My fist pacing experience was so much fun and extremely rewarding. For the first time in my running journey, I wasn’t running to achieve a personal goal, but to help someone else achieve theirs.

When Rob asked me a few weeks ago to share the last 25 miles of the Rabid Raccoon 100 with him, I instantly said yes because he was instrumental in helping me crush my first 50 miler back in 2020. I’ve wanted to return the favor for a long time.

Congrats on crushing your first 100k, Rob. Thanks for asking me to join the adventure. It was an honor to share those miles with you.

I’ve run 13.1 miles countless times. I’ve done it in fun runs, training runs and as part of longer races like marathons and ultras. But as I get older, I’m growing to love the half marathon distance as race in and of itself. The training is (usually) manageable. The distance lends itself well to both building speed and mental strength. And there is definitely still some risk of things going south on you if you don’t prepare and execute well.

Thankfully, my race today at the Pittsburgh Half Marathon is evidence of preparing and executing well:

• I PR’d with a time of 1 hour, 39 minutes, 23 seconds
• My average pace was 07:31 minutes per mile
• I placed 698th overall in a field of 14,011 runners
• In my 45-49 age group, I placed 26th out of 949 runners

I’m really pleased with this result. My only goal going into this race was to beat 1 hour, 45 minutes – the time I clocked at the last half marathon I ran back in December. Shaving 6 minutes off that time is more than I was expecting, but I guess all those interval workouts and tempo runs payed off!

The weather might have helped. It was a crisp 34º at the start. Once the sun came out it warmed up a bit, but for the most part the cool temps prevented me from running hot.

The vibes of the race may have also played a part. Each neighborhood - from the Strip District to the North Side to the West End to the South Side – brought the energy and cheering. There was rarely a point during the 13 miles that didn’t have a group of people ringing cowbells, shouting encouragement, and sending positivity. When I started to feel the fatigue around mile 11, those vibes definitely helped me bring it home.

So, in a nutshell, I’m now hooked on the half marathon and looking forward to finding another one to train up for. If there’s a race on the eastern seaboard you absolutely love, hit me up.

My ‘breaking 1:45’ half marathon plan called for 7 miles with intervals this morning. It was 15ºF when I left the house to stretch. I wanted nothing more than to stay indoors with a warm cup of coffee and ease into my day.

The icy air froze my nose hairs as I started the warm-up. An easy 2 mile warm-up still requires you to inhale at rhythm. You know that feeling when you’re about to sneeze but can’t? That’s what the first few breaths felt like.

I passed another runner going the opposite way during the warm-up. We gave each other a nod, acknowledging each other’s dedication and crazy.

Mile 3. Go time. My interval target was 7:00/mile. Within a few yards of starting, my lungs felt like they were on fire as I gulped frigid breath to stay on pace. Ladders, up and down. 400, 800, 1200.

It was a helluva workout. I’m hoping these tough speedwork sessions pay off in May.

Yesterday I laced up my running shoes and toed the line at the Nittany Valley Half Marathon. It was my first race since March 2024 and I was very intrigued to find out if these old bones still had some race left in them. Turns out, they do and I’m stoked on my performance.

Before we get into the race itself, a bit about why I chose to run this particular event. You may remember that my son is a first year student at Penn State. Well, the start and finish line for the Nittany Valley Half is basically across the street from his dorm, so this was really just a great excuse for me to get up early, drive a few hours to University Park, run 13.1 miles, watch the Steelers game with him over an extended lunch, and then drive home. It turned out to be the perfect day.

When I signed up for the race back in October, I had no expectations for pace or time. I just wanted a goal & event to strive for that might help me get back into a training regimen. As I stood at the starting line yesterday, I reaffirmed to myself that there were no expectations and I gave myself permission to run strong & run with curiosity.

The airhorn sounded and we were off. The big dawgs took off and quickly separated themselves from everyone, probably running sub-6 pace. This wasn’t my first rodeo, so I knew the importance of not starting off too fast. I settled into a comfortable 8:30 min/mile pace and felt great over the first mile. I maintained that pace over the first 5k and felt I could drop the hammer some more, but remembered there were still 10 miles to go, so I stayed solid at 8:30 min/mile.

I ran miles 4 to 7 with a young kid, who couldn’t have been older than 15. Must’ve been his first race because his family and friends seemed to be following him throughout those miles, cheering on teenager Adam at each opportunity. He started sucking wind between six & seven (see what I did there?) so I dropped him. Hope the young buck finished strong.

I started to feel some fatigue between mile 7, and wondered if may have gone out too fast. This course saves the hills for the final few miles and I decided to go big or go home on the first significant climb at mile 9. Being a trail runner, I think the hills are where I tend to shine. I’m not the fastest on the flats or downhills, but I can crush a 10% incline. So I went for it on the mile 9 climb and picked off about 10 runners struggling with the elevation.

As I neared the top, legs burning & lungs pulsing, I questioned what I had done. I was really feeling it with 5k left. Cresting the hill, I saw the semblance of an angel. This angel took the form of a woman working an unofficial aid station, handing out orange slices to runners. Yes! Just what I needed to power me through the last 5k. I dipped my hand into her Tupperware and retrieved the glory.

Four mandarin wedges and I was back to life.

By mile 11, I started picking up the pace into the sevens. I knew there was one major climb left at mile 12 that could be my opportunity to jump some more places. I was right. The course gains about 200 feet of elevation over the last mile. That’s nothing for a trail runner, so I turned it on and must’ve picked off nearly 20 runners on that climb. The most memorable moment of the race for me came at the top of that final climb, when a course official yelled out, “Hell yeah graybeard! Crushin’ it! Way to go!”

Approaching the finish, I spotted my son in the crowd and got to give him a fist-bump as I approached the line.

I crossed the finish line with an official time of 1 hour, 45 minutes and 8 seconds – which translates to an overall pace of 8:07. Having had no expectations at the start, I’m super happy and proud of this effort, particularly being able to run based on feel and finish strong.

For some people, attending church on Sunday morning is the spiritual space they need in their lives. I have never been one of those people, but I am someone who needs quiet, reflection and beauty to feel spiritually fulfilled. I find my spiritual space in the nature.

This morning, as the church bells atop North Park rang to signal 8am, I started out on the Green trail. It was foggy and humid, but once I got into the woods, the fog added a layer of mystery to the familiar trail.

As I moved from the Green trail to the Orange trail, I passed a father and young son just starting out on a Father’s Day hike. They were the only two humans I’d see on the trails this morning.

I love solo runs like this. They ground me in a way I presume church or religion does for others. I listen closely to the sound of my breath and the non-rhythms of my footfalls. My mind wanders wherever it wants to wander, much like my body in these trail running moments.

After an hour or so in this zen-like state, I emerged from the woods into the church parking lot refreshed, aware and at ease — a spiritual space those now entering the church will likely have in about an hour.

My friend Rob calls it my “no excuses jacket.” Every time I show up for a run when the weather is doing its worst—sleeting, pouring, or threatening something even more unpleasant—I’m wearing the same beat-up, greenish-yellow Marmot Precip jacket that’s been my constant companion for years.

It’s not the most technical piece of gear, and it’s certainly not the most stylish. But it has one quality that matters more than anything else: I trust it completely. Through Christmas Eve runs at -11 degrees, winter solstice adventures on the Rachel Carson trail in 18 inches of snow, and just last week when sheets of summer rain turned my morning neighborhood run into an impromptu swimming session, this jacket has never let me down.

The durability isn’t just about the fabric—it’s about the memories woven into every mile. This jacket has been with me through breakthrough runs and breaking points, through moments of clarity on quiet trails and the grinding determination of longer efforts. It’s become more than gear; it’s become a symbol of showing up.

But here’s what I’ve realized: the real power of the “no excuses jacket” isn’t protection from the elements. It’s protection from my own resistance to discomfort.

Weather is just the most obvious form of resistance we face. The cold whispers that it’s too harsh to go out. The rain suggests that maybe today isn’t the day. The wind argues that conditions aren’t ideal. My jacket doesn’t eliminate these conditions—it just gives me the confidence to move through them anyway.

This same principle has started showing up in other areas of my life, particularly in those moments that require a different kind of courage. Like having uncomfortable conversations with team members about performance issues. Or pushing back on a decision I disagree with in a leadership meeting. Or admitting I was wrong about a product direction we’ve been pursuing for months.

These situations don’t require literal weather protection, but they need the same kind of shield—something that helps me face discomfort rather than avoid it. Sometimes it’s preparation that serves as my jacket: spending extra time thinking through a difficult conversation before having it. Sometimes it’s a mindset: reminding myself that avoiding hard truths doesn’t make them disappear. And sometimes it’s simply the accumulated confidence that comes from having weathered difficult moments before.

This isn’t about toxic productivity or grinding through everything that feels hard. There’s a difference between productive discomfort and destructive suffering. The “No Excuses Jacket” philosophy is about being brave enough to engage with the things that matter, even when they feel uncomfortable. It’s about recognizing that the best runs often happen in the worst weather, and the most important conversations often happen when they feel the hardest to have.

The jacket reminds me that I have more capacity for discomfort than I usually give myself credit for. That the anticipation of harsh conditions is often worse than the conditions themselves. That showing up consistently, regardless of circumstances, builds a different kind of strength than any training plan could provide.

There’s something grounding about having a piece of gear—or a practice, or a mindset—that you trust completely. It becomes an anchor point, a reminder that you’ve faced uncertainty before and made it through. My beat-up Precip has become a tangible representation of the principle that we’re more resilient than we think, and that the best version of ourselves often emerges not in perfect conditions, but in spite of imperfect ones.

I recently stumbled upon this post from Andy Jones-Wilkins about aging & running, and it prompted me to reflect on my own experience as a 40-something runner.

Needless to say, I’m not as speedy as I once was and my body needs longer & more frequent recovery than it did even just a couple years ago. The repetitive motion and high-impact is starting to wreak havoc on my joints and tendons. It’s taken a long time, lots of soul searching and some avoidable injuries, but it’s a truth I’ve come to accept embrace. The fact that I can’t crush 10 milers seven days a week or jump into a random marathon on a few days notice anymore has opened up a variety of new options for me to stay engaged with my physicality on a daily basis.

The most notable non-running activity I’ve grown to love is bouldering. I find it to be fundamentally different than running, however it requires a similar mindset. Bouldering and running are equally mental and physical challenges. And in my opinion, the mental challenges are always more interesting problems to solve. In running and climbing there will be times when you want to quit or bail, but mental strength will get you through.

Of course, as I get older, cycling also plays a bigger role in my life due to its low-impact cardio benefits. We’re lucky to have a great trail system here in Pittsburgh, upon which I can bike commute when I can’t work from home. I’m not a fan of riding roads due to safety issues, so the trail system is clutch and allows for some epic rides. One of these summers I want to bike pack from Pittsburgh to Washington DC on the Great Allegheny Passage.

I’ve never been into lifting weights or getting swole, but lowering my running mileage has afforded me the opportunity to begin a strength training routine. I mostly stick to bodyweight (pushups, sit-ups and pull-ups) and kettlebell/mace exercises but I’m really feeling the benefits. I feel lighter on my feet. I feel like I have more agency in my movements.

I still think of myself as primarily a runner. I’m out there 4-5 days a week now, with notably lower mileage. And for the first time in a long while, I feel absolutely wonderful when I finish a run. That’s the point of all this, right? Embracing the changes that come with aging requires work, but it’s work I’m excited to take on and continue as a practice.

Running trails in Western Pennsylvania in the Fall can be glorious. Crisp temperatures, bright sun and fall colors combine to create ideal running conditions. That said, hitting the trails this time of year can also be somewhat treacherous. The changing leaves are beautiful, but the falling leaves cover the single track, concealing the rocks and roots underfoot.

I’ve been running in this area for years, and I know this. As I was cruising the White trail in North Park yesterday, a hidden rock caught my toe and I went down hard. Head first. Superman style. The fall left me with a nice gash on my knee and trail rash on my shin, hip and forearm. My right side, which took the brunt of the impact, is quite sore today.

Luckily I’ve learned how to fall to minimize significant harm. Had I not ’tucked and rolled,’ this one could have been much worse. Broken wrist, probably. A fall like this comes with the territory of trail running, and is a good reminder to stay present and mindful with footfalls this time of year in the northeast.

We have some pretty technical trails here in Western Pennsylvania and I’m usually reliable for a good fall every few months. In my mind, it goes with the territory of running on top of rocks, roots and mud. Even the best and most accomplished trail runners bite the dust. It’s been quite some time – over a year I think – since I’ve taken a digger on a run, but today was my day!

I’ve been getting out early, pre-dawn with a head torch, and pushing my pace on some faster, shorter jaunts. Today, however, I decided at the start that I’d take a relaxed route and go super easy.

The first mile was awesome. Air was a warm 67º F and it hasn’t rained in a week so the trails were perfection. Feeling excellent, I entered the section of North Park’s red trail where the tall pines pierce the sky like wooden daggers.

Then I felt it. You know what I’m talking about. I felt my toe catch on an object underfoot and everything went into slow motion. In no particular order all of the following rushed through my brain prior to my hitting the ground:

• Was that a rock or a root?
• I wonder if I can save this?
• Nope, not gonna be able to save this.
• Oh man, this is a rocky section of trail.
• Shit, this is gonna hurt.
• How should I land? Brace with hands or tuck-n-roll?
• When is the last time I fell? I can’t remember.
• Ground approaching, prepare for impact.
• FUUUUU….

And then it was over. There I was, layed out in the wooded darkness, headlamp shining vertically up into the emerging sky, with a mouthful of trail. I spit out the dirt, brushed myself off and took a moment to assess my condition.

All good. Nothing broken. No blood. All I have to show is a few scratches on my knee and elbow, and a bruised ego. Hopefully I’m good for at least a year until the next one.

This past weekend on March 17, I ran what has become my favorite trail race: The Rabid Raccoon Midnight Half Marathon. It’s one of several distances – 100M, 100K, 13.1 morning & 13.1 midnight – offered by Wolf Creek Race Management under the Rabid Raccoon banner. The concept is simple: Show up at midnight and run 13.1 miles through the woods in complete darkness while dealing with serious elevation, unpredictable weather conditions and sleep deprivation. How awesome is that!

My first experience with this race was last year in 2023. Temperatures were brutal, 19º at the start and 13º at the finish. My water froze within the first few miles, the course was extremely challenging, and after running for a few hours in the woods I was pretty close to hypothermic. But I persevered and finished in the top ten. So when registration opened up for the 2024 race, I had to toe the line again.

There were some changes implemented this year, however. The race location was moved to Brady’s Run, a quaint community park located in Beaver Falls. The race was also changed to a half-marathon, when in previous years it was a 20 miler.

Having done a bit of recon with Rob a few weeks ahead of time to understand the course, I made a couple mental notes and developed a simple strategy for my race:

• The first ~5 miles are pretty flat and take place on a mix of road, crushed limestone, grass and jeep trails. I planned to take these quickly, but not red line. If I could keep these miles at or just under 8-minute miles, I thought I’d be in good pack position going into the single track with enough gas to push my tempo for the remaining 8 miles.
• There are three significant climbs on the course: mile 5, mile 9 and mile 11. I planned to be conservative on the climbs and then bomb the flats & downhills. It is all downhill for the last 2 miles after the final climb at 11. If I kept enough gas in the tank to open up the throttle on those final 2 miles, it could be a very strong finish.

Toeing the line this year was a very different experience than last year. First of all, temperatures were in the 50s (balmy!) with showers slated for just after midnight. Second, the start and finish lines were inside the Brady’s Run recreation center, which gave people a nice place to hang out before and after the race.

About five minutes before midnight, Rob and I entered the starting corral with 121 other runners. After some pre-race announcements and the national anthem, the airhorn sounded and we were off.

Out of the gate I hung with the middle of the pack in order to settle into a groove. After about a quarter mile, I looked at my watch and noticed we were cruising at about a 9 minute mile. I decided to pick it up to 7:45 and this started to create some separation from the pack. At this time it looked that there were about 10 runners ahead – 3 or 4 way out front (probably running sub-7) and 5 or 6 within striking distance.

I held strong and reserved at 8:15 through the first 2.5 miles and picked off 2 or 3 runners during that road section. At mile 2.5 there was a small climb to another 2.5 miles of jeep trail. Once on the jeep road, I was surprised to find flow again right at 7:45. This is where it started to get muddy; there were some splashy sections and some peanut buttery sections. Between mile 3 and 5, there was a guy drafting me, breathing super heavy. I got a sense he was pushing pretty hard to keep up.

The Breather and I ran together all the way to the mile 5 climb. My strategy was to power hike the three major climbs so once we were on the first, I settled into a driving power hike. The Breather had different intentions so I let him pass and he continued to run up the incline.

With The Breather now pulling away from me, I found myself in the situation I remembered from the previous year: just me – alone – in the middle of the woods, in the middle of the night.

At the top of the hill, I kicked it back into gear and settled into a moderate trail pace over the flowy single track. I basically ran the next 8 miles completely alone, except for some 100-milers who were in the zombie phase of their adventures.

There was a great stream crossing just before the mile 9 climb. I remembered this stream from the recon run with Rob, but was surprised to find it as high as it was. The water was up to my thigh at one point.

The climbs at 9 and 11 went as planned but the rain started somewhere along the way and the mud was getting progressively worse. There was one section on the final climb where I was literally calf-deep in mud and thought my Lone Peaks were going to get sucked off my feet. Quicksand-type stuff.

As I neared the top of the final climb, I saw some headlamps ahead. Still feeling good and with only 2 miles left, I turned on the jets. I saw myself gaining on one of the runners ahead who was walking. It was The Breather! I took him pretty quickly and locked in on two more headlamps ahead.

By this time I was pushing pretty hard and I didn’t seem to be gaining on the two runners ahead. I kept pushing but never caught them. They must have saved some juice for their kick as well. The final descent to the rec center and finish line was pretty dicey with all the mud and rain, but I traversed it without issue and sprinted inside to finish the race in 2 hours 6 minutes. I placed 6th overall.

I love this race and recommend it to anyone who enjoys unique experiences and challenges in their adventures. Kudos to Wolf Creek on the success. I’ll definitely be back next year and will likely make this an annual tradition moving forward.

On this #MedalMonday, I’m posting an update for all of you who donated to to my Pittsburgh Marathon Run for a Reason cause, UPMC Children’s Hospital Foundation.

TL;DR: It was not my day time-wise, but it became – hands down – my most memorable and meaningful race.

The first 15 miles were perfection. I felt great, held to my target pace and kept up with my nutrition. Then at mile 16, my legs started cramping and I knew I was in for a long haul for the remaining 10 miles. Between 16 and 19 my pace slowed significantly. I could run for a bit, but then my legs would seize and I’d need to stop and work out the cramps.

My family was positioned at 19 to spectate. When I saw them, they knew I was struggling. The First Aid volunteers at 19 gave me two syringes of sodium chloride to help with the cramping and I was seriously considering dropping.

While talking it through with First Aid, I saw my son Elliott stretching out his quads. He then came over and said in so many words, “You’re not dropping. I’ll run you in. Let’s do the last 7 together.”

So we did. We went slow and I suffered. But he kept my spirits up and motivated me to push forward, even offering to put some Goggins clips on repeat (Stay Hard!). Those last 7 were the most meaningful miles I’ve run to date. It wasn’t pretty, but we got it done.

Very poetic too, that I was fundraising for Children’s Hospital, which cared for Elliott the first few days after he was born. All in all, we raised more than $1,600 for UPMC Children’s Hospital. Thank you to everyone who donated. Your support means so much.

On this #MedalMonday, I’m posting an update for all of you who donated to to my Pittsburgh Marathon Run for a Reason cause, UPMC Children’s Hospital Foundation.

TL;DR: It was not my day time-wise, but it became – hands down – my most memorable and meaningful race.

The first 15 miles were perfection. I felt great, held to my target pace and kept up with my nutrition. Then at mile 16, my legs started cramping and I knew I was in for a long haul for the remaining 10 miles. Between 16 and 19 my pace slowed significantly. I could run for a bit, but then my legs would seize and I’d need to stop and work out the cramps.

My family was positioned at 19 to spectate. When I saw them, they knew I was struggling. The First Aid volunteers at 19 gave me two syringes of sodium chloride to help with the cramping and I was seriously considering dropping.

While talking it through with First Aid, I saw my son Elliott stretching out his quads. He then came over and said in so many words, “You’re not dropping. I’ll run you in. Let’s do the last 7 together.”

So we did. We went slow and I suffered. But he kept my spirits up and motivated me to push forward, even offering to put some Goggins clips on repeat (Stay Hard!). Those last 7 were the most meaningful miles I’ve run to date. It wasn’t pretty, but we got it done.

Very poetic too, that I was fundraising for Children’s Hospital, which cared for Elliott the first few days after he was born. All in all, we raised more than $1,600 for UPMC Children’s Hospital. Thank you to everyone who donated. Your support means so much.

Made it 46 miles of the 71. Stomach went south at Seven Springs and I could not recover. Pushed on for another 20 miles but decided to call it at Rt. 31 aid station. Here’s a pic of me just as it was starting to get bad.

Decided to give this a go as my last epic training run ahead of Laurel Highlands Ultra in June. The day before, I dropped supplies at Bull Creek Road (10 miles), Springdale High School (20 miles), Emmerling Park (28 miles) and North Park (38 miles). Then I parked my car at the North Pittsburgh chamber of commerce near the Western Terminus in Wexford.

The morning of the run, I caught a Uber up to Natrona Heights. I left the Eastern Terminus shortly before 7am. Nutrition consisted of Tailwind, Honey Stinger waffles, potato chips, Twinkies, Mt. Dew and Clementine oranges. The run went pretty much as planned, which is an exception when it comes to ultras. Got pretty low around mile 30 but pushed through and finished with an elapsed time around 11 1/2 hours.

This trail is a beast and a true gem of the Pittsburgh area!

1st annual winter solstice run on the Rachel Carson Trail.

I’m officially an ultrarunner. Fire on the Mountain 50k was amazing. Finish time: 6 hours, 46 minutes.