It was the spring of this year, and quickly getting hotter.  It was now or never.  It was time to go back and do what I had attempted to do in the winter, and failed at–run a 50 mile race through the Wild Azalea Trail.  Notably, my attempt earlier in the year was hot on the heels of near-perfect training.  I had followed a training plan religiously, done the whole self-care regimen, honed in my nutrition, and regularly checked in with a physical therapist to make sure everything was working the way it should.   When race day arrived, I failed miserably.  As in, I barely got started.  I had three…