Just past midnight somewhere along the long road between Darwin and Lone Pine, California, driving a car littered with Cheez-It boxes, baby wipes, and crushed cans of energy drinks and coffee, Andrew Boyd tried to decide if he should tell Kaylee Frederick something important. As the crew chief of Frederick鈥檚 third consecutive Badwater 135 run, Boyd was the keeper of the pace secrets. Not even Frederick knew whether she was on pace to achieve her goal of besting the 20 to 29 female age group record of 32 hours and 31 minutes. She had spent the previous day listening to Boyd鈥檚 encouragement, and now, in the darkness outside of Death Valley, she was just hours away from breaking 32. She would need, however, to dig deep鈥攖o run most of the way up Mount Whitney鈥檚 Portal Road. The margins were too close; she didn鈥檛 have time to take a break or a quick nap. Every step, truly, had to count.

Boyd knew this. I noticed the mischievous, whimsical shift in his tone that I had come to recognize over the past two days. He turned to the other two members of Frederick鈥檚 crew: Liz Myers and Marissa Sisson, his thought-partners in crime.

鈥淪hould I tell her?鈥� he said.

鈥淚t鈥檚 time,鈥� Myers said.

Two years ago, Frederick became, at 18 years old, the youngest ever Badwater 135 finisher. Since then, Frederick, who is sponsored by the performance running brand , has amassed an impressive resume of ultramarathon finishes, including a second-place, 136-mile total at the USA Track & Field 24-hour championship in 2024. But it is Badwater that holds her gaze. She has returned annually since that initial finish, each year improving on her time from the year before. She holds the age group record for females under 20 years old, and, at 20 years old this year, was targeting the next female age group record. She is half the age of the current female record holder, Ashley Paulson. Andrew Boyd has been there for each of Frederick鈥檚 Badwater races, encouraging her from the support vehicle, running alongside her as a pacer.

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鈥擨n April 2024, David Roche鈥檚 body was on a beeline toward death. Thrown off his bike by a turning car, Roche flew 100 feet into a fence. A concussion, a broken wrist, and stitches ensued, but so too did the lingering effects of a near-death experience, that strange and wildly scary reminder of fragility that feels all the more terrifying when one is blessed with a body that has never had to be reminded of such a thing.

For Roche, that accident was what led to his fuck it moment: a decision to live his life as a demonstration of love, grit, and joy. While recovering, Roche decided that he needed to go big. Fuck the haters. Climb the mountain. Do the thing. And he did. He won the historic Leadville Trail 100 just five months later. It was his first attempt at the distance. He set a course record.

When I first spoke to David Roche in February 2025, it only took him about 30 seconds to mention death. 鈥淓verything,鈥� Roche told me over the phone, 鈥渟tarts with death and impermanence.鈥� It was a jarring introduction for someone whose public persona feels so overwhelmingly positive. Love, kindness, awesomeness, even huzzah鈥攖hese words punctuate Roche鈥檚 social media posts, his Strava runs, and, recently, the texts and emails he sent my way. 鈥淪o excited,鈥� he emailed me, with four exclamation marks, when I told him I was flying out to Boulder, Colorado, to spend some time with him. And yet, as he told me over the phone, he is always subject to entropy, the unalterable process by which each of us, and I do mean each of us, is heading on that beeline toward death.

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