Black Canyon 100k
I have recently been writing and reminiscing about adventures happening long ago, in galaxies far far away. Today, I have the luxury of writing about a very recent event fresh in my mind and aching body, so I can more clearly relay what the experience was like for me. Race report blogs are generally rather boring, so I will attempt to illustrate the excitement of the race itself and make it about more than just the 8 hours I spent doing it.
In February of 2024 I flew down to Arizona to pace and crew my friend Tracen at the Black Canyon 100k, which was and still is a Golden Ticket Race for a coveted spot at Western States 100. It’s a shame that these days, every race is simply a stepping stone to a different race, which somewhat diminishes the results and triumphs of the day to a focus on a different day in the future. That being said, the Golden Ticket races draw wildly competitive fields hoping to leverage their current success into future success, forever and ever. 2024 I got a firsthand view of the new state of ultrarunning, pacing the entire second half of the 100k with Tracen. We got passed, we passed, we got passed, we passed, and we surged to a really fast 6th place finish among a group of 5 runners separated by no more than 3 minutes.
Crewing the marvelous Mr. Knopp at Black Canyon 100k 2024
I remember when as long as you could run the whole time at a 100k, you would podium. It seems like I’m aging myself, but this was only like 10 years ago. Nowadays course records fall weekly, and the following week there is a different event that everyone who wasn’t at the first event is at and causes everybody to forget about the first event for the sake of trying to focus on the second event, which is then forgotten about by the time of the third event, which takes place one week later than the second event (and so on). This creates a feeling that, as an athlete, one mustn’t dwell on a victory for too long lest you miss out on future victories.
Crewing the marvelous Mr. Knopp at Black Canyon 100k 2024
Be that as it may, I lined up at Black Canyon 100k 2025 in order to try for a podium and a Golden Ticket, because I am not immune to this ingenious marketing ploy by the Western States Board. At the same time, I was actually very excited for Black Canyon itself, a point-to-point 100k through the desert from Mayer, AZ to just north of Phoenix, AZ. I like running through deserts, what can I say. From a training perspective, I felt about as well-prepared as I could have been. After a 2024 of managing achilles pain the entire year, but still being able to run and even race frequently (although my results were all pretty mediocre, with the exception of a few events), I got a PRP injection in November and subsequently took a couple weeks off before a very good late December and January of training. It wasn’t the ideal 3-4 months I wanted to have, but I arrived feeling decently fit and most importantly uninjured.
With a world class crew of Adrienne (my lovely wifey), Travis (my amigo from Reno), and Beth (the lovely wifey of Travis (my amigo from Reno)), I got to the starting line at the Mayer High School track as the sun rose over the desert we would soon be streaking across. Breakfast, bib, jog, poop, make sure I have everything; a ritual as old as time. It seems to me that the longer the race distance, the less pre-race nerves I have. This race was commensurate with that feeling, as if the same amount of effort crammed into a 100-meter dash could be spread across 7-8 hours of the day. Almost as soon as I got my spot on the line, the gun went off and off we went.
Start line-high vibes
Around the track, onto the road, onto the dirt roads, the single track, more dirt roads. My pace hovered from 5:42/mile to 6:45/mile, on flat dirt roads and rolling singletrack. Miles passed quickly, chatting with friends from previous races and places. Atop a plateau of tablelands with the infinite Sonoran Desert stretched out in every direction, the massive group formed a line crowding the lands which seldom see anybody throughout the rest of the year. The sunrise eased upwards, bringing with it a warmth that seemingly invigorated everybody ahead. I found myself in a pack where I wanted to be, somewhere around 15-20th place with a view of the leaders not too far ahead. After the first aid station, the course descended by sweeping switchbacks down a canyon, narrow and fast, and one’s position was cemented he they took a risk of kicking a cactus by jumping around the person ahead of them. Towering saguaros, sharp and scratchy bushes and grass, evil and hidden prickly pears. My chatting grew less and less, as my effort to distract myself from the race could not keep up with the stressed and striving effort by the pack. I frequently looked behind me and ahead, at mile 16 still seeing an uncountable number of athletes stretching through the desert.
Mile 19.5 and the first big, crewed aid station at Deep Creek Ranch. In my haste and with the energy of the screaming crowd in every direction, I switched packs with my crew and stopped for zero seconds. Looking back, this was a mistake. The temperature was creeping up, I had been eating LOTS of gels and drink mix with LOTS of salt, and I was starting to fall behind on water. Right after this aid station was the first uphill of note the entire race, as the first 20 miles were a headlong downhill into the more complicate canyons near the Agua Fria River (Rest In Peace). I ran uphill well, and then ensued a long and flat, winding and rocky and cactusy, never-ending section in the sun. I passed a few runners and still saw the lead pack occasionally in the distance, so felt I was in the right spot. I wasn’t pushing too hard and was only a few minutes back. Then we went down to the first Agua Fria crossing, which if you didn’t ascertain by my RIP when mentioning it, was completely dry. The year before, I had waded knee deep through the river and ran through a vibrant and alive desert green with moss and flourishing plants and flowers. This year, the dead soil stared back at me with no mercy, as the water inside of me evaporated through my skin at much too quick a rate.
Halfway. This is where I planned to start pushing, to start cleaning up the runners ahead of me who had gone out too fast. Instead, it’s where I arrived bedraggled and burnt, thirsting for water and ice. My stomach was nauseous, I was overheated, and I had just been passed by several people that I had just passed earlier. 5 minutes back from the lead. Doused with water and ice, I chugged water and switched packs again. Off I went with Travis. I was still running, but it seemed the power was gone. I’m sure I was not the most fun running partner (ask Travis), as I was mostly quiet and slow. We were passed several times with no response by me, and I soon ran out of water again. I had been eating upwards of 100 grams of carbs every hour at this point, but couldn’t really eat much anymore. You know how sometimes you are choking, or are in a headlock, or in some other life-threatening condition? In that state, all you can think about is removing the food from your throat, or the arm around your neck, or whatever else. The same was true with my thirst; all I really cared about was getting water.
Black Canyon City, mile 36: this is where I may have saved my race. I took my time instead of flying in and out like a heedless moron, chugging water, filling bottles, shoving ice in my pack and arm sleeves and hat. I left revitalized, cold and un-thirsty (is that a word?). I knew I was too far back at this point to win, or probably even top 5, but I was suddenly having fun again. We ran the sweeping curves looking over the canyon of the Agua Fria, and for the first time since mile 15 I noticed what a spectacular place I was in. The canyon cut through the puzzled hills, an occasional cliff or towering spike of granite interrupting. Varied plant life clung to the hillsides, thriving despite the inhospitable world around them. I sympathized with them; they waited patiently for the day water came drizzling from the heavens, at which point they greedily slurped at the soil to satisfy themselves for the next long wait.
We descended down to the Agua Fria again, where a very angry lady stood with her arms crossed. “Are there any more runners coming from behind you?” she squeaked, her lonely desert sojourn interrupted by hordes of smelly and salty runners. “Only about a thousand more,” I replied, taking joy in her aggravation. “Whaah!” she answered.
Up the biggest climb of the day, which is rather small but at this point took a rather long time. Now I encountered zombies, one after another, staggering in the heat and sun, the remnants of the pack ahead that had been left behind by the furious pace and the unyielding sun. Each pass gave me a little more energy, and I finally crested the hill into the barren lands of miles 40-50. I had no idea what position I was in the race, how many people were ahead or behind. Travis and I ran through canyon after canyon, kicking rocks and sucking down gels and water and waiting for the next aid station. Again I completely iced myself, chugged water, and began running a little faster. The last aid station arrived quicker than expected, friends and smiling faces welcoming me. Cooling, icing, ice bandana, water, switch back, the last 10 miles ahead.
Cooling down (photo cred Matt Shapiro, the hero)
I ran the last 10 miles pretty well, passing a few more people, and finished with a lot of energy and a feeling of completeness. It could just be my lack of experience the last ~6 years at these longer distances, but it felt like I was never really racing the second half. I didn’t care whether I got passed, or passed others, just that I kept moving forward. I’m not sure if this is how it just is, but the shorter races I’ve been running the last several years have had quite a difference. Maybe it was just the sun. Regardless, I was happy to finish and happy to have had a decent result (14th place, 8:10). I have discovered through the course of my career that being mad at missing goals at races is useless. Enjoying the goodness instead of only the greatness has made me a lot happier in general.
Not that I had much time to think about anything. I immediately got driven to the Phoenix airport and made my flight 10 minutes before it took off. Back home, back to daily life without the heightened and frenzied hours of racing. The transition is always weird, one moment wishing to give up racing and start fishing more, the next moment sheepishly looking at Ultrasignup wondering what to race next. All I know is that I did a better job at enjoying the race in the moment than I ever have, and that feels good. Looking forward to the next thing may just be the human way.
Things I did well
Racing within myself but within eyeshot of the front for the first half. I do think that to compete at races like this, you kind of have to run a little too fast the first half. I think I gauged it right.
Eating enough. I took in SiS gels (40g carbs each), Hyperlyte, and Tailwind. I had more than enough nutrition to keep up the running throughout the day.
Crew. They helped me so much, seriously. Cooling and having everything ready at 20, 30, and 50 kept me from shriveling up and living amongst the rocks with the lizards.
Things I would Change
Training. A longer block, and one with more flat running at higher intensity. I trained pretty well, but Black Canyon requires so much flat and rolling running that I really needed to work on running economy.
Cooling. I would have started icing much earlier, at mile 15, and I would have drank much more water the first half. I drank too much Hyperlyte (tons of salt) without enough water, so got pretty dehydrated.
Competitiveness. I’m not sure how, but being in more of a racing mindset the second half would’ve helped.
