Failure, Fury, and Fifty-Two Miles

The Backstory : 

When Amanda Koistinen went to her younger brother’s first 100-miler, she’d never considered being a runner, but she exercised— mostly hiking and lifting weights. She was surprised to find herself cheering him on at the finish line and wondering: If he can do it, why can’t I? 

In July 2024, she signed up for the Runna app and a trail marathon 10 weeks away. Throughout that training program, she hated every single minute of running. It wasn’t fun, but she pushed through it. She wanted to be the type of person who could say that she had run a marathon. When race day came, she finished the race in 7 hours. Everything went right, even her notoriously bad stomach behaved itself, and it was still the hardest thing she’d ever chosen to do. At mile 22, she called her husband at work crying to tell him that she didn’t think she could finish. He told her, “Yes you can. The kids are waiting for you at the end, and I know you’ll get there.” She vowed that she would never run another marathon. 

The Mission : 

A few months later, Amanda signed up for the Bighorn 52-Miler. Her brother would be running the 100 that same weekend. The challenge of doubling her previous distance had a distinct appeal. The draw to go farther was undeniable. 

The Attempt : 

After five months of dedicated training for the event, Amanda finally toed the line at the Bighorn 52-miler. She hoped that the beginner’s luck and race day energy she had experienced at her first trail marathon would keep her going for twice the distance.

The first 18 miles of the 52-mile course took a gradual downhill through Little Bighorn Canyon. Amanda was prepared when her stomach alerted at mile 6— she stopped and found a place to poop, before jumping back in the race. As someone who has navigated tricky stomach problems since her teen years, she wasn’t perturbed, and thought after that one stop she’d be good to go. 

But two miles later, she was hit by terrible abdominal cramps. Amanda knew this was trouble. Before she could even find a stopping place, she had already lost control of her body. She made it to the first aid station, and tried desperately to clean herself up, only to realize that she had started her period, TWO WEEKS EARLY. Those of us who bleed thoroughly understand the deep cramping feeling that can stop you in your tracks and the urgent pooping that can come along with those cramps. 

In her fury to get cleaned up and back on the trail, Amanda completely forgot to ask the aid station volunteers for a tampon or pad. When she finally reached the aid station and her drop bag at mile 18, she had had another accident but was determined to keep moving. 

The aid station port-a-potties were out of wipes, out of soap, and nearly out of toilet paper from the hundred milers who had passed through twice already, and the horde of 50 milers ahead of Amanda, who weren’t having to stop every few miles to deal with their stomachs. She clawed through her drop bag, furious that she hadn’t packed extra leggings or underwear for herself. It would have been a realistic thing to do, for someone whose teenage boys knew well enough to ask her if she’d pooped her pants after her long training runs if she headed to the shower too quickly upon returning home. But the marathon had gone so smoothly. She had banked on that “race day energy” to hold it together. She had gambled and lost. 

With all of her stops, and many long minutes spent in the port-o-potties trying to clean herself off with dry toilet paper, Amanda was way behind her goal pace. 

Between miles 20 and 30, Amanda fell in with another runner. They were moving at a similar pace, and Amanda checked her watch over and over again. She couldn’t seem to kick it into a higher gear between the mental challenges of everything that had happened, the physical weight of her bleeding uterus thudding around in her pelvis, and the remnants of it all that she still carried with her. 

“Do you think we can make the cut-off?” Amanda asked, referring to the time required to exit the Dry Fork aid station at mile 34.5— also the next time they would see a toilet. Even if she had wanted to quit the race, there was no way out until there. 

“Oh… not at this pace.” The other runner told her. “What are you feeling about that?”

“Angry.” Amanda said. It wasn’t fair that she had spent 5 months training for the race, that her whole family was there to support her. That she wouldn’t be able to complete the distance. 

“You’ve got to change your mindset,” the woman said. “35 miles is huge! So impressive! Look at us. We’re running an ultramarathon.

Amanda stewed on this. On some level, she knew it was true. It would be the longest distance she had ever run. But 35 miles isn’t what she had come there to do.

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The Call : 

When she reached the aid station, Amanda had missed the cutoff by 18 minutes. When she tried to describe how the heaviness of her bleeding uterus dragged her pace down, to her loving husband, she realized that she had never had any reason to explain this sensation to him in all their years of marriage. He was perplexed, and could only ask, “so your pants are full of blood and poop right now?”

“Just take me home,” she said. 

Lessons Learned : 

Hope for the best, prepare for the worst : If Amanda could have quickly swapped clothes at the first aid station and kept moving, she would have lost a lot less time, and perhaps even been able to move faster in the next leg, with a fresh start and fresh mind. 

[Running] Nutrition is a lifelong journey : Amanda is still trying to figure out what and when to eat to manage her undiagnosed stomach issues, which can be a struggle in day to day life, but magnified with a body in motion. 

Even a failure can be impressive : Though she didn’t complete the 52-mile distance, she ran farther than she ever had that day (while things were going totally haywire), and that was something to be proud of.