r/Ultramarathon

My goal race for spring 27 is a 100 miler with 18k ft vert. Should I do a 100k with 10k ft vert or 100 miler with 10k fr vert (looped course) for my fall race in preparation for my spring race?
For context, I’ve done a couple 50ks and a 50 miler. Currently rebuilding my base and will be back at 60mpw by September

So I just finished my first 50k and felt pretty strong through it and it only took 2 days to feel like I could run again. Now there are two races I want to do on back to back weekends in October. The 50k has about 5000 ft of elevation and the 50M has 4000 ft. Both generous cutoffs. Is it crazy to think I can train for both?

I feel like my biggest weakness in longer trail races is pacing.
Fueling and hydration are under control at this point. I take around 75g carbs/hour, around 800–1000mg sodium/hour because I’m a very salty sweater, and I drink consistently. No GI issues, no cramping, no real bonking symptoms.
The problem is that I genuinely don’t know how to distribute effort correctly over races lasting 5–7 hours.
In my most recent race (~28.5 km with a lot of elevation), my pacing was all over the place. Early in the race my HR was already in the high 170s/180s on climbs, and throughout the race I felt like I was constantly oscillating between pushing too hard and trying to recover.
What confuses me is that aerobically I often still feel “okay,” but the legs slowly fall apart and pace drops more than expected later in the race.
I recover well from hard training, tolerate moderate/high HR training fine, and I don’t think nutrition is the limiter anymore, so I’m starting to think this is mostly a race execution problem.
For people experienced with ultras or long trail races:
How do you actually approach pacing over 5–7 hours?
Do you:
strictly cap HR early?
pace entirely by feel?
use power?
intentionally stay way below what feels sustainable early on?
separate muscular effort from cardio effort somehow?
I feel like I still don’t understand what “correct effort” should feel like early in a long trail race, especially on climbs where pace becomes meaningless.

I had a 25 mile trail run on May 2nd, finished in a little less than 6 hours with my HR averaging ~160 (many factors -at altitude, sun was out, felt like going hard, etc). I took 10 days off, ate well, I’m sleeping well, and my resting HR/every day bodily feel is normal. I am in the middle of a reverse taper (2.5 weeks post 25 miler), getting ready to train for a 50 miler in September (for context).

This is my first time turning around quickly to begin training again after a big effort. I have noticed since the race, my HR at my normal effort/pace has been higher than what it usually is, and my effort feels a little higher at what my pace normally is. I understand there is a recovery period, but is this normal? I only took 10 days off is why I am curious. From your experience - after a race/big effort, how long until running felt normal for you again?

Hi guys!

I've got an ultramarathon this Saturday (62k, 38.5 miles), and the weather forecast is predicting 28 degrees (82F) with very little cloud cover. I live in the UK so we're not used to weather like this on a daily basis, so I've not really been able to acclimatise to anything like this so far this year. I've done training runs in moderate heat (about 20 degrees) in the last month or so, but nothing like what's predicted this Saturday.

Training has gone well, but I am mindful that spending 6-7 hours out in heat like this is going to be tricky to manage. Naturally I will dose up on electrolytes and water, but is there anything else I should be mindful of? I'm also wary of my pace as well, and how that might need to be adjusted.

With the sport still quickly in growth we are reaching a tipping point with anti-doping not just at the pro level but the amateur level as well.

Amateurs are usually not winning prize money but can still podium and more and more races are moving from finishing a race as a qualifier to finish under this time to qualify. Obviously the asthmatic inhaler running isn’t doping for performance but their is certain precautions they must take and differs from someone purposely enhances performance with peptides and anabolics. It’s a grey area.

Care to share your thoughts?

View Poll

STORY: If you’ve never been to the Martian landscape that is Southern Utah, it’s tough to adequately describe it. Utah 115 was the last ultra as a 21-year-old, but also my first desert ultra, and it was certainly diving into the deep end. A runner last year described this as a “graduate-level” ultra, and I couldn’t agree more. Easily the most difficult race I’ve attempted yet, but also the most beautiful. It’s difficult to believe this landscape is on the planet on which I normally reside, let alone the same country. Race morning was cool and very dry: it hadn’t rained in weeks when we got to Kanab, and it didn’t look like it was going to. After a brief introduction and some reminders from the RD, we got going right on schedule at 7 AM. I set out at an 8:30/mile pace, which I knew was unsustainable for the terrain ahead, but it’s become my strategy in ultras. I’m gonna go out super hot, and if anyone wants to beat me, they have to either tag along and risk burnout or try to catch me later when they’re already tired. This time, another runner did stick with me, which I made easier for him by getting lost at the rock-scrambling section in mile 3. I caught back up by mile 5 or so, and we more or less stuck with each other into the first aid station at 11.5, “Best Friends.” Those first miles were mostly uphill, but undulating, and the sand was still pretty tightly packed or shallow, so by sticking to where dune buggies had previously driven, we kept a respectable clip. The only slow section was a cross-country area where we contended with wild sage and nettles before dropping into a washed-out area of deep sand. Unfortunately, our pace meant that the aid station was not fully set up when we got there just before 9 AM. I grabbed some water refills and half a banana, but I made the split-second decision to rely on my gels until the next station, which was luckily only 4 miles away. 
After talking to my fellow runner for a few more miles, I stupidly got antsy about the pace and decided to make as much ground as I could while the course was briefly on asphalt. These were the only 5 to 6 miles that we would be running on the road, so I wanted to take advantage while still keeping my heart rate low. Once again, however, it meant that I arrived at the 15.5 “Old Highway 89” aid station before it was scheduled to set up at 10:00. Luckily, the volunteers were nice enough to let me pick at what I needed while they prepared everything. I took a handful of M&Ms, more water, and a slice of watermelon before frantically heading out just as my new friend was pulling in behind me. It was a little more uphill grinding before a nice, downhill single track trail to “The Belly of the Dragon” at mile 24.4. After descending into the gorge that marked the start of the hiking trail, it was a few winding miles before entering a pitch-black tunnel carved through the middle of the mountain. This was the first time that the beauty of the course really hit me, and I was incredibly thankful to get to be a part of it. The aid station was more prepared this time, and once again, after more watermelon, Coke, and refills, I got out of the aid station just as the other runner arrived.
This made me nervous for some reason, so throughout the next technical section, I tried to find another gear and give myself some separation. The sand was starting to become a force to contend with, but I was motivated by seeing my crew at 30.5 at “Clay Flats.” My crew this time around consisted of my fiancée as crew chief, a close friend from my fraternity, and my future parents- and siblings-in-law. The plan was to have enough people that only 3 or 4 had to be there while the rest took a break in town, and they were all on their A-game this whole race. When I pulled in after a quick descent, my bottles were immediately replaced, my gels were replenished, my legs were massaged, my bandana was filled with ice, and I ended up making it out faster than any of the previous stations. I was also informed that I’d given myself a half-mile gap, and since I felt good, I wanted to widen it. The following 7.5 miles of straight uphill sand trail only motivated me, and I got to the 37.9 aid station, “Parunaweap Canyon,” well before 3 PM.  The volunteers for this whole race were so full of energy and so accommodating, especially considering how long a day it was for them. That being said, this aid station was the best one. It had been a tough stretch up the mountain, and the heat and sand were officially starting to wear on me. Thankfully, these volunteers showed up early to get ready once they heard I was coming, and their tent was stocked with everything I could even conceive of wanting, not to mention it was decorated with Tiki-themed paraphernalia. Their upbeat-ness was exactly what I needed for the next section, which, though mostly downhill, was also the deepest sand yet. 
Once I was at the bottom of the canyon (which was a gorgeous symphony of reds, oranges, and tans that were completely foreign to my Ohio eyes), I decided to take a more steady approach through the deep stuff, and after another pit stop at mile 44, I met up with my crew at mile 50.5 around 6 PM. I’d just gotten out of a brutal cross-country section, which tore my legs like crazy, and included a ladder climb over a barbed wire fence. Luckily, they were all still lively, and after another massage, ice bandana, and refuel, I trotted off towards easily the toughest section of the race: more than 3 miles of huge sand dunes. If you’ve never run on dunes, imagine if every step you took was taxed at a 95% rate and rendered you completely inert. Add that to the fact that the sand magnifies the heat, so you feel like you’re in an oven, and that the flags marking the way were largely blown over and buried, and it becomes easier to understand why those 3 miles took me nearly an hour. The views might still have been worth it. The sun was just starting to set, lighting the endless sea of sand ablaze, and making me pause at the top of every dune to marvel at the contrast of pink-orange sand and blue sky. In any case, getting off the dunes made the hard-packed trail that followed feel like the walkway at an airport, and I got to “Yellowjacket Road” (56.4) around 8 PM. After what, at this point, felt like the eighth full watermelon I’d eaten, accompanied by more Coke, I strapped on my headlamp and weaved through more single track as the sun began to set. 
I met up with my crew at “Hancock Road” (64.3) around 9:45 PM, where I sat in a lawn chair for a minute to admire the stars. It was a super-new moon, which meant that it was so dark that we could see the Milky Way. I couldn’t stay long, though, because my fiancée told me that I was hotly pursued by the same runner as before, who had picked up a pacer, so I quickly grabbed the usual supplies with the addition of 3 Tylenol and a 200mg caffeine pill. I’d weaned myself off of caffeine for the last two weeks, so the plan was that these pills would feel like something much stronger come nightfall. After taking a photo at the turnaround point, a quarter mile away, and heading back, I felt a caffeine buzz like never before. I was so wired and focused on the task at hand that I almost felt like it was my first time running, so I picked up my pace to the best of my ability. I kept an eye on my watch, knowing that I’d made the turnaround at 9:55. Before long, two headlamps came into view, and I checked again. 10:34. Not as big a gap as I’d hoped. I told them they were looking strong, and I tried to pick up the pace. Then another headlamp. 10:41. And this guy was moving really well. Crap. I bolted it as hard as I could muster back to Yellowjacket Road, clocking 13-minute miles despite more uphill sand, the dark, and my exhaustion. I made it back and, after some course info from the very kind volunteer, I was off again. Luckily, the way back skipped the dunes, so it was back up to Parunaweap Canyon. Motivated by seeing the awesome volunteers again, I trudged up to the top of the canyon, feeling like my poles were now doing more work than my legs. After chatting with everyone there and thanking them, I skirted down the switchbacks to Clay Flats, where my valiant crew awaited. Even though they told me I’d built a bit of a gap, I hurried out after being caffeinated and fed, scared that I kept hearing footsteps behind me. 
I made it to the Belly of the Dragon in a respectable time, but this was when the fatigue started to really hit. Miles 92-101 were mostly uphill sand, which, though once manageable, now seemed unconquerable. I slowed to what felt like a barely moving slog and was beyond grateful to reach my crew at mile 101 at Old Highway 89. Unfortunately, the return journey did not follow the asphalt like the way up, but diverged into more sand. By this point, my gaiters, which had held up to an amazing degree until now, were sliced to shreds by the wild sage, so every step sent hot sand pouring into my socks, where it demanded blisters as a sacrifice. The Best Friends aid station was uneventful, mostly because I was delirious at this point, and I probably took less food than I needed for the last 10.7. Around 6.3 miles to go,  I began to pass the first 50-mile runners, who had begun at 7 AM, and their encouragement was definitely helpful. At mile 111, the course once again diverged from the out-and-back formula, and instead of heading down the mountain as I’d come up, I began to climb. This was concerning because not only were my legs absolutely cooked by this point, but I knew I’d have to descend eventually, and with every step up, the descent got a little steeper in my mind. I was stumbling, exhausted, and ready to be done. It was getting hot again, and these last 10 miles felt as long as the previous 105. Finally, with around 2.1 miles to go, the trail narrowed into a steep, switch-backing, descending hiking trail. I kept repeating to myself, “Stay alive, stay moving,” because I knew there was no way I was getting passed at this point. As the hiking trail let out into the streets of Kanab once more, I put away my poles and used every ounce of strength I had left to trot to the finish line, though at the time it seemed a dead sprint. I accepted my award and the congratulations of the RD and my crew, and learned that my time of 27:24:00 was the new CR by well over two hours. After thanking everyone profusely, I promptly fainted on the lawn, where I remained for the next 2.5 hours. 

TRAINING: My last training block saw me clocking 110-mile weeks regularly, with a 126-mile peak week. This time around, with a coach who actually knows what he’s doing, taking away my guesswork, I turned the volume down a bit in favor of slightly more intensity. I focused on more workouts, double thresholds, back-to-back long runs, and incline work at around 80-85 miles per week with two 96-mile peak weeks. It’s still early in the season, too, but that definitely helped me get faster without the burnout of running 18 miles a day in between classes. 

STATS: I ate just under 500 kcal per hour, with about 95 grams of carbs, 1 liter of fluid, and just under 350mg of sodium. Some of that’s on the higher end for an effort this long, but I’d rather have some stuff that my body doesn’t process than have an empty tank. 

WHAT WENT WELL: 

• Eating: I kept food down really well, and I was still able to force myself to choke gels 27 hours into running, which I was very proud of.
• Gear/preparedness: I’m usually the guy who forgot Band-Aids, let alone the optional stuff, so this race I felt very prepared, especially thanks to my crew. Special shoutout to my Leki poles, perforated white longsleeve, ice bandana, and Raidlight Desert Gaiters, which saved me. If you’re doing a race this sandy you NEED a gaiter that goes all the way over your shoe, not just the top. I don’t know what I would have done without them. 
• Strength: My legs held up super well, and soreness didn’t set in until it was basically inevitable on the start of day 2. Strength training for a race like this is definitely a must.
• Attitude: Maybe my crew can correct me, but from my perspective, I felt excited to keep running up until the mile 101 aid station. Still having fun after 23 hours is a major improvement for me.

WHAT TO IMPROVE:

• Terrain training: I knew the sand would be tough. It would have been out of my way to get some work in on the sand, but it would have been worth it. Nothing can prepare you for race day like the real deal. 
• Hydration: My hands started cramping like nobody’s business around hour 12, and I couldn’t tell if I was having too many electrolytes or not enough. I really just need to get my sweat tested, because this guesswork is becoming annoying. 
• Night running: Need some work here. I always slow down at night, and not just from exhaustion. The tunnel vision of the headlamp does something to my brain that tells me it’s time to ease off the gas. If I can keep myself moving well during night hours, it’ll be a major advantage.

REVIEW: HIGHLY recommend, for experienced runners only. This is easily the most beautiful course I have ever seen, and I say that without hesitation. That being said, anyone who signs up should know what they’re getting into. This race will do everything it can to break you, and unless you have some longer ultras under your belt, it probably will. Come prepared, respect the terrain and the distance, and enjoy Southern Utah.

I’m interested in hearing the reviews of the new 100k course after people had now run it. Obviously i heard the weather was the main event this year, but what was the experience of some people who did it? Still a great course and totally worth doing as a bucket list race? Or changed enough that its no longer hard as nails and not the uniquely difficult experience that made it famous?

For reference I am from the US but like to plan trips around overseas ultras. The more mountainous and technical the better in my book. Just ran MIUT and loved it. 100k is sort of my sweet spot right now but willing to do the 80k if it would be more fun. The 100m looks like a bit much. Was planning on making a trip for this one next year and only have a few short months before reg opens and sells out once again to make a decision. Seeing the famous mountains of the old country is just as big of an appeal as the race. No lover of UTMB but willing to do one if its the iconic race for the area. Are there better mountainous ultras in England/Wales/Scotland I should look at instead?

3 people on my crew just came back from there own Western States camp. Ran 3 sections in 3 days. After camp, they determined a plan.

The plan is to run 7 or 6 minute mile pace on the back half from Foresthill. They want to run 7 minute mile pace on the Cal street section, which has been done before. Is that reasonable?

6 minute mile pace from Highway 49 to finish, which has been done before because the podium was tight one year.

The runner on my crew has paced it 3x before this with his coach running. Now, he is running it. His pacer/coach has raced it 4x before.

They want to do 6 minute mile pace from Green Gate to finish. Depending on what the race looks like at Foresthill as 1st place is breaking CR, 2nd place 56 minutes behind then race is on for 3rd place.

Plan B: If the podium is tight at Foresthill, then 6 minute mile pace from Foresthill to finish.

Just looking for a little input here yall,

I turn 40 next year and want to run my first 100m race. I have chosen the Centurion Running Thames path 100 in May of '27. My question is. Should I put the 100m race in the plan and the rest as B-Races or should I treat them as a few different A-races?

Currently running 20-30 miles a week with great energy + recovery. 5 days a week. Longest distance run in the past few months has been 9 miles. Felt great.

I will be running a 10k first week of July '26

half in Aug. '26

full in Oct 24th '26

50mile in Q1 '27

100mile first week of may '27.