2025 Canyons 100k
My finest average day
The Canyons 100k begins far too early in the morning, with a delightful 40-minute bus ride at 3:00 am. I was sitting next to my good friend Erin Clark, and we calmed our pre-race nerves by eavesdropping on a very loud pair of runners chatting away next to us (what else is there to do at 3:00 am?). We heard everything from wild workout ideas to questionable race tactics and more. At one point, these runners mentioned goal times near the cutoff. Erin and I looked at each other, and we talked about how we were really happy our races wouldn’t take nearly 20 hours. We both aimed to run fast and win the dang thing if we could. So as our bus pulled up to the start line (JK it drove past the start line and almost got stuck turning around), we shared a Precision 90 gel and looked out into the dark and snow, mentally preparing for battle. We had both heat-trained but were happy to run in a snow squall under the glow of a headlamp, like we were back home in Montana.
The race started out quick, clicking off sub-6 minute miles on the dirt road leaving China Wall. I followed behind someone whom I named “the road runner” in my head. I have no clue who it was or if he was a road runner, but he took off right away and I had no desire to catch up to him. He looked like he was fast, but road fast. Another road-looking person (this is a thing, right?) passed me and ran ahead. I was curious what would happen when we hit the trails. Adam Merry also pulled ahead, and it was the four of us that led the charge onto the trails. There was a massive line of men behind us. Right away, I had to pass one of the “road guys” because he looked really unsteady on the trails. It was snowing and raining, and everything was wet. The singletrack mixed between flowy and chunky, and over the next few miles, I heard several screams coming out of the darkness - ankles were rolling. Besides those pained yells, I didn’t hear a word for close to 10 miles. Later, Rod would describe the start as “tense”. I couldn’t agree more.
On the first climb, I moved into the lead and quickly put a bit of time onto the group behind me. I was fairly certain this was just because of a bottleneck, and I peeked back on a switchback to see a train of people coming up on my heels. It was so cool. We were eight or nine miles in, and there were what looked like 15 guys in an unbroken line. By the first aid station at Deadwood, my good friend and training partner Jackson Cole and I led the charge on the descent to Swinging Bridge. Then I quickly stopped leading the charge as five or six people cruised past me. I had to pee, and a few more slipped by. I was trying to win this race, but I didn’t stress. I knew I could get back to where I needed to be. Happily, my pee break ended with me running with Rod Farvard, and I spoke the first friendly words of my morning. We chatted briefly, it was really nice to break the silence and bring some levity to, as he described, quite a tense morning.
As I neared the turnaround, I was fired up to see Jackson leading the race. If there was anyone I was ok with beating me, it was him! When it was my time to start climbing, I couldn’t help but notice that I felt lackluster. Not bad, but not good. Effort felt a bit higher than I wanted, my legs felt so-so, and I strained a bit to keep up with Rod. On the climb back to Deadwood, I passed a few people and got passed by a few. I left Deadwood running with Grant Barnette. These were some of my favorite miles. I coach Grant and knew how hard he’d been working in prep for this race. So, make that two people I’d be ok with beating me: Jackson and Grant. We stopped for a pee break, and my new Australian bud Michael Dimuantes caught up, followed shortly by Hannes Namberger and Rod. Hannes dropped us like a sack of bricks, then a mile or so later, so did Michael. It was Rod, Grant, and I running together for several miles of cold, rainy descending. My muscles felt a little achy, so I opted not to push the downhills. There were a LOT more of those to come, so I made the plan to bide my time until mile 25 or 30, around Michigan Bluff or Foresthill. Then the descending would really begin, and I wanted legs.
Grant dropped me on the climb up Michigan Bluff, and by the time we got to the aid station, Rod was right with me. I still didn’t feel I was climbing well, but I accepted it and didn’t panic. Instead, I began what were to be my greatest aid station transitions of all time. I took off my raincoat as I approached Michigan Bluff, took off my vest, and dropped them on the ground right before I got to Madison. She held out a loaded vest, which I grabbed on the fly while shouting “I love you, happy birthday!” and put the vest on while running away. It should be noted that Madison was up before dawn, crewing me on her birthday for the second year in a row. She is an angel. She even put up with me practicing vest handoffs, which I do say paid off. The race organizers had mandated a cold-weather kit, so I had each vest fully loaded with all of the required gear (I carried a flip phone and headlamp with extra batteries in my belt because I did not have duplicates of these). So with that quick transition, I left Michigan Bluff ahead of Rod and ahead of Michael.
We would all jockey a bit on the short 45-minute stretch to Foresthill. Running up Bath Road, Grant, Mikey, and I ran three abreast. Rod was just behind us. As the climb mellowed, I felt my legs start to come alive a bit more. The closer the terrain was to flat, the better I felt. I picked up the pace a bit and started dropping Grant and Michael, just as Grant was having some cramping/hamstring issues. I hoped I’d be seeing him again soon. I went into Foresthill with a bit of a gap on those guys and did another pack swap without breaking stride. My coach, John Fitzgerald, ran near me for a few steps, and I told him, “I feel solid, I’m just getting started.” This was entirely true, not a “I’ll pretend I’m ok but I’m not ok” kind of moment. I opened up my stride and caught Jupiter Carera-Casas within a mile. As I descended the beginning miles of the fast Cal Street section, I glanced back and saw Michael. For the next few miles, I kept pushing harder and harder because I really wanted to stop seeing him when I looked back. Finally, I could tell I’d gotten a bigger gap, and I told myself to stop looking back. I needed to look forward.
Cal Street seems to go on forever. You wind and wind around drainages, trending downhill on fast singletrack but punctuated with tight switchbacks and grunty climbs. The rain had poison oak drooping all over the trail. I felt a bit lost on this section until I heard some cheers. I checked my watch. A minute later, more cheers. There was an aid station up ahead. By the time I got there, I checked my watch again to realize that there must be two people ahead of me, four minutes and five minutes respectively. It was five miles or so to the river. I quickly topped off a bottle and vowed to catch them by the time I got to Rucky Chucky.
On the final descent down to and then along the river, I felt great. It was easy to click off sub 7-minute miles. But I also knew that I had hardly drank any water and my fueling was slowing. I wasn’t sure how much longer the good times would last. Soon, I came across Dylan Bowman, and he filmed me for a bit. He also gave me some great beta: Jackson was 2-3 minutes ahead of me, Hannes 1-2 minutes ahead of Jackson. Hell yeah! The podium was in sight. The bummer was, I wanted to beat everyone except Jackson. I pushed to catch those guys, hoping that if I caught Jackson, he would come with me and get a Golden Ticket. It wasn’t long before I did come across Jackson, who unfortunately, was moving quite slowly. He didn’t say much as I passed, offered some words of encouragement, and tried to get him to come with me. It’s weird passing your training buddy 45 miles into a race and not waiting with them and helping them through a tough patch. But we both knew this was a race, and I quickly readjusted my sights on Hannes.
I hit the climb up Driver’s Flat Road and finally caught a glimpse of Hannes. He was maybe 90 seconds ahead of me. I still felt a bit draggy on the climbs, but mentally I felt quite fresh (maybe because at this point I was taking 100+mg of caffeine every hour). I got only one peek of Hannes before I was back in no man’s land. By the top of the Driver’s Flat Road climb, my mental clarity left me. I think my lack of calories and lack of fluids to help me digest those calories was catching up to me. I felt a bit woozy as I ran into Driver’s Flat aid station at mile 47. I saw Madison and again did a pack swap without breaking stride. I yelled, “Thanks! Love you!” as she yelled, “45 seconds to Hannes!”. FUCK, it was on. But also FUCK, I felt like I was running on empty. The transition from “feeling good” to “no good” happened fast. All I wanted was a glimpse of Hannes, something to attach myself to and work towards. But I never saw him. Instead, I started passing 50k runners. So even if I did see Hannes, I probably didn’t know it was him.
Over the next 15 miles, Hannes would end up putting another five minutes into me. I felt like I was unraveling a bit mentally. My fueling slowed to a 30g carb gel with 100mg caffeine each hour, and sipping maybe 30g carbs each hour outside of that. For the effort I needed to go, that was not enough. I pushed as hard as I could and tried to dig deep to find another gear. It wasn’t quite there though. I figured if eating was hard, I’d at least see how far I could run on caffeine (lol). I started getting really worried that someone was coming up behind me. I looked behind me far too much. Eventually, I said ENOUGH, and willed every part of me to run like Hannes was right in front of me and I was passing. I wanted to get on that damned podium. (spoiler, I didn’t). But digging deep helped me stay in fourth place and fend off Ryan Montgomery, who eventually finished in fifth
I crossed the line in 8:38:01, tired and happy. And I felt…weirdly good? Like I had put in a hard effort, but nothing crazy. It was kinda nuts. I chatted with Western States race director Craig Thornely at the finish line and realized that had I not already had a Golden Ticket, he would be presenting me with one right then. For years, I wondered if I could ever get a ticket. My first attempt was eight years ago at the 2017 Lake Sonoma 50-mile. Fast forward to 2025 and there I was, feeling pretty damn decent at the end of a super competitive 100k, not even needing the Golden Ticket, having already earned one six months prior. This was a little surreal. It took eight years of grinding, but there I was not needing a ticket. For a day where I felt just “fine” and had to manage some funky hydration issues (too cold?! what?!) and the resulting fueling issues, this fourth-place finish may as well have been a first-place finish.
Going into this race, I aimed to run as close to eight hours as possible. I didn’t know if I could break eight, but I wanted to try. That would take a day where I felt fantastic and made no errors. On the first climb, I knew that day wasn’t coming. Aside from racing for the win, my next goal was to beat the winning time from the year before. I achieved that goal! And is so cool to me that Francesco Puppi ran an amazing race and ended up right around eight hours (8:04:36), a time that seemed so much faster than last year but absolutely possible. On the perfect day, I know I could have battled with Fran at the front. I am fired up thinking about what is possible at Western States.
This was so cool! Thanks for sharing.
What a great race and race report!! Gripping!