Curveballs & Comebacks: My First Ultra
Life rarely hands you a perfect path. Sometimes it throws a huge curveball your way, and transformation happens when you decide to swing anyway. I learned that firsthand while training for my very first 50K ultra. I’d spent months prepping for Bear Ears in Utah, scheduled for June 22—plenty of trail miles, careful fueling, no injuries. I was pumped, I was ready. And then I got slammed with a nasty sickness three days before race day.
I wanted to push through, but my wife stepped in with some tough love: “This isn’t how you want your first ultra to go.” She was right, so I pivoted. I found a night race at Usery Pass in Arizona a few weeks later, on July 20, and decided to run it for my friend Jordan, who’s was battling cancer. That one choice changed the entire energy of what I was doing—suddenly, my setback had real meaning.
Turns out, running through the Arizona desert heat even at night is nothing like the Utah mountains. Around mile 7.8, I started throwing up nonstop. Couldn’t keep down water or food. My wife raced over, we called my coach, and the advice was simple: “Sip water if you can, and see what happens.” So that’s what I did. Quarter mile by quarter mile, still puking in bushes, but determined to keep moving, with my wife literally at my side.
By lap two, I had to visit the medical tent. They cleared me, though nobody really thought I should keep going—except her. So I did. I pressed on, mile after mile, fighting through the absolute worst I’d ever felt on a run.
Looking back, not being able to run Bear Ears taught me a big lesson in flexibility. I could’ve sulked and given up, but my wife reminded me, “Find another race.” And I did. That single pivot—swapping Utah’s mountains for Arizona’s desert—changed everything. It kept me in the game, even though it wasn’t the plan I’d been so attached to.
On the trail, where I was puking every few minutes, I couldn’t focus on the finish line. It felt impossible to wrap my head around. So I just thought, “one more step.” That’s it. Those tiny chunks of progress stacked up until I finally crossed the line.
Dedicating my race to Jordan, who’s been fighting his own battle, became the driving force that pulled me through the worst moments. My “why” wasn’t just about me anymore. His struggle reminded me that if he could keep going, I sure as hell could push through a rough patch of desert miles. There I was, stumbling through the dark with a dead headlamp, dust clogging my throat, sweat pouring into my eyes. It was messy. But I finished, with a stupid grin plastered across my face, proving once again that perfection is a myth—winning is about sticking it out in the trenches.
That 50K turned into a crucible for me. I had to make peace with changing plans, push my body further than it wanted to go, and stay true to a promise I made to a friend. I’m proud I didn’t quit—when I got sick before Bear Ears or when the desert was trying to break me one spew at a time. Crossing that finish line in 10th place with a broken headlamp and a dust-covered smile taught me that transformation really is a choice. It’s deciding you’re not done, and meaning it.
Your pivot is out there, too—lurking in the chaos of everyday life. It’s not waiting for a perfect day; it’s waiting on you to decide to go for it. Maybe it’s a dream you’ve shoved aside, a habit you’ve avoided, or a fear that’s been calling the shots for too long. Don’t worry about seeing the entire path—just take the next step. Dedicate it to someone who inspires you, or to the future version of yourself you’ve always wanted to be.
That’s the secret: pivots don’t promise easy, they promise possible. So, what’s your next move? Get after it, I’m cheering you on every step of the way.