Ultras don’t reward “perfect plans.”
They reward problem-solvers.
Because no matter how fit you are… no matter how dialed your training is… at some point in an ultra, something is going to go wrong. That’s not negativity — that’s just the sport.
Your stomach will do something weird.
Your gear will betray you.
Your quads will start filing complaints.
Your brain will get dramatic at 3 a.m. and start pitching the idea of a nap in a ditch like it’s a luxury resort.
And the most dangerous part? None of this feels like a “small issue” while you’re in it. Everything feels like the end of the race. Everything feels urgent.
That’s why the best ultrarunners aren’t the ones who avoid problems — they’re the ones who stay calm when the chaos shows up.
I’ll never forget seeing a guy duct-taping his shoe mid-race with a grin on his face, like it was just part of the course.
He looked at me and said something like:
“Ultras aren’t about avoiding problems — they’re about solving them while still moving forward.”
That hit me. Because it’s true.
So this article is your “what now?” guide.
- What to do when your gut turns on you.
- How to handle cramps without turning it into a full-blown emergency.
- How to deal with gear fails, wrong turns, and that downhill death march.
- And how to tell the difference between normal suffering… and the kind of warning sign you don’t mess with.
Let’s get to it…
Gut Bombs, Cramp City & That Lovely Puke Moment
Your stomach is gonna take a beating. You’re pushing food, sugar, salt, and fluids into a system that’s running a marathon every few hours—sometimes at altitude, often in heat. It’s a mess down there.
Feeling nauseous? First thing: back off the gas. Drop your pace, let that heart rate chill. Most times, the gut freak-out is because you’re going too hard or eating too much too fast.
Here’s what I keep in my vest when I feel the nausea creeping:
- Ginger chews or candied ginger (a lifesaver)
- Saltines or pretzels—bland, but they work
- A couple of Tums (yep, old-school, but magic for minor acid reflux)
If you feel like you’re gonna hurl, guess what? Let it fly. Seriously. I’ve coached runners who puke at mile 40, rinse their mouth, sip water, and finish strong. It’s like hitting reset on your system. One study even showed that mild vomiting can improve perceived exertion afterward. Weird, right?
But—if you can’t keep anything down for hours, that’s a red flag. Dehydration is creeping in. You need to stop, sip broth, chew some ice if they have it, and regroup.
Cramping? Stretch if you can, but don’t force it. Walking it off often works better. Salt tabs, pickle juice, or even a shot of mustard (I know, gross) can shut cramps down fast. There’s research behind this—pickle juice’s vinegar triggers a nerve reflex that tells the cramp to knock it off.
Pro tip: If you start feeling both nausea and cramps, think low sodium. That’s your clue to get broth or salt-heavy snacks in ASAP.
Gear Fails, Getting Lost, and the Downhill Death March
Stuff breaks. Be ready to improvise.
- Shoelace snaps? Tie it off or pin it with your race bib safety pin.
- Sole peeling off? Wrap it in duct tape—carry some around your pole or water bottle.
- Bladder leaks? Switch to bottles if you can, or ask around at aid. There’s always someone with extra gear or batteries.
One time, my headlamp died on a mountain pass. No moonlight. I stumbled upon a bunch of campers who gave me their backup batteries.
Take a wrong turn? Welcome to ultrarunning. If you haven’t seen a marker in 10-15 minutes, stop and think. Don’t go further hoping it’s right—backtrack to the last flag. It sucks, but it beats adding miles to an already brutal course.
I always say: “No wrong turns, just scenic detours.” Keeps the panic away.
Quads destroyed? Oh yeah, that happens. Especially if you didn’t train enough downhill. If every descent feels like a crime against your legs, shift your focus:
- Use poles if you’ve got ‘em
- Take shorter steps—think baby shuffle
- Hike the downhills if needed
- Sometimes salt and calories help spark the legs again
Next time, train the descents. But in the race? Survive the downhill and save your fight for the flats.
Emotional Spirals & Mental Freakouts
Let’s talk about the mental demons. You’re 9 hours in, nothing feels good, and you start asking:
“Why am I even doing this?”
Totally normal. I’ve cried on trail. I’ve been pissed at trees. I’ve cursed at rocks. But you can’t quit at your lowest moment. That’s the rule.
If you’re melting down:
- Cry. Seriously, let it rip. Then keep moving.
- Give yourself a countdown—“Okay, I can sulk ‘til the next tree, then game face on.”
- Dedicate the next mile to someone who can’t run, or who got you into this crazy sport
One of my mantras when it gets dark (literally or mentally):
“This is the part I paid for—the pain, the test, the moment I find out what I’m made of.”
It works. Flip the script. Make the suffering meaningful.
When to Drop—and When to Dig Deep
Let’s be real—sometimes you gotta DNF.
It’s not weakness, it’s wisdom.
I’ve been there. Limping on a jacked-up tendon isn’t “tough”—it’s begging for months on the injured list.
If you’re showing real signs of heat stroke (like confusion or you stop sweating), or your lungs are feeling funny from hyponatremia, or maybe you flat-out missed the cut-off time—then yeah, it’s time to call it. That’s not quitting. That’s survival. You live to run again.
And hey, life hits too—maybe your crew’s down sick, or you’re stuck waiting for help. That’s just how ultras roll.
But here’s the truth most runners won’t admit out loud: usually, when you feel like quitting… your body still has gas in the tank. It’s your brain screaming louder than your legs.
That’s where the magic happens—knowing the difference between the kind of pain you push through, and the kind you absolutely don’t mess with.
- Good pain? That’s fatigue, sore muscles, blisters yelling at you—hurts like hell, but won’t take you out of the game. You’ll wake up sore, not sidelined.
- Bad pain? That’s sharp, stabbing stuff. It’s getting worse the longer you move. It changes how you run. You start limping weird, maybe your knee locks up or that ankle blowout starts screaming louder each mile. That’s your body waving a red flag.
One time I rolled my ankle on a trail—it ballooned up like a grapefruit. Tried jogging it off… didn’t work. Another runner had what looked like the same injury and still finished. That’s the thing—it’s personal. Know your body.
If you’re dizzy, can’t focus, or feeling chest pain? Stop. Sit. Talk to medical. That’s a no-brainer.
But if you’re just crushed and everything feels impossible? That’s often the storm before the breakthrough. Fuel up. Walk it out. I’ve had death-march moments turn into finish-line sprints (well, maybe slow shuffles… but you get me).
And race med staff? They’re there for a reason. Let ‘em check your vitals—blood pressure, hydration levels, the whole nine. If they say you’re done, trust ‘em. That’s not weakness—it’s being smart.
Now, if you’re still safe and upright, ask yourself: What’s my “why” for this race? If finishing means everything—and I mean everything—dig deep. It might be slow. It might be ugly. But you can still get there.
But if finishing now means you’ll miss a key race next month due to injury? Maybe pulling the plug is the power move. Strategic, not soft.
Every ultra-runner has a DNF somewhere on their record. It’s a rite of passage, not a scarlet letter. But before you throw in the towel mid-race, ask this: “Will I regret this tomorrow?” If the answer’s even close to yes—keep moving. Delay the decision. Give it another aid station.
I love this saying: “It’s okay to want to quit. It’s not okay to quit unless they pull you or you’re broken.” That’s intense, but there’s truth in it.
And if you do DNF? Don’t bury it—break it down. Why’d it happen? Fix it. Come back meaner and smarter. That’s how you turn a DNF into a PR next season.