An Ultra Nice Guy
A conversation with Paul Terranova about Nolan's, the Rocky Mountain Grand Slam & staying power
Welcome back and happy winter solstice! Next week I’ll write about fresh starts. Please subscribe if you haven’t already, or consider upgrading to a paid subscription if you’d like to support this newsletter in the coming year as well as receive bonus content and invitations to monthly online meetups.
I occasionally use this newsletter to spotlight other notable Colorado runners I find interesting and admire as role models in the sport. You’ll find archived stories about Suzanna Bon, Devon Yanko, Olga King, and Maggie Guterl, among others. I’ve profiled only one guy so far, Dakota Jones. This post will introduce you to another. In the second half, I end on a personal note.
On the first Saturday of December, as I watched the Hardrock 100 lottery play out with a sense of resignation and disappointment due to my long odds in spite of eight years of trying, I cheered for every name I recognized that got drawn after as many or more years of waiting. I cheered the most for Paul Terranova. “Couldn’t have happened to a nicer or more qualified guy,” I thought.
It took Paul, who’s 49, 10 years and 256 accumulated tickets to get picked. (He was in eight lotteries, starting in 2012; the lottery took two years off due to the event’s cancellations in 2019 and 2020.)
I’ve admired his ultrarunning skills and consistency for at least a decade, and every time I see him at an ultra, he cheers me up with infectious friendliness that’s borderline goofy. His Instagram feed is full of photos of an owl clutch that he monitors, and his Strava feed is full of photos of litter he picks up along county roadways.
His ultra credentials include 1st place at the 2019 USATF 100K National Championship, two 3rd place finishes in 2021 at the High Lonesome 100 and Bear 100, two top-10 finishes at the Western States 100, and wins at the 2019 Crewel Jewel 100 and 2018 Chattanooga 100 (coming back from a femur stress fracture that year). He also has a deep background in Ironman triathlons. A decade ago in 2012, he finished top in the Grand Slam of Ultrarunning (Western States, Vermont, Leadville, and Wasatch 100s) while also clocking a 10:24 at the Hawaii Ironman World Championship.
In a sport where many flame out in a few years after high-level and high-volume performance, Paul facing 50 trains and races as determined as he did in his 30s.
Since moving year round to Twin Lakes, south of Leadville, he also has dedicated himself to exploring and completing big routes in the Sawatch Range, most notably the 160ish-mile Collegiate Loop and, last September, Nolan’s 14.
The last time we crossed paths, in July at the High Lonesome 100 in the middle of the night as he paced a friend, I told him I was on the struggle bus. He said something like, “Let’s make it a party bus,” which was like sunshine in the cold and dark forest. Then, some 12 hours later, I spotted him and his wife Meredith in their van, three miles from the finish, cheering on all of us scrambling to finish before the cutoff.
I connected with Paul and Meredith back in 2015 when we both were guest coaches and mentors at a trail-running camp in the Hill Country of Texas put on by Team RWB, a group that connects veterans with civilians and uses running to support veterans’ re-entry to civilian life. Paul is an Army vet who served from 1995-2001. Then I reconnected with them at various ultras in Northern California, and Meredith helped me with her sports nutrition consulting.
Paul and I spoke by Zoom last week so I could find out more about how he avoids burnout after some 15 years in the sport, and how he’s planning to tackle not only Hardrock but the whole Rocky Mountain Slam in 2023, which is the Hardrock 100 plus Leadville, Wasatch, and The Bear.
He spoke to me from his home where he and Meredith gradually transitioned to live year round after many years of living and working in Austin. He’s an engineer specializing in consulting on municipal projects, most recently for Austin’s transportation department.
How does Paul keep doing what he’s doing year after year, staying competitive enough to podium at many of his races?
“One, I always said that work kept me from overtraining, and training kept me from overworking. As much as I would’ve loved to run and race full time, that was never in the cards, but there was a good tension between working a full-time job and training, so that benefited me.
“Two, with Meredith’s goals and her races and training, we’ve had to find a balance between the two of us.” (Meredith also has deep experience in ultrarunning and tris, competing in Ultramans.) “We both can’t have ‘A’ races at the same time. I’ve gotta pull back on races and goals I have if she has one that takes priority.”
Three months ago, he nailed the challenge of Nolan’s 14 after a summer of training and route planning (since you choose your own route to traverse the string of 14ers). Paul’s Instagram posts summarize the experience, which ended with “wintery weather in the middle of the night that warranted extra attention to footwork placement before the scree-surfing party.” His ace crew included Courtney Dauwalter, a friend whom he has crewed multiple times.
I asked him what he gained from his 54-hour, 34-minute Nolan’s odyssey (which included only one 8ish-minute nap), and how it helped him grow as an endurance athlete.
“It’s the confidence from scouting—I put a lot of effort into knowing the line that I wanted to take—because pretty much anybody today can follow a GPX file on their phone, or have somebody who’s done it before lead them, but I really wanted to know and the route and understand which one suits my strengths. I put a lot of effort into the preparation and into knowing the route without having a map or relying on a pacer, which gave me confidence in knowing navigation in the big mountains. I have that navigation experience from the Army, so to put it to use now in this environment was really gratifying.”
He’s thinking ahead to another Nolan’s attempt that would shave off time, ideally in better weather conditions since the snow flurries slowed him down. “In the future—not next year, but after that—I’d like to maybe go the other direction, north to south, because I think the number of people who’ve done that in both directions is even smaller, so that would be a fun challenge.”
I asked his running buddy Nick Pedatella how he’d describe Paul. The two have crewed and paced each other at numerous mountain ultras and FKT attempts. (Nick holds several fastest known times, including the men’s supported record on the 500-mile Colorado Trail in the west to east direction via Collegiate West.)
“He’s full of enthusiasm, up for just about anything, and one of the friendliest people you will ever meet. Also very meticulous, does his homework, and is a thorough planner,” Nick said about Paul.
Nick recalled pacing Paul at the Bighorn 100 a couple of years ago when conditions for the second half deteriorated into relentless slippery mud. “There was no complaining. He just put his head down and did what he needed to do in order to finish despite the horrible trail conditions.”
Looking ahead to the massive undertaking of next summer’s Rocky Mountain Slam, I asked Paul how he plans to prepare. Jason Koop has been his coach since 2017, and they don’t plan to change much about his training beyond being extra strategic about recovering and training in between the events. “For now, it’s just, stay healthy and don’t burn too many matches early in the season.”
Paul kicked off winter by volunteering as a bootpacker at Copper Mountain (someone who spends 8-hour days hiking up and down the snowy slopes helping the ski patrol get the closed, avalanche-prone terrain open). He also does a bit of training and racing in ski mountaineering, using ski mo as his high-intensity workouts over winter. “I grew up on the East Coast in New Jersey and went to college in upstate New York, so this is essentially a welcome return to winter sports,” he said.
He views Karl “Speedgoat” Meltzer’s Rocky Mountain Slam record from 2006, when Karl was 38, as both a target and a carrot. Karl’s record is perhaps untouchable, unless your name is Kilian or Francois; he finished the slam slightly under 87 hours, with insane times at each event: 27:07 for Hardrock, 20:52 at Leadville, 20:18 at Wasatch, and 18:35 at The Bear. “I fully recognize that Karl’s record is stout, so at the least it’ll be a fun challenge just to go under 90 hours,” Paul said.
What else does Paul want people to know about him? That he’s available to help others as a mentor. “I won’t coach, but I’m happy to talk to anybody and share whatever info I’ve learned over the years, or to talk about a specific race, or pacing. I’m happy to help people out on the course and get out there—that’s another way to give back.”
Finally, I asked Paul what I should say to myself, or to anyone, who’s dragging from discomfort and fatigue mid-ultra. He’d say: “We pay good money to do this! If you’re suffering and it sucks, then you got what you paid for, and you should be happy about it. If it’s raining and wet and cold, and you’re hungry and have blisters, well, that’s what you signed up for! So, get the full experience! Get on down the trail and get it done.”
Thank you, Paul, for your motivation and wisdom! Can’t wait to see you go for the Slam.
More thoughts on nice guys and community
I’ve been pondering role models and nice guys as the year winds to a close with the news focused on Elon Musk, Putin, and Trump. In hindsight, I should’ve followed the World Cup with more than an occasional glance to share in the global uplift from Lionel Messi’s talent and spirit, to help counterbalance a feeling of doom from dictatorial, dangerous men in power.
My 21-year-old son is on the cusp of fully adulting, figuring out what he wants to do and how to launch a career, and my hope and advice for him is simple: be kind and stay positive, like your dad. Be more caring and humorous than tough and serious. Be outgoing, because relationships matter for happiness and success more than what’s on your resume.
He needs more nice-guy role models, and he needs to know it’s OK to prioritize outdoor time even if it’s considered unproductive. I felt delighted and relieved when he told me he plans to spend the summer working as a wrangler on a ranch that barely gets a single bar of cell coverage, taking care of horses and guiding guests. It’s not the internship he needs for his major to graduate, but I’d rather he take the slow lane with off-ramps that involve horses.
I’ve also been thinking about community, as I settle more into this region around Telluride and as connections to old friends in California and elsewhere fade. I was a part-time resident here off and on my whole life, thanks to family roots, my parents’ summer cabin, and my brother’s long-time residency here, but we didn’t build our home and relocate here year round until 2019.
Telluride used to be my escapist paradise, as it is for so many. Living here, by contrast, is complex and at times challenging. I can’t just caretake our acreage and animals, and run around the mountains, and ignore everything and everyone around me, as much as I tend to withdraw, run away, and cocoon.
Being in community takes staying informed and getting tangled in local controversies over how to manage the region’s growing pains and scarcities. It takes showing up to events and giving back to the area, and talking face to face with people who have different points of view and who sometimes flame each other on the town’s ranting Facebook page. I’ve tried to do my part by volunteering to lead a local service organization, substitute teaching in the schools, giving to regional nonprofits, and going to events at the church and library.
And yet, I still struggle to nurture a sense of belonging and deep friendships that I—that we all—crave. I can count on one hand the number of people locally I would feel comfortable calling in the middle of the night if I were in crisis and needed help, and they are either family members or neighbors who knew my parents and thus knew me way-back-when. Making real friends and making your hometown feel like home takes time, and it’s not always easy.
For all these reasons, I value long-running (pun intended) relationships I’ve developed through running and ultrarunning’s community, which I’ve been a part of for two decades. On the trail, I click with people in a way that often leads to genuine friendships, despite geographic distances or even political differences. Spending time running in nature together fosters more candid and thoughtful conversations.
Several years ago, for example, I became friends with Sophie Speidel when we connected in person at the Western States 100, after I reached out online to feature her in a magazine article. We shared a couple of long runs together. She visited my home once. The time we have spent in person together totals maybe a week. And yet, I consider her a lasting friend because of the bond that running together creates, and because we have myriad mutual connections as followers of this sport. She’s one of at least a couple dozen runner friends I’d describe this way. When I see her and others at races with whom I have this kind of relationship, or when we trade texts or comment on each other’s social media posts, I feel a kinship and belonging that I don’t often find on our town’s main street.
But this ultrarunning community has its own growing pains and divisiveness, which social media amplifies. Tough conversations are taking place—always on the verge of devolving into online shouting matches—about touchy topics such as how to fairly categorize transgender athletes in competitions when coveted awards (such as the “Golden Tickets” to Western States entry) have traditionally been given to male-female categories; how to conduct lotteries to allot a very limited number of entry spots when so many thousands more want to run the event; how to prevent doping and call out suspicious wins; how to preserve a down-to-earth and friendly culture in the face of more money, professionalism, and corporate franchises running the races … the list goes on. Exponentially more young adults are entering the sport of mountain/ultra/trail running after collegiate running success, and hopping on the UTMB bandwagon, with little clue about the characters and ethos that shaped the sport for the past 30-plus years.
Against that backdrop, I get back to thinking about community, role models, and nice guys, which is another reason I decided to spotlight Paul Terranova. Friendly, levelheaded demeanors, long-term perspectives, and actual talking instead of online tit-for-tats are needed to keep tough conversations civil and productive. I’m grateful for him and so many others who keep ultrarunning the positive, supportive community it always has been.
Who would you spotlight as positive role models in this sport or in your life in general? Comment below and/or join the chat.
Great article, and I love the part about your son and positive role models. My oldest is a couple of years behind, but I've been so grateful that we share a love for the outdoors (climbing over running, but similar lessons learned). One of my positive male role models is our mutual friend, Scottie Mills. I know you previously wrote a profile on him. He's one of the best humans I know.
Strong agreement on him being a great role model and example of all things related to MUT culture. I've admired him from afar for years.