When the taper phase becomes damage control
I had it all mapped out.
After over a year of preparing for my 100-mile trail race, I thought I’d found the perfect balance. I’d reduced my work hours to part-time, created a holistic run and nutrition plan, and built in space for recovery, mindset, and movement.
Everything was set up so I could truly focus on the biggest ultra challenge I’d ever attempted. The lifestyle shift felt right — lighter, calmer, and intentional. Yes, reduced hours meant less income, but after a test month I realised something freeing: I don’t need much to feel deeply happy.
I feel most myself — most alive and at peace — when I’m on trails. So I did it. I went all in, not knowing what other plans life had in store for me.
When life has other plans
Since I started training, I’ve moved three times. I was made redundant. And suddenly, I was standing at a crossroads:
Step back into another toxic corporate cycle for a sense of “security”…
ORFinally bet on myself and pour everything into the two businesses I’ve been building from the ground up.
I chose the latter. And I don’t regret it — but it’s been a storm.
As if managing redundancy wasn’t enough, I also found myself in unsafe living situations. Once again, I had to make a choice: stay in the familiar cycle of fear and instability, or finally break it once and for all.
I chose to break it.
For a while, I lived in my van — balancing survival, self-employment, and 100-mile race training.
It’s hard to put into words what this past year has meant. I’m still processing it because I haven’t had the space to fully stop, breathe, and reflect. There have been plenty of low moments… but also some of the highest highs.
I fell in love. I found my soulmate. And we’re building a life together that feels grounded in love, warmth, and truth — something I’d never experienced before.
This past year has been a mix of everything — shock, fear, joy, gratitude, heartbreak, and healing. It’s been the full spectrum of being human.
So where did all the training for my 100-mile trail run race fit in?
That’s the big question.
The first few weeks didn’t go to plan. Living in a van while trying to build a business doesn’t leave much space for structured long runs. Still, I ran. I trained. I showered at the gym, juggled clients, and ticked off what I could.
But as life got heavier, I found myself again at a crossroads: Do I go out and train, or focus on keeping myself financially afloat?
I chose the latter — and it was one of the hardest decisions I’ve ever made. At some point along the way, running started to feel like a chore — another thing on the list to tick off. And that hit me hard. Running has always been my air to breathe, my anchor, my space to reconnect. I can’t let it turn into something that drains me instead of filling me up.
The myth of the “perfect” taper
Just as I entered the taper phase — that sacred time meant to bring calm, recovery, and confidence — my body gave in. Fever. Fatigue. Stomach pain. I couldn’t move for days. No running. No mobility.
That’s when I realised something powerful: Sometimes the taper phase isn’t a carefully controlled reduction in mileage. Sometimes it’s pure damage control.
We talk so much about trusting the taper — about how the body rebuilds when we rest, about how easing off helps energy peak on race day.
But what happens when the taper arrives in the middle of personal chaos? When it’s not about perfectly timed sessions, but about holding yourself together — emotionally, mentally, and physically — just long enough to make it to the start line?
That’s where I’ve been these past few weeks. And maybe… that’s the deeper lesson.
Redefining “prepared”
I used to think being prepared meant ticking every box — every run, every strength session, every nutrition trial. Now I know it means something else.
Being prepared means building resilience in the face of everything that didn’t go to plan. It means listening when your body whispers, enough. It’s trusting that even when your spreadsheet says “miles missed,” your body still remembers the years of movement, discipline, and care.
Tapering, I’ve realised, is less about performance — and more about surrender.
And I remembered my own words: My mind is my strongest muscle.
So that’s where my training has shifted — not in miles, but in mindset.
The real work
This week, my “training” has looked like rest, nourishment, and breathwork. I’ve replaced intervals with herbal tea, mobility drills with slow walks, and “mental reps” with journaling and visualisation.
I see myself out there on the trails — feeling the earth beneath my feet, hearing my breath, watching the sunrise after a long night of running. Trying hard not to focus on the immense pressure I put myself under.
Because this 100-mile journey was never just about proving strength. It’s about remembering it.
One week to go
I’m exactly one week away from the start line. Not the version of me I imagined — not perfectly rested, not glowing with taper magic, not calm or excited. But the version that’s been tested, stripped back, softened, and humbled by everything that’s come my way.
And maybe that’s exactly who I need to be to attempt to run 100 miles. Because the truth is: the taper phase, like life, rarely goes as planned.
But it always gives you what you need — even if it’s not what you wanted.
What now?
I’m doing my best to stay positive. I’ll be there at the start line, giving everything I’ve got. I’ve never expected to finish all 100 miles in my first attempt — my goal has always been to go further than before.
If I can do that, I’ll be proud. If not, I still want to be proud of myself because the race is just a snapshot in time. What matters most is the journey — all the lessons, the growth, and the grace built along the way.
I qualified for this race. I deserve to be there. And I’m proud of who I’ve become getting to this point — no matter what happens next.
The biggest lesson for me:
This taper has brought one big truth to light: I want to find my happiness in running again. To reconnect with the simple joy of movement, the freedom of being out there in nature, and the feeling of gratitude that comes with every step. That’s what this upcoming race is really about for me — not chasing numbers or proving anything, but remembering why I fell in love with running in the first place.
Reflection prompt:
If your taper or your life doesn’t look how you hoped it would, ask yourself:
What strength have I built by navigating the chaos?
What’s ready to be released before I step into what’s next?
Sometimes damage control is the taper. Sometimes surrender is the preparation.