You don't want to think about it - but you also can't stop thinking about it.

It wakes you up in the middle of the night.

The closer you get to race day, the worse it gets.

It's the "what-if."

Making good time in a race is about efficiency. Efficiently using the hours you have.

That’s why you think your age is a problem. You’re slower now and you might not make cutoff.

You stress about it every race, and even if you finish, you dread the next where you have to face cutoff fear all over again.

You’re just waiting for the day cutoff wins.

But when you’re thinking your age is the problem, you miss seeing how it’s an asset, instead.

Tomorrow morning — actually, by the time you read this, today - I’m having my hip replaced.

I've been dealing with this for six years. Six years of knowing this day was coming. And one of the hardest parts, after absorbing the diagnosis, has been figuring out what it means for someone like me - someone who loves running. And adventuring. Who loves what her body can do.

Here's what I've learned in the last six months of coming to peace with this: resistance to an unwanted reality doesn't protect you from it. It just keeps you in it. It costs you the future.

You know that voice in your head.

All that doubt you feel about your capability. All the ways that comes through in the things you say to yourself, like "I'm slow. I can't do this. I'm just no good at this.”

Negative self talk takes the air out of your sails in a race. It can turn off the switch and you lose power. You find yourself walking. Giving up.

So of course you want to make it stop.

In the back of your mind, there's probably a picture of how training is supposed to go.

You start at A. You progress steadily through training. You arrive at the finish line at B.

If you're doing it right.

You might be approaching race goals backward.

One of my core philosophies is this: your brain is the best tool you have. There's always a way to use it to help you solve any problem and make your goals easier to reach.

Night running is a perfect example.

If you dread trying to stay awake during a night section, this is for you. And if you love night running - same thing. Because you can love it and still hit an unexpected wall with it in a race. I have.

In your upcoming race, you’re determined to avoid mistakes that would jeopardize your finish, especially ‘stupid’ ones. 

Going out too fast is at the top of that list. 

It’s the most basic, common piece of ultra advice given. Everybody knows not to do it…and yet you do.

Late in a race, when you're exhausted and the finish is still too far away to feel real, you're convinced you want out.

You want to be done. You want to see the finish line, or at least the next aid station. You want the race to be over.

But here's what's actually true: you don't want to be done. You want to keep gaining.

You just forgot.

You've done the training. You've logged the miles. You've shown up week after week.

And then, as you taper, you start feeling more doubt. There’s a highlight reel of failures running through your mind on repeat, and it won’t stop.

That's not weakness and it’s not a sign you're not ready. That's a very specific mental glitch that almost every ultrarunner experiences, and once you understand what's actually happening, you can stop letting it run the show.

Picture this: you're at mile 60 of a 100, you're wrecked, and your pacer is telling you what to eat. Your crew is debating whether you should sit down or get out. Everyone has an opinion. And you're just...going along with whatever they tell you. Whoever is the most insistent or loudest.

Over 25 years of ultrarunning, I've watched this happen to countless runners. I see it out on course, and I see it with my coaching clients - often before they can see it themselves. And I want to name what's actually happening in that moment, because most runners don't recognize it until after the race when something feels off and they can't quite say what.

You've handed your race over to your team. And it's hurting you. And them.

My client Michelle recently DNF'd what was supposed to be her first 100-mile finish.

On the face of it, that sounds like defeat. Failure. But it was anything but.

The race started normally — it was supposed to rain, but the rain held off. A good omen.

You might be approaching race goals backward.

You look at the race, assess what seems achievable, pick something you're pretty sure you can defend if questioned, and call that your goal. Then you train for it and execute.

The result? An "ok" race. Not bad. But not what you're capable of either. And that nagging feeling that you held something back.

Here's what's actually happening: you're not picking goals based on what you want. You're picking a goal you can defend if you fail.

"Always be learning.”

That's one of the biggest lessons my dad taught me, and one that I love. Because I love learning and growing, and I'm guessing you do too. Otherwise, you wouldn't be an ultrarunner. A 5k would suffice.

But there are two ways to learn in ultrarunning.

You crossed the finish line of your first ultra. Or maybe you finished your first 100-mile race. Perhaps you even placed in your age group.

It was everything you'd hoped for and more—the kind of race that makes all the training, all the schedule changes, all the doubt worth it.

And now? Now you're thinking about racing again.

But you can't shake this feeling. This dread that whispers: “What if I can't do it again?”

You did it. 

You finally signed up for that race - maybe it's your first ultra, a technical mountain race, or simply a distance that pushes your boundaries. 

But now as race day approaches, instead of excitement building, a different feeling is taking over: intimidation.

You did it. 

You finally signed up for that race - maybe it's your first ultra, a technical mountain race, or simply a distance that pushes your boundaries. 

But now as race day approaches, instead of excitement building, a different feeling is taking over: intimidation.

Picture this: You're grinding through mile 80 of a 100-mile ultramarathon. 

You’re exhausted, but your determination is strong. You're keeping a good pace, you’re at peace being in the back of the pack, and you're going to do everything you can to make it to that buckle.

Then you hear footsteps behind you.

I had a session recently with a client who was preparing for her first 100K finish.

As we discussed her race strategy, I brought up something I cover with every runner I coach: one of the biggest distractions in any race isn't the terrain, the weather, or even your own fatigue—it's other runners.

She looked surprised. "Other runners? I thought having company was helpful."

It's a common misconception, and one that can cost you your best race.

I met him around mile 40 of a tough 100-mile race.

As we settled into pace together, the conversation naturally turned to our race goals.

"This is my third try at the hundred," he said with a rueful laugh. "Dropped out at 70 miles last year in this race. And tried another earlier this year and same thing—70 miles in that one too."

A client came to me heartbroken after another DNF.

She thought she was behind cutoff and wouldn't make the next aid station, so she slowed to a leisurely pace. When she arrived, she was pulled from the race—only to discover she hadn’t actually been behind cutoff and could have made it if she'd kept moving strong.

With multiple DNFs behind her, she worried she'd used faulty math to justify dropping. Had she unconsciously self-sabotaged? And now, examining her race decisions, she feared she was second-guessing herself—something she'd been told she shouldn't do.