White Mountain 100 Yo-Yo
This idea started when I wanted to push my limits beyond the NH AT 150 and also prep for a supported NH Direttissima next year. There aren’t many 200-mile routes with a decent vertical profile, so I thought—why not yo-yo the route I already know? I trained hard all summer and was excited for it.
Then three weeks out, I got Covid. It wrecked me. Nervous, muscular, cardiovascular—everything was affected. Every run after that felt heavy and I couldn’t hit my old intensity. I ended up tapering too early, dropping from big weeks (70–100 miles, 29–50k vert) down to 35 miles and 10k vert. After that, I was mostly logging “junk miles” to meet the bare minimum. Deep down, I knew my fitness wasn’t where it needed to be, but I also didn’t want to sit with months of “what ifs.” So I went for it anyway.
Because of pre-race anxiety, I only slept three hours before the start—definitely not ideal for a multi-day effort. On 9/11/25 at 9:30 a.m., I set out from Rattle River with Tim LeChance. Weather was perfect: dry rocks, clear skies. Chris Dailey joined at Zeta Pass, and Matt Walsh met us near Pinkham.
Right away, I felt it—the same tired heaviness I’d been carrying for weeks. Paces that once felt relaxed now felt like work. I knew I’d lost fitness, but I kept moving.
At Pinkham, I swapped pacers. Meg Miller and Chase Hall joined for the Presidential traverse. We had a powder mix-up (electrolytes instead of carbs), so I basically ran dry until Mount Washington. Temps were in the 20s with high wind, forcing us to keep moving. Descending Webster Cliff in the dark was brutal, and by the time we hit Route 302, my feet and downhill legs felt like it was Day 3—except it was still Day 1.
I crashed at 302, needing a one-hour nap before heading into the Pemi with Matt Walsh. Weather stayed perfect, but I was already deep in the pain cave. Normally I’m upbeat and chatty through this section—this time I was quiet, just grinding. Jason Pageau joined near the end and helped bring some life back.
At Liberty Springs, Alex, Steve, and Chase had the aid station dialed in. Harrison met me there with his dog Gio, and we shared laughs over ramen before heading into the Kinsmans overnight. That descent felt endless. The “7 miles left” sign was soul-crushing when I thought it should have been 3. Time warped. Seeing Cara Baskin at Beaver Brook was a huge morale boost.
From there, Jason, Joe, and Chris joined as “party pacers” for Moosilauke. Sunrise was pink and perfect. Despite hornet stings and fatigue, spirits stayed high.
Heading back through the Kinsmans was a low point. Overnight, that section had already destroyed me once. On the return, it felt like a black hole where the summit signs never came. Laughs turned into silence, but running into friends from the WM100 gave me little sparks of energy. Finally reaching Liberty Springs aid and seeing a huge crowd of friends felt like a party. I overstayed, downed ramen and Red Bull, then set off with Will, Tori, Josiah, and Caitlin through the Pemi overnight. We also ran into Nick & Jackie on the ridge killing their WM100.
This stretch was a battle. I had to take two dirt naps on Garfield Ridge as hallucinations and tunnel vision set in. My pacers kept me fed, and moving, but I was deeply withdrawn, just surviving. Will handed me a Mcdonald’s Cheeseburger from his pack around Garfield and I took a mega bite. It hit so well. Tori had me laughing with games she use to play on the AT. Sunrise on Zealand offered a little beauty—changing leaves, crisp air—but I was running on fumes.
At 302, more friends surprised me. I could barely keep my eyes open and passed out for an hour. That reset was critical.
With Chris, Steve, Jesse, and Ryan, I hit Webster Cliff strong. Hallucinations were gone, weather was perfect, and I felt in control. On Washington, I shotgunned a Red Bull and laughed about it. But once darkness fell, the fatigue returned. Talus travel was painfully slow, my toes were wrecked, and hallucinations crept back. By Madison’s descent, slick rocks had me crawling.
Old Jackson Road nearly broke me. I moved through a kaleidoscope world, hallucinating pigs, monkeys, campers—entire scenes. My proprioception was gone; the ground shifted beneath me. I wanted to cry but couldn’t. Chelsea Tierney met us at Pinkham and got me into a chair where I passed out, feet in a massager.
After another hour of sleep, I set back out with Chase, Tim, and Stas. I was in a daze, hallucinations returning—more pigs, more phantom people. On Mount Height, Tim even saw a bear, but wisely didn’t tell me. Near Moriah, Chris Dailey popped out of the woods and lifted my spirits one last time before Moriah.
Together, we pushed to the finish. And there it was: my first 200-miler.
In conclusion, Covid obliterated my summer training block. Alyssa Godesky told me after taking a glance into my previous training, “You’re capable of doing it, but it’s going to feel hard.” She was right. My fitness wasn’t where it should’ve been. My downhill tolerance evaporated, my ascents felt sluggish, and the ever-present Covid tiredness never lifted. Day 1 felt like Day 3.
But I proved something to myself: my mind is stronger than I realized. I dug deeper than ever before, through hallucinations, exhaustion, and pain. Anything I take on next will feel easier in comparison.
And the community—wow. The people who showed up for me, surprised me on trail, and carried me through… that meant everything. I’ll never forget it. This was my new threshold, and the beginning of something bigger.
The Team That Made It All Happen
Crew: Steve Kenney, Alex Mennella, Chase Hall, Alaina Kenney
Pacers: Tim Lechance, Chris Dailey, Meg Miller, Chase Hall, Matt Walsh, Harrison Leflem, Jason Pageau, Joe Palisi, Cara Baskin, Chris Walken, Tori Constantine, Josiah Conley, Will Bedeiger, Caitlin Sheasley, Chris Peter, Ryan Martinson, Jesse Earisman, Alex Mennella, Steve Phillips, Chelsea Tierney, and also to the people who wanted to be part of this but couldnt make it! PTs: Dr. Micheal Precision Fitness & Dr. Hilary McCloy PT