Jeff Colt reflects on the journey to and expectations of racing the Western States Endurance Run.

Like many journeys to the Western States Endurance Run, this one starts with a famous wrong turn. 

Jeff Colt, 31, from Carbondale, Colorado first heard about the legendary footrace and the wrong turn heard ‘round the world while working for the Appalachian Club in New Hampshire’s White Mountains. 

“The White Mountains have a long history of fastest known time efforts and I was soaking it up. That said, I didn’t really understand that there were other mountain and ultra running scenes happening elsewhere. I wasn’t someone who knew Kilian Jornet’s name,” says Colt. But, he was intrigued. 

That winter, he moved to Colorado’s Rocky Mountains and took a job at an outdoor industry PR firm. The first press release he ever helped publish was the one announcing Hoka’s sponsorship of a young up-and-comer named Jim Walmsley. 

“I read more into Jim, into Western States, and decided in December of 2016 that I was going to run Western States and get top 10,” says Colt. 

Colt had been running competitively since he was eight. He competed in the USATF Jr Olympics and Hershey track. His college cross-country career was less remarkable, and a feeling of self-doubt and not-enoughness permeated much of Colt’s running experience. 

It wasn’t until I really started running in the mountains that I started feeling something different, I felt alive, I felt strong, and I started believing in myself more

Jeff Colt

“It wasn’t until I really started running in the mountains that I started feeling something different, I felt alive, I felt strong, and I started believing in myself more,” says Colt. His passion for running was reignited in the granite-domed peaks and Red Spruce forests of the White Mountains. That flame was further fanned by Colt’s relocation to Colorado’s Elk Range, a loose grouping of mountains known primarily for their technicality, dramatic ridges and choss.

Don’t Let Your Dreams Be Dreams

Colt committed to making his dream of running Western States a reality. He doubled down on his training, the feeling of not being enough a motivational tailwind driving him to do better. 

In 2018, Colt toed the line at the Bandera 100k, a Golden Ticket race where the top runners get automatic entry to Western States. Colt had one goal: to walk away with a giant, golden ticket and entry to the race of his dreams. His fifth-place finish that year didn’t cut it. So, in 2019 he was back again with the same goal: get that ticket. He advanced to the podium, earning a third-place finish, one position shy of the much-coveted posterboard that would unlock the next step in his running ambitions. 

The COVID pandemic derailed his plans to run the Canyons 100k in 2020, and by 2021 Colt thought maybe, just maybe, the lottery gods would take pity on him and gift him an entry. No such luck. 

In February of 2022, Colt arrived in Phoenix with his dad, who the family affectionately refers to as “Race Day Rick,” for his penchant to shift into an ultra-competitive dad gear at races, to run the Black Canyons 100k. 

His training had been….variable. He emailed the race director a month out to see if he might be able to score a spot and got in with just two weeks of preparation (plus a work trip to Europe). He hadn’t scoped the course. Hadn’t put down a full training block. Expectations were low, and the lack of pressure freed Colt up to focus on his race strategy. 

When the gun went off, Colt let the frontrunners tear away into the desert while he hung back. His plan was to re-engage with the front of the field after a prominent creek crossing around mile 34. 

“At mile 34 and in ~20th place, I got to the creek and it was full of cow shit,” says Colt. 

He jumped in anyway. 

Colt moved up steadily throughout the day, into 7th place, then finally onto the podium and in a Golden Ticket position. 

“At the finish, I was so grateful for my Dad and his support. He looked at me and said “let’s go to States.” I knew I had to keep the dream going when I heard that,” says Colt. 

Colt walked away with a giant, Golden Ticket, the voice of not-enoughness momentarily quelled.

The Journey to States

Colt dove headlong into training. 

“I’ve never felt so fit,” says Colt. “I was experiencing some challenges in my personal life but worked really hard to compartmentalize (in a healthy way) my training focus and my emotional availability.”

Colt traveled out to Truckee, California, near the race’s start line in Olympic Valley to project sections of the course, subjecting his quads to the demanding descents and persistent climbs of the canyons. Perhaps it was the pounding, or just time spent on a trail that captures the imagination of so many runners: the exacting technicality and mystique of the high country, the formidable heat and quad-busting canyon descents, or the cruisey, 20 miles of relatively buttery singletrack that awaits anyone smart enough to solve the preceding puzzle. But Colt walked away with a renewed confidence and sense of commitment. 

“I returned home focused and felt like on my day, I could be in the top 5 at Western States. Everything was stacking up better than anticipated,” says Colt. “I was going to show my former self that I could one up a Top 10 performance and out-compete many of the best runners in the world.”

Eleven days before the Western States Endurance Run, Colt tested positive for Covid. For the next week, Colt was bed-ridden, riding out intense body aches, fever and chills. The final Saturday before the race, Colt scraped himself out of bed to test his lungs, and see if he needed to send the text he’d been dreading, telling his crew and family that he wouldn’t be running. 

After symptoms subsiding and an exploratory half-marathon in the alpine, Colt decided he felt good enough to race (he also consulted with his doctor, to be sure, who warned him of the potential risks of running in the wake of a Covid diagnosis.) 

“I love myself and I love my future self and I want to do the best things to set him up for success,” says Colt. “But I still wanted to race.”

“I honestly expected to have to drop out as soon as my body gave out and I had another coughing fit. The night before the race I laid down in bed and isolated every different muscle as I focused on my breath. I settled into the center of myself and thought about what dropping out would feel like, about my family and friends who traveled out to see me. I let the anxiety and fear dissolve,” says Colt. “All I could do was show up and run comfortably until something happened, with hopes that nothing would go wrong.”

Colt gave his crew the splits for the women’s course record, hoping to emulate the more conservative (read, smarter) tactics deployed by the front of the women’s field. Though Covid recovery had tempered his expectations, Colt believed he could run the trail from Olympic Valley to Auburn in under 17 hours, and just maybe, under 16. 

Race Day

Colt arrived at Foresthill in disbelief, and in gratitude that he was still running. 

“While I didn’t feel like I could race with anyone else, I knew I could keep going at my pace and I was keeping close to my target of 16:47,” says Colt. “The final 15 miles were all glory, so beautiful, and I was feeling good about myself.”

In 11th place, Colt was in hunting mode, a heat-seeking missile intent on picking off as many runners as possible so that he could squeeze into the top ten, the golden standard and unofficial podium at Western States. 

Colt crossed the finish line on the Placer County track in 16:51, just 16 minutes behind 10th place’s Scott Traer. In the end, Colt’s splits were off by two seconds per mile, a nearly perfectly executed race. 

“I had an objectively great day and 10 other guys also had great days – that’s special.”

“There are competing narratives, even in my own mind. I’m so grateful for my crew, my sponsors, my support system, the volunteers, and my own body for helping me get to the finish in such good shape,” says Colt. “I’ve told so many people how proud I am of what we accomplished on that day.”

Even so, that feeling of not-enoughness is loud in the face of an eleventh-place finish. 

“The weight of this 11th place finish has continued to sink my feet further into the earth, like quicksand,” says Colt.  “There are times I just can’t process it. All of these years, the vision I’ve had, I’ve believed that I can be in the top 10. I worked so hard to get to the starting line, I didn’t want to miss my opportunity for an automatic invite back to States. I try to remind myself that in the moment, while I was running, I couldn’t have changed much, but it’s still befuddling.”

In a race where coming in top-ten is the gold standard, coming in eleventh feels like being the first loser. Especially for an athlete who, had even one piece of the race puzzle shifted – an extra gel here, water there, one degree cooler here, one-tenth of a percent of a harder push –  could have resulted in a different result. In the days after a disappointing race, the day feels atomized: broken into a million disparate pieces, some moments of triumph, but also tons of tiny mistakes. It’s easy, necessary even to fixate on the missteps, though not to the point of extinguishing the small, hopeful flame that keeps us coming back. 

At the awards ceremony, Colt watched as the top ten competitors took their photo, trophy and buckles in hand. 

“I had seen that photo so many times on irunfar and the wser.org website. I had envisioned myself getting to shake my fellow competitors’ hands, to smile alongside them, to share in that hard effort,” says Colt.  “Instead I was in the hot sun, I didn’t get to shake their hands, and when they called me for my belt buckle, I wasn’t paying attention because of the distraction of disbelief settling in.”

The gap between expectations and reality was a chasm that no amount of post-race glow, and no belt buckle could bridge. The ultra-uninitiated will often try to reassure athletes that completing a 100 is objectively incredible (and it is!) and yet, the ability to fall short of one’s own expectations at such an incredible, superhuman feat is perhaps the greatest growing pain one can experience in the sport. 

“With my 11th place finish at Western States, I’ve been explicitly told by my family, friends, and some sponsors that I exceeded their expectations. That’s great and all, but in my head I know I can get Top 10 so I’m the one telling myself that it wasn’t enough,” says Colt. 

Colt still feels grateful. He still feels a surplus of love for the community, and most importantly, himself. 

“I love reliving the race – the smiling volunteers, the photographers out on course offering encouraging words in moments of calm, getting to meet some of these other runners, the miles I shared with my pacers, the sunrise and the sunset! It was awesome. I loved the experience. And simply put, I wish I had placed in the top 10. But I didn’t and I get to live with that.”

I love reliving the race – the smiling volunteers, the photographers out on course offering encouraging words in moments of calm, getting to meet some of these other runners, the miles I shared with my pacers, the sunrise and the sunset! It was awesome. I loved the experience. And simply put, I wish I had placed in the top 10. But I didn’t and I get to live with that

Jeff Colt

Knowing that you gave your best, and your best just wasn’t enough is a peculiar feeling. A prickly consolation prize, but a consolation nonetheless. The difference between a runner who finished in 11th place vs 10th at Western States is simultaneously small – just sixteen minutes – and enormous in a culture that places the highest value on those top ten positions. It’s especially hard when you believe wholeheartedly in that value assignation, too. 

“We are never alone. The same people that were there during my race are around after the race too. Our bodies get worked from these events,” says Colt. “After Western States, you’re facing down the longest days of summer and it can be easy to get restless, anxious, and thoughts can spiral. Thus here I am, talking about a race that I am proud of, that when I re-live brings me joy, yet I’m devastated.”