Spine Race 2026. DNF… again.
I failed. But I am not a failure.
Every ultrarunner meets a DNF at some point. It’s almost a rite of passage. A DNF doesn’t define you; it describes a moment. You failed then — not as a person, not as an athlete, not in the totality of who you are.
Say it aloud if you need to: I failed, but I am not a failure. Repeat it as many times as it takes.
I’m writing this a month after failing to finish the Winter Spine Challenger North. Broken ribs ended my race, but the sense of failure lingered far longer. I wrote out a long list of reasons why I didn’t finish, but every one of them felt like an excuse. That mindset was wrong, and I had to challenge it. I had to reframe the story.
Years of races, big miles, and difficult life events all converged into a perfect storm. And truthfully, I needed this race — more than I wanted to admit.
Since my sister died, I’ve felt an overwhelming need to feel alive, to test myself, to push into the edges of discomfort. After a year of inquests, family illness, and watching my younger brother navigate a life‑changing diagnosis, that need only intensified. Layer on my own personal struggles, and training became a lifeline — a way to validate my self‑worth and prove I could still do something epic.
But it wasn’t meant to be. This time. Just this time.
The real lesson was remembering that I am not a failure.
The self‑judgment has eased. The shame has lifted. The fear that my coach or friends would give up on me has faded. The imposter syndrome still whispers, but self‑kindness has returned.
Consistency will help. Courage will return — it already has. And the demons are quiet again, at least for now.
Self‑compassion is everything.
Let the negativity around a DNF just… feck off. Truly. We’re out there doing extraordinary things. Simply standing on a start line is a privilege. Doing things that scare us — that make us feel alive — is a privilege.
Keep attempting the scary stuff. Be comfortable in your adventurous self. Be comfortable with the reality that sometimes, we won’t finish.
You may never be front of the pack, featured on podcasts, or starring in documentaries — but your presence is valid. I’d argue it’s even more meaningful.
And above all, be grateful.
Grateful for the families who support us. Grateful for the friends who show up. Grateful to be alive — really alive. And never let a DNF hold you back.
Life is precious. Cliché, yes — but deeply true.
Living well, training well, and simply reaching the start line of these races is an immense privilege worth celebrating, whether we finish or not.
