This article was originally published in the October/November 2025 issue of UltraRunning Magazine. Subscribe today for similar features on ultra training, racing and more.
When you sign up for a race, you’re signing up for an adventure—not just the distance from the start line to the finish, but the journey leading up to it. The race becomes a celebration of that journey. It’s the cherry on top of a cake that, at its core, doesn’t need a cherry—it’s a nice-to-have, not a need-to-have.
The process—the training, the breaking down of muscles, the building up of confidence, the discovery of nutrition methods, the places you see and the people you meet—are all ingredients of the best kind of adventure.
This year, I had the opportunity to be a part of Ryan Sandes’ Cocodona 250-mile pilgrimage from Phoenix to Flagstaff, Arizona. The race website describes it as a “life-altering ultramarathon adventure.” Notably, the word “race” is missing. And for good reason.
What I witnessed during my 62 hours pacing, crewing and observing wasn’t a competition in the traditional sense. It was a shared journey—athletes and crews worked together, supporting each other, turning strangers into friends and friends into family. From the Sonoran Desert to the mountain trails, this was a collective experience rooted in connection.
Adventures are best when shared.
My dad sent me a quote before I took on a solo FKT attempt during COVID which was a 150-mile run through the Australian outback along the Larapinta Trail. It read, “Life is either a daring adventure or nothing at all.” That line stuck with me as I navigated gnarly terrain and challenging conditions over 52 hours. I watched the sun set and rise, saw clouds gather and scatter and just focused on putting one foot in front of the other as I moved across the West MacDonnell Ranges.
I felt like I was squeezing every drop out of life. It felt long in moments, but in its entirety, it flew by.
Adventure doesn’t always have to be epic or extreme. It can be found in everyday choices: taking a new route, signing up for a race, visiting a new place or trekking to a new café. When we type our names into a race entry form and hit submit, we’re committing to more than a single day—we’re signing up for everything that comes before, during and after: a new adventure, a slight pivot off the beaten path and a reminder that the adventure of life never stops.
Ryan Sandes has lived a life full of adventure. You can see it in the scrapes and scars on his legs, and in that twinkle of quiet confidence when he stares down something as big as Cocodona. He is calm, collected and focused on controlling the controllables.
My first pacing shift with Ryan began at the top of one of the race’s most significant climbs. It was pouring rain at the tail end of the first night. We trucked through thick, clingy mud—laughing at the absurdity of it all, cursing the dark clouds for hiding the Arizona sun, which we’d trained for so carefully.
As the world lightened and a new day unfolded, I played him a voice message from his wife, Vanessa. I saw him shed a few tears, laugh at his decision to take on something this hard, and then rally with the reminder that he wasn’t alone.
Though it felt like it was just the two of us slogging through the mud, support was pouring in from all over the world.
Five hours later, when I handed him off, he was a new man. The ground had firmed. The clouds had parted. Spirits lifted. The smile returned. We still call that night the one where we went from being friends to muddy best buddies—a chapter in an unforgettable adventure.
The final time I picked up Ryan was with just 20 miles to go. He’d slept only 10 minutes. I’d had maybe an hour more. Together, we faced the final and highest climb: Mount Elden.
“They say you live life in an ultra,” he said. “I feel like I’ve lived five lives and aged 20.”
He gritted, grunted and grimaced every step on his way up and down the mountain. As we hit the pavement on the way into town, I watched him crack, crumble, compose himself, straighten his lopsided Red Bull headband and become the true professional once again.
Then, he crossed the finish line—another adventure added to a life being well and truly squeezed. I felt honored to be his adventure buddy.