Chasing the Mount Hood 50: A Full Race Journey, Preparation Breakdown, and Lessons From the Trail

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Introduction

Running an ultra marathon is never just about the miles. It’s about the journey to the start line, the problem-solving, the family logistics, the gear decisions, the setbacks, and the internal conversations that happen when the body wants to quit but the mind refuses to stop. For me, the Mount Hood 50 was exactly that kind of race — equal parts adventure, suffering, joy, and growth.

This post walks through the entire experience: preparing for a 50-mile race with two kids, traveling from Colorado to Oregon, drop bag strategy, gear breakdown, unexpected issues, blister management, pacing decisions, mental battles, and the final push to the finish.

If you’re preparing for your first ultra marathon — or your next one — this behind-the-scenes journey will give you a realistic look at the process, along with practical insights you can use on race day.

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Day 0: Packing, Drop Bags, and the Pre-Race

The excitement always begins long before the first step on the trail. Our flight to Oregon left the next day, and the entire house looked like a gear explosion. If you’ve ever traveled for an ultra marathon, you know the preparation isn’t just about running — it’s about making sure everything you might need is packed, labeled, and ready for the unknown.

Travel Logistics With Kids

We have two young kids, which adds a special level of strategy. Packing goes something like this:

• Race gear

• Drop bags

• Kids’ clothes

• Snacks

• More snacks

• Backup snacks

• Emergency snacks

If you're a parent racer, you already know.

Drop Bag Planning: Segment by Segment

Before leaving home, I needed to finalize what was going into each drop bag. A 50-mile race demands proactive planning, especially when aid stations are spaced far apart.

What I Needed to Know Before Packing:

• Distances between aid stations

• Elevation profile

• Temperature expectations hour-by-hour

• How much nutrition I needed between each segment

• What I could rely on at aid stations

• What backups I needed to avoid dropping from the race

Contingency planning is critical in ultras. I prepare for every “unlikely scenario” so that if something happens, I don’t have to make the mental choice to quit.

That’s the beauty of drop bags — they remove as many variables as possible.

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Day 1: Travel Day — Or What Some Might Call Survival

We flew into Portland, gathered our mountain of bags, and headed toward Mount Hood. The reality of traveling with kids hit hard — long car rides, airport crowds, snack demands, messy hands, exhaustion, and the endless chorus of “Are we there yet?”

Once we landed, the chaos of family life slowly transitioned into the quiet stillness of the Oregon wilderness. Trekking poles needed to be checked on the plane, but everything else survived the trip intact.

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Day 2: Exploring Trails, Adjusting to the Climate, and Settling In

One of the best things you can do before an ultra marathon is arrive early. Giving the body 24–48 hours to adjust — especially to humidity, altitude, or unfamiliar terrain — is massively helpful.

We explored local trails, let the boys run wild, practiced a little photography, and simply enjoyed the area. This trip, after all, was not just about the race. It was also about spending time with family, seeing new places, and making memories.

Getting in the Right Headspace

A few easy miles on gorgeous Oregon single track reminded me why I love this sport. Running doesn’t just take you to new distances — it takes you to new places.

The next day, everything would shift into race mode.

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Day 3: The Coast, Shakeout Run, Bib Pickup, and Setting Up Camp

Before switching fully into race mode, we took a detour to the coast. The morning was chaotic — as most family travel mornings are — but once we hit the beach, everything settled. I did a barefoot shakeout run along the ocean, played with the boys, and soaked in the calm before the storm.

Midday naps for the kids meant it was time for me to switch into race focus.

Bib Pickup and Camping Strategy

We had about an hour-and-a-half drive to bib pickup and then another 30 minutes to find a campsite near the starting line.

Normally, I fly with my tent. But flying with a tent as a checked bag would cost around $110 — so instead, we bought a $30 tent at Walmart. It worked perfectly. After the race, we planned to give it away locally.

I wanted to camp close enough to the start that I could literally wake up and walk there. Sleep matters. Especially before a 50-miler.

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Drop Bag #1: Mile 10 Essentials

This first drop bag would be my 10-mile reset.

Contents:

• A small coffee, because mid-morning caffeine is everything

• Sunglasses for when the sun finally rose

• 20 miles worth of nutrition

• Ice bandana for rising temps

• Backup anti-chafe (testing the new 55 Miles blister blend)

• Backup socks

I’d tested the blister blend up to 32 miles. This race would be its big test.

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Drop Bag #2: The Midday Safety Net

This bag was simpler but crucial.

Contents:

• More backup socks

• Nutrition

• Hydration

• Extra headlamp (required if I hadn’t left the aid station by 5 p.m.)

I hoped not to need the headlamp — that would signal a very long day — but finishing slow is better than not finishing at all.

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Camp Setup and Gear Organization

When the family drove off, the silence hit instantly. Parents know that feeling: chaos one minute, absolute quiet the next. My campsite was only a quarter mile from the start line — perfect for maximizing sleep.

Gear Laid Out for Race Morning:

• Energy gels and meal replacement packets

• Hydration mix + electrolyte mix

• Trekking poles

• Rain jacket for the cold start

• Water bladder

• Race bib

• Race hat

• Running vest

• Race shorts and shirt

• Emergency toilet paper (non-negotiable)

The first 30 miles had huge gaps between aid stations — nearly 10 miles each for the first three. That meant I needed to carry enough fuel upfront.

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Night Before the Race: Quiet, Calm, and Early Sleep

It was peaceful — almost unnervingly so. I walked around the camp, checked the start area, and crawled into bed at 8:30 p.m.

Silent forests are beautiful until you're inside a thin nylon tent. With no squirrels, no rustling leaves, and no background noise, everything feels amplified.

I swear I could hear an ant crawling on the tent.

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Race Morning: Coffee, Nerves, and the Walk to the Line

I woke up before sunrise, made coffee, and tried to eat breakfast — always hard before a race. The shuttles with racers arrived about 20 minutes later.

Then came the walk to the start.

My stomach wasn’t 100%. My body felt off. But that’s normal. You rarely feel perfect before an ultra. Caffeine, adrenaline, and the atmosphere usually kick in once the countdown begins.

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The Start: 65 Runners, Single Track Ahead

The start line was peaceful. Only runners — no crowds. We had half a mile to sort out our pace before hitting single track.

Then the day truly began.

Mile 2: The First Surprise

Within minutes of entering the single track, I stepped into what must have been a wasp or bee nest. One stung my calf, and the stinger stayed lodged in place all day. Not ideal.

Then my water hose clip broke and the hose flapped in my face until I figured out a better way to tuck it.

Ultra running is just a series of small annoyances you learn to ignore.

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Early Miles: Flowing Downhills and Steep Climbs

The downhills were fast and smooth — much less technical than the trails I'm used to. I felt strong. Heart rate was high but manageable. I decided to lean into the pace early and take a risk.

The Steepest Minutes of the Day

One section hit 35% grade. Brutal. But the trail opened up afterward, and the flow returned.

At the first aid station, Callie met me — always a huge morale boost.

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Fueling Strategy: Listening to the Body, Not the Watch

I kept elevation data on my watch but ignored distance and heart rate. Sometimes this helps prevent mental spirals.

I ran by feel — something I’ve grown more confident in.

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Miles 19–27: The First Major Problem Hits

After mile 19, things shifted.

Issue #1: Wrong Pacing Early On

I realized the pace I set early probably wasn’t sustainable for 50 miles. I adjusted down a minute per mile to save my legs.

Issue #2: Gut Problems — A New Challenge

Around mile 27, my gut cramped harder than ever before in a race. Every step hurt. I could barely run. I made it to the next aid station and sat for 15 minutes trying to reset.

They gave me ginger ale — the magic potion of ultras.

This helped enough to keep me moving again.

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The Climb to 30+: False Flags and Mental Battles

A fellow runner told me I looked strong, which helped mentally. But my body was broadcasting signals to stop. Ultra runners will understand: sometimes you’re not sure whether the pain is a real warning or just your mind trying to exit the discomfort.

I decided it was a false flag — and kept moving.

Soon I met someone power-walking uphill at a 13-minute pace, which is absurdly fast. I tried to match him and used that momentum to push through the heaviness.

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Miles 30–40: Grinding Forward

The knots in my gut slowly released, turning into a general sense of heaviness instead of pain. Encouraging.

I hit a runnable section and made good time down a long descent.

But then came the big climb.

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The Final Massive Climb: 25% Grades and Scrambling

Near the high point of the race, the incline hit 25% — and sections were so steep I needed hands and feet to scramble. The trail was essentially a controlled fall in reverse.

People around me hit their mental breaking points. Conversations made it clear: everyone was questioning why they signed up.

At the top, I got my bib hole-punched to prove I’d reached the summit.

I sat for a moment to absorb the views. Sometimes that’s necessary for the soul.

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The Final Descent: Switchbacks to the Finish

Four miles of switchbacks stood between me and the finish. Volunteers said the section was “runnable.” In ultras, runnable never means easy — it means “you can run if you’re willing to suffer.”

I pushed.

Soon the noise of the finish line grew louder.

Then I heard my family.

The Best Part: Running In With My Son

Fletch ran beside me toward the finish. A perfect final memory to end a brutal, beautiful day.

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Finish Time and Final Stats

12 hours, 47 minutes
24th out of 62 runners

One of my best races yet.

Not because it was easy — but because it tested me in every way ultra running can.

This race strengthened my mind, my body, and my appreciation for the miles and people who make them meaningful.

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Final Thoughts: What This Race Taught Me

Ultra marathons strip away everything except determination. They show you the parts of yourself that only appear when things get hard.

This race reinforced several truths:

• Preparation matters more than perfection.

• Drop bags can save your race.

• Gut issues hit anyone — even those who’ve never had them before.

• Family support is the greatest fuel.

• Pain doesn’t always mean stop — sometimes it’s just a signal to stay focused.

• Finishing strong isn’t about speed; it’s about resilience.

And above all:

You don’t run ultras only for the race — you run them for the journey to get there.