. Training for an ultra meant asking a lot of my family, but it also meant showing Patrick what it looks like to commit to something big.
I don’t think I’ll be signing up for another 100-miler anytime soon. But this one will stick with me for a long time.
Doing hard things has a way of simplifying everything else. When you push your limits - physically, mentally, and yes, even through a sleepless night - you come back with a deeper respect for the foundation that makes these pursuits possible.
Now it’s back to normal life. Back to building Lagoon. Back to bedtime by 9:30.
And back to the thing that makes everything else possible: sleep.
