What If the Worst Happens on Race Day?

There are so many things that could ruin your race.

But what if the worst actually happens?

Imagine this: You invest months of training, effort, and money into a race that means the world to you. Everything is going smoothly—until the day before the race. You wake up with your head pounding, body aching, throat on fire, and nose completely clogged. Even breathing too deeply sets off a coughing fit that leaves you exhausted.

The Assumption: “I feel awful—I can’t finish like this. My race is ruined.”

That’s exactly what happened to me at the Tarawera 100 in New Zealand last month. I spent nine months preparing—training, booking flights, making reservations, assembling gear—and traveled halfway around the world, only to wake up sick the day before the race.

Had I assumed “I can’t finish like this,” my race would have gone like this:

I’d start estimating how far I could go—maybe 60 miles? No, considering how bad I felt, that would seem like a stretch. Maybe 40 miles would be enough. After all, pushing too hard might make it worse. People would understand. They’d probably even be impressed I made it that far while sick.

Decision made, I’d start acting accordingly. I wouldn’t bother buying the lighter mandatory gear I’d planned on since I wouldn’t need it for long. I’d skip the mandatory briefing so I could rest—after all, I wasn’t running the full race anyway. I might even decide not to put a drop bag at mile 75, since I wouldn’t be reaching it and didn’t want to wait for it to be returned.

In other words, I’d drop out of the 100-mile race before I even started. I would preemptively DNF.

Instead, I didn’t spend one moment on that assumption.

I didn’t give up my goal. I simply mapped out a Plan B pace in case I needed to run slower. With plenty of cutoff time, I knew I could slow down without feeling rushed. I’d start the race, assess how I felt, and figure out how to do my best with what I had—just like I always do.

After all, there was a chance I could start feeling better during the race. I wouldn’t know how things would play out until I actually ran, so why not hold space for the best-case scenario?

There was no way I was going to let a temporary illness take away a race I’d looked forward to for nearly a year and might never get to experience again. I was going to enjoy it anyway.

And that’s exactly what I did. I couldn’t take full breaths, but I stayed at the upper limit of what I could manage. I paced smartly, adjusted as needed, and even powered up one of the longest hills late in the race—without triggering the dreaded coughing fit. I soaked in the scenery, the people, and the experience, and crossed the finish line strong.

“I can’t finish like this,” was never the truth—just an assumption.

Unquestioned assumptions don’t just stand between you and your goals—they quietly dictate your limits. If you accept them without challenge, you’ll never know what you’re truly capable of.

That’s why I teach my clients the Mindshift Process. It’s not just about overcoming obstacles—it’s about rewriting the mental narratives that hold you back. When you learn to challenge limiting beliefs, you stop making decisions based on fear and doubt and start reaching toward your full potential.

Real success in ultrarunning isn’t just about physical endurance—it’s about mental resilience. When you know how to shift your mind in the face of adversity, you don’t just finish races. You redefine what’s possible.