On Sept. 2, 2024, Michelino Sunseri set a new fastest known time (FKT) on Wyoming’s Grand Teton, clocking in at an astounding 2 hours, 50 minutes, and 50 seconds from Lupine Meadows to the summit and back as part of a mountain run. The record shattered a 12-year benchmark and generated significant buzz in the mountain running community. Yet, despite the sheer greatness of this athletic triumph, Sunseri was met with legal troubles rather than celebration.
The issue? On his descent, Michelino used a section of what’s known as the old climber’s trail, a steep, direct route that bypasses the official switchbacks (zigzagging paths built into steep trails) leading down from Garnet Canyon. According to the National Park Service (NPS), that path is legally closed. Yet, that designation was never clearly communicated to the public. The only markers indicating the closure were small signs easily missed in the brush—signs that, crucially, never mentioned legal consequences.
Because of this lack of clarity on behalf of the NPS, Michelino didn’t hide his route. In fact, he posted the run on Strava, a social networking app where athletes post their accomplishments, publicly acknowledging his use of the old climber’s trail. This kind of transparency was consistent with the informal culture of the FKT community, where route choices are debated and shared openly. Six of the seven previous record holders, including global ultrarunning icon Kílian Jornet, used the same descent, and none faced legal consequences. Similarly, many locals, runners, and guides have public GPS records of them taking the trail, yet none have been prosecuted.
Unfortunately, Michelino became a target, a scapegoat of sorts, to warn other runners not to take the trail. According to insiders, the NPS was keen to make an example of him, perhaps to reassert control over a park increasingly shaped by the viral influence of social media athletes. Within days of his run, Michelino faced misdemeanor charges under a federal regulation, 36 CFR 2.1(b), which governs destruction or misuse of park resources. Rather than a compassionate, thoughtful resolution, the best plea deal federal prosecutors could offer was a Class B federal misdemeanor, a fine, and a five-year ban from Grand Teton National Park. Instead, Michelino declined the plea deal, a risk that could lead to six months of jail time.
It’s a devastating prospect for anyone, but especially for someone like Michelino, who lives in nearby Driggs, Idaho, works as a bartender to make ends meet, and relies on this park to establish his career as an athlete. The irony is painful: While big-money influencers stage off-trail stunts for YouTube views with impunity, a working-class runner might be exiled from his community for stepping on a dirt path used routinely by locals and tourists alike.
What’s more, the supposed environmental damage caused by Michelino’s run is, by most accounts, negligible. The old climber’s trail is hard-packed, well-trodden, and devoid of vegetation. By comparison, the unofficial but heavily trafficked trail to Delta Lake sees exponentially more foot traffic and erosion. In fact, the National Park Service itself has not made serious attempts to revegetate the climber’s trail, undermining the claim that its use constitutes a meaningful ecological threat. So why the prosecution? Why now?
Personally, I see Michelino’s case as a cautionary tale about selective enforcement and the dangers of making an example out of someone simply because they’re visible. It’s one thing to preserve wilderness; it’s another to criminalize someone for unknowingly using a well-trodden path without clear signage, precedent, or due process. Yes, trails should be respected. But so should context. So should history. So should intent.
Michelino didn’t barge through fragile tundra or damage a sacred site. He followed in the literal footsteps of legends, running a line that thousands have run before, all while being honest and open about his effort. If we want to protect our parks, and I believe we do, we should start with clear communication, thoughtful policy, and proportional responses. Punishing a man with possible jail time and banishment over a vaguely marked trail accomplishes nothing except to chill the very spirit of exploration and athleticism our national parks were meant to inspire.
As his Tuesday, May 20, 2025 trial approaches, I hope more people learn Michelino’s story—not to lionize him, but to reflect on how easily bureaucratic overreach can turn a harmless decision into a life-altering ordeal. I also hope the NPS reconsiders its approach, recognizing that education and community involvement go farther than criminal charges ever will.
Henry Wendorf is a member of the class of 2027 and can be reached at hwendorf@wesleyan.edu.
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