Running Through Pain: My 50-Mile Dead Horse Race Experience (and What I Learned From Every High and Low)

People think I’m crazy for loving the idea of running all day long—but honestly, I like it that way. This was my 18th race and my 6th ultramarathon, and if I’m being transparent, my only real goal was to show up as myself. If that scares you off, just know—it’s not you. I’m just a weird guy. And if you’re weird too… welcome to the club.

The Chaos Before the Starting Line

Two days before the race, my wife and I moved houses—and our entire business. My back was shot, my legs were stiff, and the mental load of relocating everything left me feeling anything but race-ready.

But the next morning, I hit the road for Moab for the Dead Horse 50 Miler. Six hours to think, reset, and accept that whatever happened out there… it was going to be interesting.

Bib pickup was simple. Sign your number, flash your ID, and suddenly it all feels real. The only problem? I didn’t feel good. Not sick—just off. Scratchy throat. Low energy. Tired in a way that sleep doesn’t fix.

Still, I had a hat. And sometimes a new hat is enough to convince you everything’s fine.

I went to bed hoping my body would come around by morning.

RACE MORNING: ANXIETY, PORTA POTTIES & GETTING MY HEAD RIGHT

At 5:18 a.m., 42 minutes before the starting gun, I felt that familiar race-day panic: the combination of nerves, excitement, and existential questioning.

Here’s something I’ve learned: if I can sit in a porta-potty before the race, I’m ready. I don’t know why. It’s like flipping a switch. Once you’re sitting in a plastic blue box at sunrise, it’s time to perform.

But mentally? I knew I needed to manage expectations.

Lesson #1 — Don’t Set Unrealistic Goals on Unknown Courses

Your first time on any trail is unpredictable. Too many people set a time goal and then beat themselves up for not hitting it. I reminded myself:
today is about effort, not pace.
Don’t limit potential. Don’t sabotage confidence. Run the course in front of you, not the one you imagined.

The gun went off. Time to see what the day had in store.

EARLY MILES: SETTLING IN, SINGING KID SONGS & FINDING FLOW

The first few miles felt like every start—high heart rate, jittery energy, trying to find a rhythm. The sunrise hit the canyon walls, and suddenly the course opened into some of the most beautiful terrain I’ve ever run.

Rock formations. Buttes. Red dirt. Crisp air.

After five miles, my body settled. I noticed the climbs were runnable—not steep enough to force a hike—and that gave me confidence. Aid stations were friendly, fast, and efficient. The ground was rocky but not overly technical. A 3/10, maybe.

Somewhere between miles 10 and 15, without music or podcasts, my brain did what it always does during long races:
I started singing children’s songs.
Loudly.
Badly.

It’s what happens when you're out there long enough—your brain empties, and the simplest things surface.

THE FIRST HALF: STRONG, STEADY, AND SURPRISINGLY OPTIMISTIC

Before I knew it, I was 14 miles in and climbing the next big peak. Everything felt good. Heart rate steady. Legs responsive. Views ridiculous.

And then, around mile 20, it happened.

I rolled my ankle.

At first, I brushed it off. Strong ankles. Stable joints. I’ve done this before. But by mile 25, something shifted in my foot. A sharp pain. A wrong pain. The kind of pain you can’t shake by “running it out.”

Lesson #2 — Pain That Grows With Every Mile Isn’t Normal

There’s fatigue pain.
There’s soreness pain.
And then there’s the “something is seriously not right” pain.

By the time I hit the halfway turnaround, my foot felt like a stress fracture—and I’d had one before. I knew the feeling. I just didn’t want to admit it.

THE MENTAL SPIRAL: DOUBT, FEAR, AND A CONVERSATION WITH MYSELF

At mile 27, my hamstrings were tight and my foot was screaming. Every step hurt. Running became a shuffle. A limp. A negotiation.

This is when the mental battle began.

One part of me said:
“You shouldn’t be here. You didn’t sleep. You haven’t trained. You feel terrible. Drop.”

The other part answered:
“No. This is your moment. You’re fresher than you think. You needed this reset. You can do hard things when you don’t feel good.”

It became less about the race and more about the question:
How do you show up when nothing feels right?

Lesson #3 — Your Mind Will Quit Before Your Body Does

The hardest miles weren’t the physical ones. They were the ones where my brain tried talking me out of continuing.

THE LONG, PAINFUL MIDDLE: 20 MILES OF GRIT

The terrain stayed runnable, but my foot didn’t. The more technical the terrain, the worse it felt. Flat ground was manageable. Rocks? Torture.

But the rest of my body felt… good. Really good, actually. My fitness was there. My endurance was strong. The foot was the only problem.

I kept eating.
Kept drinking.
Kept moving.
Every aid station was a lifeline.

I calculated the math: if I could manage 15-minute miles, I could still finish before dark. Which mattered, because I didn’t have a headlamp.

I ate Cheez-Its. Dreamed of burritos. Counted steps. Sang more kid songs. Watched the sunset hit the cliffs.

Lesson #4 — Sometimes Finishing Isn’t About Speed. It’s About Strategy.

Ultras aren’t won in the first 20 miles.
They’re survived in the last 20.

THE FINAL CLIMB: ONE AND A HALF MILES OF PAIN

With four and a half miles to go, my foot was in bad shape. Rocks were unpredictable. Every misstep was lightning. But the sand? Bliss. It cushioned the impact.

The final climb was steep, slow, and humbling. But once I reached the top and saw the finish line two miles away—all downhill—I knew I’d make it.

Lesson #5 — Pain Can Take Your Pace, But It Can’t Take Your Finish

I shuffled.
Hobbled.
Ran when I could.
Laughed when it hurt too much to think.

And then, finally, I crossed.

THE AFTERMATH: JOY, REGRET, AND SWOLLEN FEET

The finish-line volunteers were incredible. A viewer recognized me from the Pike’s Peak video. The burritos were glorious.

But the next morning?

My foot was swollen.
Walking was a nightmare.
Putting pressure on it felt impossible.

It was worse than my first stress fracture.

I sat in my truck and realized:

Lesson #6 — Sometimes You Should Quit, Even When You Don’t Want To

If I had dropped at mile 35, I might have saved myself months of recovery.
But I also know this:

I finished one of the most beautiful races I’ve ever run.
I proved my fitness is higher than it’s ever been.
I handled adversity with patience instead of ego.
I found out what I’m made of on a day I didn’t feel like showing up.

And that matters.

WOULD I RECOMMEND THE DEAD HORSE 50 MILER?

Absolutely.

The course is stunning.
The terrain is runnable.
The people are kind.
The logistics are smooth.
And for many runners, this could easily be a PR course.

Just… try not to break your foot.