The Bullshit Backyard Ultra - 2025
(Originally written for Facebook on March 25, 2025.)
Friendly reminder that I don’t expect anybody to read this, especially because this is my longest race report to date. And no, it isn’t a happy story or ending. I don’t share to show people how much I struggle. I don’t want pity. I share because I’m always amazed about how we can come out of struggle and pull off amazing feats. Every ordinary one of us.
This year was so exciting because we had amazing weather (for the most part), training had gone perfectly this past winter, and I really thought I would smash the season opener. Plus, when you know most of the people attending a race, it’s a huge party.
Loop 1 was amazing. Seeing the course again, dry this year, felt really promising. I had in my head that I was going to bank 100 miles easy, 150 miles or more as a possibility. When I got back from the first day loop though, I had the beginning of my worries. I can usually make it about 30 miles before I have any indication of nausea or food aversion but as I ate my first snack, it felt repulsive and I knew the day was going to be a massive struggle if I couldn’t pull myself out of it. I spent every loop hungry, consuming gels and honey stingers, but not getting any real nutrition aside from potato chips until lunchtime.
If an early battle with nausea wasn’t enough, my hands were swelling and I was constantly having to pee. Each loop that I returned from for the first 6 or so hours had a bathroom break and I had to cut back on my fluid intake by about half, a source of nutrition and calories that I needed pretty badly with my early aversion to solid foods.
Eggs are usually reserved for when my stomach gets wonky, but seeing as how it was already a struggle, I was taking in eggs early on. So many of my day loops were filled with fighting off nausea and dizziness. I have a rule to never go first on these loops anymore but after feeling dizzy for loop after loop, I decided to lead for a bit to keep my eyes up and focused on the horizon and the sky with hopes that the nausea would fade…and it did, but never permanently.
My attempts at regulating my temperature were terrible. I struggled all winter with what to wear in certain temperatures as I adjusted to not needing to overdress in the cold anymore since beginning to get iron infusions about a year ago. When I was warm, I would put on short sleeves only for the sun to disappear and chill me again. When hail and rain started to fall heavily, I struggled to open my pack and get my poncho, resulting in being soaking wet for an entire loop by the time I was able to get it on.
As things were starting to get better, I felt a burning and splitting sensation in my foot around 5 pm. I ran three loops with this and it began to fade a little bit but was still present for the remainder of the race. Each turn of the course from that point was met with splitting pain. But still, I carried on.
When the night loop came, I began to fade quickly. The cost of pushing through the day loops hungry, with no temperature regulation, minimal hydration, and dizziness had taken its toll on my body. I was falling asleep in my chair starting around 8 pm while trying to consume whatever food or gels were handed to me.
My third major battle with nausea began during the 16th loop. I made it in from the loop, but knew that I was likely to time out soon if I couldn’t get things under control. I kept my head in my hands, shut my eyes, and rested my body as best as I could before forcing myself to stand up at the one minute warning. At this point in the race I had resolved that no matter what the feeling, I would stand in the starting corral and move forward at the hour, even if I was there as an empty shell. In a race where everything was out of control, the one thing I could control was my position at the start and the attempts to begin each loop with the hopes that something would turn around.
The 17th loop, I went out slowly to try to manage my nausea (and now vomiting) for what felt like the hundredth time that day. As I tried to manage the sensations I was feeling in my body, I watched the pace on my watch creep slower and slower, inching into the 16-minute mile range. About 30 minutes into the loop, my coach texted me to keep him updated and I let him know that I was about to time out of the race. He and Erik encouraged me to keep pushing because things could turn around again, a sentiment that honestly enraged me at this point in the race. I don’t like continuing when I deem the attempt to be completely futile. I had taped the famous picture of Jasmin Paris at the yellow gate in my tent to remind myself that if I couldn’t continue to push through whatever tiny problem I had at this race, I would never be worthy of even writing an essay to attempt the Barkley Marathons. Upset and frustrated, I pushed my pace a little to try to make it around the loop while I waited out the remainder of my nausea. With about 10 minutes left, it disappeared. But I was too far out in the field to recover. I struggled to keep my feet moving along the loop as I knew that time would go down. I had the opportunity to call it quits and cut through the middle of the hayfield but forced myself to make my way through the loop until the final seconds of the hour were over. It began snowing tiny, delicate flakes in the final minutes and I couldn’t help but think of how poetic that was. When the last few seconds finally passed, I staggered into the hayfield and began sobbing uncontrollably…loudly, when usually I am quite private about my feelings in moments of defeat. Here, it felt like the distance, something that I should have cut through with ease, had swallowed me whole. I had made it within a half mile of the finish, something I could have covered if I had only a few more minutes to spare.
Erik walked towards me and gave me a hug, as per usual, win or lose, in the quiet darkness of the farm. He had walked out into the middle of the hayfield to retrieve me from what I’m sure he knew was a deeply painful defeat. We walked back together, me still sobbing, and grabbed my DNF medal.
…
In between writing the above paragraphs and finishing this race report, after talking through the above points with Erik, we remembered that I took nurtec and excedrin earlier in the day, around 9 am, for what we thought was a caffeine headache. However, after talking through what occurred at the race, we’ve come to the realization that it wasn’t a caffeine headache at all. Additional symptoms I had during race day included flashes of light in my vision, neck pain, and bloating. All of this, in conjunction with frequent urination, nausea, dizziness, hot flashes, drowsiness, and the timing of my cycle…indicates a migraine attack.
“You should be proud,” is a sentiment I have heard over and over again the past few days. I had underperformed with no reason for it and hyper focused on my inability to complete the 17th loop, which I was able to complete last year when I wasn’t as fit, experienced, or driven. Putting all of this together and acknowledging my struggle throughout the entire day, seeing each and every moment typed out before me, has given me a new sense of confidence in what I did on Saturday. I went through the wringer and maintained my composure through it all, not panicking or crying until the final bell.
Erik, with his beakers and test tubes, helped me put all the pieces together and draw the ultimate conclusion that I had done the best I could with the hand I was dealt on Saturday. We had always wondered what would happen if I had a migraine on the day of an ultramarathon. Now we know.
Do I encourage running an ultra with a migraine? Absolutely not. I would have been much kinder to myself if I had been aware of what my body was going through. I would have DNF’d earlier or perhaps not even began the run at all. Am I now proud of what I was able to accomplish despite that? Yes. What I thought was my worst race ever I am now looking back on in a much more gentle lens.
I am a firm believer in the fact that we are a different person each day we wake up. The Mary that I was on Saturday is not the same Mary that I am today, and I feel for her and my opinions of her have changed. Running 71 miles? Well within my ability, and not up to par when we talk about what I am physically capable of doing. Running 71 miles with a migraine? Fucking bananas. Absolutely went above and beyond what I thought I would have been capable of in that situation, considering I have NEVER run with a migraine, not even for 30 minutes, and never planned to.
I always look for what races can teach me and BSBU 2025 has taught me that even though I may not be proud of a performance, I should be gentle with myself when judging it. Things aren’t always as they appear, even when all of the information is within your eye’s view. It takes digging, analysis, and an open mind to get to the bottom of how we perform in each and every race.
And also, yes, I cry a lot and I’m not even the slightest bit ashamed to admit that. The sooner we are able to face and feel our emotions, the more in touch with ourselves we can be. I’m not ashamed of crying (for days) after this race. I deserved to feel every piece of the emotion that came with the end of that race. The rage, the ugly devastation, and the final lightbulb moment that came from asking every question I could.
