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Kilian Korth didn’t win the Triple Crown of 200-mile races because he’s the fastest runner in the sport.
He won because he’s built for the long game—mentally, physically, and emotionally.
In 2025, Korth swept the Triple Crown of 200s (Tahoe 200, Bigfoot 200, Moab 240) and set a new combined time record—an achievement that has only happened once before.
But what makes the story hit isn’t the wins.
It’s the failures it took to earn them.
The Triple Crown is a race series put on by Destination Trail, featuring three brutal, long-format events spaced across the season:
Each race is 200+ miles, separated by roughly 7–9 weeks, forcing athletes to recover, rebuild, and perform again before the body fully resets.
Korth won all three.
And in doing so, set a new cumulative time record—breaking a previous mark held since 2019.
Korth is blunt about his strengths:
He wasn’t the naturally “fast kid.” But he always had the mental piece.
He grew up as a swimmer through college—an identity built on discipline, repetition, and suffering quietly. When he discovered ultra running in 2018, he quickly realized 50s and 100s weren’t where his edge would fully show.
Longer races were.
Not because they’re more glamorous—because they reward durability.
His first real 200 attempt was Cocodona 250 (2022).
He DNF’d after tearing his hamstring around mile 100—on an off-trail navigation section (the infamous “Fain Ranch”), while checking GPS and stumbling into a split that ripped the tendon near the knee.
Then he made the decision every stubborn endurance athlete recognizes:
He kept going.
For 24 more miles.
Barely able to walk he got to the halfway point and couldn’t continue.
In 2023, Korth returned to Cocodona and was leading until around mile 220.
Then everything collapsed—physically and mentally—driven by pulmonary edema. At an aid station, his oxygen saturation fell to 82%. Later, it dropped to 72% in the ER.
He finished—but only after taking a five-hour break and being placed on assisted breathing support.
The paradox was brutal:
He proved he could compete.
But also learned how fast the body can shut the whole plan down.
In 2024, the story went darker.
Two DNFs in a row, month-to-month, became a breaking point.
Korth described the internal conflict perfectly:
He had “delusional self-belief”—confidence without evidence.
And it started to catch up to him.
So he reset.
He deferred the rest of the Triple Crown entries, dropped down to “shorter” ultras (100M / 100K), won them, and rebuilt momentum the right way.
With a healthier mindset, more measured training, and renewed confidence, Korth returned—and executed the clean sweep:
Three races. Three wins. Record time.
The takeaway wasn’t “never fail.” It was: keep refining until failure becomes feedback.
Korth didn’t grow up dreaming of running.
He hated it.
He was a competitive swimmer from childhood through college. But the endurance wiring showed early: at age three, he swam two hours for a “1500-meter patch” just because he wanted what the older kids had.
Then came the family bike trips. The biggest: Fort Collins to Seattle — roughly 1,600 miles over 46 days — when he was seven turning eight.
His parents weren’t trying to build an ultra runner, but looking back, Korth sees a direct line:
That’s where the endurance identity began.
Today, the sport is literally a family affair:
In a sport built on individual suffering, Korth’s version looks more like a family mission.
Before Moab 240 became his hardest race, Kilian says the hardest experience of his life was Alaska.
He and a friend traveled to Haines, Alaska, took a ferry north of Juneau, then flew via bush plane onto the Grand Pacific Glacier.
They skied for 12 days, hauling 100-lb packs and packrafts, navigating crevasses and ice mazes. At one point, Kilian slid toward a crevasse and self-arrested—admitting that if it went wrong, death was on the table.
They eventually rafted out toward the Pacific, only to have gear fail, morale collapse, and require a rescue flight arranged by Kilian’s wife.
His text said it all: “We’re physically safe… but spirits are broken.”
Korth doesn’t think the running boom is random.
Yes, social media helped. Yes, Goggins energy pushed it.
But deeper than that, he believes people are searching for meaning in a chaotic world—and physical improvement is one of the few things that still feels real.
His sharpest point: Humans aren’t the best at fighting. We’re the best at endurance.
Running is where we’re evolutionarily built to win.
For Korth, running doesn’t just help performance.It makes him feel like himself.
He describes it almost like a mental calibration tool—something that regulates mood and identity. For everyday runners, his advice is simple:
Get over the “three-mile hump.”
Once three miles doesn’t feel like suffering, running becomes a lifestyle instead of a punishment.
He also ties it to the “Comfort Crisis” idea:
When you voluntarily do hard things, normal life feels less overwhelming.
Korth thinks about:
His best insight: you can’t chase flow directly.
It happens when you “try to not try.”
Korth coaches runners with a “pie chart” framework:
Your life has limited resources.
Some athletes can give 80–85% of life to training (pros).
Others can give 5–10%.
The job isn’t forcing a bigger slice.
It’s making the slice higher quality.
His biggest coaching move? Telling athletes to do less.
Ultra runners are over-motivated. More isn’t always better.
And it’s better to be slightly undertrained than even slightly overtrained.
Korth thinks it’s possible in our lifetime.
But the challenge is structural: ultra running is unified as a community, fragmented as a business. To get Olympic inclusion, it may require someone with a CEO-level vision to unify the ecosystem.
His dream scenario:
A one-off 100-miler on protected land (Yosemite / Canyonlands) with limited international entrants.
A spectacle without destroying the environment.
Korth’s 2026 targets:
Here’s what Kilian actually uses—gear, fueling, recovery, and training habits.
Shoes
Watch / Tech
Daily Protein
If he could pick one recovery tool:
Sauna
Additional recovery
Sleep + Tracking
Training Time
Kilian’s Triple Crown sweep didn’t happen in isolation — it’s the culmination of years of injuries, DNFs, medical scares, and stubborn belief.
That full journey is being documented in an upcoming film titled Forged in Failure, set to release around March–April.
The documentary follows:
The project is being produced by LIU Creative Co., a family-run creative studio made up of ultra runners themselves — meaning the film isn’t just about racing, but about what it actually feels like to chase something this extreme.
A trailer is already live, with full release coming soon.
To keep up with Kilian’s training, races, and mindset-driven approach to endurance:
@kiliankorthIf this episode proves anything, it’s that Kilian’s story isn’t just about running far — it’s about staying in the game long enough for belief to finally catch up with evidence.
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