Honest thoughts on ultramarathon training

Ultrarunning is a stupid sport. 

It requires a lot of time, most of which you’ll spend on training (read: suffering), driving to training locations, buying expensive gear so you can train (suffer) for longer amounts of time in more difficult conditions (read: climbing massive hills). 

When you’re not running, you’ll spend your time eating, napping, or crying in a tub of epsom salt. 

Ok, I’m exaggerating here. Kinda… 

When you choose your first 50K, you’ll be excited. All your ultrarunning friends will be overly excited. 

You’ll panic a little as you look at the elevation profile of your first race, which will inevitably be one of the most difficult, yet most popular races in your community. 

In ultraworld, difficult races are popular simply because they are difficult. You would think the inverse would be true. Nothing reasonable exists in ultraworld. 

You’ll get your shiny new training plan. As you thumb through it, your eyes will widen when you see those last 4-6 weeks. Those weeks will be filled with double-digit numbers stacked back to back. You’ll swallow real hard. You should. These days will suck. 

When those last six weeks come, you’ll dread getting out of bed. Every day will bring another opportunity to train (suffer). 

Your legs will still be sore from Tuesday’s deadlifts and Wednesday’s long run (and maybe even from last weekend’s long run too?) 

 

You will have discovered new spots that can chafe.
You'll spend $100 on anti-chafe products, but the best product will be a $4 tube of Desitin diaper cream. You'll curse the big companies selling overpriced products.

Nevertheless, on Saturday morning, you’ll heave your heavy legs out of the bed and onto the floor. You’ll stand up and start gathering your things for yet another long day in the woods. 

You’ll dread the drive to the trail. You’ll groan to your training partner, who seems to be caffeinated and excited about the run. He’ll punch your shoulder and laugh as he talks about the route you’re about to take. 

Your legs will hurt for the first 10 miles of the run, but somewhere between 11 and 17 miles, you’ll feel great. Then, around mile 18, you’ll begin to wonder why you do this to yourself. 

The last half mile will feel like the worst thing ever, but you’ll finish your 20-mile run and you’ll feel so proud. 

You’ll grin and grimace for the next few hours. You’ll brag to your spouse about how tough you are and how badass it was that you finished that terrible long run with your overzealous running partner. 

On Sunday, still beaming with pride from Saturday’s run, you’ll swing your heavy legs out of bed again, and you’ll go run yet another double-digit number of miles. 

This will hurt. You’ll be uncomfortable. You’ll likely be dehydrated too. But you will finish that run, feel proud but also less proud than you did yesterday. 

You’ll soak your sore legs in yet another tub of hot salt water. 

On Monday, you’ll start the process over again. 

Finally, you’ll reach taper time. The best and worst period of ultramarathon training. 

Taper time is when your legs finally get a little rest, but your mind will not rest. Your mind will question everything. “Am I fit enough? Am I injured? Have I tested my nutrition strategy? Am I tapering too soon?” 

These “taper tantrums” will drive you mad. You’ll obsess over the race, planning and packing way too much stuff. But that’s OK. At least you won’t be forgetting anything on race day, right? 

Race day comes. Your stomach will be upset. Your family and your spouse will seem worried. They should be. 

But you’ll do just fine. The first 10 miles will suck, but you’ll finish strong. Around mile 21, you will tell a tired aid station worker “I’m never doing this ever again.” They’ll laugh at you, because they know you’ll be back next year. 

You will feel strong when you finish, but your body will tell you otherwise. You’ll fall/sit in a lawn chair at the finish line. Your overzealous training partner (who finished an hour ahead of you) will bring you a beer and a snack. You’ll feel like a million bucks. 

That evening, as you ice your knees and eat an entire package of pizza rolls, you’ll get on UltraSignup. Your partner will worry about you. They should. 

This is an insane sport filled with the most incredible people you’ll ever meet. If you’ve never spilled your darkest secrets to a stranger in the middle of a race or had an aid station worker give you some of their personal stash of Tums, you’re really missing out. 

 

You'll register for a 50 miler. In a few months, you'll start the whole process over again.