First DNF

Cocodona 2026 was a life lesson

This post comes just a few days after my first DNF, about ~190 miles into Cocodona 250. I have always processed things best through writing, which is one reason I love Substack. So I am going to unpack my race, the lessons learned, mistakes made, and proud moments below.

With the hindsight of a few days, I can see now that my head was not in a good space from the starting line. The fact that when people asked me leading up to the race, “Are you excited?” I didn’t feel that excited, but I pretended I did, should have been a big clue that I wasn’t ready to cover 250 grueling desert miles. I wasn’t Unexcited. I was just sort of “Yes, sure, but I have 800 other things on my to-do list, so I’m mostly excited to escape my inbox for a week.”

Cocodona 2026 was my first time repeating a race, and my first time racing over 200 miles since working a “real” job. Having been in charge of my own schedule for over a decade, I have found it a real adjustment to have working hours. As I’ve mentioned previously, trying to maintain my same level of extracurricular activity and 200 miler training while working has been stressful and overwhelming.

I felt fit post-Barkley Marathons, but not at the level I was at before my single loop. My legs never seemed to turn over as well. I was tired and often felt like I had no spare moment to breathe or shower.

Again, I thought this meant it would be awesome to get on the starting line and be out of touch. My legs often paradoxically feel better after a huge effort. Perhaps the long days would help?

My goals heading into the race were a super ambitious ~70 hour finish. Barring that, lean into the fun and be whimsical! I also wanted to work on advocating for myself. I, as the runner, wanted to be the decision maker, not my crew. (Hindsight: if you are tired of people asking you for help and wanting your opinion, don’t try to be the decision maker for 3 days straight…)

The day before the race was fun, sure I stood in the hot sun at the expo, but I was having a great time saying hi to friends. Though I did the official shakeout run out of obligation… I had my usual calzone and hung out with my crew, Jeff, and his crew. We had a blast!

Two crews, twice the fun

One of my values this year is to be authentic. So let me also say, leading into the race, I had a chip on my shoulder. Very few people seemed to note me on the start list. Ok, I’ll just do my thing and maybe surprise some people. I will be better than last year at least!

I think I overestimated my hypothermia as a factor and forgot that no matter what state you are in, running 250 miles is hard. I didn’t mentally prepare enough. I was too busy to come up with themes and tattoos; I just made a fun playlist.

Starting a race feeling like you have something to prove and overwhelmed by life obligations, tired, stressed... Uh, yeah, not a good idea (Hindsight!)

I really felt ok at the start line. The first several miles ticked by, I was staying steady, the pace I wanted, not concerned with others around me. Until, I just got annoyed. Everyone was talking about running. Training and nutrition and soft bragging (or hard bragging). Ugh! Just go away, please.

At mile 11 I stubbed my left pink really hard. This toe is my nemesis and I tape it before every race as it gets destroyed otherwise. However, this time the tape seemed to make the issue worse. It felt like all the skin and toenail were ripped and pulled by the tape. The technical descending on that section was agony. Twice, a rock pinched the toe again and I gasped in pain so hard I couldn’t catch my breath.

Still, I made it into Crown King a bit ahead of my scheduled time. I was out of food and feeling hungry, I had my crew examine my toe while I ate and we decided not to remove the tape, trying to pop a blister under the tape already on it as best we could.

I left, enjoying the new section and praying for my toe to go numb. Finally, it did. I chatted some with other runners and left them to jog the downhill into Prescott. I listened to show tunes and finally started to have some fun! I ate well at mile 50 and headed out to see if I could find Jeff, having heard he left puking 20 min ago. I said, “Well, if he’s puked already, he’s moving faster, so we will see!”

I did catch him at Camp Kipa (ok, he waited for me) and we had a blast running to the next aid station together. He told me I was a witch and his stomach was already feeling better around me. When we saw other runners, he would call out, “This is my fiancée! We’re on a date!” Jeff is always kind, but he can be his most genuinely sweet in the woods. I was so happy other people got to witness that!

He started to feel better and left to chase down a top 10 finish. I hung back to eat, feeling low energy (from not eating enough earlier?). I got into Whiskey Row, startling a javelina who made me jump like a scream queen.

Leaving Whiskey Row with a pacer, things started to slow. Was I feeling this way because now I had someone to complain to? I didn’t have to be strong and get myself moving well? Dunno. I ran less of that section than the year before. I tried not to panic. I’m being smart, I’m staying steady, I’m like 1-2 hours behind where I was last year, it’s fine.

At Fain I ate, rested about 20 minutes, and headed up Mingus, hoping all of these would bring my energy back up. (Hindsight: I had no energy because I had no heart to make an effort) Chrissy and I crushed the climb in the heat, and I ate quickly at Mingus before missing three basketball shots and heading out. I was feeling tired and kinda cold, but I kept moving.

Katie, a pacer I met through a friend last fall, was incredible as I slowly fell apart on the descent off of Mingus. It is my least favorite type of terrain and I slowly got colder, dizzier, and more nauseated. I ate. I drank. I finally sat on a rock to troubleshoot, taking a salt pill. Two runners came by and suggested I needed more sodium. I took what they gave me and continued forward.

Phlegm I coughed up on Mingus.

Hail moved in—twice. I had on all my layers. I was dizzy, out of body a little, and wheezing. I coughed so hard it felt like I would vomit. Damnit, this is exactly like last year. It’s fine. Keep moving. Get to Jerome.

We finally made it into Jerome, and I wanted to talk to medical, a move I didn’t make last year and regretted. But there was no medical team there. Thankfully, I had two Wilderness First Responders and a doctor on my team, so I had lots of good intel. We decided, I was fine, maybe just some more hot tea for my throat. (Oh yeah, the sore throat also made it challenging to talk to pacers and runners = few fun convos to be had).

I told my crew that the descent had been awful and I did not want to do the race miserable, I did it miserable last year. Could I sleep til the morning and then do two 60-mile days? Something to pivot into the goal of whimsy?

The pushback was swift and strong. They made good points about making such a radical change (it might be hard! Why?), and sleeping so much might make me stiff. I was exhausted and wasn’t sure the right move. We agreed to two hours of sleep and then go. I didn’t sleep, but laid and coughed and panicked for two hours. The classic, “If I fall asleep now I will get 75 min of sleep…Now I will get 45.” Eventually, I got up, put on my shoes, and angrily ran to Dead Horse.

I was falling behind my time goal, behind my time from last year, not having fun, AND not advocating for myself well. A triple failure.

Sleeping 90 minutes at Dead Horse (despite the rest in Jerome) turned things around for a bit. I ran all the way into Sedona and had a great time! Even with an aid station miscommunication, I stayed steady and moved well.

Getting into Sedona I was hot, tired, and it felt like the exact same time I arrived last year (*Hindsight, really needed to not focus so much on the past! If I ever repeat another race, this will be a big part of my prep!)

Leaving the aid, I was slow, unsteady, tired, and unfocused. Damnit, this is exactly like last year. I promised myself I would get to a certain spot before calling both my coach and my mental performance consultant. I don’t think I realized how much The Hangover trail section was hanging over me (ha). I was actually excited to do it! I thought. But I wanted to do it feeling awake and moving well, not like a sad, sleepy little runner for the second time.

Eventually, I decided to head back to the aid station. I felt so much better with that choice. I just wasn’t ready to do that section and probably should never have left the aid station in the first place. I wanted more real food, I wanted more sleep, I just wanted to feel confident.

Clearly, my heart was not in it. I left the course for over 12 hours. I showered, I ate, I slept a full night. I was trying to turn things around. Instead, I woke up and looked at my puffy face in the mirror and thought I do not want to be doing this. But I texted my crew to get ready to hike to Schnebly. I picked up my tracker, tears streaming down my face. I have never not wanted to finish a race, even in deep pain and fatigue. This just wasn’t fun. I couldn’t see the point.

I wanted to do the Hangover Trail to prove to myself I could, and then I would be done. I didn’t need to keep going. I was just so sad, so deep in a negative headspace, and not coming out. I got a hug from Scott Rokis at the top and he said, “You’ll have more energy at the finish!” and I thought I’m not finishing this. But I kept moving.

Jeff and his aunt and her friend came to Schenbly with my crew. He had finished in style a few hours prior. I finally smiled and laughed, I was so happy to see them and grateful they took the time to come as sleep deprived as they were, but I got rushed out of the aid station.

Fine, I’ll do this pacer-less section to prove I can, then I’m done.

Along that 13 miles, I did try a few times to turn things around. Was I really letting the course beat me, when I wanted to came back and beat it? I called Jeff, I ate chick’n nuggets. I listened to my playlist and whispered along to the lyrics through my tears. I just hated every step. What was the point? What was I learning from this? My time would be slower than the previous year. Ok, it’s not about time or place, pivot to other goals.

Self advocacy? Failing still. Didn’t want to leave the two previous aid stations and was rushed out before I felt ready. Leading to a major backtrack.

Whimsy? Absolute zero. The ice pack on my head made a funny shadow, and I just took a photo. I didn’t laugh or play with it.

On any other day, this would have me giggling and making different shapes.

I tried eating, chewing gum, water, soda, a few sit breaks, and a really basic two-syllable mantra. Every step was just “love. you. love. you. love. you.” Who was I loving? Jeff, my friends, my family, my donors to the charity bib.

The struggle was REAL. I just didn’t want to be out here doing this anymore. What I was I learning? What was I gaining? What was the point? How could I make it tolerable? Again: I have never not wanted to continue and push no matter what. This race, I just didn’t care. The thought of the finish line was “meh.”

I finally made it to Munds and told my crew (and Jeff) I wasn’t leaving until I said I was leaving. I needed a freaking break.

Another round of phone calls to Chris and Patrick. It felt like everything I normally trust during a race was just not there: My tape had messed up my toe, not helped it. My anti-chafe didn’t work (I considered KT tape on my crotch at one point), I was over my go-to gel, and my favorite sunscreen had me breaking out in heat rash. Anything that I wanted or asked for just wasn’t there or got ripped away. I literally lost my nuggets on the previous section somehow! And my phone died despite being plugged into a battery bank!

I kept looking for a way to make things fun (or at least tolerable) and kept facing a “time to go, take the bluetooth speaker and a pacer and we will see you later.” I finally said I would leave with Katie and talk it out. I was waffling. I wanted to stop, but I’ve never quit. What was the right choice? I felt little empathy and more pressure to finish no matter what.

Walking out of Munds with Katie under the stars I thought, This isn’t so bad. But then I ranted to her all of my frustrations and struggles and annoyances. Why was I doing this? Why did no one seem to care I hated every step for the past 48 hours? Katie asked why I ran the race last year and I said, “To see what I was capable of. That’s the problem. I know I can finish the race by hiking. So why should I do it?” She asked why I signed up again and I said “To do better. Which, I’m not. That’s not a reason to stop though…so I guess that’s why we are out of that aid station walking to the next.”

My crew chief told me to think about the Why and the Why Not. I had no idea the why or why not. I just felt lost and sad and angry and exhausted and disrespected.

Katie said, “If you’re ready for some observations…this makes me think of our conversation on Mingus. Where you said you were raised to act that ‘you are third.’ That everyone else’s needs come first.”

The moment she said that, I swear a puzzle piece (or broken pottery shard) clicked and headed in my chest. A weight was lifted. I said, “Yep, we are turning around. At this point, I’m only moving forward because others want me to. Stopping is for ME. We are going back.”

On our return trip, we talked more. I know people will think I quit because I was slower than the year before, or I wanted a better place, or some other vain reason. Firstly, I don’t owe an explanation to anyone. Secondly, I’ve pivoted many races that weren’t going my way to still finish. The fact I was slower was maybe 2% of the reason for stopping.

This one wasn’t about the finish. I finally realized what the point was. The point was picking me, my needs, my wants. I went in wanting to prove I was better than my result last year to other people. Not really to myself (well, some to myself, I think.)

All of this is still fresh and needs to continue to be unpacked. There were a million tiny things that went wrong and a million choices made that could have been made differently. The only decision I don’t regret is stopping.

The past few days I’ve hosted a lot of “what if” parties in my head. What if I had pushed through at Dead Horse? Or Hangover? What if I kept hiking with Katie and turned things around somehow? What if I packed different stuff? We can “what if” to death. And I have to play both sides:

What if it didn’t get better? What if I finished angry and hating running? What if my frustration made me slower and slower till I made myself miss a cut off? Or get injured? Ultrarunning is a fine line between empowerment and trauma. I took empowerment.

I had a great talk with a friend at the finish line who did push through last year to please her crew. She said she regretted it. “What is the choice someone who loves themselves would make?”

This choice has been emotional, but not unsure. Whenever the voice pops up that says, “We failed. We didn’t finish and we could have.” Another voice comes in right away, “We did NOT fail. We picked ourselves. That is HUGE. We didn’t fail ourselves.”

I have gotten so much understanding and encouragement from others when being open about my reason for stopping. The growth is bigger than a belt buckle.

“I am honored that you asked me to be the one to take that moonlight stroll with you when you decided it was time to choose yourself. I could not be more proud of you nor more grateful to call you a friend. As a recovering perfectionist and people pleaser myself, I am inspired by your tenacity and authenticity.”

A note from my final pacer, it makes me cry.

“I remember you saying you were taught to be third…” I am not third. I do not have to value my time or my energy less than others. I don’t owe my work or my effort to others if there is no reason or no value for me.

I am working very hard to be less busy and to take time for myself and my relationship. This race felt like the “microcosm of the macrocosm” as my friend likes to say. I made a major step in my life healing journey by stepping off course. Some were narrowly focused on the finish line, but my life is bigger than the 0.5 second it takes to cross a timing mat.

SOME LESSONS

200+ miles is always hard, don’t skimp on prep and mental work!

Be more bitchy. If I ask for something, I can keep asking until I get what I need.

Learn more tools! I felt like I had emptied the toolbox to turn things around, but I didn’t pretend I was on a quest, or put on a costume, or hike with a giant mocha overnight…

Protect the mental space heading into a race. I said yes (ha!) to too many work events, friend meet-ups, and meetings. I was fragile mentally heading into this, putting way too much on just “be better” as a goal, and so any small thing felt insurmountable rather than a fun challenge.

SOME SUCCESSES

I ran on day 2 and 3, (not the whole day 3) but I had movement and didn’t get stiff!

I ate decently, even when I didn't want to.

I chose myself.

There is a lot more to say on this I’m sure. But I am grateful beyond words for the power of the trail and ultra running community. Outside is where we become our best selves. That is a win every day.