I’ve often felt deep disappointment when a day in the mountains ends just shy of a goal. In those moments, all the time and energy invested can feel wasted. That’s why I can empathize with the pressure Michelino Sunseri must have felt during his speed record attempt on the Grand Teton — faced with a pivotal decision: follow the official trail for an extra half mile or take a closed shortcut that would save precious time on his descent. With the weight of public expectations bearing down and the clock ticking, the temptation must have been overwhelming. I can only imagine the moment of panic when I suspect he realized he couldn’t beat the existing record without breaking the rules. It’s a mistake any of us could have made — choosing the easy path over the right one. But in that moment, the honorable thing would have been to shrug and say, “Today wasn’t the day,” and try again. That decision would have honored Andy Anderson’s previous on-trail record, respected National Park Service regulations and upheld the values of the trail-running community.
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Unfortunately, that’s not what happened. What followed Sunseri’s failed attempt was not accountability, but a sustained campaign of deflection, half-truths and selective storytelling. Nine months later, rather than owning up to the mistake, he’s doubled down on defending his actions. It strains his credibility to claim ignorance, especially after commenting on his Strava account that he’d done the route over 40 times, meaning he knew the trail well and had seen the “Closed for Regrowth” over and over again. Why stick to the legal route on the way up, only to veer off on the shortcut on the way down?
Comparing his Strava route from the record attempt to his previous, legal ascents reveals even more troubling facts: Not only did he take the closed shortcut, but he also cut 11 additional switchbacks further up the mountain, trimming 1.2 miles off the standard route — a reduction of nearly 8% in total mileage. That’s not a minor shortcut; that’s a different course entirely.
Imagine someone winning a gold medal for running 92 meters in a 100-meter dash. Even if we generously calculate his best pace and apply it to the missed segments — which included uphill sections — he still would have finished several minutes behind the previous record. The claim of a new fastest time is not just misleading, it’s fundamentally dishonest.
This matters because trail running, especially in a place as sacred and dangerous as the Grand Teton, relies on a shared understanding of fairness. If breaking established norms is tolerated, future athletes will feel pressured to follow suit just to remain competitive — even if it means risking fines or others’ safety. Sunseri’s choice to bypass the legal trail through a loose, dangerous gully above trail crew workers who reported rock fall in their direction didn’t just threaten his integrity — it endangered others. The mountain code of ethics demands that other people are taken into consideration when making any decision, which stands in stark contrast to “making questionable choices and being absolutely reckless,” which is how Sunseri describes his speed record descent. In this situation, Sunseri chose personal gain above all else.
What’s also troubling is Sunseri’s response to criticism. Rather than accepting responsibility, he mocked guides as “crusty,” vilified the National Park Service and told critics on social media to “fight me.”
This isn’t just immature — it’s destructive and doesn’t take into consideration the delicate relationship between runners, guides and the park service. As a prominent figure with a significant following, Sunseri sets the tone for the broader community. His unwillingness to engage respectfully or acknowledge the consequences of his actions compromises the experience and access issues for all of us who value this mountain.
Sunseri’s current defense hinges on legal technicalities, shifting blame to others and pointing fingers at past infractions to justify his own. But this isn’t about what others have done — it’s about the standard we set moving forward. Even if he is found not legally culpable, the ethical breach remains. At a minimum, he’s claiming a victory he didn’t deserve, and at its worst, he’s helped create an entitlement atmosphere that is dangerous in a high-stakes environment like the Grand Teton.
The Grand Teton has always been a place where people go to test their strength and character, and if it becomes acceptable to shortcut that challenge, then we all lose something. The current news narrative surrounding this incident has mostly focused on the legality of Sunseri’s actions. However, I think this misses why this situation has garnered so much public interest. This isn’t an isolated case of a runner who “mistakenly” took the wrong trail; it has come to symbolize the reorganizing of group norms away from the higher values of mutual cooperation and towards the baser instincts of self-advancement. Much like what we are seeing play out in national politics.
To be clear, I don’t relish the idea of anyone being suspended from Grand Teton National Park. I know how vital time in nature is for mental health, reflection and joy. But when someone repeatedly denies wrongdoing, disregards the rules and promotes these ideals to North Face’s massive 5-million-follower audience — it’s difficult to feel sympathy. Especially when, by his own admission in text messages presented during his trial, Sunseri admitted beforehand that cutting switchbacks would set a bad precedent. That’s likely why, on his previous training runs up the Grand — still publicly visible on Strava — he stuck to the legal trail.
If Sunseri decides to return to the Grand Teton and try again, I wish him the best of luck, as I have always greatly admired any athlete who achieves their goals in a fair and honest way. But before that, I hope he can apologize to the National Park Service — the stewards of the wilderness he claims to care for. Most people, myself included, are willing to forgive a misstep. But it’s hard to move forward when no accountability is taken. Sunseri’s legacy as a respected mountain runner can still be salvaged — if he finds the courage to say, “I’m sorry. I made a mistake.”