The Time I Ran 50 Miles Near A Wildfire (Would Not Recommend) 🔥

I have a bit of a curse when it comes to ultra races.

In my early days of ultrarunning, 3 of my first 4 ultras were cancelled. (One for pandemmy, 1 for windstorm potential in sand dunes, 1 for ice in the Moab desert.) Of those 3 cancelled, I ran 2 of them solo (sand dunes and ice desert LOL how masochistic 🫠).

It seemed I broke the curse once I jumped from 50ks to a 100 miler. The Hood Hundred last year was an awesome experience. This year, adventure buddy Hannah and I decided we should try a distance between those two: a 50 miler.

The race was less than a 3 hour drive from home, a point-to-point route between Bend and Sisters, Oregon. As we drove down the evening before, I saw the Flat Fire in central Oregon growing. I figured my ultra curse may be back.

The drive to Sisters was ominous, but I knew conditions could change at any point.

Spoiler alert: Hannah and I ended up with an official 50 mile finish before they shut down the race due to smoke and evacuations. But honestly, it wasn’t a fun day. Here’s the recap. ⬇️

The play by play:

At bib pickup, ash was falling down on us. I had a feeling that they’d end up cancelling the race. Hannah and I were already scheming up adventure runs further away from the fire that we could run instead. (Training for months for no big challenge to go for would’ve been a big downer!) We went to “sleep” knowing we’d wake up to a decision from leadership.

I woke up (okay, I didn’t really sleep), saw the “we’re on!” email, and went through the motions of dress, eat, caffeinate, poop, repeat. The skies were clear! It looked lovely! We caught the shuttle from the finish to the start.

The doggy bag has pretzels, not dog poo. IDK why I posed like this.

Honestly, miles 0-10 were pretty sweet. The air was clear, we had some cloud coverage, and the light headwind kept us cool enough. I settled into a conservative pace as I got stuck in a pack, but I reminded myself that going slow to start would keep me strong later. (I also didn’t have a time goal since I didn’t feel great training through a hot summer, so there was low pressure.)

Go, Hannah, go!

Hannah and I planned to run separately (we’d stuck together for almost all of our 100 last year), but we naturally fell into step together within those first 10 miles and just never separated. She truly is my trail soulmate! 😍

After the first aid station, weather started to heat up. We had a 10 mile climb with 2,000’ of gain ahead of us, and that’s when it started to feel rough. Temps were in the 90’s, the wind had died, the clouds were clearing, and the rocks were stupid (hehe, I take a lot of anger out on rocks):

Hot and miserable but still doable.

Up above that photo, we came across two runners helping another runner who was in distress. (Like, puking his brains out distress.) The woman helping seemed to have some sort of medical training and said she thought he could make it up to the next aid station <2 miles away, but I noted his bib number in case I needed to call for help. We couldn’t do anything further to help, so we kept going after a few minutes.

The aid station Coca Cola and ice cubes in sports bra perked me up a bit, and we climbed ahead despite general fatigue from declining air quality. As we got to the top of the butte, the smoke really settled in. 😬 When we got to the halfway point of the route, another aid station, we looked at the sky nervously, and nausea entered the group chat.

Aaaaand that’s when I entered the struggle zone and never left. In reality, I didn’t feel good after mile 11, but miles 20-50 were the worst I’ve ever felt in any race, and I felt nausea with every step, which I’ve never felt before and EW. (It’s also worth noting that our average elevation was over a mile high, which probably hurt a bit.)

The absolute most brutal part for me was a massive old burn area we had to run through. It was wicked hot, very smoky (turns out many apps listed 400+ AQI at that point, though we had no idea of knowing in the moment), and barren landscape.

I hated this.

Hannah ran just ahead of me, and no doubt she’s what kept me going. I could feel her energy ahead, pulling me along. Endlessly grateful she was there.

As we noted how bad conditions had turned, we decided to keep it “easy.” We made sure to run slow and mix in hiking. (Actually, the run-hike alternating was great for my muscles and joints!) And we took our time at aid stations to make sure we had everything we needed to help us. We never discussed dropping out, but we did check in with ourselves and each other frequently, and were happy with how strong our legs felt. Onward!

🥤Many Coca Colas and Slurpee sips later, we continued down the trails into fading light. One of my favorite moments was noticing one runner just off the trail, then realizing he was foraging mushrooms. “Distractions!,” he yelled as he packed porcinis into his vest.

15 miles to go, still feeling gross but still trusting our bodies to keep moving.

With ~10 miles to go, it got dark, and we turned on our headlamps. Depth perception was lacking, and we realized that the smoke was messing with our illumination. Ash started blowing onto us.

My feet were so swollen that every time I accidentally kicked a small rock, I’d get a shooting 8/10 pain for 2 seconds. 😭 And that happened at least a dozen times, almost bringing me to tears, but I knew if I started crying, it would bring more frustration, not catharsis.

As we rounded a corner, I got spooked — I saw flame. It was the ever-growing Flat Fire, probably about 10 miles north of us, but so large that for a second, I thought it was closer. We knew all we could do was put our heads down and grind it out to the finish.

We got through the final aid station, where I popped a few Tums for temporary nausea relief, and, of course, chugged more Coke and ice.

Then, repeat: Stumble. Kick rock. Hold back pain scream, then tears. Mumble something to Hannah. Watch her feet. Over and over.

The final 3-4 miles were on a flattish gravel road, and the two of us energetically pulled each other forward, knowing the school was somewhere in the pitch black darkness ahead.

We arrived at the track, nearly 13 hours after starting, ran the lap around, and crossed the dang finish line high-fiving.

We sat around to chill out for a bit before heading back to the Airbnb, and that’s when we saw the email that the race directors had halted the race in the couple hours before we finished. We’d made it through our last aid station not long before they called it. Many others didn’t and had to get picked up off the course.

In the end, only 3 100-milers finished before they shut it down. A ton of 50-milers either dropped themselves out (can’t blame ‘em) or were pulled by the race.

Our strengths:

• 💖 THE POWER OF FRIENDSHIP. More than anything, that’s what I’m taking away from this experience. Although now I know that inwardly, Hannah was also suffering deeply, her outward positivity and check-ins with me kept me going. Trailing behind her in the dark, I envisioned reins connecting us with her pulling me along, and I swear it tricked my brain into feeling lighter and faster. In those final miles, it felt like we mentally carried each other in a way that drove us forward physically. So freaking cool.

• 💪 Our legs felt pretty good! I think if I ran that course on a crisp, clear day, I’d have a great-for-me performance! Our legs felt strong and ready through it all, and even in the days after I didn’t hobble too much.

• 🍫 We stayed on top of fuel and self-care. Despite smoke inhalation (I know, I know, not healthy), we kept our bodies in mind with consistent fueling and hydration. Process goals, achieved.

• ⌚ We had a negative split! By about 10 minutes, anyway. Hard to really measure it with our long aid station stops.

Photo by Tiare Bowman

Some thoughts on race leadership:

I’ve seen mixed reactions on the internet (and chatting in person) from runners who were affected by the race not getting called off until mid-race. For the most part, folks are very understanding of the tough call the directors had to make. I sure am.

Race leadership sent emails the night before the start explaining that they might and could completely cancel and/or halt progress, dependent on smoke AND evacuation status. So, I knew going into it that nothing was for granted, and that if they had to stop, at least I had a heads up.

They also emailed when they made the call that evening to stop progress and get everyone off-route. I didn’t see this until I finished, of course, which makes me wonder if there could’ve been a mass text or another way to alert everyone.

Then, of course, there are all the crew members (especially for the 100-ers) who wouldn’t have even gotten that email, which I imagine was quite frustrating. I think the directors should’ve posted on their decision Instagram so that more people could’ve seen it. For better or worse, social media is one of the most effective ways to get out quick info these days, so I agree it was a poor decision on their part to not share anything about halting the race on there.

The few very upset reactions I’ve seen on the internet from affected runners, in my opinion, are extreme. I know I’m lucky to have finished, and I might be more annoyed if I’d been pulled off course early. Yes, there’s certainly room for improvement in their communications with this situation. However, we did all go into this race knowing there was a chance it’d stop, and we all had the autonomy to not start or to drop out. One person I saw online went as far as to shame all runners who continued to run despite the poor health effects of smoke. Shame has no place in my opinion; not on the individual runners, and not on the race directors. 🙅‍♀️

And TBH, if they had cancelled the race before starting, I bet plenty of people would be furious. IMO, you can’t win. Someone’s always gonna be pissed.

Now that I myself am a race director, I’m paying particular attention to decision processes like this. Wild Woman Trail Runs is a much smaller and more localized race company, but I want us to be strong leaders in the face of any race-altering circumstance, wildfire included.

Final takeaways from training and the run:

• 🔥 I’m over summer races. I used to sign up for late winter/early spring races because I love training through winter (gets me outside with intention through the drizzle and dark!). Training for August races the past 2 summers has taken away a lot of the spontaneity of the season. I hardly paddled, mountain biked, or just got away for a random weekend somewhere new. I’m going back to off-season events.

• 👟 I want to focus more on DIY adventures than races. I learned this with biking this year, too! I have incredible terrain in my drivable region for running and biking adventures, and I don’t need to commit to a specific race date to enjoy the goal.

• 🤝 Supportive friends are everything. How grateful I am for Hannah for training and “racing” with me, and for all the friends who cheered me on along the way, from Slurpee delivery mid-race to that random June Tuesday when they made me a homemade aid station. Thank you.

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Wondering how you got here? Hi, I’m Angie! 👋 I’m a creative director and not-elite-just-enthusiastic athlete living in the mountains and rivers of Washington. I talk about the tough stuff — Blood, Sweat, and Fear — with the goal of building a happier, healthier world for women. You can check out all the ways to work with me here, or follow me on Instagram and LinkedIn.

For Fall 2025, I currently have some space available for 1:1 women’s creative consulting as well as sports and outdoor brand support.