The Canyons Endurance Runs by UTMB 100 Mile Race Report
Just over a week ago, I completed my first 100 mile ultra endurance race at the Canyons 100M race in Auburn, California, the Ultra-Trail du Mont Blanc (UTMB) World Major event for the U.S. Now simmering in mild post-race lethargy and reflecting on the intense ups and downs of the experience, I acknowledge the emotions intrinsically woven into the act of performing in this sport. The exquisite challenges faced and managed during a 100 mile race do not sit comfortably next to the banality of returning to everyday life. Punctuating this transition period is the physiological recovery, the body working hard to bring all systems back to equilibrium.
April had been a whirlwind with the opportunity to crew and pace my friend and coach, Will Weidman at the inaugural Southern States 200 (SS200) less than two weeks before Canyons. I had completed a 20-week training block tailored to tackling my first 100 that included long weekends in Shenandoah National Park training in the mountains. I repurposed Will's detail-oriented SS200 spreadsheet for race planning and mapped my nutrition and hydration strategy, crew plan, drop bags, and equipment list. However, I still wondered if it was all enough to successfully run 100 miles.
Will generously returned the favor and flew out to California to crew and pace me. We met up early Friday morning for a hand-off and went over the final race plan together and dialed in remaining details. I had met and spoken to Never Second CEO, Bill Armstrong at the expo the day before and decided to incorporate some of their products into my race nutrition plan last minute, accepting that it added potential risk. After the hand-off, my husband Travis drove me to the shuttle pick-up and within minutes, I was on a charter bus cruising north to the start at China Wall. Temperatures were in the upper 30s with light rain and I was grateful that the buses parked and provided shelter to the runners until 15 minutes before gun time.
At some point while sitting quietly on the bus, I decided to believe in myself and finish the 100 mile course unless something happened to prevent me. Any anxious thoughts were immediately replaced with excitement and anticipation and I walked up to the start line where the elites were congregated and socializing. A persistent rain began to fall as the announcer counted down from ten. 291 runners were released into the Sierra Nevada foothills to eventually reconvene in downtown Auburn. 186 made it to the finish line by foot the following day.
Running felt effortless at first and I was immersed in the dreary beauty of the scenery unfolding before me. I was completely focused on racing and following my process goals of running form, nutrition, hydration, running by effort, and aid station plans. I stopped for no photos and kept my phone tucked away in airplane mode for the entirety of the race. The first half of the course had the most steep descents and climbs, made more challenging by the mud. I took one fall while descending 1,642 ft in 1.6 miles to swinging bridge, where a volunteer marked our bibs and sent us right back up the way we came, dodging descending runners moving much faster on the narrow, muddy switchbacks. I was grateful to have my poles with me for the first sections of the race to add stability, but regretted not training much with them to refine my technique.
I was happy to see Will and Travis at the first crewed aid station, Michigan Bluff, at mile 23.6. We did a quick turnaround replacing flasks, eating half of a salted avocado, replacing gels, and heading out with a pb&j in a ziplock bag. The next section went smoothly and I was optimistic as I ran without much effort on the slight downhill road section into Foresthill aid station at mile 29.5 where I again saw my crew. I would not see Travis again until he finished the 100k race the next evening. I changed my wet top, switched out flasks and gels, dropped my poles, geared up for nighttime, and Will convinced me to eat an entire salted avocado. The day still felt young at 2:30 p.m., I felt relatively fresh, and I was an hour ahead of schedule.
Soon after leaving Foresthill and reentering single-track, I found myself running the same pace as another runner, who's name I don't recall, but who was friendly and had run Canyons and Western States before. We quietly shared the next four or five miles together, him in the lead, until I pulled over for a nature break. I would see him again with his pacer in the last quarter of the race at an aid station where he spotted me and walked over for a high five. Also during this section, I fell into conversation with another runner taking on his first 100, Eijai from San Francisco. I enjoyed the company until I fell behind on the steep climb up to Cal 2 aid station at mile 37.8.
The volunteers at Cal 2 informed us that another thunderstorm would arrive shortly with impending nightfall and then clear up. I took some extra time here to put my rain jacket back on, secure my headlamp, and eat some hot noodle broth and a quesadilla wedge. I think it was this stretch which had a substantial water crossing with a nylon rope stretched across for balance. I made it to the next aid station, Drivers Flat at mile 47.1 about 30 minutes behind schedule and just before sunset. I was happy to see Will and we changed shoes, socks, buff, and into a long-sleeve top. Will had brought me some tasty french fries and I also grabbed a couple more quesadilla wedges from the aid station.
The next three aid stations were in the dark and I could feel the fatigue accumulating. I heard a familiar voice behind me and soon I was running on fire roads with Eijai again. He was optimistic and encouraging in his calculations that we would definitely finish under 24 hours at our current pace. I fell behind again on a surprisingly technical steep climb up to No Hands 1 aid station at mile 59.3 and wished I had my poles. I was inspired by curiosity at this point. What if I could finish this thing in under 24 hours?
I reached the next crewed aid station, Cool 1 at mile 62.2 at 12:39 a.m. It was getting colder. I put my rain pants over my shorts and changed into a dry rain jacket. I was concerned that Will was cold waiting for me in the dark and exposed park, but I never heard him complain. He replenished my nutrition and hydration setup, handed me a protein shake, a toothbrush and toothpaste, and asked if I wanted to know what place I was in, to which I refused. I grabbed another cup of noodle broth and some small hot morsel before heading back out into the darkness.
I ran the next 12 mile loop alone. The only aid was minimal, a man with his truck offering water and Tailwind. My primary headlamp was fading and I began to strain to see the trail in front of me. I hesitated to stop and replace it due to momentum. Like my headlamp, my energy and morale was growing dimmer. I realized that it would make things easier, so I stopped and switched to my spare headlamp shortly before passing a female runner with her pacer who was visibly struggling through this section. I said something kind and pressed on. A few miles from concluding this loop, the trail led into a swamp. There was no confusing the course since the trail markings, white ribbons, were meticulously tied to overhanging branches every two feet directly through the swampy water crossing. The cold water went up to my knees and the mud sucked each step deep into a suction grip. The next miles were low lying and muddy, punctuated with large puddles. This section was mentally challenging. I entered the Cool 2 aid station at mile 74.4 from the opposite direction as before some time around 3:30 a.m.
Somehow Will spotted me, another headlamp teetering into camp. I immediately requested fresh clothes, socks, and the relatively drier shoes from earlier and locked myself in a rustic bathroom stall, for which I was grateful. Shivering, I slowly peeled off wet layers, managed to pop and drain a large blister on my left inner foot, and just as slowly put warmer layers on. Will knocked on the door, likely concerned that I had passed out. I assured him that I was just moving slowly and shortly after emerged. Despite feeling cold, exhausted, and calorie deficient, the surrounding scene exacerbated the feeling of desperation.
Increasingly unable to effectively regulate my body temperature, I sat down by a space heater under the aid station tent. There were runners huddled there in different stages of bad condition, some tending to feet that looked mummified with layers of tape, others deflecting volunteers insistence that they leave within a specified amount of time. A man with hypothermia was wrapped in a sleeping bag next to me, tended to by three volunteers who were removing his shoes, and trying to soothe him as an ambulance approached. Will removed his only outer layer, a rain jacket, and put it over my shoulders as he handed me a cup of hot broth and noodles. I tried to control my hand from shaking too much while I sipped the broth. We had to get out of here. He managed to procure more broth and a piece of tape to cover my blister, gather all of the crew supplies from the field, replace my headlamp battery, get himself geared up for pacing the next 26 miles, replace my nutrition and hydration supplies, and be level-headed and composed the entire time while not allowing the slightest possibility that I might have the option to DNF.
We escaped. We were moving slowly. The second time in less than two weeks that we were running together at night into the sunrise when one of us felt better than the other. Time seemed to pass faster than before even though each mile took longer than previous splits. He finally told me that I was in the top ten, which motivated me to push. As dawn broke, I calmly asked him if he thought I was borderline hypothermic. We took our time at the next three aid stations, miles 78.5, 84, and 91.6. We would roll in and he would hand me food. Mini pancakes, broth with noodles, cola, repeat. Little by little, my energy returned as the sun rose and the temperature warmed. After taking Tylenol at mile 91.6, I felt considerably better. We began to run some sections.
Around mile 93, the female I had passed during the night loop passed me with a new pacer. She was moving well. About mile 96.5, we passed her on the descent to No Hands bridge, the final struggle for 7th place. She took off on the final climb up to Auburn and passed us again. I didn't have the gear left to pursue. The final two miles blended 50k runners with 100 milers and we all couldn't wait to get back to Auburn. I tried to get Will to do a "Zach Miller UTMB sprint" with me to the finish line, but he jokingly requested that I didn't drop him in the final yards of the race, so we slowly rolled across the line at 1:20 p.m. I completed my first 100 miler in 28:20:03. Not under 24 hours, but not the DNF that it likely would have been without the exceptional efforts of Will at the Cool 2 aid station. I finished 8th female and first in my age group, securing my entry to the 2025 UTMB race in Chamonix, France.
Lessons Learned
Ultra endurance races are truly a team sport. It is possible to run ultra distances as a solo runner, without a crew or pacer, likely more so with experience. However, I learned in my first 100 and during Will's 200 miler in mid-April that a good crew can make or break your race. When you are in an incredibly low place during a race and it feels next to impossible to complete the series of small tasks necessary to continue, having a good crew is a priceless advantage. Who you choose to crew and pace matters just as much. Pick someone with whom you communicate well who believes in your ability to perform, and who, barring medical emergencies, doesn't allow room for disbelief.
Find comfort in the mutual joy, suffering, and hope of others. I took solace in the miles temporarily shared with other runners whether or not it involved conversation or just moving together quietly through nature. Everyone faces unique challenges during an event of this length. There is opportunity for mutual respect, camaraderie, and embracing a community of people who share the desire for self growth in this way.
Areas for Improvement
Preparing for UTMB next summer, I need to build strength and resilience for sustained steep climbs and technical descents. I wished that I had incorporated more training with poles ahead of Canyons. There is much room for improvement in technique and muscle strengthening in my lats and arms for sustained climbs with poles. Although I did a lot of strong descents during training, my quads were still very sore in the last quarter of Canyons. I plan to add more downhill training, repeats on technical and steep climbs and descents, and even more strength training in my next training blocks.
Conclusion
I am grateful for the opportunity to train for and race my first 100 mile race supported by a crew and pacer and recognize that it is a privileged opportunity. I achieved self growth and reaffirmed belief in what I am capable of. I strengthened a friendship and forged connections with strangers. I recognize room for improvements and have the ambition to pursue them, and I accept that I did my best on this effort.