by There’s a quiet arrogance that creeps in when things are going well.
You stack up finishes, nail your training blocks, and start to believe you’ve got the 100-mile formula cracked. That was me heading into the 2025 San Diego 100. Feeling bulletproof after five straight 100-mile finishes and a shiny 3rd-place at my last 50.
Spoiler: I didn’t finish.
This post isn’t a sob story. It’s a brutally honest breakdown of what went sideways, how it messed with my head, and what I’ve learned about DNFs, mindset, and why grilled Spam might be the final boss of ultrarunning.
Everything Felt Off Before the Gun Even Went Off
I signed up for the solo runner division, no crew and no pacers. I believed I could grind it out on my own. But the reality was different.
The trip down already felt off. My usual running partner and I had a good rhythm from past races, but this time we had a new person join the group. It changed the vibe. It threw me off more than I expected, and I think it affected both of our performances. My head wasn’t fully in the race. I found myself thinking more about home than the trail ahead.
And I’ll say this outright: I underestimated how critical having a crew is during a 100-miler. Someone to refill your bottles, shove food in your hands, and give you a reason to keep moving when your brain is screaming to stop. I won’t make that mistake again.
Conditions, Food, and the Mental Spiral
Race day was hot, 86 degrees with a UV index of 11. The type of heat that get’s the black top tar sticky. And to my disapointment as a Solor runner, aid stations in the early miles only had grilled Spam and grilled PB&Js. Hot Spam at mile 40? Not exactly what you want when your stomach is already turning. And at mile 52 the only thing besides candy was grilled PB&J. Mind you there were still a good number of runners behind us at this point. I don’t want to bad-mouth the race, but solid food options were severely lacking. Nutrition fell apart early, and once it does in a race like this, it’s hard to bounce back.
People always say 100-mile races are a thousand little things that can go wrong. That’s exactly what this was. The wrong mindset, the wrong fuel, the wrong support system. It all stacked up.
The Post-Race Blues Are Real
After the race, I ripped off my Garmin and threw myself into home renovation projects just to have something else to focus on. For weeks, I didn’t want to think about running. Not racing, not training, not even short jogs. It took four full weeks before I started feeling like myself again.
The hardest part? My running partner and I, who were usually tight, haven’t really spoken since the race. It’s wild how a single event can shift relationships. But it showed me just how much mindset and who you choose to surround yourself with impacts performance and recovery.
Tips for Coping with Your First DNF
Own the Experience, Not Just the Outcome
A DNF doesn’t define you but it can teach you. Be honest with yourself about what went wrong. That’s how you grow.Don’t Underestimate the Power of a Crew
Even if you think you’ve got it handled, support matters. Sometimes it’s the familiar faces, encouragement, and accountability that carry you through the lows.Mindset Is Everything
Go into the race mentally clear and focused. If your head’s not in it before the start, it’s going to be a long day (or a short one that ends early).Respect the Little Things
The “tiny issues” add up. Off vibes, missed meals, heat, stomach trouble, unexpected stress. They compound quickly in an ultra.Post-Race Blues Are Normal
After a DNF, it’s okay to be in a funk. Give yourself space. Do something else for a bit. You don’t have to jump back into training right away.Reconnect With Running for Fun
Forget the numbers. Take off the watch. Run because you love to move, not because a race says you have to.Talk About It
Whether it’s your running partner, a coach, or just a fellow trail junkie—talking helps. Silence can stretch an awkward post-race tension into something heavier.
Final Thoughts
If you’re reading this after your own DNF, let me say this clearly: you’re still a runner. You’re still strong. And you’re definitely not alone.
DNFs suck, there’s no sugarcoating it. But they strip things down. They force you to remember why you started running in the first place. Not for the buckles. Not for the kudos. But for the weird, wonderful, sometimes miserable process of chasing something just out of reach.
So take the time you need. Turn off the watch. Run slow. Run short. Or don’t run at all for a while. But know that you’ll come back stronger mentally, physically, emotionally. And next time? You’ll be ready.
