It’s the middle of the night. Or maybe it’s early morning. I cannot really tell because I’ve lost track. Although I have a watch on, I’m not keeping track of the time of day, but I am super locked in on keeping track of where I am on the course, time-wise.
I’ve been running for about 60 miles. It’s raining and I just went down hard in the mud.
I continue running down the trail while trying to wipe this thick, gunky mess off my leg because something’s stinging. No idea what it is. Doesn’t really matter. A few seconds later, I stop caring, not because it went away, but because everything else is sore. Quads, hamstrings, calves… all fully working, but not happy about it.
The trail is slick enough that even the slightest angle sends you sliding. So now I’m basically leaping side to side across the trail trying to find traction. It’s turned into a full-on plyometric session, which would be great… if this wasn’t hour 15 of running.
But I’m getting ahead of myself.
The Setup
A few months ago, Viv, good friend, strong athlete, and someone I coach, decided to sign up for this race: Made for More Ultra put on by MoveRX PT. Backyard format. 4.2 miles every hour, on the hour. Last person standing.
Viv has a habit of tossing these kinds of “adventures” into her calendar. Slightly off-script from swimrun. I suppose I cannot blame her for it. Her coach has a tendency of doing the same exact thing.
I’d done a similar race before, so I knew exactly how this works:
1. It looks simple.
2. It is not simple.
So when she said, “You should do it,” I did what any reasonable person would do and ignored all logic and signed up. We do hard things.
Small Field, Big Vibe
The race was capped at 60 people. Chuck Ihli, the race director, said they wanted to keep it small so they didn’t overextend and could deliver a great experience. That decision paid off. The entire event felt intentional, well thought out, and personal in a way that bigger races often lose.
The course was a mix of everything: single track, fire road, motocross trail, and a cow pasture that felt like it had a personal vendetta against ankles. Nothing crazy technical, but just enough randomness to keep you paying attention, and if you didn’t, you would certainly regret it.
At the start/finish area, there was a corral set up with a bell mounted to a post.
Not a celebration bell.
A “you’re done” bell.
You either miss the cutoff… or you choose to stop… and you walk over and ring it for everyone to hear. It just sits there all day, quietly reminding you that eventually, you’re going to have to make a decision.
We start at 7:00 a.m. It’s already warm, because of course, it’s Louisiana.
The early plan is simple: run easy, come in with 10–15 minutes to spare, sit down, cool off, eat, repeat. And early on, it actually feels… manageable.
You come in, feet up, towel on your neck, joking around, maybe doing something mildly dumb for entertainment. You almost forget what you’re doing.
And then someone says, “2 minutes!”
And just like that, you’re back on the start line again.
That’s the game. Every hour. No matter how you feel.
As the day rolls on, the temperature climbs and the cost of each lap starts to show. You begin to pick favorites on the course, Viv and I welcomed the single track trail, while other sections, like the cow pasture, feel like they’re actively trying to take you out. Uneven ground, divots, hidden holes… a constant threat of a rolled ankle. We try to stick to the rhythm, 4.2 miles, back to the corral, but the breaks keep getting shorter as the day goes on, the miles on your legs rack up and everything takes just a little more effort.
But what really stands out is the people.
Every time you come back in, there’s noise. Crews cheering. Runners encouraging each other. No one’s out there acting like this is some solo grind. It feels like a shared experience, even as people start dropping off.
And they do start dropping.
When It Gets Real
As we roll into the evening, the headlamps come out and everything gets quieter. The temps drop just enough to feel like a gift, and a few light sprinkles come through, almost like a reset before what’s coming next.
As the laps start to add up, everyone starts fighting their own battles. For me, it’s my calves, tight, more than usual, so I spend the breaks working on them, trying to stay ahead of it.
I’m not the only one dealing with things. Viv’s working through her own set of issues too.
Over the next few laps, we slow it down a bit. Talk through it. Troubleshoot on the move. Adjust here, tweak there. She keeps pressing forward even when her body is clearly pushing back. It’s that quiet, stubborn toughness, you don’t fully see unless you’re right there beside someone.
Then at the start of lap 13, she makes the call.
Her crew is around her, encouraging, problem-solving, trying to find anything that might get her back out there. I’m right there with them, talking through options, telling her we can figure this out, that she’s still in it.
Because she is.
But at 50+ miles, she knows something the rest of us don’t want to accept yet.
She looks at me and tells me to go on without her.
I don’t take that easily. I push back. I tell her I’m staying, that we can get through this, that we don’t have to call it here.
But she insists.
And there’s something in the way she says it, not quitting, not defeated, just certain.
She’s not asking.
She’s giving me permission to keep going.
So I go.
By the time I come back in, I realize that I didn’t just leave a running partner, I gained someone even more locked in on getting me through the rest of this. She’s fully in it now, crewing, updating, staying engaged in every lap like she’s still out there.
That kind of support… that was huge.
Yes, I am eating McDonalds. At this point, I had eaten at least 15 GU Energy gels and was ready for some solid food and a little bit of protein.
Then the rain really shows up and the course changed almost instantly.
This wasn’t the kind of mud that cakes onto your shoes and slows you down. This was the kind where you lose footing without warning. So here we are back at where I started telling this story, sideways hopping on the trail to avoid the slick stuff. Feels great with 60 miles already on your legs.
And that rope they put on the embankment? It’s not optional, it’s the only way up.
I fancy myself a pretty good runner in adverse conditions and don’t mind scrambling on all fours through the mud. After running across the metal bridge I lept onto the embankment to scramble up it, knowing it would be the fastest way up.
I get maybe a foot off the ground… and slide straight back down.
So using the rope was mandatory. And it’s not fast.
Before long, the field thins to five or so. It drops fast, ten to five in what feels like no time, as people miss laps and quietly disappear. It’s hard to keep track unless you’re really paying attention. I probably should be checking the board before each lap, but at this point, I’m just staying super focused and moving.
I wanted to have a little more recovery time and a chance to get a change of clothes, among other things, so I ran a couple of laps at a faster pace to bank the extra time at the tent to change, reset, maybe feel human again for a few minutes. So I pick up the pace on a couple of laps to bank it.
It’s always a tradeoff. Do you burn a match to get more time or do you run easier so you can go longer?
You don’t really know which one is right until later.
Eventually, it comes down to two.
Me and Louden Boudreaux.
We head out together for a lap, talking, laughing at how ridiculous the conditions have gotten. Swapping lines through the mud, trading the lead, just trying to stay upright and keep it moving.
There’s no tension, just a quiet understanding. We both know exactly what this is now.
On the next lap, I settle into my own rhythm and start to ease away.
When he comes in, we exchange a few words. I joke that I took Monday off work for this, hinting that we might be out here a while.
He laughs and says he took Monday AND Tuesday off. Fair enough. All is fair in a little bit of joking and smack talk.
Lap 19.
We line up.
5… 4… 3… 2… 1…
We lean forward as to start the run and right then, Louden reaches over and rings the bell.
Just like that.
I walk over, give him a hug. Thank him for the race and tell him how he kicked ass out there. He congratulates me and tells me to enjoy the last lap solo.
At 1:00 a.m., I head back out, alone, for one final lap.
Looking back, there’s a lot that stands out, the course, the conditions, the format, but more than anything, it’s the people. The crew that kept us going all day and night. The other runners who made the experience what it was.
Huge thanks to Stefanie, Liz and Troy for supporting us throughout the race. Also, Brooke , Danielle and Jearmie for jumping in there as well. THANK YOU. We couldn’t have pulled this off without you.
And Viv, who not only convinced me to sign up for this race but fought through 55 miles and then stayed to support me the rest of the way.
That’s the part that sticks.
If you’re looking for a race that’s well organized, genuinely challenging, and surrounded by good people, Made for More Ultra is one worth putting on your calendar.
Just know… it might be a little more than you signed up for.
Oh, and that stinging I felt after falling into the mud? Yeah. That wasn’t mud. That was an ant hill. And it wasn’t just any ants, those were Louisiana fireants.
Race Recap: Made for More Ultra
Format: Last Man Standing
Location: Lafayette, LA
Date: April 18, 2026
Distance: 79.8 Miles
Result: 1st Overall
Products used:
GU Roctane, GU Waffles, GU Energy Chews – GU Energy Labs
Salomon S/LAB PULSAR 4 – Salomon
Speedy Lizard 