Shedding the Mask, Into the Storm: Keji Backyard Ultra 2025 and the Mental Miles Between
Running has never been about distances for me; it’s about who I become in the pursuit of my goals. The process of asking, and answering, “what if?” The planning. The training. The execution.
At this year’s Keji’s Backyard Ultra, I didn’t just cross the finish line after 33 loops or ‘yards.’ I crossed a threshold into a deeper understanding of myself. One that would require me to strip away a mask I’d worn for over a decade, and stand face-to-face with the person I’d been chasing over hundreds of miles and long-distance endeavours.
Literally millions of footsteps led me to this. What unfolded was more than a race; it was a reckoning. An awakening. A metamorphosis.
A powerfully silent home-coming.
Training
My training block for Keji BYU was monotonous, by design. I peaked at two 160km weeks, running loops of a local park for the majority of my buildup. I ran 99 days straight of at least 10k (which, if I’m being honest, was more like 5k for the last few days). My goal was simple: repetition, repeatability, and consistency.
I also held several practice Backyards – which I called “Front Yards” – where I simulated the format over 6, 8, and 11-hour sessions. Again, same loop, same system. Training the mind as much as the legs but also working out a plan and visualization. Plus I got a lot of my training done in the rain, which turned out to be to my advantage.
There was a lot of respect given to training for this event and I took it all in stride. My fiancee was amazingly supportive in caring for our infant son as I trained. I would run at work during lunch hour and again in the evenings to get in the volume. Anything it took. It wasn’t always easy but it always got done.
The importance of preparation is one thing I take pride in for all my events and endeavours.
Pre-Race: Before the First Bell
In the weeks leading up to Keji, I felt the usual blend of anticipation and anxiety. The body was ready. I’d logged the miles, tested the gear, obsessed over packing lists – I was ready, but the mind never fully settles. I had a goal: 50 loops. I believed I had it in me. But belief doesn’t erase fear. And fear, I’ve learned, is part of the path. Not necessarily a fear of failure, but a fear of being seen.
I had taken part in this event for the past 3 years, with each year having lessons to apply to the next. I loved the format. It’s highly intriguing to me to do the same loop over and over for as many times as possible. I never wanted to be a fast runner and win races, but the Backyard was an altogether different playing field.
What made this year, my 4th year at Keji, different was the weight I carried into the race – not just in gear, but in spirit. I was running to raise funds for Healthy Minds Cooperative, an organization that supports mental health and wellness. And I made a promise: if I hit my $2,000 goal, I’d shave the beard I’d had for 11 years – a beard that had become a symbol of safety, identity, and even survival. It was more than hair. It was a mask.
One I was finally ready to let go of.
The vibe of the day was positively electric with tents propped up everywhere. The rain the day before was only a taste of what was to come, and thankfully we had our tent setup and tarp on before the water fell. It was essentially the same spot as the year prior. Everyone was buzzing with excitement and preparations.
It was go time.
Into the Loops
The first few loops felt like a ritual. Like a family dinner where there’s so much chatter, it’s hard to hear your own thoughts.
I find those opening laps mildly stressful. The pack is tight, the trail narrow. If you get caught in the back, finding your rhythm means passing a hundred people. My strategy: start right at the line. That way I could dictate my pace, walk when I wanted, and stay in control. A few times I couldn’t push to the front and someone stepped on my heel so hard my shoe came off. That’s how congested it gets.
Still, the energy in the air was electric. People were giddy with excitement, catching up with old friends, making new ones. I kept mostly to myself—light conversation here and there, just enough to keep the loops from feeling too long. I made a point to cheer people on and be positive. No room for darkness out here. Not now.
More than one runner told me they were pacing off of me. This being my fourth Backyard Ultra, I took that as a compliment. I’m glad it showed that I had a plan, was methodically following that plan, and executing in mind, body, and spirit.
My fiancee Amy and our friend Luc were my crew. They were dialed in from the start – A+ from first bell to last. They kept me fed, dry(ish), and moving. And Baby Henry, my tiniest cheerleader, brought a grounding energy that reminded me why I do this: growth, healing, love.
But the backyard format has a way of luring you into comfort before it strips it all away.
As the Storm Is; Be
As night fell, so did the rain. And boy, did it fall. The air turned cold once I stopped moving after each loop. During my rain training I had practiced with what gear works in the wet to minimize chafing, but being soaked through takes its toll no matter how much rain training you did.
And that’s when the real work began – not with the legs, but with the mind.
At some point in the dark, I stopped chasing 50 loops. I started chasing peace. I’ve done this long enough to know the trail doesn’t test your endurance – it tests your truth. I fought old narratives that told me I wasn’t enough. I faced ghosts – trauma, shame, survival mode. The rain soaked more than my skin. It soaked into memory, into marrow.
There was never any doubt that I’d continue, but it was tough at times. Ultramarathons have shown me that gritty side and I’ve done this before, I’ve danced in the darkness.
But I found light there, too. In the rhythm of the pouring rain. In the breath between steps. The glee of splashing through puddles without any concern. Everything was soaked and it was memorable. I hesitate to say fun because I think that’s hard to imagine – but it was epic!
Luc had the night shift as Amy was with our son at our roofed accommodation for the night. I was happy they were comfortable and safe. Luc blew me away – he volunteered his time without hesitation and made sure my spirit was high. He assured me, supported me, and encouraged me in perfect fashion.
Although, I knew he was lying when he told me sunrise was only a few hours away. I appreciated his enthusiasm nonetheless as I huffed and puffed, toweling myself off once again for a few moments of respite in my tent.
“I’m sore,” I said more than a few times.
“That’s fine,” he’d reply, “what do you need?”
Day Break and Loop 24 – 100 Miles
With the sunrise came the ending of the rain. I’m pretty sure the rain stopped just before the sky brightened, but for poetic reasons and because I was sleep deprived at the time, I’ll say it was near simultaneous.
The puddles were impressive, and the other runners and I were resigned to having wet feet for most of the day at least. We thought the puddles would never drain – that they’d be there indefinitely. A constant reminder of the night before.
While some of those monster puddles did stick around, the majority dried up, the trail river subsided, and we were impressed to see how dry the trail had gotten in comparison to the amount of rainfall.
Luc “allowed” me to change my shirt relatively early. Another loop; change my socks. Another loop; change my shorts and shoes.
“Those socks should be burned,” Luc said as he watched dirt fall out of my removed socks as I peeled them off.
The sun felt glorious. Dry socks felt heavenly. Dry shoes, too. I had enough gear to cycle through as required (pictured below in my shoe organizer). I really appreciated the timing of Luc’s strategic decisions in changing me out of wet clothes. Even if my shoes and socks did get a little wet again on the loops from puddles, it was nothing compared to what came off of my feet from the night!
I was super comfortable and proud to have made it through the night fully intact and coherent. Regretfully, there aren’t many pictures of the evening adventures, though!
The Day After
Like a breath of fresh air, Amy was there to greet me and Henry would watch me intently as I rested after each loop. Luc went to take a well deserved nap and get his run of the day in. He’d be back before long!
In the meantime my family and I were determined with the energy of the new day. The sun was shining and I felt great. I ate my usual egg sandwich for breakfast and felt ready to keep pushing. Henry cheered me on with his sign and his bright starry eyes.
Loop 24 saw 7 runners complete it. The famed 100 Mile mark. This is another major benchmark, the others being 50km, 80km, and 100km where runners reach their goals and bow out of doing any more loops. We congratulated each other for making it this far, with remarks of adding “another notch to the belt,” of collected 100-Mile efforts.
I remember being happier about it last year, when I had done 31 loops in total and finished 5th. But this year I was more determined to see it through – my goal was over 2 days. 24 just meant that my race could begin!
The Final Countdown
Loop 25 had 5 runners complete it.
26 had 4.
30 had 3. The heat was building. Fatigue from the night before was setting in. Some of the final runners not continuing surprised me, as they had looked so strong. Joel Taylor and Mike DeCoffe deserve a mention here. That’s the nature of these events. It feels like you lost someone you went to war with out there when they stopped – their presence suddenly absent from the same familiar trail you shared for over a day.
At loop 31 it was down to 2 runners. It was down to me and Chris Morris. He was tough. We pushed each other. But something shifted inside me – not ego, not pride. Just presence. One loop at a time. One breath at a time. No past. No future. Just now.
Loop 33 was my final lap. At the top of the first gradual hill the assist, Chris Morris offered some very kind words. He humbled me and I completed my last loop full of gratitude. To be the last runner standing of such a gritty group of runners leaves me humbled and honoured.
Chris had set a goal of 24 hours and absolutely smashed it by finishing with the assist and winning $1,000! He definitely earned my respect after that effort, and his words to me stick to me to this day.
Removing the Mask – What Keji Taught Me
Keji wasn’t about winning or even the 50 loops that I thought I was chasing.
It was about shedding layers: physical, emotional, spiritual. It was about facing myself without the stories, without the shields. Endurance, I’ve learned, isn’t just something you train into your legs, it’s the courage to keep going when the mind screams to stop, when your past tries to pull you back, when the path ahead feels uncertain. When the insecurities creep in and tell you you’re not enough.
Running became a ritual. Movement became medicine. I was in therapy.
I ran to raise funds for mental health and together, we raised $2,600 for Healthy Minds Cooperative. But the biggest shift wasn’t financial. It was internal.
When I kept my promise and shaved the beard I’d worn for over a decade, it wasn’t just hair falling to the floor. It was years of identity, protection, and silence. It was a version of me I no longer needed.
And in that release, I found something more lasting than any loop count or race result: Self-acceptance. Connection. Purpose.
The Unmasked Dragon – Post-Race Blues
So… what now?
The race is over. The beard is gone. The goal was met and exceeded. And yet, in the stillness that follows, I feel it: the post-race ache that isn’t just in the legs, but in the heart and mind.
Because the truth is, Keji wasn’t just an event. It was a transformation. And once you’ve shed a part of yourself – once you’ve stood exposed and kept going – you can’t return to who you were. There’s a sort of grief that comes with the ending of Keji 2025 – I didn’t exactly want to stop. Don’t get me wrong, my body was relieved, but my mind was hungry for more.
I wanted to run with the version of me that I had uncovered. I was truly present, loving it. Connected and on purpose. I wasn’t battling myself or anyone else, but meeting parts of me that I had buried or misunderstood. I was tired, and it wasn’t easy, but I just didn’t want to stop the journey.
I’ve been sitting with the silence that follows the cheers. And in that silence, a new clarity is forming.
What’s next?
There’s nothing on the schedule. That’s the one thing I’m told to do is to sign up for another event. Due to life’s circumstances, that doesn’t seem very feasible at the moment.
2026, maybe Fat Dog 120? Keji BYU 2026?
My goal now is to apply the lessons of this effort to my life and re-focus on everyday life.
This has always been my weakness; the quiet otherside. The imposter syndrome. So it’s fitting that it becomes the next challenge; having nothing on the schedule and on the other side, willing to push through and support those who have supported me.
The “loops” never really end – they just shift form. And I’ll keep running them, with eyes open, heart unguarded, and no mask to hide behind.
Because somewhere in the middle of that storm – soaked, broken, and alive – I realized something:
The darkness didn’t need to be feared or fought.
It needed to be entered, felt, and understood.
There is light in the darkness.
And it’s been inside me all along.
Gratitude
To Amy – my crew chief, my constant light. You made this possible.
To Luc – thank you for being a good friend and even better crew member. I couldn’t have done it with you.
To Baby Henry – you inspire me to grow every day.
To Chris Morris – thank you for the kind words, the presence, the heart. You were the perfect assist. Congrats again on smashing your goal and good luck at Capes!
To all the runners and volunteers, thank you for the memories.
To every donor, supporter, and friend who believed in the cause: your love carried me through the darkest loops.
And to the NSTR community – thank you for reminding me this sport isn’t about competition. It’s about connection.
More Reading
If you’ve enjoyed this article and reflection please check out my 100 Miles in Cape Chignecto reflection here.
Matt
Joel