Western States, the Masters, & the Kentucky Derby
The only sporting events left that feel inseparable from where they happen.
I’ve been trying to figure out why I obsess over Western States the way I do. This year I realized it contradicts a lot of what I’ve argued in the past.
Western States owns my imagination the way the Masters did during Tiger Woods’ prime. Or the Kentucky Derby, where most people couldn’t name a horse in the field but can imagine the hats and mint juleps.
The common thread is place.
The Masters is inseparable from Augusta National. The audience knows every hole, every disaster, every triumph. History accumulates in the same corners of the course year after year.
The Kentucky Derby has Churchill Downs. The hats, the bourbon, the traditions only work because they’re rooted somewhere.
Western States has the course.
2026 may give us the greatest field the race has ever seen. I’d follow those athletes anywhere. But 2025 and 2026 Chianti had incredible fields too, and I lost sleep over neither.
I lose sleep over Western States because I know the course. I know where dreams end. I know where legends are made. The course is the main character, and it isn’t there to help anyone. It’s there to punish the best runners in the world and make them earn a place in its history.