When I reflect on my own recent first DNF at the UTS 100km, the reality of post-race depression hit me with a force I never anticipated. I’d always kind of dismissed the idea, how could not finishing a race possibly leave such a mark? But after succumbing to heat exhaustion 20 hours deep into a race, so close to the finish line and being forced to pull out, I found myself spiralling into a heavy sadness that lingered for a couple of weeks. The disappointment of what I deemed to be failure, clung to me, surfacing each time I replayed the day in my mind. If you ask my family, they will tell you the atmosphere was like there had been a death in the family.

It wasn’t until I opened up and spoke with other runners who had walked this same silent mile that I realised how common, how painfully real, this post-DNF depression can be. Knowing I wasn’t alone didn’t erase the grief, but it did help me see that this, too, is part of our ultramarathon journey.

You trained for months. You sacrificed family time, sleep, skipped social events, trained and ran through all weathers, and self-doubt. You envisioned the finish line, the relief of crossing it, the triumph in completing the race, the finishers photo with the medal. But instead, you got the three dreaded letters: DNF (Did Not Finish).

And now you’re not just tired and exhausted from the effort you put out there, you’re battered, bruised, heartbroken, confused, maybe even ashamed. What’s worse? Your race may be behind you, but the emotional race has just begun.

Welcome to the silent mile that no one talks about, the stretch of depression that can follow a DNF in an ultramarathon that can last days, weeks or even months.

An ultramarathon isn’t just a physical challenge; I believe it’s a deeply personal journey. For many, I believe it even becomes an identity. So, when your race ends prematurely, whether that be from an injury, missed cutoffs, dehydration, or simply hitting your limit, it can feel like you failed, and not just your race.

The aftermath of a DNF can be a cocktail of, Guilt – Did I push myself hard enough? Shame – What will my family and friends or coach think? Isolation – No one else seems to be struggling like me, have I really got what it takes? And existential doubt – Was all that training and sacrifice for nothing?”

This isn’t just disappointment. For some runners, especially those who pinned their self-worth or personal recovery (from trauma, addiction, or illness) to the finish line, it’s a deep emotional crash. So, depression, even if temporary, is actually common and indeed, very real.

Here are my steps to deal with post DNF depression.

Honor the Grief – Yes, it’s a form of grief. You lost something you deeply cared about. Don’t minimise it or try to “positive think” your way out too quickly. Give yourself permission to mourn – cry, vent, or sit quietly and sulk with the pain. You don’t have to be okay right away.

Challenge the Narrative – You did not fail. You simply just reached your limit on that given day and that takes more courage than cruising to a place on the podium. A DNF means you dared to try something hard, something most people would never attempt. Reframe it: “I didn’t fail, I learned.”

Connect With Others – Ultrarunning may seem like a solo sport to some, but the community is powerful. Talk about your experience to others. You’ll be surprised how many seasoned and experienced ultrarunners have racked up DNFs, and how open they are about the emotional toll. Vulnerability here isn’t weakness, it’s strength.

Find the Lessons – Eventually, you may want to look back and ask, “What did I learn?” But don’t rush this step. Let the emotional dust settle first. Then and only then take time for reflection. Reflect on the race plan, your pacing, your nutrition, your mental game, or training load prior to the race. Find the insight without attaching it to your worth.

Start Moving Again – Ease back into movement, not as punishment, not to erase the DNF, but to reconnect with your body. Run if it feels good. Don’t run if it doesn’t. This isn’t the time to sign up for a new race just to “fix” the past. Don’t chase redemption straight away. Let movement be healing, not performative. Ease back in, enjoy running again and redemption will be sweet.

Your DNF is not the end of your story. It’s just another chapter and often the one that teaches the most, reveals the most, and forges the strongest resilience.

Every ultrarunner who has pushed themself to the limit has a “Did Not Finish” buried somewhere in their journey. It’s a scar and like all scars, it’s proof of where you’ve been, how hard you tried, and how deeply you cared.

So, if you’ve recently experienced a DNF and are struggling a little bit, know that you are definitely not alone. Sit with the silence, honour your effort and when you’re ready, lace up again. Keep going. Not because you have to prove anything. But because running, like healing, happens one step at a time.