Online Run & Mindset Coaching

Why I Don’t Care That I DNF’d (Twice)

And why I think more runners should embrace the DNF.

Coach Janelle

You know what? I DNF’d. Twice. And I don’t care.

Scratch that, I do care. Just not in the way people expect. I’m not ashamed. I’m not scared to talk about it. And no, I don’t see it as a failure.

I see it as part of becoming the athlete, and coach, I want to be.

Moose Mountain 50K (2023): The First DNF

Every year I pick an “A” goal race, one that pushes me out of my comfort zone. That year, it was Moose Mountain 50K. Tight cutoffs, big elevation gain, and a reputation for

But if I’m being completely frank, my training wasn’t there.

I was self-coached at the time , which sounds great for a running coach, until you realize I was putting everyone else’s training ahead of my own. My strength training? Neglected. My body? Constantly flaring up with issues. I was running on fumes.

Still, I toed the line.

I knew within the first 5km something wasn’t right. Nerve pain shot down my legs, and I was already crying. But I kept going. Climbed strong. Hit the first cutoff. Flew downhill. I was giving it what I had.

At around 30–35km, reality set in: I wasn’t going to make the next cutoff. I missed it by less than 10 minutes.

But I ran strong into that aid station. Head up. DNF.

And it hurt. I was deflated. Embarrassed. Ashamed. As a coach, I wanted to be the example. And there I was, questioning everything , my ability, my identity, my worth.

But a couple days later, I tested positive for COVID. And it turns out that the nerve pain in experiences wasn’t just bad training or mindset. My body was fighting something I didn’t even know I had.

That softened the blow a little, but still, the DNF lingered.

Blackspur 108K (2024): The DNF That Changed Everything

Fast forward a year, I picked a new scary big goal: 100K. I picked Blackspur, a loop-style race similar to Grizzly Ultra, which meant my own aid sations, crew access, and plenty of support.

But this time? I was ready!!

I hired a coach. I trained hard. Big mileage weeks. Marathons. Ultras. Strength training. The whole deal. I re-prioritized me. And I felt strong heading into the big day.

Race day came, and from the first leg, it was tough. Nausea. Heat. Constant sweating. But I adapted. Took some Pepto, increased my salt, forced fuel down even when I didn’t want it. Around 22K, things clicked. I was back! The joy of long distance racing, anything can change at any given moment.

Blisters started forming by the end of leg 2, so I taped them up. Lesson learned: tape before the race next time. I still went out for leg 3 feeling good an pumped up from my crew.

But the blisters got worse. By 42K, I was cramping badly. Still moving, still grinding, still fighting, and I was on time with my goals.

I rolled into transition 3 and hit a wall.

I cried. I sat there. My crew did everything to pump me up, they even sent me off to leg 4. I started to head out because I knew I had 108K in me.

But my feet said no. The pain was too much. I took a full 20 minutes to actually stop my watch. That’s how long it took me to admit I was officially done with this goal race.

And yeah, it definitely stung. But this time, it was different.

Why I Don’t Care That I DNF’d

Because that second DNF taught me something that finishing never could: I’m tougher than I realized. I’m more committed to this sport than I knew. And I have so much more left in me.

The first DNF nearly broke me. The second one? It built me.

I don’t see DNF as “failure” anymore. I see it as an initiation, something every ultrarunner has to face at some point. Even if you dont run ultras, you may face this reality of a DNF at one point.

DNF means: I tried. I showed up. I pushed to my limits. And I learned.

Honestly, if you’re out there chasing real growth, the kind that scares you a little, DNFs are inevitable.

Most runners don’t talk about it. We glorify finish lines, belt buckles, and PRs. But you know what’s equally powerful?

DNFs.

They teach humility. They reveal your support system. They highlight what needs to change. And they prove that you’re in this for more than a medal.

The Bigger Picture

Since those races, I’ve had a lot of time to reflect.

I’ve realized that success isn’t finishing. Success is lining up on race day with your whole heart, even if the outcome doesn’t go your way.

Success is putting in the work. Believing in yourself. Being brave enough to try.

I now coach differently because of these DNFs. I understand what it means to fall short. I can walk athletes through that heartbreak, because I’ve lived it.

And if you’ve ever DNF’d, or you’re afraid to… I want you to hear this:

You are not a failure.

You are not less of a runner.

You are in the arena, and that’s what counts.

Final Thoughts

The race results will always show that big ol’ DNF on my profile.

But that’s not what I see.

I see a woman who gave it her all. Who climbed mountains. Who cried, adapted, and learned. Who showed up with courage. And who’s still out there, chasing big goals with even bigger grit.

So no, I don’t care that I DNF’d.

I care that I tried.

And I’ll try again.

Want to talk about your DNF story?

DM me. I’ve been there. You’re not alone.

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