Let's Hear It: What's Your Worst Race Ever?

freshmen year in college ran 15:12 twice including a time i leaned at the wrong line and jogged last 10m

get to conference meet and only run 5k to try to score points and help us attempt to win team title

instead i finish last of i think 17 in 17:08 getting lapped by the field (twice by the leaders)

For me it was 1976 Honolulu marathon. It was my first marathon and I followed all the pre carbo loading that was being recommended at the time. Spaghetti at around 8 PM the night before. Woke up at 3:30 (6 AM race start) to go eat pancakes, more carbo loading. Only problem was I wasn't hungry when I ate the pancakes and I couldn't "go" before I ate the pancakes or after I ate them.

At the start I had a full stomach. I went out at 6 minute pace which I maintained for 18 miles. Then I got the stomach cramp. It bent me over. They had portables on the course. I went in there, for how long I do did not then nor do I know now. And It was the classic, " Here I sit lonely hearted tried to shit but only farted." I told myself get out your in a race. I still had cramps. I continued on, then at 21 miles this green stuff came out of my mouth. When I finished that, the cramps had gone away and I went on to finish in 2:50:50.

That was my WORST race ever, but not my worst PERFORMANCE ever.

As an old fart: it was just a local 5K Turkey Trot but a lot of friends and neighbors were volunteering and spectating so they got to see me at my worst. I had food poisoning a couple of days prior and I thought I would be fine. I wasn't. I was still very weak and although the first half of the race wasn't too bad, the last half was a death march for me. My legs were shaking as I crossed the line in a glorious time of just a few ticks over 20 minutes. And I had been training well too --was hoping to break 17 for the first time. Nada.

You OWN Frederick Baldacchino. He still remembers getting outkicked for 105th place by you.

My worst race would have to be the league 1600 my junior year of HS. I'd missed some training that spring due to getting wisdom teeth extracted from my gums, but still thought I'd be close to my blistering 4:51 PR set earlier in the season. I made a joke to teammates guaranteeing a sub-5:00, saying "I'll go kiss Mrs. Jones (fat, unattractive teacher we had) if I don't" Got lured out by the quick early pace, splitting 800 in about 2:22. I'd never gone out in a mile so fast. I don't remember exactly when the wheels fell off, but they did. I was DFL...by a lot. Had to yell "track" on the homestretch to clear people who thought the race was already over and were spilling onto the track. Staggered home in 5:01. Nice 2:22/2:39 splits. Fortunately nobody remembered my prerace comment about kissing Mrs. Jones.

Junior or Senior year of his school, my parents drag me out to some god awful early community fun run race (they were both runners).

I get there figuring I am going to win the thing easily.

I literally had had my first drink the night before, and was feeling dehydrated, but didn't want to run on a belly of water.

It turns out to be the hottest day of the year so far, hot early etc.

I figure I am going to win the thing cos I know the course and am undefeated on it.

Then, I find out at the start that there is some guy ten years older than me that once won an NCAA title or something...

Woosh, he's gone, I second easy. Then the dehydration gets to me and I say "f it," it's only a "fun run," and bonk, quit, drop out, hydrate like crazy, and cheer my parents on.

Only race I ever dropped out of.

Hey Wejo, good thread. This is what happens when I try to live life without Rojo's guidance.

It was 2003, I believe. April in Knoxville, Tennessee. Sea Ray Relays. I'm a 19-y/o sophomore. Steeplechaser.

The meet organizers refused to enter me in the fast heat. So I ran in the slow heat. I was coached by Coach Taylor, since Rojo didn't travel to the meet. My mind combined with Taylor's mind was, on that day, a recipe for disaster. Let's say we were adept at neither a) judging my fitness correctly nor b) figuring out the right pace while factoring in the water pit.

A perfect storm of ballsy 'misunderestimating' led to a couple rarities: 1) Emory Mort building a huge lead in a competitive D1 collegiate race, 2) a steeplechaser who had been at least 75m up on the entire field literally crawling over the final barriers, including mounting the waterpit and literally just dropping himself into the water while he plummeted into last place. I had absolutely nothing left. I have no idea if I'm remembering this correctly, but I think my final 200m was something like a 1:09. Kellogg will probably remember.

As I came around the final turn, I remember my teammate Giles, who was really a great friend, laughing at me in the stands. Thankfully much of the team was still back in the hotel.

Looking back, what probably makes this race my 'worst race' is that I couldn't laugh at myself during it. I could laugh afterward (and that wouldn't be my last steeple gaff), but I probably still owe myself some more good laughs. Life makes us weak sometimes... gotta find a way to laugh.

Apparently Fam, a Vols grad, was at that race and ran into Rojo at some later date, and was raving about my crazy performance. He might have thought it was gutsy, and I guess there's an aspect of gutsiness to it, but knowing myself I'm more inclined to label it folly, or stupidity at the expense of ambition. We sure showed those meet organizers what they were missing in the fast heat!

At the time I was in my late 40's and could always be under 3 hours in the marathon.I had been playing with a kidney stone for a few weeks prior to this race. I drove up, settled into my hotel room then drove to pick up my packet. I noticed I had a flat tire there so I put the doughnut on. Next morning I went to get in my car and noticed 3 other flat tires,so I bummed a ride to the start.Meanwhile the night before my stone was acting up . I was having an urge to urinate constantly but not much pain. I started the race with a plan to go from porta potty to porta potty and get relief but finally I would stop at the side of the road and bend over like I was exhausted and let it tinkle down my leg (nobody noticed I think).I finished in under 3:30 not hurting but just miserable so I kept jogging to the hotel (about a mile away). Instead of seeking medical help I called AAA and rode to the nearest Belle Tire in a towtruck to buy 4 new tires ( they said I drove over a bunch of nails).I drove the 4 hours home nonstop with the help of an empty Gatorade bottle.

Sophomore year of college XC, league meet. I'm the heavy favorite, the course is a complete slopfest due to a mid-week snow-storm. I start and immediately gap the field, I'm looking great through 3 miles, but in the middle of the fourth mile I get the worst cramp/side stich of my life, to the point where I'm practically jogging. Combined with the muddy course and the freezing cold temperatures, it's just an awful, slog to the finish. I end up getting passed in the last 800 meters by two kids I'd been beating handily all year, didn't get league MVP. Just a miserable, haunting experience. Gotta say it felt good to write about it, haven't thought about that race in years.

My worst race was about 5 months ago.. It was the district meet of my junior year in high school, and I was running the 2 mile. My goal in that race was to break 11. With a PB of 11:08, that didn't seem all that hard. I went out in the high 70s, about what I would be wanting to run anyway. I ran that pace for about 3 laps. At that point, the King Ranch Chicken (Literally cheese, corn tortillas, and chicken) that I had had 5 hours earlier decided to make its presence known. Normally, I run great with chicken in my system, as long as it has been there for a while. However, this time, it was different. First, there was this rolling sensation in my gut. Then came the cramping. Then the urge to shit my guts out. At that point, I had kept going for about two laps, and had fallen waaay of pace. Like, high 80s off pace, and I was having trouble holding that. I stopped four times to dry heave before I finished, and almost got DFL... Anyways, I ended up running around a high 13. The humiliation was almost as bad as the race itself. However, I ran a 4:53 mile the next day, so all's well that ends well, I suppose.

I was 13 and running a road 10k. I was in a group of about 5 adult runners and trying to run the tight tangent at the turn where there was a wooden fence on the border of the pavement. I pushed the pace for the inside line when a pretty stocky and then relative giant to me cut across me and gave me a nudge into the fence. I hit it hard but I managed to stay on my feet and continue on for about 200m before I felt a cold stream of blood running down my shin. We cleaned off the blood and stuck a band-aid on the cut and I dropped out.

Later that night at home, My knee started to feel excruciatingly painful and started to cease up so my parents took me to the doctor the next day. He examined my knee and saw a small pinhead size cut. He said the pain was coming from the blow to my knee and I should rest it for a few days. The pain got worse and worse over the next week and we went back to the doctor. He sent us to the hospital for an x-ray to see if I done any bone damage.

The doctor examined my knee before the x-ray and he started to get really anxious but said nothing. It was when the x-ray was done that the problem became obvious, There was a hole in my kneecap. A four inch nail had gone straight through the bone in my knee. This may sound bad but the worst was yet to come, The wound was infected and showing the early signs of gangrene.

I was told that if the surgeons couldn't return circulation and clean the infection, I would have to have my leg amputated above the knee. I went through countless surgeries and skin grafts before I got the all clear, I could keep my leg. I had to spend a year in rehabilitation. I didn't begin running again until 2 years ago at the age of 23.

I started running cross country and track in elementary school. I was slow but could keep up the same pace forever, so when we signed up for events the day before track meets, I'd always choose the longest event, the mile. One week during track season, though, I had a dentist appointment the day before the track meet so I didn't get a chance to sign up for my event. The next day I went up to the coach and told him I wanted to run the mile, and he responded that he wanted to see what I could do in a shorter race, so he'd signed me up for the 100 and 400 instead.

I think that, due to taking a while to accelerate to top speed, my pace in the 100 might have been slower than my usual mile pace. I finished last and it wasn't even close. I was probably 60m in when the second-to-last person finished.

The 400m was two laps on my elementary school's (grass) track. The other kids were a little slower than they were in the 100, so I wasn't quite in danger of getting lapped, but I was way, way off the back by the time the race was half over. And when the rest of the kids had finished, I was still on the backstretch. They started getting kids onto the track for the next race at about the time I was heading onto the final turn. I decided to save face by casually jogging off the track instead of finishing. To my knowledge, I'm the only person who knew that one runner didn't finish that race.

In the years since, there have been many times when I have stubbornly (stupidly) gritted out a finish despite sickness or injury...but that race in third grade remains my only DNF.

Senior year, state track champs, 1600 meter run. A race that was set up perfectly for me, aka a classic kicker's race. Started out okay the 1st lap right behind the leaders, then my mind went blank and I totally spaced out the next two laps and got way behind. The pace wasn't hard at all, but for some reason I just didn't comprehend the task at hand. Finally snapped out of it when I heard the gun lap, started sprinting as fast as I could (coach timed my last lap in 55 seconds) and passed all but the first two runners. As I approached the finish line and realized I wasn't going to catch those two, the only thing going through my mind was "stupid, stupid, stupid!"

1985 State C.C. Championships. I was number 3 runner who just a week prior ran the best race of my H.S. career placing 16th at the City Regionals with a 5k equivalent PR of 16:48. So, I was brimming with confidence and wanted to make the most of my last Varsity meet.

I decided to go all out at State attempting to keep pace with the sub 16 guys. Well we all know what happens next, I face planted into the wall. I ran out of gas and blew up the engine and, to add insult to injury, the Coach yanked me from the race. I ended my H.S. experience with a big fat D.N.F. Moral of the story, I should have stuck with the game plan and ran the race as I trained to instead of going for the glory.

My senior year running the 4x800 at district finals, we were hoping to qualify for states but also had a decent chance to win. I was the second leg and got the stick in 11th out of 13 teams. I pushed really hard to get into the pack (54 first lap) but that killed me and I came back in 70 for a 2:04 (I was a 1:56 runner). I handed off DFL and our team that had run 7:51 the week before limped across the line with an 8:04

The 2013 Boston Marathon

This was my first time to run Boston and I was very excited about it. I had qualified at Houston with a 3:34 (BQ was 3:35) and knew I was in sub-3:30 shape (no, I'm obviously not an elite runner). I studied the Boston course, listened to advice, etc., but what I didn't prepare for was the quad-pounding 6 miles of downhill at the start.

I normally like downhill, but in this case, by the time the course flattened out, my legs were cramping and felt like rocks. My pace got slower and slower. I started walking, something I never thought I'd do in a marathon, around mile 10. That's way too early to "hit the wall" in a marathon. But I couldn't drop out because this was Boston and I felt obligated to death march onward.

I watched the time tick by as I continuously re-adjusted my goal and shuffled/walked/shuffled.

"There goes 3:25 pace...3:30. Let's try for 3:35. No, 3:45. No..."

My last resort goal was to at least stay under 4 hours. Just in time, I crossed the line in 3:59:28, my slowest marathon.

I was exhausted and mad at myself. While everyone around me was smiling, cheering and taking photos at the finish line, I was sulking to myself and slowly made my way through the crowd that I was desperate to get away from. I grabbed my medal, got my checked bag off the school bus, walked around the corner to the family meeting area, sat down on the curb and heard a BOOM.

I couldn't see the finish line from where I was and no one around me reacted. I heard some people mumble about the noise. They wondered if it was a cannon or fireworks for Patriot's Day. We heard a second noise, but still no commotion from where I was.

I found my boyfriend (Dave) and a couple of my friends who had finished and we went inside a building for a moment to get warm. Dave had his cell phone in his bag. There were multiple texts coming in asking if we were okay. At that time, we didn't know what was going on.

"Well, we're exhausted from running a marathon, but other than that, we're okay."

A friend who was in Boston got a hold of us and told us what happened. We knew we needed to get out of the area ASAP because we didn't know if there were more bombs. Our car was parked in Hopkinton and by a lot of luck, we found a shuttle that took us back to the start before the finish line area was on lock-down.

On the shuttle bus ride back I learned more details from some fellow riders. The man sitting in front of me talked about being stopped at the 26-mile mark as he watched the explosions. His wife was in the stands. He was finally allowed to find her and she was safe, however he described in gory detail the blood and limbs of those who were not.

All this time, I was blank. In shock. I did not feel any emotion except the slight feeling of guilt that I did not feel anything. Yet.

We went to dinner. The news was on at the restaurant with everyone glued to the screen except me because I was still struggling to process what had happened on my own without the added pandemonium of the local news.

When we got back to our friend's house outside the city, I got online to answer all the Boston Marathon roll calls people had posted on Facebook. Around this time, news sites had posted the finish line videos. At first, I hesitated to watch, but like a bad car wreck, I couldn't help but look. As I watched the video of first bomb, I read the finish line clock. I then realized it was only 6 minutes after I finished.

What if I had given up on the sub-4 hour goal and walked more than I did? What if my friends were in the finish line stands? Suddenly this all started to feel real and I finally broke down and cried.

I called my mom (again) to reassure her that I was okay. Now that she knew I was safely back at our friend's house, she had some news for me.

"I know you had a terrible day already, but I needed to let you know that we had to put Cindy (family dog) down." She said.

I was already crying, so at that point I could only laugh through my tears because I was an emotional wreck. Thanks, mom. Worst day ever.

My worst race experience was more than race because it reminded me that life is bigger. We can get so self-involved in our running that we let it dictate how we feel about ourselves. Did anyone other than me really care how I ran at Boston 2013? Not really. Did anyone care if I was okay at Boston 2013? Everyone I know.

Senior year of high school, I qualified for states, something that I had dreamed about all season. I got so caught up in the experience of travelling to the meet and conversing with all of the elite runners that I pretty much forgot that I actually had another race until about a half hour before the start. All of the nerves hit me at once, and I went out way too fast as a result. Still, I was nowhere near the front, and as I struggled through the mostly uphill first half, at least a hundred people passed me. The course started to slope downhill, and I started to realize that something was seriously wrong when I wasn't recovering at all. As I passed 3k, I was in DFL territory, and I had slowed to a pace that was probably about 8:00 per mile. At about 4k, I decided to take a walking break for the first time in my running career, but as soon as I stopped, I collapsed. I violently threw up, and when I couldn't get up for several minutes, I was carted into an ambulance. I begged for some water, and as soon as I drank it, I splattered the rest of the contents of my stomach inside the ambulance. I spent the next few hours in the hospital with an IV in my arm to cap off my high school XC career.

The night before or during halloween at college (i cant remember) I went to this party and drank a bit too much. After stumbling back to my dorm, i tried to get some sleep, but I couldn't. I tried pacing, reading, taking a shower, but i was wide awake. I finally dozed off at around 5 in the morning. I woke up a few hours later hung over, drank as much water as I could and ate some food, and slowly jogged over to the start of my 5k. First mile was 6:04, faded badly and crossed 2 miles in 12:34 before being misdirected by one of the course people. Feeling sick and demoralized, I walked back in defeat to the finish, still hung over. In hindsight I dont know what i was thinking, i actually put quite a bit of effort into this 5k training wise. Lesson learned...

Emory doesn't do this story justice.

It was my first year of collegiate coaching. I remember at the time being confused by steeple splits. Most people have no idea how the steeple splits work. Now that I've coached 10 years, it amazes me that announcers/coaches think it's difficult. Anyway, I was taking the rest of the team to Bucknell. But I rushed on the bus just before it left for Tennessee (yes the team would drive a bus to Tennesee on Easter weekend) to tell emory the splits he needed to run 9:10 or whatever he wanted at the time.

Anyway, at Sea Ray, they had an outside pit. I didn't realize that when I told him or Taylor

At the meet, I have no idea how, but Emory got on that pace immediately. He ran 9:10 pace for an inside pit but for an outside pit is probably like 835 (it's basically 5 seconds a lap differnece) Lap after lap until there was one lap to go.

The final lap was well over 90. Actually it had too be well over 100 seconds, close to 2 minutes. I bet John Kellogg remembers how bad it was.

I think he still had a lead with 200 go but was last seen crawling over the water pit.

I remember being so proud of Emory as it was very soon thereafter that I ran into Fam at USAs or something. Fam was amazed by Emory's run. "That was like how I imagine Prefontaine to run." Fam literally thought it was the gutsiest race he'd ever seen. He'd never seen someone just lay it on the line like that.

Emory had desire which you can't coach. And big balls. He wasn't fazed by that blowup nor was he fazed by a total face plant into the water barrier at Heps one year. Many guys would never steeple again - Emory was replaying the video to everyone in slow mo on the bus ride home.

Speaking of Fam, anyone know what Fam's up to these days?

Fam's running 4:23 miles while pushing a stuffed Spongebob Squarepants in a baby jogger.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?feature=player_detailpage&v=itkleCEOsAw