​Florida 200: Four Hours at a Time

These words are by our newest ambassador- a badass ultra runner from Mexico -Alex Roudayna, who is known as "Chikorita". We been working with her for a few months and we are thrilled to share her recap and words from Florida 200 - a 200 mile ultra run in Florida where she finished in 81 hours and 32 seconds. Amazing Work!!!

Her words:

Day 1 of any 200 miler is a polite lie. The world still behaves. Time still keeps its shape. You can mix and match fuel, taste things, decide things, even pretend you’re in control. But once you cross that first 24 hour threshold, the shorter legs are gone, and you enter the real race, the part where every stretch between aid stations becomes an 18-to 26-mile crossing. Four to six hours. Darkness to dawn. Sanity to whatever comes after.

At that point, each leg isn’t a “run” anymore. It’s a miniature expedition. A tiny life of its own. And in those little universes where time and space collapse, having something like 4-Hour Fuel, something simple, sippable, consistent, became a game changer.

Because when you’re sleeping on sidewalks and trails, when you’re yo-yoing between scorching sun and that strange Florida cold that sneaks up on you at 3 a.m., the one thing you don’t want is your stomach shutting down. You don’t want fuel to become another battle. There are already enough battles.

Blisters that grow their own personalities. Muscles that feel like they’ve been sculpted out of complaints. Hallucinations that argue with you. Sleep deprivation that turns shadows into creatures. And, of course, the inevitable parade of very strange people in very strange places, spoken by someone running 200 miles across the entire state, which probably makes me one of them.

In a 200 mile race, the body ages centuries in days. For me, 200 miles feels like living 29,379 years in the span of three to five days, an accelerated lifetime compressed into footsteps, heat, doubt, and stubborn forward motion. And fueling becomes the one constant in a universe where nothing else stays still.

That’s why 4-Hour Fuel became more than just calories. It was stability in a place where stability doesn’t exist. It didn’t melt. It didn’t spoil. It didn’t revolt against me. It just kept me steady, hour after hour, leg after leg, so I could focus on solving everything else that threatened to break me.

In the end, that’s the highest compliment I can give any product in a 200-miler:

It fed my suffering.

And it kept me moving long enough to finish.