Ultrarunning is a sport of contrasts—an intersection of solitude and community, simplicity and spectacle. Nowhere is this duality more vivid than in the Old Dominion 100 and the Western States 100—two races that share a common ancestry yet now embody vastly different identities. Their shared origin mirrors a meiotic process, where a single lineage divides and diverges. Western States, injected with the DNA of commercialism and spectacle, has led the charge in reshaping ultrarunning, while Old Dominion remains steadfast in its grassroots ethos.
This year, I had the privilege of completing both races as part of the Grand Slam of Ultrarunning, a series that challenges runners to finish four of five iconic 100-mile races—Old Dominion, Vermont 100, Western States, Leadville and Wasatch—within a single summer. These races offered a unique perspective on how the sport has evolved, showcasing both its raw origins and its polished present.
Where It All Began
Born in the late 1970s, both Old Dominion and Western States were pioneers in ultrarunning. Old Dominion, established in 1979, was one of the original four 100-mile trail races, designed as a test of grit and self-reliance. Western States, launched in 1974, marked the dawn of ultrarunning’s appeal. These races were raw, experimental and deeply personal, challenging participants to endure what seemed impossible at the time.
At their core, these events embodied a spirit of adventure and resilience. Yet, like siblings separated at birth, they have grown into vastly different expressions of the same foundational ideals.
Western States: Leading the Evolution
As ultrarunning gained popularity, Western States embraced the change, evolving into the flagship event of modern ultrarunning. Its transition from grassroots event to global phenomenon has been fueled by sponsorships, live broadcasts and an ever-growing fanbase. Today, the race is more than an endurance event; it is a polished production, drawing runners and spectators from around the world.
This transformation was palpable the moment I arrived in Olympic Valley for the 2024 event. The energy at the starting line was electric—cowbells ringing, cameras flashing and throngs of supporters cheering runners on. Climbing the first few miles to the escarpment, I was met with a surreal wave of encouragement. Aid stations throughout the course offered a cornucopia of options, staffed by enthusiastic volunteers who anticipated a runner’s every need. By the time I crossed the finish line in Auburn, I was enveloped by a roaring crowd, with a camera documenting each step as I ran around the track to the finish.
The commercialization of ultrarunning, as epitomized by Western States, was inevitable. The sport’s growing popularity has drawn more sponsors, seen an increase in race fees and even attracted corporations eager to profit from its expansion. While this shift has made ultrarunning more visible and accessible, it has also transformed its ethos, shifting the focus from raw, gritty endurance within a small community, to a public spectacle and celebration of athleticism.
Old Dominion: Preserving the Spirit
In contrast, Old Dominion has resisted the pull of modernity, remaining true to its roots as a grassroots event. It is the sport of ultrarunning in its near original form—a test of self-reliance and grit. With no sponsors and a modest $175 entry fee, it eschews the trappings of commercialism. Aid stations, though plentiful, offer only the essentials: water, Gatorade, and simple foods. There are no gourmet spreads or branding banners—just what you need to get through the miles. And unlike many races, Old Dominion offers no bathrooms along the course. It’s just you and nature, doing what nature requires.
When I crossed the finish line at Old Dominion, the night was silent save for the gentle hum of crickets, a fitting serenade for a race that values introspection over spectacle. There wasn’t a single soul there to cheer me on—no roaring crowds, no cameras—just the quiet satisfaction of knowing I had endured. It was solitude distilled, a moment of quiet triumph in a world that rarely stops to listen.
Old Dominion’s steadfast adherence to its origins offers a counterpoint to Western States. It serves as a reminder that the heart of ultrarunning lies in its simplicity, in the quiet strength of individuals testing their limits.
A Split in the DNA of Ultrarunning
Like cells dividing in meiosis, ultrarunning’s DNA has split into two distinct forms. Western States carries the genes of commercialism and accessibility, transforming the sport into a global phenomenon. Old Dominion preserves the essence of its rugged past, resisting the forces of change to remain a true grassroots event.
This divergence isn’t necessarily a bad thing—it’s a testament to the adaptability and richness of ultrarunning and the heartiness of its participants. Western States is paving the way for the sport’s future, bringing it to a wider audience and setting new standards for organization and community engagement. Old Dominion anchors the sport in its past, offering a sanctuary for those who seek ultrarunning in one of its most unvarnished forms.
Bridging the Divide
For me, experiencing both races in the same year as part of the Grand Slam was transformative. Western States showed me the power of an internationally scaled community, the joy of sharing the journey with an abundance of others and the electrifying energy of a global stage. Old Dominion reminded me of the beauty of simplicity, the value of solitude and the satisfaction of running for the sheer love of it. Together, these races embody the full spectrum of ultrarunning’s evolution.
No matter how commercialized ultrarunning becomes, its core simplicity remains accessible to those who seek it. At its heart, ultrarunning is still about lacing up a pair of shoes, running long distances and drinking from mountain streams and springs. It is, and always will be, one of the simplest sports in existence.
As the sport continues to grow, we must honor both sides of this dichotomy. Western States pushes us forward, showing what ultrarunning can become, while Old Dominion keeps us grounded, reminding us where it all began. The beauty of ultrarunning lies not in choosing one over the other, but in embracing the tension between them—a balance of past and future, simplicity and spectacle, isolation and connection.