Chapter 3 — Bigger Than The Miles

This journey has always been about mental health and suicide prevention.

Long before there was an FKT.

Long before there was a route across West Virginia.

Long before there were crew stops, nutrition plans, and thousands of feet of climbing.

There was a reason I ran.

Running started as an escape.

It was a way to quiet my mind without substances.

A way to feel okay when my thoughts weren’t okay.

A way to find community without having to walk into a bar.

A way for that weird heavy metal kid who never quite felt like he belonged to finally find a place.

For as long as I can remember, running has been tied to my mental health.

But for most of my life, it was mostly about saving myself.

It was my own battle.

My own coping mechanism.

My own way forward.

When I connected with Melissa from New River Trail Races, she introduced me to Dave from Bigger Than The Trail.

That conversation changed everything.

From the moment I talked with Dave, I knew I had found the organization I wanted to support.

Their mission aligned with everything I believed in.

They break down the barriers that prevent people from getting the counseling and mental health support they need. They use donations and funds generated through the trail community to help people who may otherwise fall through the cracks.

They understood something I had experienced my entire life:

Sometimes people don’t need someone to fix everything.

Sometimes they just need someone to remind them they aren’t alone.

As the project grew, something inside me started to shift.

At first, I was fighting my own doubts.

Why me?

Why would anyone care what I had to say?

Why would anyone listen to my story?

The imposter syndrome was real.

I wasn’t a professional athlete.

I wasn’t someone who had everything figured out.

I was just someone who found running, found purpose, and wanted to use it to help other people.

But once the mission became bigger than me, everything changed.

The hard days of training weren’t just about preparing my body.

The logistics weren’t just about finishing a route.

The suffering wasn’t just about chasing a number.

It was about creating something that could reach someone sitting alone, struggling, and wondering if anyone understood.

The dream became less about proving something.

Less about needing validation.

Less about chasing a record.

The miles became a message.

And once that happened, everything changed.

I wasn’t running away anymore.

I was running toward something.