I was back on Christian’s podcast this week (my second time). The first time we talked about ultrarunning and trauma; you can read that write-up here.
This round was more race-specific: how I approached Rabid Raccoon 100, the small experiments that stuck (and the ones that didn’t), and what competing looks like when you’re also a parent, a spouse, and running two businesses.
You can listen to our episode at the bottom of this article.
Quick intro for anyone new: I’m Shannon (Be Short Run Ultra on social).
I’ve been in the mental health field for more than ten years and running ultras for about the same. I have a private practice specializing in anxiety, trauma, and eating disorders, plus a mindset and mental wellness coaching practice for ultrarunners.
I also assistant-coach with Kyle Kranz. None of that is separate from the running; it’s all the same life.
Rabid Raccoon 100
Rabid Raccoon is in western Pennsylvania. It is a looped course, roughly 12.5 miles per loop, 15–16,000 feet of gain. It’s more runnable than a lot of what I’ve done (Oil Creek 100 last year felt like a constant argument with rocks), but the repeated creek crossing, the two steep rocky descents, and the mud churned up by the shorter-distance runners still take a toll.
I’m down to half my toenails. That was expected.
This was the first of the two competitive 100s I set as a goal for 2026. After Temptation 200K a few years ago (where it came down to me and one other guy, both of us hurt, over the last 16 miles) I got bored with just finishing.
I wanted to race again. That meant treating the day more like a puzzle: less time at aid stations, better information, and fewer avoidable losses.
What I actually did
I used the same pre-race questionnaire I’ve been refining for years (the template is free for subscribers to my blog in the resources section of finishstrongermindsetcoaching.com). I wrote down the creek, the downhills, the vest swap, and the pacing plan before I ever started.
The trash bag experiment for the creek failed after three loops. I tested it the day before and it looked fine; race day it soaked through. Competitors were running straight through anyway, and adding the bridge detour would have cost about a quarter mile every loop. So I stopped fighting the water and just ran through it. Lesson noted.
The vest swap worked. I bought a second Ultimate Direction vest, put everything on a spreadsheet, and had a short meeting with my crew and pacers beforehand. I never sat down at aid stations. They swapped the vest, handed me a cup, and I ate on the way out.
My crew also tracked the other women but didn’t tell me anything until the second half, which was exactly when I planned to pick up the pace once the heat of the day broke. That split kept me from early comparison and still gave me the information I needed when it mattered.
The mental piece
My first real competitive race (Glacier Ridge 50) showed me how fast comparison and negative self-talk can wreck a plan. Women passed me early, I started questioning the training, and I was both angry and ready to cry on a climb.
The fix was simple and not easy: trust the plan I wrote. It’s you versus the course first. You versus other people comes later, when you can actually do something with the information.
By the second half at both Oil Creek and Rabid, passing people had become a game. I borrowed from Sally McRae’s “pass-gap-bury” approach and David Goggins’ “taking souls.”
My pacers got into it more than I did. One of them said it felt like he won the lottery every time we went by someone. That energy is useful when you’re tired.
Training as a 24/7 athlete
Family and work come first. Training fits around them. I call this being a 24/7 athlete because most of us don’t get the recovery nest that some elites have.
My coach literally schedules five minutes a day of doing nothing. Sometimes I sit and stare at the wall. Sometimes it’s a short ice bath, a hot bath with Epsom salt, or fifteen minutes of legs up the wall.
I drink one or two protein shakes most days because lunch doesn’t always happen and I can finish one between clients.
Other micro-habits: a ten-minute plyometric warm-up before structured runs so the first mile doesn’t suck, ankle strength and mobility with a resistance band at the office, and sitting down for tasks (folding laundry, kitchen work) whenever I can so my legs aren’t swollen from unnecessary standing.
The house still looks like a parent who trains is living there. The basics get done; the rest waits.
A quick mindfulness tool
On the podcast I walked Christian through a 30 second exercise: pick an object near you, describe it without judging it, and gently bring your attention back when your mind drifts. No beating yourself up. Just return.
Practicing that (once a week, while brushing your teeth, while eating a snack) builds the same skill you need at an aid station when you’re deciding whether you actually need to stop or whether you can refill the cup and keep moving. It also helps with the constant low-grade stimulation most of us live in.
The bathroom story
Around 50K I started having GI issues and stopped three times. I texted my crew that it wasn’t resolving. They stashed a brown paper bag with my name on it at the aid station (Imodium and a couple other things) looking very much like a suspicious lunch. It worked. Imodium is now a permanent part of the race kit. I finished 40 seconds behind third place female. That’s the margin you notice when you’re racing.
What’s next
Rim to River 100 is next. Same goal: keep refining the small things, trust the plan longer, and see what the body does when the legs are fresher in the second half.
If you want the pre-race questionnaire, race reports, or more of the mindset pieces, they’re on finishstrongermindsetcoaching.com. Private-practice work is at finishstrongercounseling.com. I’m on the usual social platforms under Be Short Run Ultra.
Thanks again to Christian for having me back. The conversation was easy, which is what I like about that show.
Back of the pack ultra guy Episode 63 Shannon Mick
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Happy running,
Shannon