In 2013, I ran my first Western States 100. I learned a lot. As I get ready to toe the line in Squaw Valley a second time two years later, I feel qualified to share a few key pieces of key advice with first-timers who want to be humbled. Please take it — I might move up a couple of places if you do!

1. Do a happy dance in early December, when your name gets drawn with only one ticket in the hat. Squeal. Giggle. Share your excitement with all your friends, consult extensively with your mentors, and come up with an ambitious and detailed training plan for the next few months: base building, high mileage, heat training, strength training, tune-up races, and finally a taper period.

2. Proceed to ignore that training plan because of work commitments, injuries, the flu, the weather, and other unforeseen obstacles. In late May, have a couple of anxiety attacks. Wake up in the middle of the night drenched in cold sweat from nightmares that involve hungry cougars and heatstroke. Then ramp up your mileage in the final three weeks. Tapering is for sissies!

3. Though you’ve only done one 100-mile race prior to this one, you should consider yourself experienced. Go ahead and underestimate the course. Have a good chuckle at the profile. It looks pretty harmless, compared to, say, the Hardrock 100. Altitude is not a factor, it’s not too technical, and there are tons of aid stations. Plus, it’s all downhill. How difficult can it be? Sub-24 hours should be a piece of cake!

4. Don’t bother with a detailed race plan, or detailed crew instructions. Your long-suffering husband should be able to guess where you will be, and when to meet you there. He should also be able to read your mind. From this, he should know what you need or don’t need at each checkpoint. He should also figure out on his own that you didn’t really go through the huge duffel bag with all your ultra stuff to lighten the load he lugs to every aid station. Besides, who knows? You might need the three rolls of ductape, extra drop bags, heavy gloves, and pile of old batteries you didn’t get around to recycling yet.

5. Feel free to hammer the early downhills, before the temperature climbs into the triple digits. It’s a beautiful morning, the views are gorgeous, you feel great, so why not? Yes, there’s a lot more downhill to come, but come on, downhill means it’s easy, right?

6. When more experienced friends invite you to cool off in the stream at the bottom of Devil’s Thumb, don’t do it, even though you feel like an overcooked, somewhat mushy noodle at that point. Your reasoning is sound: You might get blisters if your shoes get wet. Surely, heat stroke is preferable to a bit of foot pain!

7. Don’t bother with food. The very thought sounds unappealing. You’re way too hot to eat anything. Ignore any advice to change your approach to race nutrition. You know what you’re doing. You can absorb nutrients from the air, like a plant. The aid station volunteers and crew members who remind you to keep drinking, and to keep taking in calories, do not do this out of the goodness of their hearts. They’re not concerned about your well-being. They’re closet sadists. They enjoy seeing you suffer.

8. When the sun finally sets, and you have made it to the shady, invitingly runnable California Street section of the course, try to take advantage of the improved conditions. Feel sudden, searingly intense pain gripping your thighs only minutes later. Realize that your quads are shot. You can’t figure out why. You can’t run another step. Whine, whimper, and complain about this to your poor pacer until she is sick of hearing about it and shuts you up by forcing margarita-flavored clif bloks down your throat.

9. After you finish, almost an hour off your goal time, collapse on the infield of Pacer High school. Feel humbled. Feel grateful. Feel intensely alive. Laugh. Cry. Hug everyone in sight. They won’t mind that you smell like someone who has been out running for almost 25 hours. Fall asleep at random, inopportune moments, like while thanking your crew, your friends, and your family members for putting up with you.

10. Resolve to repeat the same mistakes in the unlikely event your name gets drawn again. Consider adding a few more. This will keep your races, and your blog posts, so much more interesting.