Barkley Fall Classic | 2025.09.20
Last Year’s Fire
Last year, I needed a win. I was fresh off failure. I failed to complete GBF Operation CENTURY. I failed my team by not putting them in better positions to succeed. I felt the failure of my career after a decade of hard work. I felt like I was failing myself.
I needed a win. Quitting was not an option. Failure wasn’t an option. I was going to finish at any cost. And I did, fueled by pure grit. I had one of my best days that I could remember, and there was a fire inside me, even if it was only a spark.
Fast forward to this year. Life still isn’t easy, but it’s different. I have changed careers and started building my own business. I finally see real value in the work I’m doing by helping others unlock their potential. I have good days and bad days. But, I’m closer to where and who I want it to be.
I have lived a life of grit. I push through, seek pain, find discomfort, and stay tough. I am slowly learning more about grace. That is, softening my heart, being gentle with myself, and allowing myself to be what I need in the moment.
Enter the 2025 Barkley Fall Classic
This year’s Barkley Fall Classic (BFC) was said to be the hardest one yet. Last year, I was one of the 24% who finished. For those unfamiliar, the BFC is based on the infamous Barkley Marathons and is a “taste” of the big one. Unique to the BFC, you reach a “decision point.” If you come before the cutoff, you have a choice to either take the “marathon” finish, a few short steps away, or go for the Croix, the “50K”. The catch is that if you attempt the 50k and don’t finish in under 13 hours and 20 minutes, you receive a DNF (Did Not Finish), no matter how far you make it.
This challenge is not just physical, but mental. The distances are in quotes because those who take on the BFC know that Laz, the mastermind, seems to have his own measurement system that doesn’t quite align with the imperial or metric system. Forgetting the distances alone, the race has a significant elevation change. Every year, you see at least 10,000ft of vertical climbing. This year, Laz claimed a 30,000-foot elevation change (that’s ~15k in both directions). These climbs and descents aren’t just on trails, and even the trails aren’t “candy ass trails”. They’re covered in roots, rocks, and trial gremlins ready to snatch you from below. The off-trail sections are climbs, scrambles, and a prayer as you slide down a cliff that you hope to catch a vine full of briars before you tumble over the edge. Oh, and the course changes every year, is printed on a vague cloth map the day prior (if you make it in time for packet pickup), and no GPS is allowed on the course.
The 2025 results speak for themselves: 20 finishers. 405 starters. Less than 5% finishing rate.
Building the Plan
After picking up my map on Friday and reconnecting with trail friends, I settled on a strategy: “Controlled Agression” for the first ~20 miles, then it was go time. I knew my approximate splits from last year: Yellow Gate to Chimney Top, Rat Jaw ascent and descent, and the out-and-back on Meth Lab and Testicle Specticle. Confused? IYKYK. And if you don’t, watch this. I ran the math: 20 miles in 6 hours to stay in it and leave 3.5-4 hours for the last sections.
A quick post-race analysis of the finisher times confirms that they completed the first ~20 miles in 6 hours, and only the top 3 finished the distance in three hours; everyone else took longer.
Nutrition and hydration were also top priorities.
Into the Race
Early on, I felt strong. On my climbs, I held an RPE (rate of perceived exertion) of 3-5 out of 10. In this effort, I was passing other runners. My breath was controlled and steady. My legs were strong. I ran, yes, ran up hills that I never thought I could, thinking the front runners are definitely running this; why shouldn’t I be? My breath was steady, my legs were strong, and I focused on my effort.
I still got stuck in conga lines for longer than I liked. It’s easy to fall into someone else’s rhythm and lose presence. My downhill running, better than last year, still lacked confidence, resulting in slower paces. Other runners passed me on descents and regained ground climbing, but I know experience will sharpen this.
At the prison aid station, I was an hour behind plan, but my confidence was still hanging on. My legs were there, but yet again, my stomach wasn’t. I managed hydration and sodium decently, but my calories lagged. For the whole race, I estimate I had ~55g/hour when I needed 70–90g. Each attempt out of the prison resulted in a gagging fit. I switched to small sips of fluids and kept moving, but I could feel my body beginning to fight me.
Leaving the prison, I slowed. I knew this feeling, and after feeling sorry for myself and beginning the real climbs, the top runners were starting to make their way back on the out-and-back. An unwritten rule, I stepped aside when I could and let them through, losing time. I got caught up in trail and time math, thinking about cutoffs and if I could even make it to the decision point cut time.
That’s when I caught myself. Last year, my mantra was pure grit: “There is no quit.” This year, one emerged in the moment: grace. I calmed myself. If I don’t make the cutoff today, that’s okay, I’ll keep moving, but I won’t let this race, this finish, or any race define me. The sun melted my heart. I softened and took a minute to collect myself.
My Decision
At the out-and-back turnaround, I knew my result: even if I made the decision point time cut, I wasn’t completing the last section in under three hours. The goal wasn’t ego. It wasn’t just about “no quit.” I looked at the table, and a gentleman said, “Do you want another Coke?” I nodded and smiled, sat down on the side of the road, defeated, and heard some runners exclaim, “Well, we can just enjoy this way back. Now it’s a fun run!”
I again felt unsettled. And that’s when it hit me. Not making the decision point cutoff was the easy way out. It was about running with intention, with joy, and with honesty. My heart softened, and I felt that spark again. I already knew my outcome, but I wouldn’t let a clock dictate my decision. My finish was going to be on my own terms.
I left the aid station and passed by a runner completely emptying his stomach: Olov. He reminded me to take smaller steps as we climbed uphill so I would stop less often. We pushed each other along.
Near the road back to the prison, I pushed my effort and caught back up to Olav after dropping behind him for a few minutes. We reached Laz, who cheerfully exclaimed, “You’ve got three minutes to reach the decision point!”
I smiled and told him, “As hard as it is, I’m taking the marathon today. I want to recover and be ready to perform at Little Dog in two weeks.” To my surprise, Olav said he would be there too.
Laz tried to tempt us: “You have three hours and it’s only 5.6 miles!” We laughed, turned toward the finish, and ran it in. Olav insisted I go ahead. To me, this wasn’t about racing; it was about the bond of finishing it together, but he encouraged me that I should finish based on more unwritten rules. Reluctantly, I gave in.
The Real Finish Line
Crossing that line, I felt confident with my decisions. I made the best choices that I could in the moment, with the right intentions. Because I can’t control the outcomes, I control the reasons behind my choices. I know I can improve my downhills, nutrition, and presence. I’ve grown in climbing, confidence, and pacing. But, most importantly, I know I’ve taken another step in balancing grit with grace.
Last year, grit carried me. This year, grace showed me how to let go, soften, and still finish strong. The real finish line wasn’t about the course; it was about growth.
Afterward, I stumbled across a post asking David Goggins, “When your body, mind, and spirit are breaking, what do you say to yourself?”
His answer, “What if I can pull off a f*cking miracle?”
That’s what I’ll carry forward. Because hope is vulnerable, that’s grace. And grit is what makes the miracle possible.
Until the Next. 🗺️⏳🏁
Ruck with Sam - Home 
Leave a reply to cloudclearly0933bec1eb Cancel reply