Meet three top athletes shaping the region’s mountain sports scene
By Eric Wallace
The sun had yet to rise when ultrarunner Canyon Woodward began to jog south on the Appalachian Trail from Tennessee’s Davenport Gap on a summer 2022, record-setting attempt at the Smokies Challenge Adventure Run (SCAR). The notorious 73-mile route passes through Great Smoky Mountains National Park along the spine of 6,000-plus-foot peaks and features a grueling 35,000 feet of elevation change.
And Woodward was taking it on alone and unsupported.
“There’s something amazing about the juxtaposition of competition and solitude this sport offers,” says Woodward, 31, a resident of Franklin, North Carolina. You’re racing “in one of the world’s most beautiful natural areas, watching the sunrise light up fog-filled valleys and forests in the middle of nowhere, and you’re completely alone.”
Woodward basked in the eye-candy and let thoughts of anything beyond pace, breath, muscles, thirst, calories, and terrain evaporate like morning dew. He’d pushed through a hellacious dozen-mile climb and crushed another 13 miles of ridgeline when the unthinkable happened: Loose rocks triggered a slip and nasty, downhill barrel roll.
“Miraculously, nothing got hurt but my hand,” says Woodward. But the damage was severe. “My left ring finger looked twisted and, when I tried to make a fist, my lower knuckle just disappeared.”
Woodward used training techniques he’d learned as a wilderness first responder to try to push the presumably dislocated joint back into place. It didn’t work but, realizing he was well ahead of target pace, he chose to shoulder his trekking poles and run through the pain. (Woodward later discovered the finger was fractured in multiple places and needed surgery.)
“I just kept coming back to my mantra: ‘Make seconds, make minutes, make miles,’” he says. “I told myself to push just a little bit harder and run just a little bit more on the ups, knowing that every second I cut off adds up over the course of the day.”
And the strategy paid dividends: When Woodward emerged from the SCAR’s final eight, mostly downhill miles onto Fontana Dam about 13 and a half hours later, he’d shattered the route’s then fastest known time by more than 90 minutes.
The achievement cemented his reputation as one of the country’s most exciting up-and-coming ultrarunners and catapulted him onto the world stage.
“That was the moment I felt like I truly belonged competing at the highest level,” says Woodward. Ultrarunning had become a passion, and he wanted to see how far he could take it.
Early Steps
Woodward didn’t set out to become a star ultramarathoner—it’s just something that sort of happened.
He grew up in Franklin in an outdoor recreation-loving family but preferred team sports like soccer and tennis when it came to competition. Running was just a means to train or play with siblings and friends. Then pleas from his history teacher and cross-country coach, Denise Davis, convinced him to race in a track meet as a high school junior.
“Much to my surprise, I won,” says Woodward. Taking gold felt spectacular and he joined the team immediately. Davis, it so happened, was an old school ultrarunner. “She introduced me to the sport and community,” says Woodward. “I learned it was a big thing in this area, and I respected that immensely. But it wasn’t really my thing.”
Woodward graduated and didn’t race competitively while attending Harvard University. He jogged to stay in shape and, while he did enter a couple of mountain races on breaks, “I got crushed,” he says. “Which was pretty discouraging.”
Change came in 2017 when Woodward returned to Franklin to live with his older brother, Forest.
“He was getting into [ultrarunning] and is a super enthusiastic guy, so I kind of fell into it by proximity,” says Woodward. The two started with a motley training regimen but Bryon Powell’s book, Relentless Forward Progress: A Guide to Running Ultramarathons, inspired them to up the ante. “He had a plan for how to prepare for a 100-mile race and we were like, ‘Why not try this?’” says Woodward.
The duo began to eat healthier, do daily speed exercises, and log a minimum of 70 trail miles a week. Things got real when they registered for 2018’s C&O Canal 100. The move brought accountability and a target goal. And the brothers’ performance eclipsed expectations: Canyon finished seventh overall; Forest took 13th.
“I was shocked and elated,” says Woodward. “I realized this was something I really enjoyed and wanted to keep doing.”
His results improved with experience and confidence. Wins at big regional races like the Naturalist 50K and Tsali Frosty Foot 50K inspired Woodward to enter major events. Taking first at Georgia’s infamous Cruel Jewel 100 in 2021 put him on the national radar and paved the way to competing in 2022’s Ultra-Trail du Mont-Blanc (UTMB). The 106-mile race passes through the Alps of France, Italy, and Switzerland, and is the world’s most prestigious ultramarathon.
“Running the UTMB was a dream come true,” says Woodward. Thousands of spectators crowded into mountain villages and streets to cheer on the event’s 10,000 runners. “I wasn’t prepared for that kind of spectacle. It was crazy and totally surreal.”
Grassroots Running
Woodward is less known for running than his political activism.
The co-founder of grassroots nonprofit Dirtroad Organizing has gained national attention in recent years for helping successfully train, mentor, and run young democratic candidates for state and national office in rural, conservative-majority areas. The organization’s use of campaign strategies designed to have a net positive effect on communities regardless of outcome has been covered by major outlets like The New York Times and Washington Post.
Woodward loves his day job and calls ultrarunning an anchor that counterbalances the relentless stress and demands of politics.
“Having these events on the calendar and training for them brings a shape and discipline to my life that I find really valuable,” says Woodward. Meanwhile, “running is a space where I can get out into nature, focus on the beauty around me and just putting one foot in front of the other. It lets me refill the cup and draw the energy I need to keep putting the work into organizing.”
Woodward has now run in three UTMBs—notably placing 23rd this past August—and plans to compete at more major international events like Colorado’s Leadville Trail 100 and California’s Western States 100 in the years to come.
And with top runners typically achieving peak performance between ages 35-40? Woodward has a lot to look forward to.
Evy Leibfarth
By Suzie Hodges
Olympic Paddler on the Podium
GOING INTO THE OLYMPIC GAMES IN PARIS last summer, Team USA paddler Evy Leibfarth could feel a change in her racing mindset. The 20-year-old whitewater phenom from Bryson City, North Carolina, hadn’t just learned how to get stronger or faster in the three years since her Olympic debut in Tokyo in 2021. She had also learned how to get out of her head. “The goals I went into Paris with were to have runs that I was proud of,” Leibfarth says. “To really feel in the moment out there on the water, and really try to focus on my own race, my own runs.”
In whitewater events as unpredictable as the three in which Leibfarth competes—kayak slalom, canoe slalom, and kayak cross—all you can do is try to put down your best run and have fun, she says. Leibfarth made that her intention heading into the canoe slalom finals in Paris. In slalom, athletes race while maneuvering around uniquely placed gates during each event.
During finals, Leibfarth was the first to complete her run in the pack of a dozen canoeists. She had to wait for all the others to take their turns before learning where she stood. “I got down to the bottom of my run, and I didn’t think it was going to be enough for a medal,” Leibfarth says. “But I was talking to my dad, and I was like, ‘I’m really proud of that. That’s what I wanted to come here and do: a run that I’m happy with, that I’m proud of, knowing I gave it everything.’”
By the time finals were over, Leibfarth’s score ended up being enough to win bronze, making her the first U.S. woman to medal in a slalom event since Rebecca Giddens won silver in kayak slalom at the 2004 Athens Games. With the win, Leibfarth is now the first U.S. woman to medal in canoe slalom, which debuted at the Olympics when she did: in Tokyo in 2021. Leibfarth is also the first U.S. woman to compete in an Olympic “triple” for the sport, with one of her disciplines, kayak cross, making its debut this year in Paris. As Leibfarth’s sport continues to rapidly evolve, there’s more progression and personal growth left in store for her in paddling.
Leibfarth was raised on whitewater. Her father and coach, Lee Leibfarth, was previously on the U.S. national whitewater slalom team and coached the U.S. junior national team, and her mother, Jean Folger, was a whitewater rafting guide for the Nantahala Outdoor Center, where Leibfarth grew up paddling from the age of four. “I know that a big reason why I chose paddling to be my sport was because my dad coached me when I was young,” Leibfarth says. “It’s really special to have a coach that I know is always going to be there to support me, but who is also going to really push me to go out there and achieve my goals. It’s incredibly helpful to have someone telling you: ‘Yeah, you can do this. You have to work for it, but you can do this.’”
Competing in three disciplines requires paddlers to flip switches in strategic thinking as they move between events. Slalom is all about visualization, Leibfarth explains, in which paddlers memorize the course until they can close their eyes and picture every stroke they’ll take. Then, when they’re on the water, they must be nimble. “There’s very rarely a perfect run in canoe slalom,” Leibfarth says. “It’s all about who can fix their mistakes the fastest. For all the top boats out there, you don’t even realize they’re making mistakes or that they’re straying from their plan. But everyone is. Because just a little slight current in one direction can push you offline.”
Kayak cross, which debuted in Paris in 2024, is a different story in terms of planning. In kayak cross, four competitors race with contact allowed. There’s less visualization, and more planning for various scenarios. “In slalom, you have to be aggressive in the water in your sprints,” Leibfarth says. “In kayak cross, you have to do that toward other people’s boats. You have to just freaking go for it the entire run, to stay out ahead or pass someone.”
Leibfarth didn’t make it past quarterfinals in kayak cross, but she loved the energy of the event and the crowd’s excitement watching the paddlers battle it out to the finish. “It’s very different, but I love doing all the events,” Leibfarth says. “Each one, I have a different mental picture of.”
When Leibfarth returned to her hometown of Bryson City with her bronze medal, she was met with a parade put on by the city and the Nantahala Outdoor Center. She saw old teachers, gymnastics coaches, and school classmates. “It was really special to be able to bring a medal home,” Leibfarth says. “Every single person that’s inspired me and been there for me, and been a part of my life, is a part of that moment. So it was really cool to get to go back and share that.”
As Leibfarth looks ahead at qualification for the 2028 Los Angeles Games, she’s excited not just to compete again, but to have competitive whitewater sports shown on a U.S.-based Olympic stage. “It’s not very well known in the states,” Leibfarth says. “I think that could really change.”
Tara Dower
By Lauren Stepp
Setting the Fastest Known Time on the Appalachian Trail
Well after nightfall on Saturday, September 21, Tara Dower was eight miles away from becoming the fastest person to ever complete the Appalachian Trail (A.T.). She was also on the verge of a panic attack.
As the 31-year-old ultrarunner from Virginia Beach, Va., trudged through the pitch-black woods of north Georgia toward Springer Mountain, the trail’s southern terminus, she trembled with anxiety. After weeks of running 17 hours per day on blistered feet and very limited sleep, Dower was about to accomplish the unthinkable. And that scared the hell out of her.
“I didn’t know what this would mean for my life,” Dower tells BRO. “I hadn’t mentally prepared myself.”
But all that anxiety melted away about a mile from the finish line. Megan “Rascal” Wilmarth, Dower’s crew chief, says her friend was “zoned in” for that last stretch of trail, her pace quickening as she saw the warm glow of headlamps in the distance.
Just before midnight, Dower emerged from the woodline on Springer Mountain with a huge grin on her face. As friends and family cheered, she touched the summit’s bronze plaque, finishing her southbound hike in 40 days, 18 hours, and six minutes—13 hours faster than Belgian runner Karel Sabbe’s 2018 record.
“All these emotions that I hadn’t allowed myself to feel just hit me,” says Dower. “I started crying.”
Wilmarth describes that moment as a “whirlwind.”
“We were both bawling our eyes out,” she remembers. “It was a historical event that’s going to be the catalyst for so many women to act on their wildest dreams.”
Finding Her Footing
As a kid growing up in Wake Forest, N.C., Dower never thought she would set a record on the A.T. But she did like to go fast.
Her mom, Debbie Komlo, remembers the first time she watched her daughter run competitively at a middle school track meet.
“I started crying because her cadence and form were perfect, and she just looked so beautiful,” says Komlo. “I knew she had found her gift.”
Dower continued running through high school and then played rugby at East Carolina University. It was there, during her freshman year, that she watched a National Geographic documentary about the A.T. and decided to thru-hike after she graduated.
But in 2017, just eight days and 80 miles into her thru-hike, a panic attack forced Dower to pack up and leave the A.T.
“I was inside my tent having chest pains. I just felt disoriented and couldn’t get my breathing straight,” she remembers. “I had never felt that way before.”
In 2019, after taking some time away from the trail, Dower returned with her husband and completed a northbound thru-hike in five months and 10 days.
“I really feel like that was the year I was supposed to thru-hike the A.T.,” says Dower, who met Wilmarth during her trek. (She also earned the trail name “Candy Mama” for her maternal nature and sweet tooth.)
Hungry for more adventure, Dower began chasing fastest known times (FKTs). In 2020, she set a new speed record on the 1,175-mile Mountains-to-Sea Trail in North Carolina. In 2022, she did the same on the Benton MacKaye Trail, a nearly 300-mile footpath stretching from Springer Mountain to the Great Smoky Mountains. The next year, she shattered a long-standing women’s FKT on the Colorado Trail.
Dower also began competing in ultra-marathons, such as Ohio’s Backyard Ultra and the Hardrock 100.
“By now, I’ve done eight to nine 100-milers and a slew of other ultras,” says Dower. “I just keep pushing the boundaries to see where my limits are. I want to know what’s possible.”
That’s how Dower found herself on Mount Katahdin in Maine at 5:47 a.m. on August 12, determined to set the overall speed record for the A.T.
Rising to the Challenge
The first 10 days of Dower’s FKT attempt were grueling.
“In southern Maine and New Hampshire, it’s very brutal and technical terrain,” says Dower. “I was basically crawling up those mountains.”
To make matters worse, a weather system rolled in and dumped rain, making the trail slippery. These conditions slowed Dower down, putting her almost 150 miles behind schedule.
Wilmarth and Komlo had no choice but to devise ways to increase her daily mileage.
“We started nickel-and-diming,” says Wilmarth. “Every day, we were like, ‘OK, how can Tara get at least one more mile in?’”
According to Wilmarth, Dower averaged 50 miles a day in Maine and 40 miles a day in New Hampshire. Thankfully, the sun came back out when Dower crossed into Vermont, and she was able to knock out several 55-mile days. But around the mid-Atlantic, Wilmarth and Komlo had to make another tough decision.
“We were still behind schedule,” says Wilmarth. “So, Debbie and I pushed for a minimum of 58 miles a day with some 60-milers tossed in. Tara wasn’t happy, but it had to happen.”
To hit these extreme benchmarks, the crew followed a strict schedule.
At 3 a.m., Dower would wake up and wrap her blistered feet in Leukotape while Wilmarth spoon-fed her breakfast, and the rest of the team prepped her gear. For the next 17 hours, Dower would run, typically with a pacer, only stopping for a few short food breaks and 90-second naps.
Around 10 p.m., Dower would curl up inside a tent right off the trail or in Wilmarth’s camper van. After five hours of sleep, she would do it all again.
“It was hard,” Wilmarth admits. “I watched my friend turn into this shell of a human. It tore me apart.”
Rallying for the Finish
The last 129 miles were particularly challenging. Determined to outpace Sabbe’s 2018 record, Dower decided to push through this last leg with no sleep. But after logging nearly 60 miles, it was obvious she needed rest.
To boost her spirits, the crew allowed Dower to take a 20-minute nap in the van. When she woke up, she pleaded for another 10 minutes. The crew gave her three. When her alarm went off again, Dower still wasn’t herself.
Seeing that her daughter had hit a low point, Komlo shut the van door and offered a motherly pep talk.
“We often think we don’t have anything left to give, but we always do,” Komlo said. “So you need to go out there and empty your tank. You need to keep going.”
Those words carried Dower the last 60 miles to Springer Mountain.
Besides proving something to herself, Dower hopes her FKT motivates others to explore their endurance.
“I don’t think women are encouraged to test their limits, especially in athletics,” says Dower, who, with the support of Altra, has raised more than $50,000 for Girls on the Run, a nonprofit that coordinates running programs for elementary-age girls. “I want to inspire people, specifically young girls and women, to set big goals and to go for it.”
Cover photo: Photo courtesy of Getty Images
