Trail Tales: My First Attempt at Running 100 Miles

Perrin Clavijo
5 hours ago
9 min read

One of my biggest passions that I bring to Precision Performance and Physical Therapy is trail running! For anyone who is trail curious, I will be focusing on trail running topics for my next four blog posts, so stay tuned!

In today’s blog, I am shifting the focus from educational to personal. I have been running ultra marathons for nine years, but I recently attempted my first 100-miler at Hood Hundred in Oregon. Read on to learn more about my training and preparation, my mindset going into the race, and how Mother Nature had her own agenda on race day.

My 100-mile journey began about 10 years ago when I volunteered for my first trail race – Cruel Jewel 100. My now husband was training for an ultra that had a service requirement, so he was getting his hours and I tagged along. At the time, I thought ultra running was for elite athletes only. How could a normal person run over a marathon, much less 100 miles? My 12-hour shift at Cruel Jewel taught me that it’s actually mostly everyday folks running ultras. I’m not sure we can call them “normal” because is anyone who wants to run 100 miles really normal? (I say this with much love as a person who wants to run 100 miles <3) At Cruel Jewel, I caught the bug. I fell in love with the trail community, I experienced the camaraderie, I saw people push beyond their perceived limits… I decided I would do it one day. One day, I’d run 100 miles.

Fast forward to November 2025. I finally completed my first 100k (~62 miles) after years of focusing on 50k and 50 mile races. Yes, that was a tough race, but I remember telling my crew at mile 50 with only about 12 miles left, “That was the easiest 50 miles I have ever run!” That’s when I knew I was finally ready to sign up for a 100-miler. I have worked with my current running coach for four years and he agreed that I was ready, so I took the leap and registered for Hood Hundred! This beautiful 100-mile trail race takes place in the shadow of Mount Hood, a stunning dormant volcano and the tallest peak in the state of Oregon. I selected this race because of the incredible views and scenery along with the “lollipop” route format that would have very few repeated miles.

At the time of registration, I had eight months to prepare for the race. Not much changed about my training in the first several months. I was focusing on maintaining my aerobic base with consistent volume, integrating strides and speedwork each week to maintain power and efficiency, strengthening primary movers (such as quads, glutes, and hamstrings) and stabilizer muscles (particularly important for trail running) in the gym, and getting routine time on the trails for specificity. As race day crept closer, I started increasing my running volume, focusing much more intentionally on fueling before, during, and after my runs, prioritizing going to sleep at consistent times and aiming for at least eight hours, and working on my mental game including practicing visualization, race-day mantras, and positive self-talk, particularly during my long runs. (Side note, in my next blog, I’ll go into more depth on some of these topics.)

Finally after so many months of physical and mental preparation, race week had arrived! The Saturday before race day, one week out, the race director sent out a shocking update – due to a wildfire, 70 miles of the course was no longer accessible. The plan was to reroute the course to stay within the ski area, Mt. Hood Meadows, where the race was originally only supposed to start and end. The new course would be a seven-loop course with 6,000 more feet of elevation gain than the original route. I didn’t know how to feel. Slight panic, perhaps? For the next 24-48 hours, I grappled with whether or not I should proceed with running the race now that the course was changed to a less-than-ideal format. After weighing the options, I decided that with everything that was booked, all the people that were flying across the country to support me as crew, and the training that I’d put in, I was going to commit to the seven-loop course. After making that decision, I felt relatively at peace and calm the rest of the week. I think it was partly because 100 miles felt unfathomable. It almost felt like there was nothing to be nervous about because “100 miles” wasn’t real.

On the morning of the race, the nerves really set in. I was starting to spiral about my gear, that I had not done enough to prepare for the race, and that I generally didn’t belong on that start line. I stood in the back. When the gun went off (was there even a starting gun? It’s really all a blur), we were very quickly funneled onto single track trail. About 200 runners started the race, and since we didn’t have much time to spread out, the seven miles to the first aid station was a conga line. We were moving pretty slowly, but I kept telling myself that starting out slow was probably best for me… 100 miles is a long way. I took advantage of the slower pace to take in the surroundings – we got to enjoy the beautiful starry sky turn into a quiet dawn; the pink-orange light of the sunrise hit the snow-capped Mount Hood, the towering evergreen trees cloaked us in darkness for brief moments before we would emerge into a golden field where an array of colorful wildflowers were blooming… It was gorgeous and magical. I couldn’t help but feel immense joy for being there. The only downside was that I was feeling an unfamiliar ankle pain. I assumed that would pass.

The best part about the course reroute was that it meant I was able to see my crew (the friends and family that came along to provide personal support for me including changes of clothes, shoes, food, and other gear) at every aid station which was about every seven miles. At the first aid station, I told my crew that my ankle pain was there – just to put it on their radars. After no improvement in the ankle over the next section, I decided to tape my ankle after only just one of seven laps of the race. As I began the second lap, I was starting to worry that my ankle could get in the way of me finishing my first 100. Somewhere over the next 14 miles, the ankle was improving but mentally I was struggling. I was trying to focus internally and get in touch with my mantras and positive self-talk, but my inner-self was silent. This was a bigger problem than the ankle. In past races and throughout training, my mental game has always been a personal strong suit. After finishing lap two, the ankle was feeling 100% but I was still struggling mentally and emotionally. I shed a few “pity party tears” in the aid station, but made a point to get out of there quickly after receiving encouragement from my crew. Where there are lows, there are highs, and I needed to go get out of this low.

For lap three, I started out by pacing off a lady who was moving along steadily. I didn’t chat much, I just stayed focused on keeping my effort relaxed. After following her for seven miles, my mood was improving heading into the next aid. Finally, I was ready to chat with other runners, which was a good sign that I was mentally in a better place. By the time lap three was over, I came into the aid feeling rejuvenated and excited! The emotional roller coaster was at a high point! I knew my husband would be able to join me as a pacer/safety runner in just seven more miles, which I think was one of the main things keeping my spirits lifted at that point. Finally at mile 51, it was time for me to start sharing miles with some of my crew members. First up was my husband Kyle! He ran with me into the evening and we had a blast. We shared ~14 miles together and then he passed the torch off to one of my best friends Kalina, my tried and true pacer and training buddy. Unfortunately, a few miles into running with Kalina, I was starting to feel the sleepiness set in. We finished lap five together, and at the start of lap six, I was struggling to stay awake and focused. Caffeine gels had been helping, and at the start of the lap I took another, but now its effects were only lasting about an hour and each section was taking about two hours at that point. I didn’t have another caffeine gel with me, so I was really having a hard time staying awake as we approached the mile ~80 aid. I sat down in a chair at that aid station and knew I needed caffeine immediately. I was on the struggle bus. Tears were welling up in my eyes as I whined to my crew about how much I wanted to go to sleep. They told me that it was too cold to sleep at this aid station and that I could sleep at the next one. I felt like that was doable; I could manage another two hours till the next aid station as long as I brought caffeine with me. Then, when I asked how long until sunrise, they told me just two hours. Two hours! I already knew I could make it another two hours, and if the sun would also be there to greet me, I KNEW I’d have the 100 in the bag. I wouldn’t need to sleep, I would feel reinvigorated and ready to finish the race!

*Photo Credit: James Holk Photography; Smoke taking over the Hood Hundred course*

As I was mentally gearing up to leave the aid station and finish lap six, the race director came onto the microphone. In a solemn tone, he explained that the event staff and medics had been watching the weather and air quality. Once the sun set, the winds died down, which allowed for smoke from the wildfire to creep onto the course. The air quality had been deteriorating for hours and I hadn’t even noticed; I had been so focused on putting one foot in front of the other and staying upright. At that point in time, the AQI was >200, indicating “very unhealthy” air quality. Since we still had many hours to go, it was too risky for the health of everyone involved to remain on the course. At 3:30am, 22.5 hours into the race, mile 80 for me, the race was cancelled. I sobbed. I was devastated. I knew I was going to make it to 100 miles – why did this have to be taken away this far in? This close to the finish? After all the lows that I had worked through… I cried to my crew, “I have to do it all again?” I was going to have to sign up for another race, go through all that training, experience another 80 miles of who knows what kind of pain to be able to finish the final 20 miles and get my 100-mile buckle (for those who don’t know, the prize after completing a 100-mile trail race is typically a buckle). Normally after finishing an ultra, I need a few weeks to mentally and physically recover before considering signing up for another ultra. Not this time! Within 30 minutes of the race being called, at 4am, my crew and I were sitting in the living room of the cabin we rented, everyone on their phones, looking up races to determine what my next 100-miler would be. Some may say I not only have the “ultra bug,” but I now have “buckle fever.”

*Photo Credit: Dad... thanks for taking a photo of me sobbing.*

After a few weeks to recover, process, and reflect on the journey, I am so grateful. A lot went well that day. I had the best crew ever and a fun trip to Oregon, I still traveled the furthest I have ever gone on foot, I had the best execution of a fueling plan of any ultra I have done, I made it through lots of tough mental challenges even before the race began, I wasn’t ready to quit – I was ready to go another 20 miles! Lots of wins. I’m excited for my next 100-mile attempt. Stay tuned to see which race that will be… hoping for one a little closer to home in some of my favorite mountains on the east coast.

Thanks for reading if you made it this far! Keep an eye out for my blog next month on non-negotiables for training for an ultra!

See you on the trails,

Dr. Perrin Clavijo, PT, DPT

Precision Performance & Physical Therapy in Atlanta and Serenbe