What I learned from running an ultra

I completed my first ultra marathon, a 50K, this fall. In the ultra world where runners regularly cover 50, 100, and even more miles, this barely qualifies as a warm-up. Still, 31 miles was good enough for a T-shirt and a medal, and qualifies as a personal achievement for me.

Having run an ultra, I now feel a need to dispense my sweat-infused wisdom here, despite my lack of professional athletic training or lengthy background experience.

Here are my running clichés and observations:

The race is won or lost in the preparation. Get off your duff and put in the necessary miles during training and you’ll be mentally and physically ready and a little less scared on race day. (I’m using “won” metaphorically here. Though my 7-year-old asked if I’d win the race, I was not delusional.)
“Eighty percent of success is showing up,” said Woody Allen. I’d take it further and say sometimes success itself is as simple as showing up. That includes for training runs (see #1 above) and at the starting line one early morning, wondering why you thought this was a good idea and if you might actually throw up on someone. Toe the line (or the back of the pack) at an ultra (or whatever you choose) and you’re already ahead of everyone who’ll never show up. You’ll probably still be behind enough hardy, athletic, zero-body-fat specimens to keep your ego safely in check though.
Life will happen with or without you, so it’s up to you to join the party (or Showing Up: Part 2). I was recovering from a month and a half of pneumonia when my intended ultra opened for registration this spring. Part of me wondered if I should be prudent and wait till next year (my base miles were officially at 0). But, I figured September 25, 2011, would come one way or another and I’d rather it came with me at the race sub-optimally, than with me at home thinking about next year’s race. So, I went for it and committed.
Expect discomfort and pain. That may sound pessimistic or masochistic, but it’s true. Sometimes the good stuff is tough. Sometimes it’s good because it was tough. Accept that and you’re free to go farther and harder. Too many people try to insulate themselves from all risk, pain, and work and miss out on the fun that only comes with it.
Keep moving forward, especially when it’s hard. It could just as well get better as worse, and either way you don’t want to stay where you are, so keep on moving.
Be flexible. Even though all ultra advice points to having just one goal for a first race—finishing—I couldn’t help but write out splits at different paces and tape them to my water bottle the night before for reference. When higher temps (into the 80s) and humidity (up to 90 percent) put a dent in those plans partway through, I refocused and shifted my goals to getting to the end and that medal. Besides, it was going to be an automatic PR as long as I got there.
Expecting pain isn’t the same as experiencing it. “Ultras are hard. Really.” This was my obvious statement to my spouse at mile 28’s aid station. I wasn’t whining or looking for comfort, just stating an observation that felt very vividly true and important at that moment.
You can race with people, versus against, and still be competitive. I can’t think of a road race where people so regularly helped one another out or offered support and encouragement as in my first ultra. Maybe it was my oxygen-deprived muscles, but everyone just seemed nicer.
I like long runs. Long runs are simple, fun, and a good head clearer. The concept of “long” is also subjective and can be any length that feels longish to you. Just run from point A to B and back again and you’ll feel like you’ve really done something. Success.
I also like the cupcakes and beer you earn after an ultra. How many other days in life can you eat whatever you want and not feel an ounce of guilt? The irony is that you may have no appetite, even when presented with a decadent chocolate confection.
Get the post-race massage.
Don’t forget the electrolytes after you stop racing. This is my most painful lesson (see higher than expected temps and humidity above) and could be its own essay, but is one I will never forget.
Even if you run your race alone, you probably didn’t do it alone. Appreciate the family and friends who supported you, especially the ones who didn’t ask “are you crazy?” but accommodated your training plans, your nerves, your obsessive pre-race packing and gel decisions. Say thanks to workers and volunteers at your race and anyone who showed up to watch you finish, or who just said “good job!”