My first ultra was my first race in over ten years. It was also my first race longer than 5K. And I was never any good at the 5K's to tell the truth. I would love to tell you I had some deep reason for trying an ultra but I would be lying. I started running, kept running, and realized over time that while my paces were super slow, they were consistently super slow. My pace for a 5 miler was the same as my pace for a 15 miler or a 20 miler. So I decided that if I ran a super long race, maybe I could finish it and not be a laughing stock.
So I chose PST 50 miler as my first. It was late March and in Kansas. I assumed the weather would be okayish. I picked a motel out near the start finish. This was an out and back run on a flat rail trail. I assumed that would work fine. I did a lot of assuming.
The race day weather was not okayish. I mean I guess it was for those people that knew what the heck they were doing. I believe the course records in all distances fell that day. But I had been a wimp and run on the treadmill when it was cold so I didn't have clue how to dress for a day out in this weather. It rained. It snowed. It sleeted. The winds were over 25 mph. And those weren't the gusts. 
So I talked myself out of my first panic attack of the day and moved on. I put on all of my clothes. I get my numbers pinned on and we head for the start line. Thankfully we got to sit inside a warm building until the start. 
So I sat there feeling like a complete fraud and completely unprepared. We gathered at the start line and it started to snow. We were all looking at each other, just waiting for someone to say "what the heck" but none of us did. Then they told us to start so I did. I ran the first 10 miles at an okay pace. There were lots of people that were walking and running and when they would run they would pass me and then I would pass then when they were walking. This was my first introduction into that form of pacing and I noticed as time went on that those who did the run/walk looked less like death than the rest of us back of the packers.
About 12 miles in I stepped on a rock wrong and twisted my ankle. At the time I convinced myself that I could not run anymore but over time, as I've done a few more races, I realize I could of. I was giving myself an out to just plod along at a walking pace because my ankle hurt and it was my first ultra.
So I ran a bit more but mostly walked. I got to the halfway point and there was a train I had to wait on. I talked to another guy while we waited for the train to pass and I thought we were doing okay and he thought we were pitiful wretches. I mean we were but we were moving. 
The rest of the day was a blur. I ran. I had a pacer for one six mile section but by then I was just walking and I felt horrible that she was cold and I was so behind when I thought I would meet her (sorry Dana). That was when I decided I would never have another pacer. I enjoyed talking to her and she really lifted my spirits but the whole time I also just felt horrible for not running with her. I should have just made myself run but at that point in my story I didn't realize I could make myself do hard things yet.
Anywho, I walked and walked and walked and walked and even caught a few other lost souls. I peed in the woods off the trail and my headlamp died while doing so. That was fun. My achilles ached horribly from the flat course and my upper back was so sore also. I didn't drink enough and got so dehydrated that at the final aid station they said I was speaking Romulan. I didn't eat enough.
I finally hobbled across the finish line after 14 1/2 hours. I wasn't last but I was close to it. But I hadn't quit and I got my belt buckle. 
I learned so much in that first ultra. It took me about a week to walk normally but I kept running daily and kept my run streak alive. I digested my lessons and beat myself up about my slow pace and refusal to run when I really probably could have and definitely should have. And before I knew it, I had signed up for a 100K.
