Grit Over Glory: Adam Peterman

What Remains: Adam Peterman’s Western States 100 ‘25

By: Peter Vercio (Sports Marketing & Events Director)

Skratch Labs has since released a film titled What Remains following Adam’s journey at Western States interposed with Alice Held’s attempt at the Leadville 100. 

The Weight of Expectations

In a society that values finance and function over form, this weekend, at the Western States 100, Adam Peterman showed us all a different way. His dreams of a 14-hour finish completely shot, he trudged painfully mile after mile to the finish line. You might say it wasn’t pretty – his stride far from perfect, more limp than his usual gazelle – but here was a man staring into the face of the ego abyss, visions of glory long gone, forced to turn towards goals more fit for the running proletariat than the elite he is. But maybe in 2025 what he showed us is that there is no difference. That times aren’t why we run these trails.

He’d come to Olympic Valley having won Western States in 2022, his only other 100-mile race, a 100-degree heater, where he’d patiently waited until mile 70 to make his move. Eventually building a 32-minute lead so he could coast the final mile with a crowd running him in. The people’s champ. Ultrarunner of the year followed but so did injury, a sacral fracture that kept him from doing what he loved for over a year. 2025 Western States was meant to prove he was back and reestablish him as trail-running royalty. 

The Opening Miles: Running with Legends

He started strong, casually running with Killian Jornet, the GOAT, through mile 24. His aid station stops quick and efficient. Gallons of water and ice dumped on him as he easily kept up with the stacked elite field. His crew nervous, but intent on getting him to the bourgeois high school track that serves as the finish line to be crowned the champion once again. 

Crewing Western States isn’t for the faint of heart.  You don’t have time to make it to every aid station because of the meandering drives up and down steep canyons so you must have multiple vehicles and two teams that can play hopscotch to every other aid station. But at mile 62, everyone converges at the Foresthill aid station. The streets buzz like a European mountain race—cowbells, signs, fans rallying behind every runner coming through the aid station.  When the mile 55 crew told us his quads were shot, we took it in quietly. It wasn’t panic, not yet. This is a race where things can go wrong and runners rebound. You learn to wait. To hope. To stay steady when your athlete isn’t. 

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Foresthill: The Turning Point

Forrest Hill, the two street town that every year gets invaded as brands, crews, and fans descend to be near their favorite trail runners. The long street leading downhill, mercifully shaded by tall trees until the sun breaks through to roast all involved. 

Adam should have come through. We nervously prepped and re-prepped his gear. Frustrated, wondering if we’d failed him somehow. Telling jokes and laughing too loud just to have some sound other than our own thoughts. At times saying confidently “He’s only 40 minutes back, the race starts here. He can still take this”. And later, “55 minutes back isn’t so bad, he can at least finish top ten and punch his ticket for next year”. But soon even those thoughts rang hollow as minutes ticked away. Finally, his crew chief stated the obvious, “He’s going to be embarrassed coming in here so slowly. He thinks he’s letting us and everyone else down.” One of the other crew remarked “We’re out here for 30 hours if he wants it.” 

We watched other elite runners, looking much fresher than Adam, drop out of the race. One of the annoying parts of this sport. It’s brutally hard to run 100 miles but with certain pros there’s an attitude of “If I’m not going to win I’ll just drop.” It creates a divide with the average participant that joins them on the trails.

Finally, Adam came in, jogging slowly, face red, hating the sea of eyeballs and cameras pointed his way. As his crew rubbed two sore quads with sponges left sitting in ice water, Adam finally said what they’d been afraid to ask, “My quads haven’t gotten better so I can’t really run and I thought I was going to drop”. The past tense relieved us. With a few words about process, not results, he stepped back into the sunshine, had 4 gallons of ice water dumped on his head, and ran into the oppressive heat. 

Community on the River

It should’ve been 2 hours to the next aid station. It took 6 hours. He walked nearly all of it. Something unfamiliar to an elite athlete so used to winning races. When he arrived at mile 78, the famous river crossing, Rucky Chucky, he seemed to be in better spirits and was able to slowly jog a bit. He’d moved from frustrated to apologizing to his crew, feeling bad that he’d “wasted” people’s time bringing them out to such a beautiful place. We all laughed at that as we were in awe of the toughness he showed to go from thoughts of winning to just hanging on for 100 miles. 

One bystander yelled out, “We love you Petergod!”, using Adam’s nickname he’d earned after winning 7 straight races. We were glad he still had his sense of humor. “More like PeterPlebian,” he smiled and retorted. Each year is different at the river crossing. Some years it’s too wild and rafts rowed by volunteers take  each athlete across the roaring river. This year wasn’t one of those, as light snow in the Sierras had rivers running manageably.

For safety, a rope is strung across the river and brave souls stand in the water holding the rope in place as athletes either walk or swim through the waist deep water to the towering hill they climb on the other side. It’s a brief reprieve from the heat for those that go through during the day. Right before he dipped down to the water’s edge, a woman identifying herself as being from his hometown of Missoula, said, “I hope you finish, it’ll be so inspiring to all of us that are slow and have to run all night just to have a chance at getting a buckle.” As he crossed the river a volunteer holding the rope gave Adam some words of encouragement and he paused to give her a big hug before finishing the crossing. 

The Darkest Miles

Those last 20 miles I’m sure, were the slowest of his life. He took a 2 hour nap at one aid station and continued to limp nearly every step. When we saw him at mile 96 he told us that aid station volunteers had kept him going through the night. Just another reason to love this community

At 4:09:29 AM local time, 23 hours and 9 minutes after he’d started, he limped across the finish line, a pained smile on his face, filled with mixed emotions. The announcer’s deep voice greeted him with, “A true champion shows his grit and Adam Peterman showed his grit today”. 

The Finish at Dawn

At 4 in the morning there were no sponsor dollars to earn. No oversized checks he’d be handed on the podium later that day. The crowds had mostly gone home, other than a few crew sitting around waiting for their runners and stray mattresses with finished runners snoring under the bright football lights. No ostensible glory to be had. But there was something more. Something better. Those who’d stayed allowed the tears to flow as he limped that last 30 yards. We cried because this is the best of our humanity.

Not doing it for outside validation or finances. And not giving up when it gets hard and the win is far gone. But, instead, finishing it because it’s true. Because unconsciously, gathered together, we are acknowledging the entirety of what it means to be human. Run, walk, crawl.  Adam showed us that it means more to fail and continue onwards than to simply succeed. That depth is found in these contradictions. This is running. This is ultra. 

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