At some point in the night, every long ultra race stops being about strength and becomes a conversation between your body and your will. And if you stay out there long enough, something else enters the conversation too: the quiet, undeniable realization that you cannot do this alone.
Back in March, I participated in the Badger Mountain Challenge—a 50-mile race that turned out to be THE single hardest race I’ve ever done.
I pinned bib number 399 to the left leg of my running tights in the early morning hours, stood at the start line with that singular combination of excitement and terror that comes with big commitments, and tried to go through my list in my head one more time. Head lamp? Yep. Extra battery pack for my phone? Uh huh! Food and liquid to keep me going between aid stations? Got it. Toilet paper for a full bladder between aid stations. In my pocket. I was ready.
But fifty miles is not just a distance—it’s a decision. A decision you have to keep making, step after step, long after the initial adrenaline fades (which is in about twenty minutes if your first mile is straight up a mountain trail).
The early miles were hard but manageable. Even beautiful. There’s a beat you fall into in an endurance event. That rhythm of your feet is what you lean into when it dawns on you that hours from now, when everyone in your life is counting sheep, you’ll be step, step, stepping up another mountain trail. Just get into the groove!
By the time I was climbing the long, exposed hills later in the day, the sun was relentless. My legs were heavy. Every incline felt personal, as though the mountain itself had something to prove. I grew tired, naturally, but I just cranked up the music in my earbuds and kept my eyes on the ground so I wouldn’t bite it in the loose gravel.
On and on I went.
And then, after I’d been out on the trail for twelve hours, I started to hear the voices. You know the voices I’m talking about. The voices that tempt you to do what is easiest instead of what you’ve committed to do.
You’ve gone far enough.
This is good.
People will still think you’re amazing, even if you don’t finish.
No one would blame you for calling it off here.
By nightfall, I felt like quitting was actually the reasonable thing to do. The course became harder to follow the further into the night I went. At mile 35 I even asked the volunteers at the aid station if someone could take me back to the finish line, but they told me they were not a rescue station. I would have to get five miles further up the road to the mile 40 station.
My body was so depleted. I wasn’t running so much as moving forward in stubborn increments. That’s when the isolation set in—the kind that goes beyond being physically alone. The kind that makes everything feel a little more fragile.
Just as I was about to sit down and cry between aid stations, my phone buzzed.
A text from my brother. “B!tch, you can’t quit. Not today. Tomorrow. But not today.” It was 11:42pm.
I replied to him, speaking into Siri, “Tomorrow is in twenty minutes. Can I quit then?”
“No, dumb@ss. Then it will be today again.”
I had to laugh. Only a younger sibling could get away with talking to me like this.
Then another text came in—from two of his kids. I’d shared my location with them and they’dd apparently started tracking me. Middle of the night and my grown niece and nephew were cheering me on. Sending messages into the dark: “You’re killing it!”
The cheering helped, but I was in so much pain. I just didn’t know if I COULD keep going. Still…I did.
Until the unthinkable happened. More than 20 hours into the race, I got lost.
Completely off course. No markers. No other runners. Just me, in the dark, trying to make sense of where I had gone wrong. Fatigue does strange things to your brain. It shrinks your problem solving skills to the size of pea. Peabrain. A lost ultra-runner must have coined that phrase.
I stood in the middle of the trail, dumbfounded, for a full five minutes, feeling the edge of panic creep in. I sat down on the dirt and let a tear trickle down my dirty face. I decided I was going to quit the damn race, wait until daylight, find a spot in the nearest town on my GPS to hike to, and take a Lyft back to my hotel.
And then my phone buzzed again. It was my nephew. Thirty-four years old, my nephew is fighting advanced cancer. He was still up watching me at two in the morning. The text read simply, “YOU ARE NOT GOING TO QUIT.” I don’t know if he tracked that I wasn’t moving or if he just had the urge to text.
Suddenly, I understood something. My race was not just mine. It belonged to the people who were cheering me on, too. And my nephew, running in a race he did not sign up for and could not quit at will, was telling me he needed me to push.
I stood up and I did something crazy. I asked for help. I called my friend who was waiting for me at the finish line who got hold of the race director for me.
He picked up. I heard his voice on the phone sounding calm and grounded as he talked me through where I was. Helped me retrace my steps and guided me back toward the finish line.
I crossed the finish line in 22 hours and 32 minutes (having put in an extra three miles due to being lost).
But here’s the truth: that finish didn’t belong to me alone.
It belonged to my brother and his kids, who stayed connected to me through the long night. It belonged my friend who was on the other end of my frantic call. It belonged to the race director, who was my rock on the phone when I needed direction. It belonged to every moment I allowed myself to receive support instead of pretending I didn’t need it.
We tend to tell stories of endurance as personal victories. Grit. Determination. Inner strength. But that’s not the whole story, is it?
If you’re in the middle of something big—writing a book, building a business, rebuilding your life—here are a few things I learned on the Badger Mountain Challenge worth holding onto:
1. You will want to quit. More than once.
That doesn’t mean you’re failing. It means you’re in it. Expect the doubt. Plan for it. Wanting to call it off is just part of the deal in the middle of the proverbial night.
2. Support is not optional for big commitments.
You can resist it. You can try to go it alone. But at some point—usually when it matters most—you’re gonna need someone to remind you who you are and where you’re going. Lean in!
3. Your journey matters to others and their journeys matter to you. We are watching each other navigate this life. “If he can do it, I can do it,” You might think. And if YOU can do it—hard as it is, there might be someone in your life who will find the courage they need for their own hard thing.
Endurance isn’t just about staying the course. It’s about staying connected to yourself and others while you navigate the trail.
No one crosses the finish line for a long race alone. If you’re in a hard place right now, reach out to your cheerleaders. You’ll be able to return the favor some day for sure!