This race was interesting from a psychological perspective. Having completed a 100K last February, I assumed this race would feel easier. But honestly, this one intimidated me more.

During the 100K, I ran a 4.3-mile loop sixteen times. Every loop began and ended at my tent, where my daughter was stationed as my crew. Mentally, that format gave me an escape hatch. I could tell myself, “If I really don’t feel like running anymore, I can just step off the course, crawl into my tent, sleep, and head home.”

This course was different.

The Dam Yeti 50 follows a W-shaped course: 17 miles out, 8 miles back, turn back towards Damascus, and then 17 miles home to the finish.

There was no tent waiting every few miles. No easy exit. Once you committed, you had to keep moving forward.

I knew that final 17 miles would be where the real race began, so I was incredibly grateful when one of my sons, Jack, agreed to pace me to the finish.

The Training

My training plan was not overly aggressive. It was simply built around consistency and three major training blocks. The biggest goal was learning how to run on tired legs by stacking back-to-back long runs.

I started with one of my favorite adventures — the cross-Charlotte run along the Little Sugar Creek Greenway all the way to UNCC.

From there, the weekends slowly built – I would run 20 miles on Friday and follow that up with 15-18 miles on Saturday. But all those miles did not stop the fear and second-guessing from showing up during taper week.

This time I had not used a professional coach. I relied on previous experience, research, and some confirmation from ChatGPT. But by Wednesday of race week, I started wondering, “Does an AI bot actually understand what it takes to run 50 continuous miles?” Well… too late now. Off to Abingdon, Virginia.

Driving through town the day before only increased my concern.

Having biked the eastern portion of the Creeper Trail before, I pictured a shaded canopy, gentle downhill, and perfect running conditions. Then I drove from Damascus to Abingdon at 3pm and noticed the exposure.

Lots of exposure.

And since it was the first week of June, my car was showing 92 degrees with weather reports calling for 93% humidity.

This was not exactly what I had pictured. But I had a plan.

Breaking Down the Impossible

The secret with long runs is learning not to think about the whole thing.

You don’t run 50 miles.

You run the section in front of you.

Thankfully, the race director had designed a course that naturally allowed this:

• 4 miles to the first aid station
• 5 miles to the next
• 8 miles to the turnaround
• 8 miles back
• 8 miles to where my son waited patiently for me.
• Then the final 17 broken to be paced by Jack.

Since my normal recovery runs during training were 8 miles, I told myself:

“I just have six 8-mile runs today.”

That mindset made the race work.

I managed my race perfectly. I was not fast, but I was steady. I never got beyond myself. I stayed within my ability. It was probably the best race management I have executed.

The objective was simple: run slower than I wanted for the first nine miles. Stay controlled early so there would still be something left late. By the time I reached Damascus, I had settled in, talked with other runners, and remembered one of my favorite things about ultras: These are my people.

The Final 17

The work really did not begin until mile 33, but thankfully my son was there waiting.

Since his longest run prior to this was 13 miles, I was slightly worried I would have to manage not only my race but his as well. But by the time I arrived at mile 33, I was ready to hand over control. And I was very impressed with how he managed me.

He broke the final 17 miles into ridiculously small goals:

• 1 mile through town
• 2 miles to the women handing out free ice pops
• 1 mile to the Pepsi machine
• 1 mile until the brutal exposed section ended and we entered the great relief of shade
• 3 miles of running 10 minutes and walking the rest of the mile
• 5 minutes of Dad dry-heaving at the aid station because his body was officially done with this stupid idea
• 5 miles of running 5 minutes and walking 5 minutes…but when your son asks if you go 2 more minutes you suddenly find something you did not know that was still there.
• Another aid station
• The most beautiful stretch across a long bridge
• And honestly…I don’t remember much after that except the final push to the finish line

Having my son pace me was perfect. Alone, I would have complained more about the heat. I would have sunk deeper into the pain cave. I would have walked longer than I needed. But he calmly created a plan, kept me moving, and managed my race better than I could have managed myself.

What I Learned

Fear and worry are part of the process: Second-guessing your preparation is inevitable. There will always be a moment before doing something difficult where you wonder if you did enough and if you have what it takes. Eventually, the only way to answer that question is to lace up your shoes and find out.

Nutrition, Nutrition, Nutrition…and hydration: Over the years, I have learned what my body needs. I treated the aid stations as bonuses — Nerds clusters, watermelon slices, crackers — but carried the nutrition and hydration I had practiced with during training. I had a nutrition plan as much as I had a running plan. Race day is not the time for experiments.

(Well…I did discover the incredible power of sticking a block of ice down your back and letting it slowly melt for three miles when its in the 80s, hot and humid.)

Run your race: I did not go too fast. I did not chase people around me. I did not let excitement early steal joy late. Nobody asks your time at the end of a fifty miler. As Rob Krar taught me – Slow is Smooth, Smooth is Steady, Steady is Fast.

I stayed steady. And because of that, I was actually able to smile and enjoy almost all 50 miles.