Western States 100: 13:51:08

Two weeks ahead of the 2026 Western States 100 I wrote a piece wondering whether I’d be prepared enough to run my first 100 miler. Two days after the race, I might have some answers.

My experience at the 2026 Western States 100 served as a reminder that things don’t need to be perfect, they just need to be good enough. As athletes, we spend way too much time questioning the quality of our training, wondering whether what we’re doing is actually enough to meet the expectations we have for our performances. It’s hard to define exactly what “good enough” means, because it inevitably changes depending on the person and the situation. But objectively, if you can consistently put together a preparation that includes 25+ hours of training per week, with as much as 18h of quality running, including intensity and workouts, plus cycling and strength work, plus all the other things that my life is also about, that’s probably good enough especially if those numbers already proved to work in the past.

We are our best data points, but at the same time we use our best days as the reference for how we expect to perform all the time, under every circumstance. Which is just the wrong expectation. So I hope I can improve a bit here next time, at least to have more confidence in my own abilities.

Pointed Rocks - mile 94

It’s also a reminder that results are the product of years of hard work and consistency more than a single preparation. The training leading up to a race absolutely matters and is critical to determine the outcome, but the true foundation of performance is much deeper and longer lasting. We get caught up in the details because we still have to go through every minute and every mile of our preparation, and we tend to lose touch with the long term trajectory that we are on, even though that trajectory is the simple byproduct of the accumulation of all those miles and minutes.

While my CCC experience, in retrospect, felt like the perfect preparation and result, my first ever Western States was the opposite: I had to hold together all the uncertainty, the missing pieces, the discomfort, injuries and struggles to produce something good. Most of the time, our experiences are a lot more similar to my Western States this year, with CCC being the exception. Deep down, we’d love to believe that we are the kind of people who are always capable of putting everything together and delivering, but the reality is different. CCC may have been an outlier, as difficult as it is for me to admit. Western States feels like a better representation of the paths that normally lead to an outcome, regardless if it’s positive or negative. The fact that my WSER result was by every standard a success (2nd place, fastest debut ever and 2nd fastest time ever, second man in history to run sub 14h) allows me to use it as an example for what I’m trying to explain, without leaving much room for a counterargument. But in reality, the results itself is not the point.

Pre race breakfast

The start felt intense but controlled at the same time. Considering the distance that we had to cover I was surprised by how fast we ran up the Escarpment, but that’s just how it is when there’s enough density in the field and nobody is willing to slow down.

On the climb up to Emigrant Pass, I allowed myself to push the pace just enough to get to the front of the race and experience the feeling of leading the Western States 100 for a few seconds. Little did I know that, 8-something hours later, I would be back at the front of the race, this time for over 25 miles.

I went through Emigrant Pass, where the dirt road merges into a trail, in third place behind Kilian Jornet and in front of Jim Walmsley. Hans Troyer took off immediately on the downhill, I preferred to take it a bit more relaxed after running in low zone 3 for most of the climb. Western States can be divided in roughly three sections: the High Country (0-48km, start to Robinson Flat), the Canyons (48-100km, Robinson Flat to Foresthill) and the River (100-161km, Foresthill to the finish).

The high country is beautiful and by far my favorite part of the course, even thought there’s a different kind of beauty in every section. The first 20 miles are probably more technical than most people think: the trail is narrow and sometimes full of debris, rocks and water runoff from the snow. It’s not particularly difficult but it requires attention and focus especially if you’re running fast. I have not been 100% comfortable running downhill after my accident at Black Canyon and after my wrist fracture in April, so I felt like I was holding back and unable to run smoothly, while spending a lot of mental energy to pay attention to where I was putting my feet.

Lion’s Ridge (km 17) came by quickly; nobody took time to stop and we just run through the aid station. The four person group with Kilian, Jim, Vincent and I didn’t last very long as Kilian started to fade; we would never see him again.

At some point between Lion’s Ridge and Duncan Canyon I told Vincent and Jim that “I think we’re running this 100m race at 100k pace. We’re going to get in trouble”. We were definitely burning too many matches, at least I was. I wondered how Jim was feeling, for Vincent, I knew the pace was also pretty hot. I met my Californian crew (Leo and Laurel) at Duncan, swapped vests and I was out of the aid station in a matter of seconds.

Approaching Robinson Flat with Vincent. The high country is beautiful

The section between Duncan and Robinson Flat is pristine and I really enjoyed the infamous and sometimes dreaded climb up to Robinson Flat. Jim decided to push the pace even more and we basically closed the gap on Hans as we entered the aid station. I met Tito and Rita for the first time there; our split was 4:07:56, 12 minutes faster than record pace.

From Robinson Flat, the race becomes very runnable until Last Chance, in a mix of gravel, dirt roads and flowy singletrack, with a net downhill. Hans disappeared ahead of us again; Vincent and I caught up with Jim and asked how he was feeling. He said that his knee was starting to cause some issues and that he was looking forward to the Canyons to get a break from the very runnable terrain. We cheered him on but we both understood that his race would be heavily affected.

I met Leo and Laurel again at Dusty Corners, reassured them I was doing okay despite the spicy pace, and kept moving forward. Vincent stopped briefly for bathroom break and I got a small gap on him right before the steep downhill to Swinging Bridge. The canyon felt endless as I continued descending without ever seeing the bridge, only hearing the creek at the bottom. Half way down I heard someone coming from behind; I was convinced it was Vincent but holy shit it surprised to see Jim literally bouncing ahead of me on the steep downhill. I was happy to see him look comfortable and full of energy like he had just started the race, even though we were already close to 50 miles in.

Swinging Bridge is the turnaround point of The Canyons 100k: the race starts at China Wall Trailhead, climbs up to Deadwood Cemetery and Devil’s Thumb, then descends to Swinging Bridge before following the Western States Trail all the way to Rucky Chucky. I was about to hit the section I ran a little over a year earlier, in a memorable day that was my 100k debut. I got pretty excited by how things were unfolding and I was also feeling really strong on the climbs. I settled into a hard but comfortable rhythm and ran every step of the climb. After the race, I was surprised to see that I ran the segment Swinging Bridge - Devil’s Thumb 38 seconds faster that I had done at Canyons, that gives good a measure of the effort. I caught back up with Jim, he told me I was moving really well and pushed me ahead of him. I’d never see him again.

The only regret I had from the day is that it would have been fun to race a healthy Jim. Unfortunately it was not the case and he was forced to drop out from the race at Michigan Bluff. Jim deserved the chance to be a part of what turned out to be an historic day for our sport. Western States is his race, his territory and creature. I’d argue he knows it better than anybody else and, in retrospect, having such a good performance without him felt like taking something away from him, mostly because he owned the CR. Jim is a special human, he’s a role model and a huge inspiration for me. I wouldn’t have had the day that I had without him and without his help during my preparation, and the race was so fun until we were together.

Descending into El Dorado, I started making projection and doing maths to gauge my chances to make it to the finish maintaining the current pace. I am not sure what those calculations led to, but at least they kept my mind busy for a few miles. Approaching the Michigan Bluff aid station, I smiled as i saw a spot with maybe 40 photographers perched on the side of the hill above the trail, all basically taking the same photo. This photo:

sì sì sì

At Michigan Bluff I told my crew I was tired but still running well. 10km later, at Foresthill, I expressed clear doubts whether I could make it to the finish and cried a bit at the aid station. I had closed the gap on Hans, taking advantage of my running skills on the rolling terrain between the two aid station, and now we were basically entering Foresthill together as the leaders of the Western States 100. The Hoka tent was set up before the main aid station with the crowd that gathers along the road for about 1km: a smart move, so I could take my time with my crew and get all the energy from the fans after the aid station stop and dive into Cal Street for another 2+ hours of basically solo running.

At that point I wish I had a pacer because I was starting to get bored and it would have been fun to just be able to talk to someone or receive some encouragement. Instead, the camera runner following me didn’t seem too interested in chatting (maybe he wasn’t allowed). I basically only told him at some point that I needed a quick bathroom stop and if he could please turn the camera away from me.

I made the mistake to not refill at least two of the three flasks I was carrying at Cal 2, and started to get really thirsty before Rucky Chucky. Temperatures were rising, still very cool by WSER standards but the sun exposure was intense and so was my sweat rate. I got to Rucky Chucky, mile 78, still running well but in fairly poor conditions. I took my time with Rita and Tito, had a reset, took a bite of an Enervit Performance bar, rinsed my mouth with menthol and water, and I was sent wobbling down the rocky steps into the river. I had studied the river crossing strategies and by far the most efficient one seemed to be putting on a life jacket so I could just float, rest my legs and drag myself across the river using the rope installed by the volunteers. The video that was later shared on social media of me crossing the river received a shit ton of comments and criticism, and is a good example of the urge some people have to comment without any context and or understanding what they are seeing.

Photo: Simon Dugué

Anyway, my strategy worked, I crossed the river safely (I only lost a few seconds because a volunteer didn’t zip my life jacked correctly and I had to tie it again) and refreshed from the cold dip in the water, ready to tackle the short climb up to Green Gate.

That’s easily the most boring section of the course, you don’t see many people, the aid station are pretty far apart from each other and you’re definitely really tired after 80 miles and 11h of running.

I heard some noise from the crowd at the Rucky Chucky aid station and I understood that someone was coming from behind, most likely Vincent. My assumption was confirmed at Green Gate, tried to keep things honest but I was starting to fade a bit. Never really as slow as if I was bonking or out of the race, but without the pop and efficiency I had just a few miles earlier.

Vincent passed me soon after ALT. I cheered him on and he did the same. I told him he was doing amazing and to go get that win. Of course I also wanted to win, but it was clear that my chances were much slimmer than his and that this would be the move that was going to win the race. I hung on to his pace for about 1km, then I started to lose meter after meter and a few minutes later he was gone.

I was so tired didn’t even recognize Scott Jurek and Hal Koerner at the Quarry Road aid station. Sorry for the embarrassment. I don’t even remember if I stopped to get water; Hal told me that I didn’t. All I remember was that I had run out of gels and I desperately needed some carbs to continue. In retrospect I believe I lost a couple of gels at the river crossing without noticing it, and those calories would have been important, if not crucial, to keep going. Luckily I made it to Pointed Rocks without slowing down, even if I was starting to get a little dizzy. I was both happy and sad to see Kilian with the NNormal team on the climb: happy to see him there but sad because he had to drop out from the race due to his knee injury.

Quarry Road. Photo: Hal Koerner

Mentally, Pointed Rocks was the end of the race for me. From there, I knew I could get to Auburn in one way or another. I grabbed a couple of extra gels from my crew and I got a decent scare when I heard that Ryan Montgomery was a little over a minute behind me. No rest for the wicked!

That served as an extra motivation to lean into the pain and just run harder. It became a pure exercise of willpower, testing to what extent I was willing to dig into the pain cave. Turns out, pretty deeply. I wanted and needed that second place, after the day I had.

One of the most emotional moments from my race has to be when Jim and Jess cheered me on No Hands Bridge. They’re the best humans, and I’m so grateful to be able to call them friends. From No Hands, it’s basically 3.5 uphill miles until the finish, which didn’t feel like an extra toll given the fact that my quads were blown but I was still climbing pretty well. The GAP on the climb up to Robie Point in fact was 4:08/km, not bad with 159km in the legs. From Rucky Chucky until the finish, the final 22 miles of the race, my heart rate seemed to top out at 140 bpm for some reasons that are not yet clear to me: basically zone 1.

Robie Point came quickly and from there I knew that Rita and Tito would carry me all the way to the finish. I couldn’t think straight and even now I don’t have a clear memory of what happened. I just remember that one by one, with Rita we picked up Tito, Leo and Filippo and that at some point Rita yelled at a motorbike in the middle of the road. We made it left to the infamous white bridge over the railway and onto the most iconic high school track of ultra running, Placer High.

I cried for a few seconds after the finish as the pain, the tough times I went through, the wrist fracture, the surgery, the doubts and the discomfort all came back at once. Rita jumped over the barriers to come get me and we just stood there in each other’s arms in front of the crowd of people and photographers. I hugged Vincent, who seemed to be doing a lot better than me, then my legs gave out. I crawled onto a chair next to the finish line arch and I was barely able to wait for Ryan to come through before I started shaking from the cold. Dehydrated and hypothermic, I was taken to the medical tent on a wheelchair, where I’ll spare you a few moments of delirium. I peed for the antidoping test about an hour after the finish, thanks to the incentive that after producing my urine sample I could finally take some painkillers and get some food. I can’t thank Rita and Tito enough for being there with me and helping me getting through those couple of hours.

The 2026 Western States was one for the books. I’m proud to be part of a generation of athletes that is pushing the sport forward and giving it the dignity, credibility and technical level it deserves. While the sport is becoming more professional and competitive, I’m happy that its community spirit and wild side still seem very much intact and to me, that’s a sign of a healthy sport. There’s room for both and it doesn’t have to be one or another. This was evident during my time in Olympic Valley, between Broken Arrow, TrailCon and Western States.

Before I sign off there’s a lot of people I’d like to thank.

My crew: Rita, Tito, Leo and Laurel from Fairfax, CA. WSER is a team effort and a logistical challenge, but they didn’t miss a single moment and had always the right words for me.

My film crew, The Moth Orchestra: Filippo, Damiano, Damiano and Daniele. We’re hopefully going to make a cool documentary from this experience.

My coaches, Tito Tiberti and Andrea Meloni for getting me to this start line as healthy and fit as possible, for being open to listen, adapt, change plans, restart all over again when things were very difficult and the perspective to even run this race seemed very far.

My therapist, friend, mentor, inspiration and reason why I can do what I do: Maria Chiara.

My competitors, for pushing me beyond what I thought was possible, especially Jim, Kilian, Vincent, Ryan and Hans.

The athlete managers at Hoka, in particular Jen Rosario, Chloe Schulman and Brianna Maroney for treating us like superstars and making sure we had everything we needed from Olympic Valley to Auburn. Oh and for the Scandinavian Swimmers and Bear Watch signs.

Charlie, from Coros, for her genuine care, support and understanding of me as a person.

Andre, because he’s been there and believed in me from day one.

My family, because I think they’re happy now that I’ve found my path.

Rod Farvard because he provided the mantra (which tbh I didn’t completely stick to) “Do what feels sustainable in this very moment” and because he provided invaluable information, support and belief he gave me going into this race.

Katharina, for all the conversations we had over the past few months and for helping me staying on the right track, mostly giving me the confidence that I could make it.

The women’s race, because it was just mind-blowing and historically deep. Jen, Abby, Riley, Caitlin, Tara, Lotti, Molly, Marianne, Fuzhao: thank you, even if some of you didn’t have the race you dreamed of or trained for.

The volunteers and race organisers, the WSER board, the founders of this race. Topher, Diana, Craig, Shannon. Thank you for everything you do and for carrying the Western States spirit forward.

Some data provided by Coros:

Race strategy:

The only thing that didn’t really go according to plan was that I ran a lot faster than the splits I had written down

Strava activity: 2026 Western States Endurance Run - 2nd Place, 13:51:08

All photos: Daniele Molineris