Team RunRun Coach Kelsey McGill shares her experience going all in on the Tempe Burrito League 2026!! What the heck is it? What did she learn? and what did she win?!
What the heck is Tempe Burrito League?
Jamil Coury, founder of Aravaipa Running, teamed up with Connor Dyer and created Burrito League in January 2026 as a result of Chipotle not announcing the continuation of the Chipotle Challenge which occurred in January 2024 and 2025. Burrito League is a challenge where anyone can complete a specific segment by walking or running, typically from 0.2 to 0.4 miles in length, as many times as they can for the duration of the event. The Burrito League in Tempe, Arizona, was 26 days long. This particular segment is recorded as a one-way segment, which is 0.2 miles. Participants can start and stop at any time that they choose, day or night. There is no aid station as runners are encouraged to supply all their own food, hydration, etc. On January 31 at 11:59pm, the top female and male with the most completed segments would be declared the winners.
The biggest personal challenges
Some of the challenges I faced during Burrito League were both expected and unexpected. I often felt like I was simultaneously playing the game whack-a-mole (to address physical/injury needs) and chess (for strategizing against competitors). Early on, there was a big adjustment period of running entirely on bricks and concrete. As a sole trail runner for the past 15 years, this was something I’ve steered so far from. I crave the intricacies of trail running, specifically more technical trails, because of how engaging it can be and the solitude. Not only was the flat, hard surface something I strongly avoided, but I also wasn’t used to running 30-45 miles every single day (aside from 1 rest day mid-way through). I have a thru-hiking background and 8 years of running ultras, but to stack big days of running back-to-back for 26 days in a row was uncharted territory for me. There’s a lot to be said for using a run–walk interval strategy on flat courses—it reduces impact and helps preserve the legs. It still amazes me how much mileage can be covered, even just by walking alone.
On day one, I made a silly, albeit stubborn, mistake by wearing trail shoes for a 30-mile day, which led to a bout of ankle tendinitis that lingered for the next 12 days. I had to quickly pivot and buy a pair of road shoes the 2nd day with far more cushioning. Along with getting road-specific shoes, I had to manage the pain from the tendinitis and alter my form.
Another issue arose on day 6 at the end of a 45-mile day. When I squatted to pee, I felt a small twinge in my quad, which turned out to be a strained quadriceps. As a result, I was forced to walk for the next three days. Even so, I was still able to cover between 38 to 45 miles per day. Oftentimes, I would find myself catastrophizing injuries meaning the thought of “is this a stress fracture?” or “did I rupture a tendon?” or “is my quad going to heal properly?” were all circuitous thoughts that would come and go throughout the month. My goal was to stay curious about the pain and do something about it to keep moving (i.e. apply Tiger Balm pain patches, heat/ice compresses, muscle scraping, strength/mobility work, etc.). The benefit of having your vehicle as an aid station .2 miles away meant there was something you could do in real-time to address issues that arose. The action itself was powerful to refocus attention and get back on track.
Another area that proved especially challenging was keeping up with simple, everyday chores. Most days, I woke up around 3:30 or 4:00 a.m. to work for a couple of hours—writing training plans and responding to emails—before getting on segment around 5:30 or 6:00 a.m. From there, I was on segment until about 8:00 p.m. while also taking coaching calls throughout the day when walking on the segment. I took short breaks throughout the day to raise my feet (to reduce swelling and aching) and get more calories in, but the demand of getting the most time on segment each day made basic tasks like grocery shopping, doing laundry, or any other life responsibilities incredibly difficult. Thankfully, Jamil rented a studio, which gave us access to a shower and a bathroom and they also rented porta potties. That support made a huge difference. I genuinely can’t imagine attempting something like this without consistent access to a bathroom. There was also a CVS right on the segment: the most perfect aid station you could ever imagine! And yes, they had ice cream which became a 5pm daily tradition for “ice cream laps”!
The mental load required to sustain this effort was also fascinating. Each day fell into the same rhythm: waking up, checking Strava to see how many segments others had completed, doing the math to calculate the mileage gaps between us, and then getting on with the day. I felt myself constantly oscillating between the urge to push harder and the need to hold back—aware that pushing too hard could jeopardize the rest of my year and the larger goals I had set for myself prior to this quirky event. Numerous times I thought I’d found my limit as a means to preserve myself from further injury, but after giving some further thought to modify and adapt, I was able to press on.
About halfway through the event, I woke up feeling run down with a cold, sore throat, and stuffy nose. On top of that, I realized I had completely maxed out the mileage on the shoes I’d purchased just 10 days earlier. Instead of buying a new pair, I borrowed shoes, which I’d never run in before and, unfortunately, they led to shin splints. I’d never dealt with shin splints in my 20 years of running, but I knew this was something that could become serious if I didn’t properly modify my approach.
I realized early on that the friends I came to Burrito League with weren’t people I could share strategy with, as they needed to remain unbiased in order to support all participants. Because of that, I became very guarded in my planning and intentional about not disclosing my strategy to anyone. This secrecy made building friendships difficult because people would bluff about their plans to each other, but I also understood that almost everyone there wanted the same thing I did: a Cocodona 250 entry. Knowing that, I kept silent about any plans I was forming. When I decided to take a rest day halfway through the event, I didn’t tell anyone—not when I was resting, and not when I planned to return. The reason for this is you don’t want your competitors to gain a huge gap on you knowing you won’t be there at all. Keeping people in the dark as much as I could was key. After taking a rest day and some dry needling from a local PT (shoutout to Dr. Matthew Brown in Scottsdale), I felt dramatically better and incredibly grateful that the shin splints, quad strain, and tendinitis had all cleared up. I felt like a million bucks. My sinuses never fully cleared up during the rest of Burrito League and I finished the last 2 weeks with a sinus infection, but physically I felt strong and durable, and I didn’t deal with any additional injuries after that mid-way point.
By the third week, it was obvious that people were beginning to adapt to the massive mileage we had accumulated over the first two weeks. We were going against everything traditional training theory teaches—throwing out the rules just to see what we were made of and stay on the leaderboard. These were very gritty people on the segment. At the same time, the fatigue was really starting to sink in. There was a shared sense of dread heading into the final week, as many of us anticipated that big moves were coming but we were already pouring in so much from the beginning.
The Tempe Burrito League is also unique in how performative it feels. You pass your competitors hundreds of times a day, and there was far more media attention than I ever expected. Because of that, you have to work hard to maintain your composure when things feel tough—to avoid letting your competitors, as the saying goes, “smell blood in the water.” The upside of this performative aspect is how much information you gain. You’re constantly observing body language—how durable someone looks after a big day or an overnight push, how smoothly they’re moving throughout the day—and you can roughly calculate what they’re doing in relation to your own effort. It’s very different from being out on a trail race for hours with no real sense of how your competitors are feeling other than when you’re passing or being passed. That constant visibility can be very taxing, especially on hard days, like early on when I strained my quad. In those moments, I chose to stay positive, knowing there was still a lot of time left. I focused on walking, trusting that my body would recover and adapt—and thankfully, after three days, it did.
Another notable challenge was navigating the political events and tragedies unfolding in Minneapolis during Burrito League. As the final week approached, I felt deeply conflicted about continuing to participate while so much pain and injustice were happening. I wrestled with the feeling that I should be doing more to help, even though I wasn’t sure what that should look like. In the end, I chose to wear a shirt with a political message as a form of protest and committed to wearing it for the remaining days on the segment. I knew it wasn’t a grand gesture or a solution, but if I could spend hours each day running back and forth on that segment while visibly expressing my outrage and solidarity, then that was something I could do.
Expectations going into Tempe Burrito League
If someone had told me ahead of time that staying at the top of the leaderboard would require maintaining 30 to 45 miles a day, I would have passed on the opportunity without a doubt. I never expected to run at that magnitude every single day for 26 days, aside from one rest day. Before Burrito League began, I was very clear with the friends I came with that I planned to run trails at least two days a week to preserve my sanity as well as squeeze in a weekend backpacking trip on the Arizona Trail—but that plan quickly fell to the wayside. I wasn’t prepared for how fierce the competition would be. From the very beginning, it was obvious that everyone was hungry for the Cocodona ticket—and I was no exception. I felt confident at the beginning saying 10-20 miles a day would give me a comfortable spot in 1st especially with the event being shared just hours before it started, and I was very wrong about how low the mileage would be to earn that Cocodona ticket.
Burrito League was not only a showcase of gritty, determined competitors, but also a ground-breaking space for rethinking training theory. There were countless times during Burrito League that I forgot there was a Cocodona entry at stake. There was something more than that that I was curious about – “How bad do I want to go to the depths of the unknown to see what I’m really made of?” Not every day (or month) do I get the chance to visit that space within myself and what a gift it is that I get to do this.
Lessons learned
As I mentioned earlier, the first two weeks served as a heavy adaptation period on the segment. I logged 212 miles the first week and 207 miles the second—both personal record weeks, and notably back-to-back. The third week climbed to 291 miles, followed by 230 miles in the fourth. In total, I ran 941 miles over the course of 26 days, a volume I had never come close to before. Again, I would not have signed up to do this if I knew I would have to put in that mileage.
What’s most surprising is that I finished the Tempe Burrito League without any lingering injuries or aches. This experience forced me to reconsider aspects of traditional training theory. High volumes of low-impact running—whether through run–walk intervals or sustained recovery and conversational pace efforts—may be able to scale far beyond what is typically prescribed, provided the athlete has the time and durability to support it. Speed work still matters, but it needs to be integrated carefully; strides and VO₂ max workouts, in particular, are not well suited for periods of extreme volume like this.
Another big takeaway from Burrito League, which I think is the most profound piece for me, is that we can still move while experiencing any emotion. Anger, sadness, outrage, fear, etc. we can still put one foot in front of the other, because why not? Sometimes emotions can be big, the storylines can feel overpowering, but what if we just take another step forward? To me, that is quite liberating to be with emotion while also still moving.
We can learn a lot about ourselves when we put ourselves in an environment that we typically avoid. We find our grit, we dig deeper than we thought we could, and that’s why I run.
How does this impact/change my thinking on big challenges looking ahead?
Once the stage was set at Tempe Burrito League for sustained, high mileage, I began to reframe the challenge as preparation for an FKT I’m planning in 2027. It became an invaluable testing ground for managing the day-to-day physical and mental demands of continuous movement—learning how to address my body’s and mental needs, problem-solving in real time, and taking care of myself independently. Not only did this opportunity allow me to test the uncharted waters I didn’t think were within reach yet, but it is making me think I’m much more capable of completing this big project than I previously thought.
Prizes won
I’m over the moon that I’ll be heading to Cocodona 250 in May this year – huge thanks to Jamil for making this possible! I’ve also received 4 pairs of shoes from Mount To Coast, some apparel from East Peak, and free Chipotle for a year!
Kelsey is a coach with Team RunRun. To learn more about her or to work with her, check out her coach profile.
