Race Report: Worlds End 100k

A rainy, sloppy, rollercoaster. It was awesome.

Jun 10, 2025

Worlds End 100k

May 31st, 2025 — Worlds End State Park, Forksville, PA
66.39 miles | ±12,306 ft gain | 18:47:32

Worlds End 100k: The Basics

Worlds End 100k is regarded as one of the most difficult running races on the east coast. It does not boast any individually massive or daunting climbs, but what it does have is a relentless onslaught of mud, uphills, and downhills, accumulating over 12,000 vertical feet of elevation gain over the course of the race. It offers very few flat sections where you can gain time, and oftentimes those flat sections are accompanied by rushing stream and waterfall crossings or deep, shoe sucking mud. The key to completing Worlds End is simple, keep your feet moving. However, don’t think you can have a nice stroll in the woods, as you only have 19 hours to complete this brutal but beautiful course.

Training: The Quiet Work

Getting to that start line was no small thing. Training was a rollercoaster. Ankle and Achilles issues flared in the final weeks leading into Worlds End, leaving me second-guessing the effort I would be capable of putting out. Weekly volume hovered around 50-60 miles with 8-9,000 feet of gain, almost all of it on technical or muddy singletrack. No road running. Just dirt, sweat, and a little doubt.

Races like the Rabid Raccoon 100k and Coopers Rock 50k earlier this year gave me a mental boost when I needed it most. Weekend back-to-backs taught my legs to keep moving even when the mind wanted to quit. I spent many Tuesday nights at “Hills and Friends”, a group of local runners I value and owe much of my development as a trail runner. Dozens of laps around Valley Forge Park with the group helped elevate my hill climbing game, and I didn't even notice the progress taking place over time because the company more than made up for the pain of running up Mt. Misery and Joy every week.

I don’t say this lightly: running has changed my life for the better. It has given me structure, helped me grow as a person, introduced me to new friends, and probably saved me in more ways than one.

2025 Race results going into WE 100k

The Storm Before the Storm

The weekend of Worlds End 100k was uncharacteristically cold for late May in Pennsylvania, hovering between 40s and low 50s. The night before was spent in a tent, with rain striking the rainfly like a snare drum from 8PM until my arrival at the start line, more than 8 hours later. I also came into the weekend with the intention of refusing help from any source besides the volunteers and my pre-packed drop bags. Whatever happened out there, I wanted to own it. It was a selfish endeavor, I admit. But it was one that I was dead set on when I arrived at camp earlier that afternoon.

On race morning, at 3:15 AM in the pouring rain, I found myself under the canopy of my friend Adam’s camper. I drank a Celcius, ate 3 boiled eggs, cooked up one cup of oats for breakfast. I normally don’t eat my oats plain, but I forgot sugar or maple syrup. I tried to season them with salt, thinking something would be better than nothing, but I was so wrong. I made the boring, inoffensive oats taste downright diabolical. I ate them anyway.

I went back to my tent one final time. I donned my race day kit (thanks, REI anniversary sale), tightened my Trabuco Max 3s, and put on the 2025 Worlds End race hat. The hat would garner a number of concerned looks throughout the day. I never knew this, but apparently a common superstition among runners is not to wear that race’s gear on race day. I never grew up running track or cross country (or at all unless it was against my will), so I never knew. I committed to the hat anyway, with or without the possibility of bad juju.

My tent, morning of the race (left) and breakfast (right)

Miles 0–19: Fog, Water, Wonder

At 5:00 AM, the race began. The fog rolled in thick as we made our way through the start, down a short stretch of road, and climbed the Butternut trail loop. Immediately, our headlamps disappeared into the mist, only able to see a few feet ahead, just enough not to run into the runner ahead of you. The trail was slick but not yet the mudbath it would become. The climb was steady, a conga line zig-zagging up switchbacks until it finally broke, and I found myself moving with just my friends Adam and Andrew. The three of us agreed early on to stick together until the wheels would inevitably start to fall off. No music, just small, nervous conversation. This was just the beginning.

The morning was magic — wet, yes, but surreal. That moment where the sun almost rises, breaks over one ridge, fools you into switching off your headlamp… only to plunge you back into darkness for a near-vertical scramble. That was Worlds End in a nutshell: brief beauty followed by brutal terrain.

The first overlook we passed was nothing but blank white fog. An omen, maybe? It definitely fit the mood of uncertainty that everyone shared at that time. But we pressed on.

I specifically remember the first creek crossing. A thigh-high, rushing, baptism by ice water. There was no turning back. My first step into the creek was the last time I would be dry all day.

After 5 hours in the woods, I rolled through Worlds End aid station with Andrew and Adam. A taste of civilization. I swapped into fresh socks, refueled, and realized that I was still feeling good. I was still on time for my A-goal pace. Confidence was building, but there was so much this race had left to throw at me.

Coming into Coal Mine AS6 (I am far left)

The Middle: Mud and Madness

The next 30+ miles were a blur of mud, ladders, waterfalls, and moments that felt like hallucinations but weren’t. My legs ached, my head buzzed with I Think You Should Leave quotes (what else are you supposed to do while slopping it up, trudging through the wet, wet mud?) and every climb felt like it was longer than the last.

A small taste of the mud… after its been washed off by creeks and reapplied

Mile 37, High Knob AS was my moment. I was going through a stretch of feeling tired and mentally down since approximately mile 32 as we climbed the steep, slick slopes leading into the aid station. The sun broke through the overcast sky. I had my largest drop bag at the top of that relentless hill. Andrew and Adam had their crew waiting for them at the next aid station, so they rolled through High Knob, leaving me there to do what I needed to do alone. I reminded myself that this is what I came here for. No crew, no pacer.

I swapped my socks once again and slid my calf sleeves over my mud stained legs. I stood up and ate a quesadilla from the aid station. I swear the combination gave me a new lease on life. The sleeves felt like I was wearing an exoskeleton, and I was about to become a machine that turned toasted bread and cheese into pure running performance.

I left High Knob in high spirits. It was just the trail and my mind, accompanied by a sporadic soundtrack ranging from Limp Bizkit to Ariana Grande. I rarely listen to music when I run, but it felt right in the moment.

I couldn’t believe the rebound. Almost 40 miles in, and I was able to run! I was clocking nearly 8 minutes per mile as I flew downhill into Jackson Flats. I regrouped with my guys, and we started right into a section that was the opposite of “flat” — endless greasy climbs that tested every ounce of willpower.

All smiles as I rolled into Jackson Flats, calf sleeves mud free

The Endgame

The final miles were a mind game. I knew I had it — probably — but dared not celebrate early. One mile to go, 30 minutes left until the cutoff. I almost cried when I first heard the loudspeaker split the silence of the final descent. I knew it was finally real. I could hear the two finish line commentators on a loudspeaker cheering on the runners crossing the finish. But crying makes the slick, steep, downhill singletrack harder than it already is.

I told myself: The job’s not finished, get to the finish line first.

As soon as I arrived safely back on flat ground, I ran. Poles in my left hand, right fist pumping as I looped around the snack stand I hadn’t seen since 10 am that morning. I broke into a sprint. I flew through the parking lot, then the muddy gravel road. Guided by rope lights on the ground to my left, the finish line grew louder and louder. It was suddenly over. A high five, a buckle, and relief. The tears never came. In fact, almost all feelings left me. I was happy and relieved. My screaming feet were suddenly silent for a moment. All I wanted was water (without tailwind for once) and to brush my teeth.

Fern Rock Aid Station (left) and a finish line photo (right)

Reflections

I went into Worlds End insistent that I do it alone. But as the race went on, I learned to appreciate the company of others on the trail, and to let others help you if they want to. Life is too short to go through it alone, and Worlds End was a perfect example of people showing kindness even to the people who kept saying no.

Worlds End gave me back something I thought I’d lost: belief in myself and my running. Adding to the experience and really living in every facet of it by camping the night before. Fighting the cold, wet, relentless mud, and what felt like vertical climbs the whole way. And yet, I overcame. 18:47:32.

40% of starters DNF’d. Half of the finishers crossed the line in the final hour. Over 1 in 4 of all finishers in the final 20 minutes. And I was one of them. I was not the fastest, and I was never going to be. But I was one of those who endured to the very end, and I am proud of that.

I’m taking a full week off now. Not because I’m physically broken, in fact, I have very few pains following the race. Part of why I’m making an effort to let the race soak in, and take away the right lessons from it. I instinctively shift my gaze to the next mountain (pun intended) once I have submitted the last, but I’m attempting to appreciate and absorb the present as much as the future.

What’s Next

There are a few more exciting races on my calendar to round out 2025. Rattlerock 50k in July, Mount Megunticook Trail Festival 50k, and Wild Goose 100M, both in September. Wild Goose will be my first shot at a sub-24 hour 100 miler. I am looking forward to taking on this challenge and will continue to use Worlds End as a reminder throughout training.

Final Thoughts

I’m not a special runner. I don’t do anything different. But I show up. I try. And I keep the left foot right foot party going. That’s all anyone can do. And it just goes on forever.

Maybe the real finish line isn’t the one with the clock. It's the one where you finally believe you’re capable of more than you thought. And maybe the limit is way farther out than we think.