I was born into a running family—though if you’d told 10-year-old me that I’d someday be an ultra-runner, I’d have laughed and gone back to eating Doritos. My grandfather, Ken Burns, was a fixture in the Grand Rapids running community long before I came along. My mom, Sharon Dryfhout, has been running since the day I was born and still knocks out ultra-marathons like it’s no big deal.

Naturally, I wanted no part of it. I’d run the occasional 5K or maybe a 10K if someone bribed me with food, but that was it. Then, around age 30, I was brushing my teeth shirtless one night when I noticed parts of my body jiggling that had never jiggled before. The next morning I signed up for my first 25K. (Because that’s the logical reaction, right?)

After some decent success at that distance, I found myself running more, enjoying it more, and—this is the dangerous part—looking for bigger challenges. Around this time, I’d have regular breakfast dates with my Grandpa, who was well into his 80s and still as stubborn as ever. One morning, he told me he’d signed up for an age-handicapped race in Manchester, Tennessee, called A Race for the Ages. The format was simple: a one-mile loop, and you get one hour for every year old you are. If you’re 52, you get 52 hours. You run as many loops as you can in your allotted time, and whoever racks up the most miles wins.

The problem? His crew leader—basically the person who makes sure you don’t collapse from hunger, thirst, or bad decisions—had bailed on him. Without thinking, I offered to crew. It turned out to be a life-changing weekend. He was 82 that year, and the race started rough—two falls, scrapes, and blood. I asked the race director if I could run alongside him to keep him upright. Rules said no… unless I signed up. My age group hadn’t started yet, so I did. And just like that, I accidentally entered my first ultra-marathon.

I was hooked. Three years later, my grandfather, my mom, my sister, and my 9-year-old daughter all ran in the same race—quite possibly making us the only four-generation family to ever compete in the same ultra-marathon.

These days, I still prefer the longer stuff. My most memorable race was the Tunnel Hill 100, which I finished in 20:41:57, beating my Grandpa’s lifetime best for 100 miles. He was there crewing for me, and when I crossed the line, he gave me a hug I’ll never forget.