Going the Distance

Zach Bates waited quietly in the morning twilight, wearing the gear he’d need to cover 250 miles: fabric guards to keep the dust out of his shoes, a face covering, sunglasses, a hydration pack, hiking poles, and a hat with a neck flap to block the sun. The race, just moments away, would be the hardest thing he’d ever taken on.

“Cocodona 250,” said the banner at the starting line. “Adventure awaits.”

The course was well-marked, and Zach, 22, had a digital tracking device. But his mother, Rana, was worried. Her son has autism and is prone to losing his way. Rana had found another competitor who was willing to run alongside Zach, but now she couldn’t find him. She stood on her tiptoes, searching through a sea of 278 participants.

He “was supposed to meet Zach at the starting line,” she said.

Then the gun went off, and Zach disappeared into the swell of competitors, jogging up a steep canyon of winding rocky paths.

The Cocodona 250, which takes place every May in Arizona, is daunting for anyone, given the punishing distance and the stress of running on a rugged trail day and night. But it was a particularly tough test for Zach, whose autism gives him fierce concentration and determination but also comes with limitations, like difficulty multitasking, communicating his needs, and socializing.

Zach Bates waited quietly in the morning twilight. He was wearing the gear he’d need to cover 250 miles: fabric guards to keep the dust out of his shoes, a face covering, sunglasses, a hydration pack, hiking poles, and a hat with a neck flap to block the sun. The race was just moments away. It would be the hardest thing he’d ever taken on.

“Cocodona 250,” said the banner at the starting line. “Adventure awaits.”

The course was well-marked, and Zach, 22, had a digital tracking device. But his mother, Rana, was worried. Her son has autism and can easily lose his way. Rana had found another competitor who was willing to run alongside Zach, but now she couldn’t find him. She stood on her tiptoes, searching through the crowd of 278 participants.

He “was supposed to meet Zach at the starting line,” she said.

The gun went off. Zach disappeared into the large group of competitors, jogging up a steep canyon of winding rocky paths.

The Cocodona 250, which takes place every May in Arizona, is intimidating for anyone. The race is long and there is the stress of running on a rugged trail day and night. But it was a particularly tough test for Zach. His autism gives him fierce concentration and determination but also comes with limitations, like difficulty multitasking, communicating his needs, and socializing.

Zach ran the first 37 miles of the race on his own, on a trail of loose rock that ascended nearly 10,000 feet. It was so hot and steep that runners had to carry a gallon of water, adding eight pounds to their packs.

His family was waiting for him when he reached the first aid station, in an old mining town. So was Mikael Cars, the runner who Rana had asked to accompany Zach. They’d missed each other at the start because of a mix-up about where to meet.

Zach’s feet were already blistered, and he was dehydrated. He said he was “fine,” but he was pale and shaking uncontrollably. His 15-year-old sister, Emma, removed his shoes, and his dad, Brian, prepared his medical kit.

Temperatures were expected to plummet during the night. Zach wore a thin, long-sleeved shirt but didn’t ask for warmer clothes. Rana regretted not bringing him a jacket. Before he left the aid station, she gave him her sweatshirt and worried that she had let him down.

Zach ran the first 37 miles of the race on his own. The trail of loose rock ascended nearly 10,000 feet. It was so hot and steep that runners had to carry a gallon of water. It added eight pounds to their packs.

His family was waiting for him when he reached the first aid station, in an old mining town. So was Mikael Cars, the runner who Rana had asked to accompany Zach. They’d missed each other at the start because of a mix-up about where to meet.

Zach’s feet were already blistered. He was also dehydrated. He said he was “fine,” but he was pale and shaking uncontrollably. His 15-year-old sister, Emma, removed his shoes, and his dad, Brian, prepared his medical kit.

Temperatures were expected to drop during the night. Zach wore a thin, long-sleeved shirt but didn’t ask for warmer clothes. Rana regretted not bringing him a jacket. Before he left the aid station, she gave him her sweatshirt and worried that she had let him down.

Zach has become recognizable in the world of ultrarunning—involving marathons that go beyond the typical 26 miles—and he has some corporate sponsors, thanks to Rana’s continual social media posts and networking. He rarely talks about his autism and sees himself as no different from other people who accomplish amazing feats. Finishing the Cocodona 250 would be another step toward his goal of becoming a professional ultrarunner. It would also be a test of how independent he could be and how much he could handle.

Zach was diagnosed with autism when he was 4. As a child, he often turned play into challenges. Once, his speech pathologist asked him how many times he could bounce on his pogo stick. Hours later, he had reached 5,000 bounces—and was still going.

One in 36 8-year-olds in the United States has autism, according to a 2023 Centers for Disease Control and Prevention (C.D.C.) report (see “What Is Autism?,” below). That represents roughly 4 percent of boys and 1 percent of girls that age. The C.D.C. reports that there are 5.4 million Americans 18 or older, or 2.2 percent of U.S. adults, with autism.

Zach has become recognizable in the world of ultrarunning—involving marathons that go beyond the typical 26 miles. Thanks to Rana’s continual social media posts and networking, he has corporate sponsors. He rarely talks about his autism. He sees himself as no different from other people who accomplish amazing feats. Finishing the Cocodona 250 would be another step toward his goal of becoming a professional ultrarunner. It would also be a test of how independent he could be and how much he could handle.

Zach was diagnosed with autism when he was 4. As a child, he often turned play into challenges. Once, his speech pathologist asked him how many times he could bounce on his pogo stick. Hours later, he had reached 5,000 bounces—and was still going.

According to a 2023 Centers for Disease Control and Prevention (C.D.C.) report, one in 36 8-year-olds in the United States has autism (see “What Is Autism?,” below). That represents roughly 4 percent of boys and 1 percent of girls that age. There are 5.4 million Americans 18 or older with autism—2.2 percent of U.S. adults.

Some people with autism are hypersensitive, which means they overreact to sensory input. Zach is hyposensitive, meaning his reactions are muted. Hyposensitive people may tire easily from reading and schoolwork, and may seek out loud sounds. They tend to prefer strong-tasting food and, in some cases, don’t experience pain or temperature the way most children do.

When Zach was growing up, Rana read books about autism and pushed to get him the help he needed in school. What she couldn’t shield him from was social isolation.

“Zach did not really have friends, and that was incredibly hard for him,” his older sister, Erin, says. “When Zach was 6 or 7, he was so sad that he was not invited to hang out with his brother and his friends that he ran away from home to go find them.”

Some people with autism are hypersensitive and overreact to sensory input. Zach is hyposensitive, meaning his reactions are muted. Hyposensitive people may tire easily from reading and schoolwork. They may seek out loud sounds and tend to prefer strong-tasting food. In some cases, they don’t experience pain or temperature the way most children do.

When Zach was growing up, Rana read books about autism and pushed to get him the help he needed in school. But she couldn’t keep him from social isolation.

“Zach did not really have friends, and that was incredibly hard for him,” his older sister, Erin, says. “When Zach was 6 or 7, he was so sad that he was not invited to hang out with his brother and his friends that he ran away from home to go find them.”

Zach still doesn’t have the social skills to initiate friendships, Rana says. While most people his age have many people in their lives who can fulfill their need for connection, Zach mostly has his mom.

He discovered running in high school, on the cross-country team. It brought out his strengths—his athletic ability, his focus, and his unflappability. After learning about ultrarunning on YouTube, he became determined to run a 100-mile race before he turned 20. He has since completed four 100-milers and dozens of shorter ultramarathons. Running 50 to 100 miles a week, he dreams of setting the world record for running 100 miles a day for the most consecutive days.

“Zach’s always crunching numbers in his head and knows exactly where he is in a race, time-wise,” says John Hendrix, a family friend who paced Zach in a race last year.

Zach still doesn’t have the social skills to initiate friendships, Rana says. While most people his age have a social circle, Zach mostly has his mom.

He discovered running in high school, where he ran on the cross-country team. It brought out his strengths including his athletic ability, his focus, and his unflappability. After learning about ultrarunning on YouTube, he became determined to run a 100-mile race before he turned 20. He has since completed four 100-milers and dozens of shorter ultramarathons. Zach runs 50 to 100 miles a week. He dreams of setting the world record for running 100 miles a day for the most consecutive days.

“Zach’s always crunching numbers in his head and knows exactly where he is in a race, time-wise,” says John Hendrix, a family friend who paced Zach in a race last year.

The first night of the Cocodona 250 was rough. Exhausted, Zach fell asleep on the trail, occasionally winding up facedown in the dirt.

Rana had been awake most of the night watching her son’s tracker move across her phone screen. He was hours behind schedule by the time he reached the aid station the next day. She cleaned the dirt and sand off his body and lathered him in sunscreen.

Zach’s head jerked and his eyes widened when his dad offered him ammonium salts to keep him awake. He had 172 miles to go. Everyone in the crew had their doubts that he’d finish.

By the second night, Rana realized that Zach’s 85- to 90-hour goal was out of reach and that he needed more rest. He took several two-hour naps
at the aid stations and shorter naps on the trail, including on a snowbank.

At the halfway point, the red cliffs of Sedona popped out of the desert like shards of glass. Mount Elden—the final climb before the finish—looked like a mirage.

The first night of the Cocodona 250 was rough. Exhausted, Zach fell asleep on the trail. He occasionally wound up facedown in the dirt.

Rana had been awake most of the night. She was watching her son’s tracker move across her phone screen. He was hours behind schedule by the time he reached the aid station the next day. She cleaned the dirt and sand off his body. Then she lathered him in sunscreen.

Zach’s head jerked and his eyes widened when his dad offered him ammonium salts to keep him awake. He had 172 miles to go. Everyone in the crew had their doubts that he’d finish.

By the second night, Rana realized that Zach’s 85- to 90-hour goal to finish the race was out of reach. He needed more rest. He took several two-hour naps at the aid stations. He also took shorter naps on the trail, including on a snowbank.

At the halfway point, the red cliffs of Sedona popped out of the desert like shards of glass. Mount Elden—the final climb before the finish—looked like a mirage.

The next couple of days passed in a blur of bloody noses and aching knees. His mouth sores were so painful that Zach struggled to eat and drink. But on the fifth day, with 23 miles left, he was ahead of schedule and knew he’d finish the race.

“Woof, woof,” he said, laughing. “There was a dog barking. I heard it!”

The dog was a phantom, the product of too little rest.

At 5 a.m. on the sixth day, Rana shivered at the finish line in Flagstaff. Zach jogged into view, his eyes bloodshot and swollen, flakes of skin peeling off his lips. He flashed a triumphant grin.

The announcer called Zach’s name as he crossed the line. He ran straight into his mother’s arms.

“You did it!” she told him. He didn’t say a word.

The next couple of days passed in a blur of bloody noses and aching knees. His mouth sores were so painful that Zach struggled to eat and drink. But on the fifth day, with 23 miles left, he was ahead of schedule. He knew he’d finish the race.

“Woof, woof,” he said, laughing. “There was a dog barking. I heard it!”

The dog was a phantom, the product of too little rest.

At 5 a.m. on the sixth day, Rana shivered at the finish line in Flagstaff. Zach jogged into view. His eyes were bloodshot and swollen and flakes of skin were peeling off his lips. He flashed a triumphant grin.

The announcer called Zach’s name as he crossed the line. He ran straight into his mother’s arms.

“You did it!” she told him. He didn’t say a word.

Since the Cocodona, Zach has focused on his next goal—getting faster. He wants to qualify for the 2026 Boston Marathon and hopes to run 150 miles in 24 hours and represent the U.S. in the 24-hour world championship in 2027.

Rana is intent on giving Zach a future, whether or not it involves running. He’s still unable to hold down a job, so Rana has him clean the Airbnb she owns. She’s also working with him to take online classes so he can become a personal trainer and work in the gym the family plans to open.

“He needs something real that he feels happy and fulfilled in,” Rana says. “Whatever we can give him to do, even if it’s just motivating people in the gym and helping keep the equipment dusted and watching for any maintenance, he’ll feel like he has ownership and a future.”

But she’s learned not to expect too much, too fast.

“Having a child with autism is kind of like running a 250-mile race,” Rana says. “We have this plan and all of these ideas, and sometimes things fall apart and we have to adapt and change and let go of our expectations.

“It is slow progress and there are a lot of roadblocks,” she adds. “But we are finding joy in doing the thing that  he loves.”

Since the Cocodona, Zach has focused on his next goal—getting faster. He wants to qualify for the 2026 Boston Marathon. He also hopes to run 150 miles in 24 hours and represent the U.S. in the 24-hour world championship in 2027.

Rana wants to give Zach a future, whether or not it involves running. He’s still unable to hold down a job, but he cleans the Airbnb Rana owns. She’s also working with him to take online classes so he can become a personal trainer and work in the gym the family plans to open.

“He needs something real that he feels happy and fulfilled in,” Rana says. “Whatever we can give him to do, even if it’s just motivating people in the gym and helping keep the equipment dusted and watching for any maintenance, he’ll feel like he has ownership and a future.”

But she’s learned not to expect too much, too fast.

“Having a child with autism is kind of like running a 250-mile race,” Rana says. “We have this plan and all of these ideas, and sometimes things fall apart and we have to adapt and change and let go of our expectations.

“It is slow progress and there are a lot of roadblocks,” she adds. “But we are finding joy in doing the thing that he loves.”

Rebecca Byerly is a reporter for The Times.

Rebecca Byerly is a reporter for The Times.