Rewriting my story.
In previous posts, I’ve shared my struggles with negative self-talk and persistent self-doubt while running. I’ve experienced debilitating negative self-talk during every long race, and I also experience acute bouts of fear and anxiety during training runs that involve intervals or speed work. It got to the point where just anticipating a speed segment would cause my heart rate to spike into zone 4 without any change in my effort. I realized that until I addressed these self-limiting beliefs, my progress as a runner—and as a triathlete—would continue to plateau. So, at the end of 2023, with my coach’s agreement, I decided to focus on creating a new narrative as a runner beginning in 2024. Part of the strategy was to lean into the things that I fear, including long runs.
I recently signed up for my first ultramarathon (the Marine Corps Marathon 50K), mostly because the idea scares me. My friend Ariel, who is an ultra-triathlete and a competitor in the Ultraman events, suggested it. In July, he sent me a random message that sparked the following text exchange:
Ariel: My guy, what you doing October 27?
Me: I’m home that weekend.
Ariel:Let’s do the marine corps 50K
Me: You need a crew member?
Ariel: No, It’s your first ultramarathon.
Me: 🤔
tick-tock, tick-tock (5 minutes pass). I recognize that I’m scared.
Me: Let’s do it 👊🏽, challenge accepted!
For perspective, this is the same situation that led me to register for my first Ironman, embark on a long bike ride from San Francisco to Los Angeles, and agree to a 10K swim.
PSA – be mindful of who you surround yourself with; otherwise, you might find yourself living a life filled with crazy choices that push your limits.
Training for a 50K race
After successfully finishing Ironman Kalmar (Sweden) in August, my training volume dropped to “minimal.” Physically, I felt good. However, mentally, I was exhausted and chose to do light, shorter training sessions only. Typically, for me, post-race recovery takes a month to a month and a half, which is slow compared to many long-course athletes that I know. In addition to allowing for an adequate recovery, I have to acknowledge that the fall is an extremely busy time at work. This year, I was on the road every week from September 1 until I went to Washington, DC, for this race at the end of October. I didn’t sit still; I focused 70% of my training volume on running.
Although the 50K race was a part of my overall training plan in TriDot, oddly, my long runs never exceeded 2 hours. With my current run fitness, I rarely exceed 11-12 miles in 2 hours. Although the low running volume was concerning, I was confident in my base fitness. Running 50K was not a question of “can I”; it was a desire to know how it would feel. During longer runs, when I begin to feel a touch of discomfort, my mind rages on about how incapable I am and how crappy of a runner I’ve always been. The mental battles are incessant and can be overwhelming. I’ve always succumbed to the fight and have grown tired of losing those battles.
At the end of 2023, my new coach, Brandy, and I discussed my running struggles. I shared with her a pivotal experience running cross-country during my freshman year of high school. I joined the team late and didn’t do much training before our first race. During the race, I fell so far behind that I decided to stop running and wait for everyone to finish. Then, I made my way to the finish line. Coach saw me and my buddy and asked where we’d been and what happened. We told him, and he just shrugged and said we weren’t good runners anyway.
I never went back to practice or saw the coach again. Nor did I attempt to run (for fitness or competition) for the next 25+ years. The few times that I was goaded into running with someone, it felt horrible, and I ended up confirming what my coach told me when I was 16 years old.
She and I decided it was time to rewrite my story. To do that, I would gradually and purposefully build my capacity while also demonstrating my abilities to myself. We began with short track intervals and then progressed through distances of a mile, 5K, 10K, and half-marathon running. Throughout this journey, I focused on how I felt and where my mind was wandering, consciously working to counteract any negative thoughts while pushing through the discomfort. It has been a liberating process, and I’ve even found joy in some of the longer runs.
I learned to let go of the pressure to hit specific paces or finishing times. Instead, I focused on developing proper running form, building confidence, and strengthening my mental resilience. We celebrated each mini-milestone along the way. As I approached Ironman Kalmar, I felt confident and strong. Rather than dreading the marathon, I looked forward to the challenge and was eager to push myself beyond my previous limits.
Unfortunately, Ironman Kalmar didn’t go as I had hoped. The most significant issue was that I mismanaged my nutrition, which led to me falling apart during the marathon. Again, I had a taste of the struggle, but I didn’t get to fully engage in the fight.
Why run an ultra?
Simple. Beyond being afraid, I couldn’t come up with a reason not to run it.
Neither my wife nor my son were interested in spending time in Washington, DC, or watching me run 50 kilometers (31 miles), so I went alone. Fortunately, I have some long-time friends who live in the area, and one offered up a room. I arrived two days before the race. This gave me plenty of time to explore the race expo, pick up both Ariel’s and my bibs, and spend too much money on race merch. I spent the remainder of Friday at my buddy’s house chatting, looking over the race materials, and eating. It was all very chill.
Saturday morning, he and I went out to do some course reconnaissance. I wanted to know where the event parking was and how far from the start line we’d be. I also wanted to know how long a drive it might be on race morning. After doing that, we grabbed an awesome brunch with his lady, then chilled the rest of the day. I took a nap and then packed my gear. Ariel called, and we agreed to meet at the parking deck at 6 am. Both of us thought that we’d have more than enough time to get to the venue by 7 am for a 7:15 am start time.
Race Day!!
If the universe whispers
Me
= Don’t do it =
then pause
and reconsider your plan.
The 50K race started at 7:15 a.m., an hour before the marathon. The plan was to meet Ariel and Jamie in the parking deck at 6 a.m. and then take the shuttle to the start line, where we’d meet Rosa and Annette, who were also running. Unfortunately, I didn’t anticipate the presence of an additional 15,000 runners who also needed to park. As a result, we ended up meeting around 6:20 a.m.
We jumped on a shuttle, still feeling comfortable that we’d make the start line on time. The vibe on the shuttle bus was chill, and everyone was chatting away. Ariel, Jamie, and I were talking about nothing in particular as the bus drove along for about 15 minutes. Then, suddenly, someone on the bus shouted, “he took us to the finish line!! Dude, you are in the wrong place; take us to the start line”.
He didn’t seem to understand and proceeded to open the door to let us off. No one moved. A police officer even told him that he couldn’t be where he was. They also told him that, at this point, the roads to the drop-off were closed, and there was no way he was going to get us there. He was being yelled at by several runners but didn’t speak English very well. He did manage to hold his phone up and say this is where they told me to come. I don’t know where the start line drop-off is located.
This put many of the athletes into a panic because we were all at risk of missing the start. Ariel, Jamie, and I accepted that we were going to miss the start of the 50k and that we’d be so late that they wouldn’t allow us to run it. We’d be running the marathon today…assuming the driver could get us to the race in time.
One of the passengers chatted with the police officer about alternative routes and then sat next to the driver and gave him directions. We hit some blocked-off routes, and they pressured him to begin running red lights and blow through stop signs. It was getting wild. Eventually, we made our way to the opposite side of the Pentagon, which was as close as we’d gotten. As he attempted to turn and drive further away, everyone told him to stop and let us off. We’d walk from here.
As the marathon kicked off, the excitement in the air was electric! I wasn’t focused on breaking any records; instead, I was here for a much richer experience. My goal was to embrace the journey and surrender to all of the sensations while running. If I felt good, I’d give it some extra speed during the second half! I welcomed the inevitable challenges ahead as they set the stage for an incredible mental battle. Although I initially thought that running 50K would be the perfect way to test myself, I quickly realized that tackling a marathon also offered plenty of opportunities for growth. My only twinge of disappointment was not being able to call myself an ultra-marathoner just yet—but that’s okay! I know my time will come, and I’m genuinely excited about the path ahead.
A crappy start, coupled with poor execution
Although I anticipated finding dozens of port-o-johns, I opted to stop at an isolated one before reaching the staging area. Since we were arriving late, I expected the bathrooms at the staging area to be in “shitty” condition. Fortunately, the random port-o-john I chose seemed unused. That decision turned out to be the best one I made all day!
I made my way around the Pentagon, found the back end of the runners, and walked to the start line with the five-hour finisher’s group. My plan was to finish in less than 5 hrs but to start running very easily. So, running with this group for the first 13-ish miles would be perfect. Another goal was to run solely by feel because I’m susceptible to succumbing to the pressure of holding a certain pace. I tend to create arbitrary pace targets and ignore how I’m feeling. The consequence sometimes causes me to run slower than necessary or too fast. Either way, I end up dissatisfied with my run because I totally ignored how I was feeling and adhered to a random goal anchored in ego mania and idealism.
Since this race was not about finishing as quickly as possible, I removed the pace field from my watch. I did keep the metrics that I found helpful, such as cadence, power, heart rate, distance, and total time. If I really wanted, I could mentally calculate my pace, but that would require extra steps and would be unlikely. Staying with the 5-hour group would be good enough and allow me to maintain attention on how I was feeling rather than how I was performing.
One pivotal mistake that came back to bite me in the ass later in the race was falling behind on hydration. I wore a running vest with a collapsable bottle and water bladder. However, I assumed that there would be water at the start, so I didn’t bring any water to the race. To my chagrin, not only was there an absence of water at the start, but the first aid station was about 4 miles into the race. So, I went without any fluids from 5:15-9:15 am. Of course, I knew that was not a good situation, but with the cool weather and easy running, I assumed it wouldn’t make much difference.
I filled up my collapsable bottle at the 1st aid station and added a pack of LMNT electrolytes. After which, I felt a bit of relief. Since I was carrying my fuel (carbs and Vespa), all I needed to do was grab water at each aid station. The first 5k felt very easy, and I felt warm and loose.
The weather was wonderful. The trees were in the midst of changing colors, and the air was crisp and cool. I’d forgotten how much I missed experiencing fall. I even felt like a goofy little kid when there was a gust of wind, and the leaves fell in front of me or began swirling in the air as they fell to the ground. It all felt magical in the moment, and I couldn’t help but run with a big smile. It’s a beautiful course. All I needed to do was stay behind the 5-hour pacers, and everything else felt easy and without pressure.
As I approached mile 8 or 9, I noticed a rhythm in my run, frequently passing the 5-hour pace group only to repeatedly force myself to slow down and trail behind them. Feeling comfortable and at ease with my pace, I decided to trust my instincts and let my body guide me. With renewed determination, I moved ahead of the pacers, ending up just behind the next group.
As I strolled past the iconic Smithsonian and the grand U.S. Capitol, I received a delightful update from my friend Shannon. She was waiting for me, proudly holding a large sign! Living in D.C., I had hoped she might be at the race to say hello, but her enthusiastic display took me by surprise and truly warmed my heart. I couldn’t believe she had fallen and hurt her lip on her way to the race—this made me even more grateful for her effort to be there. We shared smiles and snapped a few photos, and she uplifted my spirits, encouraging me to keep pressing on. This lovely encounter happened around mile 17, and I was feeling great overall. So far, the only concern was a bit of twitchiness in my lower legs as my ankle and calf muscles began to fatigue—a little unusual for me, but nothing I couldn’t handle!
Reaching mile 18, I felt the spark of determination to challenge myself further. Embracing discomfort and diving into the “pain cave” became my focus. This moment was about training my mind to recognize my resilience and transforming how I view my capacity.
As I ran, I noticed some thoughts nudging me to slow down and walk. I realized my posture had sagged—I was looking down, shoulders tense, and shuffling my feet. With a renewed sense of purpose, I consciously lifted my gaze, engaged my core, and focused on strong, purposeful strides.
It was time to rise to the challenge! I welcomed this moment as an opportunity to push myself, feeling both excited and ready to face whatever came next!
At mile 20, I felt the ache, but I was also filled with a sense of purpose. I reminded myself that this was the moment I’d been training for. Over the next six miles, I was set to discover more of my potential. Although a part of me wanted to stop, I wanted even more to look back and take pride in my determination to keep pushing forward.
As I crossed the George Mason Bridge, I felt a surprising tension in my calf muscles and the stabilizers around my tibia. It became clear that I had made another critical mistake: I had chosen to wear carbon-plated running shoes. Normally, I run long distances in my Atreyu Base Trainers, so I thought the carbon versions would be a great upgrade, reducing the strain on my quads and providing extra bounce. However, I underestimated the stability challenges that come with these shoes. Designed for a forward motion, they reveal any inefficiencies in my biomechanics, especially during long runs. My legs, unaccustomed to this lack of lateral support, struggled, and with the hydration missteps, I found myself at a crucial juncture…overtasked and dehydrated leg muscles. To keep going, I decided to ease my pace and incorporate more stretching.
By mile 21, I was pushing through some tough moments as I struggled to simply walk without stumbling. The cramps in my legs were relentless. Just then, a race medic noticed and kindly escorted me off the course. He assured me there were some skilled physical therapists at the nearby medical tent who could help relieve the cramps, so I gratefully accepted his assistance to get there. Upon arrival, I was warmly greeted by two physical therapists, while suddenly, my lower leg muscles decided to go into a major cramping episode. They calmly instructed me to sit while they employed acupressure and massage techniques to ease the tension in my calves. Despite their encouragement to relax, I struggled to sit still and endure the pain. They guided me to a cot where they could use more leverage to help alleviate the cramps. The pain was intense enough to make me nauseous. I wanted to leave my body – I had never faced such severe cramps before. After about ten minutes on the cot, I finally began to feel some relief as my legs started to relax, and the cramping began to subside. A nurse stopped by with an extra bottle of water, a sleeve of DripDrop electrolytes, and a small bag of Ruffles potato chips. She gently pointed out the salt on my skin and clothes, explaining that it was a sign of dehydration and low sodium levels. Her friendly encouragement to hydrate and replenish was uplifting. Despite the nausea, I slowly sipped the water and nibbled on the chips, feeling hopeful that I could bounce back and continue to the finish line.
As the pain and cramping subsided, I expressed my gratitude to the two physical therapists who had worked on my legs and helped alleviate the cramping. While I lay there, however, the cramps again intensified. Three therapists attempted to push my feet back to a neutral position, as they were stuck in a pointed position, but they weren’t strong enough. I told them to stop and let me stand up. As I stood on my toes like a ballerina, I still couldn’t relax my muscles. I then balanced on one foot and gently bounced up and down, which helped release the tension in one calf. I repeated the same process for the other calf. If I leaned too far forward or backward, my muscles would cramp again. So, I remained perfectly still between two army cots, with my legs at a 90-degree angle from the floor. I must have stayed completely frozen in that position for about five minutes. The medical director came over, and we chatted for a moment. He offered me some hot chicken bouillon for the salt and then informed me that my day was over. I wouldn’t be running to the finish line; instead, I would be getting on the medical bus with the others in the tent and being dropped off at the finishers’ area.
In an instant, my race came to a close. I found myself unable to walk, much less put on my shoes, so I asked how long we would have to wait for our ride. He kindly informed me that the bus was on its way and would arrive in 5-10 minutes. I chose to hop on the bus without my shoes, feeling optimistic that my legs would feel better by the time we dropped everyone off. I was a bit anxious about the hour’s drive back to my friend’s house. I noticed the tracker hadn’t updated my position; Shannon called to check in on me. I shared with her what had happened, and she generously offered to drive me home if I felt unsure about my ability to drive safely. The bus journey took about 45 minutes, and then I had a short wait for the shuttle back to my car. Thankfully, by the time I reached my vehicle, my legs felt great! I appreciated the support from friends and the experience, reminding me that every challenge can lead to a positive outcome.
Although I showed up to run a 50K ultramarathon and ended the day by not being able to finish a marathon, I consider it a successful race. The experience has taught me the importance of understanding my gear and my body’s unique response to it. I also realized that I approached this too casually. Not planning the event in the same way that I plan other endurance races set me up for failure. I’m optimistic that with these insights, I can refine my running strategy and make the most of future runs!
