* Not for Apple listening

Our weekend started with promise, a conservative plan, good weather, and even a rattlesnake encounter, because Georgia likes to add side quests. Then my race turned sideways when post-viral vagus nerve issues made swallowing, drinking, fueling, and generally existing like a normal mammal impossible. What looked like stomach trouble was actually a neurological throat-and-body revolt, complete with choking, puking, and the deeply glamorous experience of trying not to become a full-body disaster on the side of the road. Ultra running: it’s basically wellness, if wellness hated you.

After the DNF, instead of disappearing into the Airbnb to sulk like a reasonable person with Wi-Fi and emotional boundaries, Jon and I jumped into crew mode, helping friends, supporting runners, and staying in the race community even after my own race was over.

Then we take a hard left into one of the great endangered species of ultra running: crew people with spatial awareness. We get into people parking over white lines, trucks blocking access, nervous drivers, one aggressively awful tailgater, and why race volunteers should not have to teach adults how roads work. If your crew setup requires state troopers, a tow truck, and a community meeting, congratulations, you are now the aid station hazard.

Our weekend started with promise, a conservative plan, good weather, and even a rattlesnake encounter, because Georgia likes to add side quests. Then my race turned sideways when post-viral vagus nerve issues made swallowing, drinking, fueling, and generally existing like a normal mammal impossible. What looked like stomach trouble was actually a neurological throat-and-body revolt, complete with choking, puking, and the deeply glamorous experience of trying not to become a full-body disaster on the side of the road. Ultra running: it’s basically wellness, if wellness hated you.

After the DNF, instead of disappearing into the Airbnb to sulk like a reasonable person with Wi-Fi and emotional boundaries, Jon and I jumped into crew mode, helping friends, supporting runners, and staying in the race community even after my own race was over.

Then we take a hard left into one of the great endangered species of ultra running: crew people with spatial awareness. We get into people parking over white lines, trucks blocking access, nervous drivers, one aggressively awful tailgater, and why race volunteers should not have to teach adults how roads work. If your crew setup requires state troopers, a tow truck, and a community meeting, congratulations, you are now the aid station hazard.

*VIDEO Not for Apple listening

We start with the kind of enormous race announcement only true professionals would lead with: Mid-State Mile has officially entered the water tote era. Yes, a 275-gallon tote. Yes, it required a country drive, cash, accessories, and somehow ice cream. This is event logistics, but with more emotional damage and Facebook Marketplace energy.

Then we get into the real Mid-State Mile news: Harvey Lewis and Mark Dowdle are coming to town, and the field is getting spicy. We talk about what makes Mid-State different from a traditional backyard race, why the 20-minute loop changes everything, and why experience on this course matters more than whatever shiny resume somebody brings to the start line. Whistle to whistle, there is no room to hide, nap, scroll, or build a private little emotional support fortress.

We also dig into Rachel’s monster Cocodona performance, the “women vs. men” hot-take fallout, downtime efficiency, sleep, electrolytes, and why “why not me?” might be the most dangerous and useful thought an ultra runner can carry into a race.

Finally, Becca gets ready for Cruel Jewel, the race that has become part suffering ritual, part relationship scrapbook, and part annual trip into the mountains to see what still works. There’s also cave digging, because apparently ultra running wasn’t already enough of a cry for help.