Canyons 100k, April 29, 2023
Four weeks out from Canyons 100k, a day that would see me complete a distance of 65.4 miles in 18 hours and 52 minutes on a 10,696-foot profile, I peaked with 90 miles per my coach Kris Brown’s plan, brought it down to 70 in the next, and started to feel my meniscus talk without delving into real pain.
Canyons would be my second approach to the distance after finishing my first at Timberjack 100k in September 2021, so I knew what it would take to do another one, though on a much more dramatic profile and totally without the benefits of the chillier temperatures one finds in Bend, Oregon in mid-fall.
The pain was of course a less-than-ideal development, so I opted for extra safe and backed off to just hike and workout going into game day. Running outranks most things in my life, so the call was tough, but pushing through under-trained hardship has better odds for completion over pulling injured weight over long distances, making the decision a smart one.
I knew doubling up with a compression sleeve and my Zamst brace has done me well in the past, so I went in with both, caught great sleep the two nights before, and no shortage of positive and supportive energy from friends and family before race day.
The day came, my cousin Jason drove me to the shuttle drop-off, where I was early enough to be the very first person there, which I took as a good sign.
The jitters were with me going in, as expected, and I caught even more happy-race-day vibes from many a fellow runner and my first time meeting and chatting a bit with Tim Tollefson himself, a dynamite individual in every way.
We got going, and I held back with a strategy of keeping to under 15-minute miles on a very demanding profile and a day that delivered on a promise of reaching and staying over 90 degrees for much of the race.
After quite a bit of climb at the get-go, mile 20 onward saw long stretches of totally flat single-lane trail through ferns and trees without end, brilliantly green and fantastic cover from the sun overhead. The dappled light and humidity without discomfort were nice to be around, and I cruised at a relaxed pace and loved every moment of the easy effort through beautiful wilderness.
10 hours and 7 minutes in my knee felt sensitive, but also could have been in my head, and proved to be nothing that threatened to stop me, since pure, garden-variety fatigue was the greater concern at this volume, and certainly kept growing.
Still, I kept to my plan of taking in calories every half hour, alternating between gels and half a CLIF bar (the Builders bars have 20 grams of protein each, and getting that in with the carbs and sugar and great flavoring kept me in a great space), and hydrating between hydrating and hydrating some more.
The heat kept coming, but to me never felt intolerable, even when I heard a police officer at a road crossing talking to her partner about how her shoes were sinking into asphalt gone soft.
Growing up in southern California comes with an abundance of advantages, and getting used to warm weather is one of the best gifts I get as a runner, since it means I don’t have any real seasons to worry about, and I can recognize and keep moving through some of the harsher numbers that come in summer.
Even so, the sheer workload was excessive, grandiose, unreasonable, and every other word you can use to describe this type of event. Which, naturally, made it exactly what I signed up for, and kept me moving towards finishing what I started.
I kept texting with my family, Kris, and friends, letting them know how I was doing and getting plenty of inspiration in return.
After the Mile 99 Interview podcast’s aid station at Mammoth Bar at mile 41, I was told the next 3 miles would see over 2,000 feet of climb, and that the body count was very high due to the heat. I took all of this to heart, changed into the wonderfully dry shirt I’d sent to this spot in my drop bag, and pressed on.
At mile 44 I saw helicopters circling overhead, which felt like home in Los Angeles.
I then came up to a young man standing next to his friend laying on his side on the ground. He did not look well, but I was told the medics were the ones in the air and would be on the way shortly. There wasn’t much I could do but wish them well, and I hope everyone came out of this event in good health.
The Drivers Flat aid station was one of the biggest incentives pushing me through one of the hardest days I’ve experienced so far. I don’t need much, but when offered I asked my family to bring one of my favorite foods to the last aid station where they could do so: a 3-patty In-N-Out burger with grilled onions. This magical collection of protein, carbs, and podium-flavoring is always welcome here, but I can’t overstate how much I wanted this piece of heaven after the effort I’d turned in to get to this point.
However, though the map positioned Drivers Flat at mile 48, reality kept distance between me and my goal. And with a cutoff of 7:30, I was watching time and distance with increasingly serious eyes.
I brought this up to a couple of runners I crossed paths with, and they voiced the same concerns, as well as more than a few expressing the desire to drop out once they got there. This was a growing theme as the day progressed, which did well to center me in the facts that nothing is promised, things could very well take a turn for the worst, and to stay fluid and focused over anything else.
Finally, Drivers Flat came within sight at 7:20 p.m. and 49.75 miles behind me.
I ran it in, elated to embrace my family as they got up to hug me and ask what I needed to keep going. Chelsea walked over with a burger that was all but glowing and floating in my eyes, so this was a very easy question to answer, but I was even more grateful to find my second cousins Naomi, Lily, and Caleb had made signs for me. I was moved and endlessly thankful to have all of them in this moment with me, and Caleb read his sign to me in the little time he had to do so. His words were full of encouragement that I could complete the race, to stay engaged, and keep going no matter what. I gave him my full attention as he read his beautiful message to me, even as one of the staff members said I had three minutes to keep going. It is essential we give young people priority when they express themselves in honest ways, and I’m always going to do so to the best of my abilities. Caleb’s words landed right where they were needed, and I told him it meant everything to me, and to keep writing, no matter what. I then gave my heartfelt appreciation and love to everyone before I turned back to the trail, and proceeded to wolf down what is likely the best burger I’ve had in my life so far.
Night came on fairly quickly after this. I ran out of water, unfortunately, but knowing the next aid station was waiting at a reasonable distance away made it a secondary concern over real worry.
I did come across another runner at mile 56 who was dry-heaving loudly and, though he could keep moving forward at a hobble, told me he couldn’t hold down food. I didn’t have water to give him, but I let him know I would let everyone at the next aid station know about him and send back help. I did just that, and on the way came across another runner on the trail who said he was going to DNF as well.
This was an incredibly difficult day for runner out there, and as I was leaving the last big aid station for the home stretch I saw even more people who were very hesitant to get out of their chairs. I’m very grateful that I could keep going, and that I did not sit down the entire time, especially with how close I got to getting DQed myself.
The last few miles saw me pushing hard with split and effort calculations racing through my mind as the climbs kept coming. Even with only a few miles left this course does not let up, but the beauty of the stars above me and wildlife that included bats, millipedes, and even a deer crashing through the trees kept me in adventure mode, committed to everything the day and night had to bring, and meeting it all with a willing heart.
As my feet found asphalt in the neighborhoods surrounding the finish line I kept shouting to each volunteer, “How much more?” and they’d tell me it was within reach, “Just keep pace, go, you’ve got this!”
I appreciated the sentiment, but still knew I was cutting it very close. I opened up as much as I could on the downgrades, met the absurdity of even more hills with gusto, and finally rounded the last turn to the finish line.
My friends at the finish line hollered my name as I sprinted it in, wholly in the zone. I threw my trekking poles and shouted a few things, overcome with the astonishment that it’s actually over, the task completed, the day done and done well. I was taken care of wonderfully by my people, who brought calories and a seat (my first of the day) and more water.
I learned loads from this experience, the headline being that I know nothing about racing ultras and have everything to learn about the benefits of truly sustainable paces at these distances, as opposed to trying to make particular times happen under the demands of these events. I try to approach everything as a student first, and I love the process of digging into more of what I can bring to the table in the way of physical and mentality dexterity.
I’ll also say the HOKA Challenger 7 GTEX was a major win for the day, the Invisible Fit feature effecting a wonderful gaiter without a gaiter, as you can see from socks that look untouched at the end of the day. The porous nature of the material kept me from ever feeling overheated as well, which I know can be a concern, and major shoutouts to the GORE TEX and HOKA for including recycled fabrics in the mix, which can always be useful for both sides of a product’s lifespan.
I am endlessly grateful to my family, friends, Kris and everyone at Chaski Endurance Collective, the incredible teams at HOKA, Canyons Endurance Runs, and UTMB, all my fellow runners, and Auburn Bodega, one of my favorite restaurants in the world and that has to be visited if you’re ever in the area.
