Built to Last: How Eastern States Found Its Path

In 2019, Eastern States 100 wasn’t just changing leadership—it was redefining what it meant to build something that endures. What followed was a shift toward stewardship, community, and a long-view philosophy rooted in the trails themselves.

[The Eastern States Trail-Endurance Alliance is a not-for-profit organization that promotes trailrunning and the responsible use of public lands, through events such as the Eastern States 100, Eagleton Trail Challenge and Ironstone 100K, footraces we manage as a stewardship for trailrunners and the community. This is my own personal "hot take" on the organization; it's past, present, and hopeful future.]

In 2019, Eastern States 100 hit a crossroads.

Not the dramatic, everything’s-falling-apart kind. More like the quiet kind.. the kind where you look around and realize you’ve built something meaningful but you’re not entirely sure what comes next. After two different race directors, the keys were handed to Jade Oakes. And that mattered.

Because Jade wasn’t just stepping into a role. She was stepping into a responsibility that, for her, was personal. She grew up here. These trails weren’t a destination—they were part of her upbringing. The ridgelines, the towns, the people who show up year after year. This wasn’t an event she was inheriting. It was a community she was accountable to.

And that changes how you approach things. There’s a difference between running a race… and taking care of one.

It Starts With Service

If you stick around race directing long enough, you learn something pretty quickly:

This isn’t about you. It’s easy to fall into that trap. The idea that the race reflects the person at the top. That the director is the identity. That your vision is what brings people to your race.

Servant leadership sounds like a buzzword until you’re living it. Until you’re answering emails at 10 PM, checking course markings in the rain, solving problems no one else sees, and making decisions that won’t benefit you—but will make someone else’s day better.

But the truth is, the best race directors are the ones you barely notice. Because they’re too busy making sure everything else works.

Servant leadership sounds like a buzzword until you’re living it. Until you’re answering emails at 10 PM, checking course markings in the rain, solving problems no one else sees, and making decisions that won’t benefit you—but will make someone else’s day better.

It’s a race team and volunteers who feel supported and want to come back. It’s runners who feel taken care of, even when they’re suffering. It’s a team that trusts each other enough to adapt when things go sideways.

That’s what holds an event together. Not authority.

Service.

The Bigger Question Lurking in the Background

At the same time, there was another conversation happening. Not always out loud but it was there. "What does it take to build something that actually lasts?"

Because there’s a difference between putting on a race... and creating something that people talk about decades later.

You look at races like:

• JFK 50 Mile

• Western States 100

• Old Dominion 100

• Laurel Highlands 70 Mile

• Hardrock 100

Those aren’t just races. They’re part of the culture. They’ve outlived trends, personalities, and entire eras of the sport. They’ve become something closer to tradition.

And the question was simple: Could Eastern States become that?

Not bigger. Not flashier. Just… enduring.

That’s Where ESTEA Comes In

You don’t build something like that by accident. You build it on purpose. That’s how the Eastern States Trail-Endurance Alliance (ESTEA) came into existence.

A nonprofit. All volunteer. No shortcuts.

The mission sounds simple: Promote trail running and the responsible use of public lands. But underneath there is a deeper idea: If these races are going to last, they need to belong to something bigger than any one person... one race... one organization.

Credit goes to Jeff Calvert, the first president of ESTEA, for helping turn that idea into something real. Not just words on paper, but a structure that could actually support the vision. Because without that foundation, everything is temporary.

With it? You’ve got a chance.

Stewardship Isn’t Just a Nice Word

In Pennsylvania, trail races aren’t plug-and-play. You’re not wrapping ribbons on trees and calling it a day. You’re often working with state parks and state forests. Public land. Volunteer trail systems. Communities that have been there long before the race and will be there long after.

You stop asking: “What works this year?” And start asking: “What will still work ten years from now?” Or twenty. Or when someone’s kid who grew up watching their parents run these races finally toes the line themselves.

So the mindset shifts. These races aren’t products. They’re inheritances.

Eastern States 100. SHEastern States. Ironstone 100K. Eagleton Trail Challenge. The VOID. We don’t own them. We’re just taking care of them for a while. And that changes how you make decisions.

You stop asking: “What works this year?” And start asking: “What will still work ten years from now?” Or twenty. Or when someone’s kid who grew up watching their parents run these races finally toes the line themselves.

What We Actually Believe (Without Dressing It Up Too Much)

Strip everything else away, and it comes down to a few core ideas.

We’re stewards first. If the race gets bigger but the experience gets worse, that’s failure. If the trails suffer, that’s failure. Longevity only matters if the quality holds.

The trail does something to people. There’s a reason people keep coming back to this. It’s not just fitness. It’s not just competition. There’s something about moving through difficult terrain, under your own power, that reshapes how you see things. The reasons become personal. If directs them down the trail of life. Never, ever exploit this.

This is a community, whether we admit it or not. You can run different races, belong to different groups but out there, it’s the same experience. Same mud. Same climbs. Same shared understanding. The same shared moment.

We’re not the only ones out there. Hunters, hikers, mountain bikers, anglers, etc., this land is shared. If we don’t respect that, we lose the right to be here.

[More about Eastern States 100 Mission: https://www.estea.org/mission-and-purpose]

Putting That Into Practice

Ideas are easy. Execution is where it gets real.

Opening the Door Wider

Eastern States, Ironstone, Eagleton... they have a reputation. It’s hard. It’s technical. It’s not exactly forgiving.

So SHEastern States wasn’t created as a side project—it was created as a pathway. A way for women to experience the course, build confidence, connect with others, and develop the skills needed to take on something like Eastern States 100. Not alone.

And historically, like much of ultrarunning, the starting line hasn’t always reflected the full spectrum of people who belong there. That needed to change.

So SHEastern States wasn’t created as a side project—it was created as a pathway. A way for women to experience the course, build confidence, connect with others, and develop the skills needed to take on something like Eastern States 100. Not alone.

And to make sure access wasn’t just theoretical, the Women’s Pathways Fund helps remove real barriers—financial, logistical, whatever stands in the way. Because inclusion isn’t about messaging. It’s about opportunity.

Staying Grounded in Grassroots

There’s a reason ESTEA is all-volunteer. Because once you lose that connection to the ground level, things start to drift. Costs go up. Decisions get distant. The event starts serving itself instead of the people around it.

Keeping things grassroots means:

• Entry fees stay reasonable

• Volunteers stay central

• Communities stay involved

And when money does come in, it goes back out. Into trails. Into local organizations. Intro first responders. Into the places that make the races possible in the first place.

The Economic Reality

There’s also a bigger layer to this. Trail running has become part of the outdoor recreation economy. And in places like Central and Northern Pennsylvania, that matters. These aren’t always booming regions. Some of these communities have lost industries, lost population, lost momentum.

Then a race comes through.

And suddenly:

• Hotels fill up

• Restaurants get busy

• Gas stations see traffic

• Small businesses get a boost

It’s not everything. But it’s something real. And over time, it adds up. One of our missions is to continue the momentum our races bring on a weekend and extend it throughout the year, and to connect communities to the trails that bring adventurers far and wide.

[More abut our initiatives: https://www.estea.org/initiatives ]

The Long Path (Always the Long Path)

At the end of the day, none of this works if you’re only thinking short-term. You can put on a great race for a year or two. But building something that lasts? That takes patience. Restraint. A willingness to say no to things that might make sense now but hurt later.

It means accepting that you’re just one chapter in a much longer story. And if you do it right, someone else will come along, pick up where you left off, and either keep it going.

Because that’s the goal. Not just to exist. Not just to grow. But to endure. So that years from now, someone else is standing on that same start line, looking out at the same ridges, the same forest, the same unknown and think:

“Alright… let’s see what this place has.”

And the race is still there.

Waiting.