What You Sacrifice: The Challenges Behind 100-Mile Training

I genuinely love training. I see it as a privilege to move my body, explore trails, and push myself to see what’s possible. I do my best to share that joy on social media, YouTube, and here on my blog. But this post isn’t about the highlight reel. It’s about the harder parts—the sacrifices and realities that come with training for 100-mile ultramarathons.

Mom Guilt

Since Nora was born, I’ve always exercised first thing in the morning. That habit started years ago when I got pregnant right after losing 40 pounds. At the time, I wasn’t married, and kids weren’t part of my plan. Finding out I was pregnant was overwhelming, but I quickly shifted my mindset. I promised myself I’d maintain the healthy habits I’d worked hard to build—and with the support of her dad, I did.

The first one to two hours of my day, starting at 4:30 a.m., are mine. I go for a run, teach Pilates, or hit the gym. This has been our routine since she was born. Nora has grown up knowing that mornings are “mom’s time,” and it’s completely normal to her. Still, the mom guilt lingers.

It’s strongest on the weekends when long runs last four to eight hours. I can’t just “wake up earlier” to fit them in before she’s awake. We manage it with open communication—she knows when I’m gone, and because she likes to sleep in, I’m usually home not long after she’s up. During the week, she often teases me for being home “too early,” especially when she’s in the bathroom getting ready for school. In those moments, I remind myself: I’ve raised a capable, independent kid—just like me.

Winter

Winter is my hardest season. I’m cold most of the time anyway, so running in the winter isn’t exactly my favorite. I prefer running to other winter sports because it’s the best way to stay warm outdoors, but it comes with trade-offs.

Training for early-season races means loops around town on the steepest roads I can find. It means less time in the mountains and more time dodging traffic. It means more treadmill runs—though that never replaces getting outside with my dog. I try to find the silver lining in training through tough weather; it builds grit and creativity. But honestly? There are days I just hate it. And by “it,” I mean the snow.

Expenses

Running looks inexpensive from the outside, but when you’re training 10–15 hours a week (and peaking at 20), it adds up fast. Shoes wear out quickly, gels disappear even faster, and both are expensive. Races and travel feel like “fun spending,” but buying yet another pair of shoes or boxes of fuel feels tedious—and sometimes guilt-inducing.

I’m incredibly grateful for the ability, support, and resources that make this lifestyle possible. Still, I’m conscious of the sacrifices it takes to sustain it.

Routes

Repetition can be one of the hardest parts of training. Lately, our weekday routes are almost identical, and it gets dull. Trail running rarely feels repetitive, but finding safe in-town routes that work for both me and Millie (my dog) can be tricky. I plan runs around sidewalks, avoid railroad crossings near our house, and make the best of what’s available. It’s not glamorous, but it’s part of the process.

Nutrition

During my last 100-miler, one of the first thoughts I had—only 25 miles in—was, “My least favorite part of this distance is eating.” Over that race, I took in around 4,000 calories from gels alone. None of it was enjoyable, but it was necessary.

You can get away with poor nutrition in a 50K, maybe even a 50-miler, but beyond that it becomes non-negotiable. I have to fuel consistently, even when I don’t want to. And honestly, eating that much—during training and racing—isn’t my favorite part of the sport.

Perspective

Training for 100-mile races demands consistency, time, money, and emotional energy. There’s joy and purpose in it, but also fatigue, sacrifice, and guilt. It’s a delicate balance between chasing big goals and staying grounded in real life.

I wouldn’t trade it. But I also wouldn’t want anyone to think it’s always easy. The reality is messy, meaningful, and—somehow—worth every bit of effort it takes.

My independent Nora