Edge of Capacity

Hey Team!

After enjoying five days in the sun, I’m back in NYC adjusting to this winter climate. A friend, who’s a run club founder, messaged me: “Welcome to the Arctic Tundra.” And honestly… she isn’t far off.

Even while I’m recalibrating to the cold, it’s always good to be back in the city. This week is stacked with meetings, a few friendly hangs, and an outdoor three-week sauna festival called Culture of Bathe-ing, which I’m genuinely fired up for. It’s going to pull in a lot of people from the wellness world… which also means it’s time to start having the real conversations about the run club app we’ve been quietly building.

It’s getting close… like, really close. If you’re not already following along, any follows on the OPS RUN Instagram would mean a lot.

A Mental Edge

Now for something that’s been sitting with me all week.

Four-time World Cup champion and Olympic gold medalist Lindsey Vonn crashed in the women’s downhill at the Milan Cortina Olympics in Italy and had to be airlifted off the course. It was difficult to watch… you could feel the pain from afar.

The headlines went everywhere… and so did the opinions. People debating whether she should’ve been racing at all, especially with the backdrop of a recent ACL injury. I’m not a doctor, and I’m not here to play one. I’m not going to tell you what she should or shouldn’t have done.

But I do want to name what I see in her: this is what it looks like when someone has spent a lifetime living at the edge of their capacity. Not for attention. Not for chaos. For mastery. For the pursuit. For the part of sport that asks, “How far can the human go?” Vonn didn’t become Vonn by doing what’s safe, predictable, or widely approved. She became who we know because she kept choosing the start line… the risk… the arena.

And this is where the mental edge comes in: it’s easy to judge any high-risk decision after the outcome. That’s hindsight bias doing what it does best… making the past feel obvious. But the truth is, the greatest athletes (and honestly, the boldest builders too) are constantly making decisions with incomplete information, real consequences, and public scrutiny. Sometimes it looks like brilliance. Sometimes it looks like a brutal lesson. Both can be true.

So no, I still don’t have a verdict on whether she “should” have raced. That’s not my role. What I do have is gratitude. Because people like Lindsey remind the rest of us what courage looks like in motion. Thank you, Lindsey… for the standard you’ve set, and the permission you’ve given so many others to chase something bigger than comfort.

From The Field

I’m finding myself in that same season of committing to something. I told you my misogi this year had to scare me… it had to push me. And when Moab 240 didn’t come to fruition, I knew there was something else waiting. Something bolder. Then last week, something landed on my doorstep that felt like the universe delivering exactly what I asked for (and then some).

It’s official: I’m running Badwater Salton Sea on April 18th/19th. Ninety miles. One hundred and thirty kilometers. Desert conditions. The kind of race people bring up when they talk about the edge of human endurance… David Goggins-esque.

The part that got me wasn’t just the distance… it was how fast the story unfolded.

A friend of mine, Chloe, recently moved to Switzerland to help grow Barry’s across Europe. One of their clients, Niels, is a seriously high-performing runner and triathlete, and he was looking for a partner to race with him. Not just to survive it… to go for the win. Unbeknownst to me, Chloe put my name forward. Next thing I know, I’ve got a DM from this impressive human and I’m staring at a question that doesn’t leave you alone once it arrives.

Here’s the truth: I can’t run at his pace today. And even as I write this, I’m still working to visualize what “winning” actually looks like in a race like that. It’s outside my comfort zone and it will demand a new level from me.

But if I didn’t say yes, he wouldn’t have a partner… and he wouldn’t be able to race.

That’s the throughline for me: community. Two people in different countries, living different lives, motivated by different things… choosing to lean in together and see what’s possible. So I said yes. This felt like my moment to channel that Lindsey Vonn energy… not recklessness, but courage. The kind that puts you on the start line before you feel fully ready. The kind that expands what you believe you can do.

And now, unexpectedly, you might see me running the Austin Marathon this weekend. And if time permits… I may even run one on my own two days before.

It’s go time. This is how we get to the start line: we put in the reps.

If the Olympics and athletes like Lindsey remind us of anything, it’s this: courage looks like choosing the arena before you feel ready… and letting that inspiration pull you toward your own start line.

Catch you on the Start Line,
—Matty