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.

Worried the race will be harder than you can handle?

It might be.

That’s a risk we take, every race.

Ahead of a race, you might wonder— will I go into this race, be way out of my depth, and end up not making it?

Let’s say you DNF’d your last few races.

Maybe you got pulled or maybe you dropped, but either way, you’re tired of coming up short.

It’s demoralizing, so you decide on a new strategy: Find something easy to finish.

It happens.

You glance at your watch and see your heart rate is higher than you planned. Or you notice you’re running faster than your goal pace. Or you realize you’re working harder than you meant to this early in the race.

Oh no, you think. This is bad. I’ve blown it.

In an ultra, being uncomfortable is guaranteed.

But sometimes, it all hits at once—your legs tighten up, your stomach turns, your emotions flare—and suddenly it feels like a massive boulder has landed right in your path.

You can’t go over it.

You can’t go around it.

You feel stuck.

But here’s the thing: that boulder isn’t just one thing. It’s three things combined together.

I had a really bad long run this weekend.

My next 100-miler is in a month, so I’m ramping up my training. I tried a new course that I knew would be challenging and gave myself the whole day to finish it—plenty of time to go slow and adjust.

But I made some key mistakes, it was harder than I expected, and as a result I ran poorly—and only got half the miles I planned.

The thought that kept running through my head as I finished: “This is a disaster.”

IThis evening on my trail run, I saw a box turtle.

Normally when I see one, it watches me for a second, then pulls back into its hard, helmet-like shell like I’m some obvious predator. I always feel misunderstood and want to reassure it—I’m not here to hurt you. I’d help you cross the road if you needed it. Right now, I’m just passing through your living room. Don’t mind me.

But this one was different. It looked right at me for a few moments, then just…kept walking. Not hurried. Not hiding. Just went about its turtle business like it knew I wasn’t a threat.

And I thought—that’s the way it is in a race. Not everything is a problem.

You want to run the big races. The ones that light you up. The ones you don’t even confess to.

But then fear creeps in.

What if you don’t finish?

What if you’re not capable?

What if you’re way out of your depth?

You’re Not Anxious Because of the Weather. (Or the cutoff. Or blisters.)

You’re standing at the start line—or maybe just thinking about race day—and your heart is already racing. And not in a good, I-can’t-wait-to-get-started kind of way.

You’re anxious. About the weather. The cutoff. Your stomach. Whether your headlamp batteries will make it to sunrise. (You changed them. Didn’t you?)

And then, just to spice up the mind drama, you start feeling anxious about being anxious.

If you’ve ever found yourself circling the question, “How do I know I’m ready to move up in distance?”—you’re not alone.

That question keeps a lot of runners stuck. They don’t know how to answer it, and because they can’t answer it with absolute certainty, they assume they’re not ready.

What they’re really trying to do is erase the risk. To find enough evidence to make the fear disappear. They think once they feel confident they’ll finish, then they’ll know it’s the right time.

But that moment doesn’t come. The fear doesn’t go away. The guarantee never shows up.

And so they keep waiting.

Let’s call this what it is…

“I Should Be Able to Figure This Out on My Own”

There’s an unspoken pressure in ultrarunning to be endlessly tough.

We pride ourselves on pushing through pain. Solving problems mid-race. Getting it done, no matter what.

That toughness serves us—until it turns into isolation.

You’re Not Slow. You’re Running with the Wrong Voice.

If you’ve ever felt like you’re just not fast enough—like no matter how hard you train, you’re always falling behind where you want to be—you’re not alone. Most runners respond to that by doing the obvious:

They train harder. Add speed work. Build mileage. Incorporate strength training.

Throw more at the problem and hope something sticks.

And what do they get?

We all say we want to be strong.

We want to be the kind of runner who digs deep at mile 70 and keeps going.

Who pushes through the tough moments.

Who finishes with grit, purpose, and the story to prove it.

We want the strength.

But if we’re being honest, we don’t always want to have to be strong.

You know that feeling.

The DNF that didn’t have to happen.

The drop haunts you—not because your race blew up, but because deep down, you knew you could’ve kept going.

You had more.

And instead of summoning it, you walked away from it.

You finish a race or a long run and think, “That didn’t go how I wanted.”

You replay the mistakes. Obsess over what went wrong.

You start to wonder if the goal is just too far away.

So you either double down and push harder…

Or back off and aim smaller so it doesn’t hurt as much.

You’re either forcing it or fading.

But neither one moves you forward.

Because here’s what’s actually happening:

Starting next week, you’ll get my mindset blog post on Monday instead of Wednesday.

That’s the small one.

The bigger one is why.

If you’ve been here a while, you know these Wednesday emails have had a steady rhythm—a mindset boost to help you think differently about your training, your racing, and the runner you’re becoming.

And for over seven years, I haven’t missed a single week.

That commitment has mattered deeply to me. Still does.

But now, with the launch of The Unstoppable Ultrarunner podcast, it’s time for a shift.