The Pistol Ultra Double Barrel. The plan was to run 150 miles, but life had other ideas, turning it into a 100 miler with an extra 20 miles thrown in for fun.
Am I disappointed? Of course, I am.
The determined runner who signed up in November wasn’t quite the same person standing at the start line in March. But, I’m slowly coming to terms with it.
A return to Vol State was on the agenda for this year. I needed a spring 100 miler in the U.S. to whip me into shape. Enter the Pistol Ultra, fitting the bill perfectly. It was super easy to travel to Knoxville. When I registered in November, the Double Barrel option caught my eye: 100M + 50M with a 32-hour cutoff. On a flat bike path with ample aid, it seemed doable.
Fast forward to March 12th three days post-event. I was at Whole Therapy for my weekly personal training with Jamie Wright. I have been seeing him for over 3 years. This guy turned me into a tank with little injuries. He also acted as my “sports psychologist”, helping with the mindset with training, my events and sometimes career and life.
I started to rehash the weekend.
“It wound up being a 100 miler with a 20-mile bonus run, but that’s okay because I…
… was able to run 120 miles with a 30 km long run in training. Look at how fit I am,
… completed a 100 miler in 20:50 while I was still holding back for another 50 miles,
… clinched third place female,
… met some incredible people and witnessed some inspiring moments.”
I rambled on, convincing myself I was fine. Jamie looked at me and asked, “I hear what you’re saying, but how do you really feel?”
Pause. The tears welled up.
“I am so upset. I failed”
“It’s okay to be disappointed,” he said “Own it”
And just like that, I realized it’s okay to feel how I feel. Maybe the Pistol Ultra wasn’t the victory lap I envisioned, but it was a lesson in embracing the journey to a new identity as a runner.
The debrief continued, and Jamie helped me realize how my energy level and mindset had taken a roller-coaster ride over the five months between registering and finishing the event.
The ambition and drive were sky-high at the start. The plan was to nail a solid 24-hour split and maybe make the Canadian 24-hour team, or at least see if this was a feasible goal for another race. (I checked—they said I just needed to prove I was fit enough.) I was hitting the backroads well before 5 AM, getting workouts done while the world slept. Long runs were wrapped up just as the sun peeked over the horizon. The steady-state runs Derrick Spafford, my coach, planned were crushed—faster than he had expected. Tempos and intervals? Nailed them, always with a little left in the tank. I felt like the “old Michelle” was back for the first time in six years.
Every week, Jamie would ask how I was doing. I’d ramble for five minutes (sometimes ten) about training, work, and life. After the Pistol, he pointed out how my check-ins had changed:
December, during a two-week break from work and Run Club duties:
“I feel great. I’m nailing my workouts. I’m running fast, racking up over 100 km a week, and getting in two strength sessions. I feel so strong.”
A few weeks later:
“It’s good. Workouts are great. Registration for our Run Jump Throw program opened and sold out in four days. Unbelievable!”
A bit later:
“Okay. I’m getting the training in, with no issues. Managed an extra strength session. So many parents reached out about our Youth Running Program that I set up another session for winter.”
And then:
“Alright. We had fifty kids at our Run Jump Throw program last week! It was a blast. Our Winter Running Clinic is starting next week and has a good turnout despite it being the dead of winter.”
But then things started to shift:
“Training is good… yeah, good. Sleep sucks. I’m swamped. Up early to get programs out before my run, then working. Evenings are packed with the kids’ and adult programs.”
And finally:
“I’m exhausted. Had big runs scheduled but had to take the weekend off… Oh, and here’s what happened at the running clinic last week…”
My responses became more frazzled:
“Had a long run last week. Wanted it over and done with so I could get stuff done with the Club or coaching clients.”
Week by week, my training and the Russell Run Club fought for space in my battery, and the Club slowly took over, winning my heart.
Two weeks before the race, my check-in went like this:
“I am so stressed.”
That day, we didn’t touch a weight. Instead, we had a long conversation about why I was feeling this way. I babbled on about my training and how it didn’t feel like I was peaking like last year for the Prairie Spirit Ultra in Kansas. My longest run was only 30 km. I didn’t feel fast anymore. I was worried I wouldn’t perform well. I was scared to disappoint my husband who enjoys boasting about my achievements.
“So what?” Jamie said. “Who cares? You are putting this stress on yourself”
I realized I was trying to be the runner I was in 2018, before I quit my engineering career and went back to school. Back when I held a few Canadian records and won some tough 100 milers. I was tying my worth as a runner and a person to those achievements. For someone who wasn’t athletic as a kid and never expected to accomplish much, that meant a lot.
Now that those accolades were gone, I felt like I had to reclaim them or achieve something similar—like making the 24-hour team, breaking age group records, or setting more fastest known times.
“Just go to the race and have fun. That’s when you perform the best,” Jamie said.
And he was right. In the end, it wasn’t about the accolades or proving something to the world. It was about rediscovering the joy of running and finding peace with where I am now.
If I hadn’t sunk all that time and money into training, fees, and flights, I might have bailed. But in my head, I was committed. I had to do it. Just toe the start line, do something epic, and gather stories to tell.
Fifteen 10-mile out-and-backs. That’s why I picked this race. I ran it in December 2016 and loved crossing paths with everyone, cheering them on. In that race, I claimed my first Canadian record. I wanted to relive that experience this year.
What happened? For those who want the race report, here’s my attempt. If you want a better breakdown - join me for a run or walk.
The nighttime destroyed me. I’m used to finishing races by midnight. Before the uncontrollable urge to sleep and the hallucinations kicked in. I was on point with the pace for the bulk of the race. My pace slowed a bit faster than planned but still within making the cutoff. By Lap 8 my body wanted to sleep and I could not fight it. I found myself stopping along the route sitting down anywhere trying to shake off the overwhelming urge to sleep. I would linger at the aid station drinking coke feeling sorry for myself.
I hung out at the turnaround longer than planned. I was running by myself and enjoyed the aid station company and seeing my husband Sean. I didn’t want to leave.
At the end of Lap 9, I told Sean I needed a 15-minute nap. Unheard of for me. We sat in the warming station trying to do so, but no luck. Two 50-mile finishers and another 150-mile attempter, who had dropped out early on, started a conversation. They gave me words of support as I left and said they’d pray for me.
I finished the 100 miler not with joy but with tears, knowing I had to go back and do another 50 miles. I was struggling. The split was 20:50—a solid time on its own. I was still physically fit to go back and finish, but the drive was disappearing.
The first-place female 50 miler congratulated me on the 100 miler. She creeped me out on Ultra Signup and read a few articles on me. I didn’t feel like that runner she was fangirling over as I sipped my chocolate milk and whined to my husband.
I had 11 hours to complete the 50 miler. It was going to be close to making the cutoff. The stress of that, added to the urge to sleep, led to a “lap from hell.”
Three hours to move 10 miles. The urge to stop and sleep was overwhelming. I sat on benches, culverts, and retaining walls, trying to shake it off. I knew I wasn’t going to make the cutoff, so what was the point? I started to consider dropping out.
After sitting in one of the aid stations for 15 minutes with a cup of coffee, feeling sorry for myself, I pulled myself out to leave. The sun was making its way over the horizon. A little boost of energy. I returned to the start/finish feeling a bit more energized. I was ready to run until time ran out. I was sure I could get in 140 miles by 5 PM.
The 12th lap brought on the 1/2 Marathon and Marathon runners. More people on the course to see and cheer on. But it wasn’t enough to keep me going – the walking started to increase and the running decreased. I reached the turnaround and handed back my 50 miler bib to the race director. I was dropping out.
What was the point? Sean had a long day and night hanging out at the Start/Finish. We have been to many races and experienced a number of them where volunteers were a blast to be with. This race not so much. We had another day to get through just to DNF on the 50-miler. I decided I rather head to the hotel, rest and enjoy a BBQ supper with my husband.
What went wrong? The training went well – derailed for a bit due to fatigue. But we got to the start line physically in shape. The sleep issues were expected – I thought I could get through it with caffeine and willpower. But it hit me hard mentally. It was the drive and motivation that was not there.
Did I lose it along the way or did I not show up with it? I am sure I stood at the start just wanting this run over and done with. I had other stuff I wanted to take care of. My to-do list at home was longer than this race.
“Look at how you have evolved over the past three years,” Jaime said.
When I started training with Jamie, I was finishing up school. I finished some Fastest Know Times a few months before and was ready to take on the Rideau Trail. I just had some lingering back issues to deal with. My life was school, training and sewing. I was the typical solo, selfish runner.
“You should do a running clinic,” he suggested one day. “You know your stuff and are an accomplished athlete. People will want to listen to you.”
“I can’t do that,” I replied, launching into a series of lame excuses, which Jamie promptly shot down.
Fast forward to today. The Russell Run Club has built a running community of over 60 members. We get together multiple times a week for training. We hold programs for kids, youth and adults. We regularly get emails from parents asking about our programs. There is a Facebook group that is not full of running memes but posts of people’s achievements and words of support and encouragement. We’ve watched new runners grow with their fitness, confidence and involvement in the community.
This didn’t happen by magic. It took countless hours of my time. There were late nights and early mornings writing training plans, developing a website and creating social media posts. Breaks at work? Those were for sending club emails instead of catching up on charting. I’d rush home from work already exhausted, change into my “Russell Run Club” t-shirt, load up equipment into my car, and head to the sports dome. Evenings were spent draining the last of my energy coaching (or entertaining) a field of 40 to 50 kids. Then I’d roll out of bed at 3 or 4 AM for a training run or workout.
I no longer spend my weekends travelling to trails for 4 to 6-hour training runs. Finding time for a strength session is a struggle. Runs are done before 6:00 AM, not because I want to, but because that’s the only time I can. I’m no longer the fastest runner at races. Is it due to a lack of effort, proper training, recovery or nutrition, or the uncontrollable reality of aging? My records have been passed on to other deserving runners. I don’t have the luxury of time or money to train or travel to cool places for races. I’m lucky to get a belt buckle once a year.
Now, I get emails from parents about how much their child enjoys the Run Jump Throw and Youth program. I see Facebook posts from our members about how the Club has impacted their lives and fitness. I watch friendships being created. I see people taking the Club to heart and playing bigger roles in the running community. I read comments from athletes I coach about how tough the workout was but how great they felt afterward. I listen to their challenges and how they push through to get out the door and run. They thank me and tell me how awesome I am, but they were the rockstars showing up and doing the work.
I have not quit racing completely. Now I question the reason behind every race, FKT or journey run. Is my ego at play – trying to prove myself to some audience that is likely in my head? Or do I enjoy the training and the actual run? I need to ensure the event aligns with my values – which I am still figuring out.
I am not saying I am completely at peace right now – it’s a struggle I will constantly have. I am sure other aging runners do so too.
So, next time you’re wondering what happened to that badass runner, remember: she’s not lost, she’s just found a new path. Those records and wins are now just stories to tell and inspire people to do epic stuff.
Now I am slowly building a running community, one runner at a time. Whether it’s through motivation, coaching, or simply sharing a good laugh during a training session, I’m here to help others discover the joy of running and involvement in a community. I want to be counted on to keep inspiring and leading the way.
In the end, I am happy to be called Coach Michelle.
One of these days Michelle, we will go for a long run and have a long talk !