I recently listened to an episode of Hidden Brain, with psychologist Jonathan Adler, that talked about the power of storytelling as a way of reflecting on our past experiences. He commented that Americans historically are drawn to stories of redemption, as it helps us reframe or justify experiences, especially when they may have not gone the way we had envisioned them. In this way, we can make sense of our experiences in a more positive transformational light. Everyone loves a redemption story. But what about a story in which there is no redemption…a story in which nothing special happens, or even more extreme – a downer of a story with a grouchy main character and a blase ending? No one wants to hear that story. Right?

After this year’s Tor des Geants, I’ve struggled to put into words my feelings towards my race. I’ve drawn a blank when people have asked me “So…how was it?” My answers have consisted of “hard, long, exhausting, crazy”, but (a) it took me a long time to answer, and (b) none of my answers have exactly been “positive”, like they were the last two years. So instead of telling my story, I instead chose to shove it aside. I guess I felt a little bit of shame that I didn’t have the perfect story to present. But after listening to this podcast, I’ve finally decided to start writing down some thoughts. Every story deserves to be told, even if it’s not the prettiest one.   

I knew going into this year’s race that I was not going to do the Tor again in 2026. I already have my heart set on the Andes 100k in Peru in August and there’s only so much PTO and money that I have for international travel. Plus, after spending the last two years in Italy for the Tor and the previous year in Switzerland for Swiss Peaks, I’ve decided it’s time for something else. I had this feeling during the race that I might not see the Tor for a while, but it wasn’t until later on that I realized this with more certainty.

When asked about my goal for this year, I told my friend: “to finish”. Most people might strive for a PR when doing a race a second or third time, but that’s the weird thing about the Tor: it is not a normal race. To strive for a PR assumes a finish, and in my mind a finish at the Tor is never a guarantee, even for the best runners. My main goal for this year was Western States, and I trained hard for a good race there. Finishing the Tor would just be the cherry on top to what I felt was already a successful racing year. Upon further introspection, I told Peter my goals were to (1) not get sick (as I have the last two years), 2) be more efficient at aid stations and lifebases, and 3) not stress out.

Prior to the race, I made myself a little “Note to Future Brainless Self”, a.k.a. a cheat sheet on things to do when I got into lifebases. It doesn’t seem that hard to remember what to do, but you’d be surprised how clueless and spacy one can get when going days on end without sleep. Here is my cheat sheet:

I also made myself a short note on my phone, with lifebase arrivals and departures from last year and goals for this year, based on shorter lifebase stays. I lined up at 10 am on Sunday, September 14th, perhaps a little more physically and mentally prepared having attempted this race the two previous years.

As the race unfolded, I was comfortably arriving and departing from the lifebases earlier than last year. I didn’t feel that I was running faster. I was running smart and decided I would go easy on the descents at least until I made it to Gressoney. I wasn’t going to make the same mistake as 2023 when I potentially compromised my quads on the descents, but I also didn’t feel the need to be as conservative as last year.

I mostly ran alone. Yuch was ahead of me and the gap between us would continue to grow throughout the race. I was really happy for him. Although it can be helpful to have a partner to run with, I think it’s also really important to run your own race (if you can even think of Tor as a race) and listen to your body. Although I spent brief amounts of time (less than an hour) with various runners throughout the race, this year’s Tor was mostly a solo experience. This was a huge contrast to the last two years in which I spent pretty large amounts of time with Yuch and/or other runners that I met on the course.

Even though I enjoy my time alone in life and in running, there will always be a part of me that craves and needs social connection. At each lifebase I would turn on my phone and read the current Whats App conversation between our group of runners on the course. This was enough to fill that need.  Just knowing my friends were out there on the course, struggling and persevering, helped me to know that I was not doing this alone. Additionally, the Whats App group served as a support group/pseudo-crew for me. Those who were not racing (Maureen, Jan, Nate, and Sarah) provided encouragement, and when I discovered blisters on my toes in Valtourneche, Maureen told me to “pop them, tape them, and slap your socks back on”: simple but useful advice for someone who has never dealt with precarious blisters before!

My loneliness that I didn’t know existed became apparent on the second-to-last day as I was making the climb out of Oyace en route to Ollomont.  I had been starting to feel negative the previous evening when, on the descent from Fenetre Du Tsan (252k in), a runner blazed past me at lightning speed, followed by more runners descending so fast I began to wonder if I was standing still. I soon realized that these were not 330k runners, but 100k runners! Tor has a 100k distance, but I had no idea that it overlapped with our race. If this was the case last year, I clearly hadn’t noticed. I soon began to feel resentment towards these fresh flashy runners. Here we had been moving along at a snail’s pace going on our fourth night without sleep with the unspoken bond between us that this was fucking hard, and these runners had now completely changed the vibe on the trail. The trail was now a race course.

When I arrived at Rifugio Lo Magia, I found it inundated with 100k runners and their crews. It was packed! I had to squeeze my way in to get food and tea because runners were standing several people deep in front of the aid station table. I was really tired but decided to press on. This place was so crowded and Rifugio Cuney was only a few kilometers down the trail. Rifugio Cuney is perhaps one of the tiniest “rifugios” on the course, but they amazingly are able to fit quite a lot; a table with benches, a small kitchen, and a room with double bunks stacked up three high. One of my favorite things about the Tor is the nights, and this year with the good weather the nights were so beautiful with the only lights coming from the stars and the runners’ headlamps. However, as I got further into the race, the nights were becoming less and less enjoyable and more and more mentally challenging as I struggled with sleep deprivation. I ended up sleeping at Rifugio Cuney for 30 minutes, but was shocked to find 100k runners taking up bunk space in this tiny rifugio with limited space.

Needless to say, I was eager to get to Oyace after my nap. The sun had come up. I decided if my knees had made it this far, it should be ok to stash my poles and take advantage of the downhills finally. Plus, I had fond memories of running this stretch with Yuch last year. For the first time in the race, I started pushing it on the downhill to Oyace.

On the climb out of Oyace my grouchiness came to a head. At the beginning of the Tor everyone is so closely packed together, but as the days go on, people get more and more spread out. However, the arrival of the 100k runners had bunched everyone back up again and it was giving me anxiety having these resource-taking people surrounding me. At this point, I had grown extremely annoyed with the 100k runners and with the poop on the trail.

Yes, you heard me right. The poop on the trail. In 2023 during my first Tor, I noticed poop and toilet paper left on the trail for the first time. Yuch, Shane, and I joked that there was a “serial pooper” ahead of us on the trail and laughed about it later. But this year was different. This year showed me that this was not just one person, but most people defaulting to going to the bathroom and leaving their toilet paper right smack on the trail.  

I began to retreat into my head, to a place where I could and would never understand other people who do things differently than me. Is it SO hard to step off the trail and dig a hole? Are you SO entitled that you can just shit on the trail and ruin it for everyone else behind you? Do you REALLY need to sleep during a 100k? My lack of understanding of other people turned into a complete lack of faith for people more generally. This is when I first came to the realization that it would be extremely difficult to do this race again.

Ironically, nothing had actually gone wrong to this point. I was making good time and my legs felt good. Yes they were tired, but each time I rested and/or ate, I felt completely recovered and new going back on the trail. The sleep deprivation was difficult, but I was doing my best to manage it as best as I could. I could have eaten more, but my nutrition was going fine. But it was at this point that things started to change. On that final ascent to Col Brison, my knee started to bother me with each step up. Even worse, the descent was painfully slow, and I began to have memories of my DNF in 2023. I began to catastrophize and wonder if I really wanted to continue an entire 50k after Ollomont, with the possibility that it could take me as long as 28 slow and painful hours.

On the descent to Ollomont I came across a woman with tons of kinesio tape all over her legs. She was moving even slower than I was. I commented, “It looks like you have the same problem as I do!” She responded, “What? You’ve been on the trail for days on end without any sleep either?” I laughed and said that it looked like she was more specifically having similar knee problems as me. She said she had “knee problems, feet problems, quad problems, pretty much problems with everything”. Talking to her and realizing that she was much worse off than I really put things in perspective. In contrast, I actually had very few problems. I couldn’t believe that she was seriously not just considering but planning on duking it out to the end at that pace.

When I arrived in Ollomont, I still was not feeling great about continuing. I was worried about my knee getting worse and it being a painful slog to Courmayeur. I had already finished this race last year. What did I have to prove? That I could suffer? Plus I was starting to feel sick. Again. For the third year in a row.

In order to meet my goal of “not getting sick again”, I had masked at work for the month prior to the Tor, masked on the plane, masked at bib pickup, and just overall tried my best to practice good sanitization. I also utilized a buff around my mouth at the higher and colder elevations to minimize the risk of developing the ubiquitous “Tor cough”. There were times that I noticed the urge to cough as I got higher and the urge decreasing as I descended, showing me that not all conditions are created equal when it comes to stressing the lungs, and that I had some control in the situation by modifying my pace. My cough actually was not as bad as previous years and I only found that it increased as I got to higher altitudes and colder temps. Now in Ollomont though, I felt like I was actually getting sick. Again, I started to freak out that this last stretch was going to be very unpleasant if I chose to continue.

The What’s App group urged me to rest and told me that I had tons of time. I really hadn’t planned on resting in Ollomont. In fact, I wanted to spend as little time as Ollomont as possible since last year I had spent enough time for both years put together (8 hours total). But then I thought, ok Megan let’s just spend some time taking care of yourself right now and then see how you feel. First, I decided to take a shower because I smelled like urine, sweat, and blood.  Ok, I don’t know if blood has a smell but I had gotten my period at Rifugio Coda and while I was grateful that a Volontor had a couple of maxi pads to give to me, I haven’t sat in a pad of my own blood since high school so it only added to my grossness. After my shower, I ate and visited the massage people hoping they could give me some helpful solutions to my knee problem. They couldn’t do anything but slap a bunch of kinesio tape on me like they had everyone else, but part of me was starting to feel a little bit more optimistic. I texted with Garret who said maybe the kinesio tape would work if I believed it did and encouraged me to continue on, saying that if shit really hit the fan I could always drop at Bosses. The castastrophizing had been reduced to a more manageable “one step at a time, let’s see what happens” kind of mindset that I could deal with.  

That last 50k was hard. It was hard going into the last night knowing that Yuch would be finished before midnight, but I would be continuing to slog through the mountains with the other zombies until morning. My hallucinations to this point had been mild – mostly auditory, and the visual ones were simply distortions of reality. Despite this, I felt like I was losing my mind. The night seemed to go on and on. The flags seemed to go on and on. At times I wondered if the trail would ever end, or if the bright yellow reflective flags would just continue on forever. There was no one to share my thoughts with which made me feel even crazier. Those who I attempted to share my thoughts with could not understand.

When I arrived at the final checkpoint, Rifugio Bertone, I knew I needed to lie down and shut my eyes for ten minutes. On the approach, the trail had turned into a flowing stream of water beneath my feet and I was finally beginning to have full on visual hallucinations. I wasn’t scared, but I knew that I needed some brain repairs before continuing on that final descent. Seven minutes of shut eye seemed to do the trick and I stumbled down the trail to the finish line, finishing at 7:45 am on Friday. I had finished in 117 hours and 45 minutes; 14 hours faster than last year.

Despite my attempts to not get sick, I got sick anyway. It’s unclear if I got sick on the trail or if my immune system was so broken down that I quickly picked something up afterwards, but I felt like I was getting sick on the trail and was sick for two weeks following the race. My goal to be more efficient at aid stations worked. I spent at least 7 hours less time at lifebases this year. My “running” time can’t have been much different, but perhaps it reflected less time at aid stations between lifebases. As for the stress…it reared its ugly head when I started getting annoyed with the 100k runners and the poop.

I can’t say I “enjoyed” this year’s Tor. I enjoyed seeing parts of the course in the daylight that I had previously experienced in the dark. I was happy to spend 14 fewer hours as a zombie. I was happy to feel mostly strong, resilient, and able to solve problems that came up. However, I did not enjoy losing my mind and having no one to bring me back to reality. I don’t mind being alone for the most part, but I do feel like if I had someone with me to share the experience perhaps I would have seen the beauty beyond what I felt was ugly. Plus, friends make everything better. Lastly, I don’t enjoy the long term effects of sleep deprivation that carry on months later. It is because of these feelings that I have that I held off on sharing this blog. Because if I can’t say I had a “good” experience, what do I say?

I considered writing the Tor race committee after my first Tor, to comment on the poop on the trail but never did. After this year’s race, when I commented on the poop, people seemed to either not want to talk about it or wanted to focus on the positive pretty things. I get it. But, if no one wants talk about it we all get to see more of it! So, I wrote the following letter to the race people. This letter pretty much sums up my feelings towards this race and my experience this year.

To whom it may concern,

I have run the Tor des Geants the last 3 years. It is a very special race to me. In 2023, I dropped at Gressoney after realizing that it would be impossible for me to continue on with knees that could no longer bend. Even though I did not finish the race, I still felt like a winner as it took a lot of determination strength and grit just to get to my finish line at Gressoney! My boyfriend at the time stuck by me as I painfully and slowly inched my way down the trail even though he thought I should take a helicopter down the mountain. After the race, he ended up proposing to me, making the trip an even more special memory that I would always look back at fondly.

In 2024, we again tackled the Tor – now as a married couple. Even though we opted to run our own races from the get-go, we ended up together at multiple times during the race, ultimately crossing the finish line together.

I knew it would be difficult for me to not sign up for the Tor again in 2025. However, both years I have run it, I have never gotten in through the lottery and have had to buy a charity or eco bib. In 2025, my husband got in through the lottery (again), and I did not (again). For the third year in a row, I purchased a charity/eco bib! I guess you could say, I had become a Tor addict! Addicted to the beauty of the course, the epic challenge, the love and support from the Volontors, the overwhelming feeling of accomplishment after surviving something so difficult!

During this year’s race, it became clear to me that this will probably be my last time running the Tor, and I wanted to share with you why. This year the poop, toilet paper, and trash on the trail was simply overwhelming. In 2023 and 2024, I noticed poop and toilet paper on the trail and thought it odd, as this was something I have never seen before on the trail coming from the United States. However, the amount suggested it belonged to only one or two negligent runners. This year, the amount of feces and toilet paper on the trail was overwhelming, as if the trail had become the default place to go to the bathroom. I even saw one runner poop right in front of me, wipe his behind, and toss the toilet paper to the side without any shame. I cannot tell you how much this negatively affected my experience this year.

As I have said before, the Tor is a very special race to me. It is special because it is beautiful. It is special because it is wild. It is special because the Volontors put so much love and support into helping (or should I say enabling?) each runner to get to the finish line. It is special because the organizers put so much dedication and meticulous work into making sure the runners are taken care of and have the things they need to move forward along the course. Every detail down to the cell phone charging stations with volunteers meticulously documenting the runner who belonged to each piece of technology! I was especially amazed by the organization and separation of the various types of waste – compost, landfill, and recycling – at each aid station and the time and care that the volunteers took to separate all the waste!

It is this dichotomy that really made me feel terrible about all the waste and trash on the trail. The runners are given this beautiful pristine trail in the Aosta valley with dedicated volunteers along the way taking care of their every need, and in return the runners shit on the trail and leave their trash behind.

In the United States we have something called “Leave no Trace”. Those who use the trail whether it be runners, hikers, backpackers, do their best to not only make sure the trail is how they found it, but even BETTER than how they found it. Trash is to be carried out. If someone has to use the bathroom, they go off the trail and dig a hole.

It seems that it has become not only common for Tor runners to leave waste and trash on the trail, but it has become acceptable. I have not seen any mention of discouragement of this behavior on the website or any announcements by the organizers. I realize this is not the easiest thing to enforce, but I do think it is important to have some kind of policy or statement reprimanding those who participate in this behavior. The continuation of this without any kind of acknowledgement that this is unacceptable and reprimandable suggests a lack of respect for the trails, those that use the trails, and those that dedicate countless hours to supporting the Tor runners.

I finished this year’s race 14 hours faster than last year, and once again left Italy a changed person! However, I’m not sure I will go back to the Tor as I was too disappointed and disgusted by the state of the trails. This is heartbreaking to me because the trails of the Aosta valley are so beautiful, but the thing is they are not as beautiful when they are littered with waste.

I hope that the Tor organizers will consider adding some kind of statement in their Regulations and race emails regarding trail ethics, specifically regarding human feces and toilet paper (beyond “don’t leave rubbish”). In my mind, if this is not clearly written and discouraged, it may as well be considered acceptable by the race. I hope that one day the conditions on the trail will improve and that I can come back to this beautiful race!