We're going to Chamonix 🏔🥳🏃🏼♀️
The Canyons Endurance Runs 100 Mile race was more than I could have ever imagined or asked for. Sub-26hr, 9th Female, and an automatic entry to UTMB 2023!
(Dear friends: This post got really long. It’s as much a keepsake and record of the experience for me as it is a blog for anyone else, so if you trail off and decide to bail, that is a-okay! But there are some nuggets of love throughout if you want them🧡)
This past weekend, I went to Auburn, California to run the inaugural Canyons Endurance Runs 100 Mile race.
(First, a brief rundown of how the UTMB series/qualifying/lottery system works and why this race was so meaningful. If you already know or don’t care, skip on down for the race recap and reflection! 👇)
The Canyons 100K has been a widely popular race for some time now, because it offers “golden tickets” into the Western States Endurance Run 100 for the top two male and female finishers. Top competitors from around the world come for a chance to win their spot at WSER.
And this year, Canyons added a 100 mile distance.
Sponsored by Hoka and the UTMB franchise, Canyons was named the North American “Major” race of the year for the UTMB series. (If this sounds confusing, you’re not alone. 😅)
Like most big races, UTMB has a lottery system for getting in.
In order to enter the lottery, you must have a “UTMB index,” which is basically just a profile on their website. But to get an index, you have to run a UTMB index (essentially “qualifying”) race. Bighorn 100 was one of those, so after finishing that last year, I got an index.
Once you have an index, you have to collect running “stones” at other UTMB-backed races. These stones act as tickets into the lottery, and the more you have, the better shot you have at getting chosen.
Because Canyons was UTMB’s chosen North American “Major” race for this year, finishers were awarded double stones for each race distance. This meant the 100 mile, which typically awards finishers 4 stones, would give me 8. Knowing UTMB was a goal, this made Canyons extra appealing.
But as this year’s Major, Canyons also awarded automatic entry into UTMB to the top 10 male and female finishers in the 100 mile distance.
I had absolutely zero expectation—except in my wildest dreams—that I might have a shot at earning one of those spots. But I had hopes I could finish the race, earn my eight stones, and have a pretty good shot at being pulled in the lottery for UTMB 2024.
Apparently my friends Madison and Jeff gave each other a look when they found out I was running and shrugged, “Maybe she’ll get a spot!” I laughed out loud when Madison told me they’d said that. No fucking way, I said.
And somehow, some way, that’s exactly what happened.
It was the race of a lifetime, and I’m still processing it.
A few weeks prior to the race, UTMB sent an announcement that they’d had to change the original course due to the abnormally high snowpack in the Sierras. Instead of 100 miles with about 24,000’ of climbing and a standard 36-hour cutoff, they’d rerouted it to be 100 miles with 17,000’ of climbing, and lowered the cutoff to 32 hours accordingly.
This scared me a bit.
I ran Bighorn in just over 35 hours last summer, leaving me about 55min of wiggle room before facing final cutoff and a potential DNF.
It was my first 100, so I had nothing to base expectations on. In the back of my mind, I hoped to run it in under 30 hours, but my true goal was just to finish in one piece before the cutoff.
I was a bit disappointed with close-to-cutoff finish, but again, I had nothing from which to craft realistic expectations.
It was also god awful hot (like, 98 degrees in full sun exposure kind of hot), the course included miles and miles of ankle-deep sloshy mud and snow, and I battled GI issues the entirety of the night and over the long 18mi downhill section that should have helped me make up time instead of lose it to 💩ing in bushes every 20 minutes. Any sub-30 hopes I had early in the race disappeared in favor of a “Let’s just get this done” mindset.
And I was so proud when I did finish it. I rode that high for days.
Going into Canyons, knowing Bighorn had been a battle and still took 35 hours to complete, I genuinely worried about the 32-hour cutoff—even knowing that this course was more runnable and that the weather should be milder, even if only by a little.
My highest hope was to finish the race in one piece after IT issues cropped up off and on this spring and threatened to derail past races.
And a smaller, but still real, part of me hoped that maybe I could run it in under 30 hours. But I went in with curiosity and gratitude for every few miles I could cover from the start.
I didn’t know if I’d even be able to finish, so every “milestone” I made it to (10, then 15, then 30) felt like a mini-celebration.
I had no idea what kind of day was in store for me.
The race began at 9:00am PST, in downtown Auburn. The mild forecast of 60-70 degree temps shifted to 85+, and it was already warm as we all gathered in the chute.
I lined up behind my girls Heather Brooks and Amy Fiedler, shook out my legs, chatted with the racers around me. Then Heather turned around and we gave each other the “Let’s do it” look, the countdown started, and we took off through the historic streets that so many WSER legends have traversed before.
The course started with a mile or so on the neighborhood streets before hitting the Western States trail and descending straight down to the famous “No Hands Bridge” where the first aid station was.
After No Hands, we hit a steep ascent (lovingly called “K2”) on our way to the town of Cool, where our second and third aid would be. I came through Cool and got to see my crew—including Ally Alden, my dear friend from college, and my cousins Mike and Charlotte—for the first time, where they greeted me with giant smiles.
I headed out for the 8-mile Olmstead loop before coming back through Cool at mile 14.5 around 12pm, 3hrs in. Ally gave me ice cold Gatorade (nectar of the gods) and I took the time to clean and tape my feet because they were starting to get hot spots.
I left Cool feeling hungry and excited, headed to the Browns Bar aid. Unfortunately, the Browns Bar aid was pretty chaotic, and a lot of early race leaders got turned around and ran as much as 9.5 miles off-course after leaving Browns going the wrong way due to poor flagging and lack of direction from aid volunteers.
After seeing Heather’s coach and Scarpa athlete Gabe Joyes run back toward me on the trail after discovering he’d gone the wrong way for over an hour, I took my time at every single intersection, even going so far as to wait for other runners to catch up so we could problem-solve and pick the right trail together. (Sadly, Gabe dropped out shortly after running an extra 9.5mi and losing a lot of places in the race. He was having a great day until then.)
We headed to the ALT aid, then back through Browns Bar, then up a long stretch of uphill asphalt road before dropping down into the Auburn State Recreation area where the Mammoth Bar aid was. Situated on the bank of the American River, and handing out fresh quesadillas and soda, the Mammoth aid might have been my favorite of the course. It was unassumingly epic, and the quesadilla was the best thing I’ve ever eaten.
From there, we started the long climb up to Drivers Flat at mile 48.3, the first time we’d see crew since leaving Cool over 34 miles ago.
I’d kept my phone on airplane mode until this point, trying to save battery and not distract myself with texting, but turned it on to ask Ally for some things I needed at Drivers Flat.
In flooded the texts, including a group message with Ally and my family saying that I was 20th female.
I was first surprised and thought Ally must’ve meant I was 20th in my age group, but realized soon that I was actually 20th female overall. While that was really exciting, no part of me thought I had a chance at climbing into the top 10, especially with over half the race left.
So I carried on doing what I’d been doing from the start: Pushing forward without pushing too hard, but taking care not to waste any unnecessary time. Slowing down and walking when I needed to, and running when I wanted and could.
And reveling in it all.
The beauty of this course really shocked me. I’m a bit of a biased snob about the Montana/Idaho/Wyoming/Colorado Rocky Mountains, and I assume other places just aren’t as stunning.
I was wrong.
While the Auburn hills aren’t as drastic and rugged as the mountains at home, they have a mystical, graceful beauty to them that kept me in awe all day Friday and Saturday.
Some wild combination of red Moab-esque dirt, and almost unbelievably lush green fields, this area felt like a dream. We ran through sage, and desert wildflowers, and giant deciduous trees overflowing with full leaves, and fields of purple lupine, and stands of lilac trees that hung like fairy lights over the trail.
And it all smelled so, so good.
I don’t remember where, but at some point I took this selfie because I was so incredibly grateful, joyful, and in my element that I started crying just a bit while jogging along the American River, sipping a 7 Up that tasted like heaven.
As I made my way from Mammoth Bar to Drivers Flat, we hit one of the longer climbs in the race, gaining about 2,188’ over 8mi to make it to our crew.
I’d put “out of sight, out of mind” the face that I was, or had been sometime recently, in 20th place, and carried on in my own world toward Drivers Flat and the onset of dusk.
But when we hit that long climb, up a gorgeous, red dirt trail winding its way up the canyon through lush green shrubs, I started catching up to people. A lot of people. I passed a woman I’d been at Mammoth Bar with, and I passed two men she was hiking with.
Then I passed another woman. And another.
And another.
I wasn’t trying to race; I was just hiking at a sustainable pace. (I know uphill hiking is one of my strengths!)
And all of a sudden, I was at the top of the climb, running along an open ridge road, as the sun set to my West and the fields glowed orange and green. I felt strong and happy, and as the sun set I started to wonder where I might be in the placings.
I came into Drivers Flat, mile 48.5, at about 9pm, 12 hours into the race. At this point, I felt that I had a chance of going under 30 hours but didn’t attach too much to it because there was still so much race left to do—and anything can happen.
I took my shoes off and planned to pop some blisters on my pinky toes, when a med volunteer offered to take care of them for me. Ally told me it was worth the time and encouraged me to go with him to the tent.
He laid me back in a chair (very comfortable, I worried I wouldn’t want to get up) and Ally brought over some pasta. She looked at me with a huge grin and said, “Do you want to know what place you’re in?”
I guessed I was around 15th or 16th after passing the few women I did on the climb up there.
Ally teared up a said “Morgan, you’re in 11th.”
I was in disbelief. Once I realized I had an actual shot at getting into the top 10, I wanted to jump out of the chair and get back on the trail, but Ally told me everyone was taking their time at this aid and that the foot care would be worth it.
A nice woman I’d leapfrogged on the climb to here, Mathilde Giroud, came and sat right next to me, with similarly awful blisters covering her feet. We agreed—much to the medic’s dismay—that it was in fact the best thing to pop them and get on with it.
We winced and laughed together as each of us had needles stuck into the swollen, fluid-filled blisters on our feet, knowing it was for the greater good.
After a very long 30min waiting for the medic to finish taping my feet up (he was very kind but took his sweet a** time and I started to get antsy!), I threw my shoes on, restocked my vest, and hit the trail on my way to Foresthill, mile 68 where I’d pick up Ally to pace me to the finish.
Enter: The low part.
It certainly wasn’t a “dark night of the soul” kind of low-point (I’ve had worse, and I’m certain I haven’t even had the worst of the worst), but by the time I was a few miles from Foresthill, I was VERY ready to be done with that section.
I had a bit of an upset stomach leaving Drivers Flat, probably because I ate marinara sauce on pasta which was a bit acidic. But I walked for a bit, let my body get back in the groove after my longest break by far, and carried on.
We went through the Cal aid station 9.3mi after Drivers Flat, then began making our final climb to what I believed felt like the real “turnaround” point of the race: Foresthill.
Foresthill is a quintessential part of the WSER course, and we had a good climb to get there. With about 2,320’ over 8.3 miles, this section slowed us all down. It was also on another uphill alternating asphalt and gravel road, which is one of my lesser favorite grades to run. Steep enough to make a lot of people walk, but gentle enough that walking feels too slow, and I get antsy/impatient.
We all carried on up the road, seeing lights in the distance that many of us assumed were the aid.
No such luck. They were just some cute houses dotting the hillside, about 5mi from the aid. 😅😂
It’s character building!
We finally made it to Foresthill, where I downed some boiled and salted potatoes, changed into my more cushioned New Balance More Trail shoes, and picked up Ally. I was so happy to have the company.
I’d told my cousins back at Drivers Flat (or somewhere near there) that “The race doesn’t start until mile 85,” and Ally and I were making our way there. I still tried to run my own race without giving too much attention to my placing, because I knew I could wreck myself if I pushed too much with still 30 miles to go.
We made it back through Cal aid a second time, daylight came—and with it the most beautiful birdsongs—and the mindset went from “keep moving forward” to “it’s time for business.”
My right IT band had held up surprisingly well, and oddly enough, my left one started screaming a bit at this point. I had shooting pains up into my hip off and on for about 5-8mi, but with more KT tape and consistent movement, it seemed okay.
Ally and I climbed our way back up and into the Drivers Flat aid station at 7:15am, and I’d moved into 9th place.
I’d passed 10th place on the way to the aid, and somewhere along there, another top-10 female dropped out, putting me in 9th. My family was all checking the live tracker, and my cousins told me I had about an hour’s gap between me and 10th as well as between me and 8th.
It felt comfortable enough, and as long as I kept moving forward like I was, I would be okay.
I left Drivers Flat feeling focused but not stressed.
Then Dan texted me: “Might see another woman soon, but 11 and 12 are back an hour.”
And Mike, whom I’d just left behind at Drivers Flat, texted and said: “Ok you are #9 and #10 is close to you. She arrived as you left. 7min back.”
I started to worry. 10th place was gaining on me, fast. How did she make up almost an hour gap??
I looked at the nerdy🤓 little laminated aid station chart I make (it’s just a printed version of the race-provided chart, covered in clear tape…) and keep in my vest for ultras, and made a plan.
I told Ally that I wanted to push as hard as I sustainably could from now (a mile or so out of Drivers Flat) to the next aid, Clementine—about 8.5mi and 1,000’ up and down over rolling terrain away from us.
Then from there, it was just 3.7mi and 1,069’ straight down to No Hands Bridge, and the final 3.4mi ascent back up the canyon wall to the finish line in Auburn.
I wanted to use the down into No Hands to put enough of a gap on her that I came through that aid confident she couldn’t catch me in the final 3.4 miles.
Ally and I sang (huffed) “It’s hammer time” on repeat and I ran like it was a tempo run all the way to Clementine, starting to get passed by the top 100K men and women who’d started their race a few hours prior.
I could hear Ally breathing behind me, and I knew we were pushing—as much as was probably smart. One half of me was inclined to let off the gas and let 10 (and maybe 11) pass me, just so I didn’t feel the pressure of being chased.
And another part of me—a new part I haven’t spent much time with—said “Fuck no, we’re not relenting,” and pushed harder.
I came through Clementine and texted Dan, “Where’s 10” and asked him to tell me as soon as she’d come through on the live tracker.
Five minutes went by. And 10. And 15. And 20. Still no sign of her. Dan kept me updated to the second. 😆
I told myself, and Dan, that I was proud of the effort I’d given to make a good gap, no matter how it played out.
By the time I was making my way up the WS trail that led us down to No Hands Bridge on Friday morning just a few miles into the race, 10th place was still 23min estimated out from the No Hands aid.
I felt a sigh of relief come over me, and I slowed down enough to look around and enjoy moving along the trail that would take me to the finish.
I hit 100 miles in 25 hours and 14 minutes. We still had a couple to go (bonus miles!).
I ran back over the neighborhood streets of Auburn, grateful to be finishing early in the day before the heat really started to get to us. And I knew I was going to get in before 11am. Not just under 30 hours, but under 26.
I turned the corner toward the chute, saw and hugged Charlotte a block from the finish, looked forward, and started sprinting.
I don’t know that I’ve ever felt such a joyful, endorphin-ridden end to a race.
I was on cloud nine. I ran more or less straight into Heather’s outstretched arms, and started sobbing. Happy, happy tears flowed from my eyes (despite being so dehydrated I doubted I had any tears available).
It was one of those days you look back on and have to wonder if you’re misremembering, or if it didn’t actually happen.
I’m used to having A-goals, and B-goals, and even C-goals, and adapting on the go as we ultrarunners do when things go awry and we must shift expectations.
What I’m not used to is shifting the other way—toward new, on-the-go goals we didn’t dream of setting prior to stepping on the trail.
I think part of my tears at the finish were tears of shock: “Are you sure?? Did it really happen?” I remember laying in the grass with my crew just hours after crossing the finish and having to remind myself that I had already finished, and I had placed top-10 (and earned a ticket to UTMB), and I didn’t need to fight for it anymore.
It’s easy for the self-doubt voices to creep in and justify the day.
I’ve pointed to the small women’s field to begin with (only 44 started the race, and 22 finished), or to the fact that some of the top elites who raced had pretty significant “off” days, or to a host of other reasons how I ended up where I did.
But my friends remind me that’s not really a fair perspective on it. Maybe I had the day of my lifetime out there, and everything went right instead of wrong, and I felt strong and happy—and that led to results I couldn’t even fathom a week ago.
But also, that’s kind of just the sport.
We have good days and bad. Each race has a different roster, with a different competitive field. Sometimes one unlucky nutrition snafu, or a wrong turn, or PMS, or heat sensitivity takes down a runner who easily could have won it all.
We show up as we are, we meet the trail in front of us, and we give what we have on that given day.
And anything can happen.
I’ve also worked really hard since Bighorn a year ago. I’ve run a handful of ultras since then, in all sorts of weather. I’ve practiced different nutrition and gear and taper tactics. I’ve taken my foot off the brake (or the “Better to be conservative and finish than push and DNF” button) and experimented with finding my edges.
And I’ve worked on my mental and emotional relationship to running and to my body each step of the way.
I do think I got lucky in a lot of ways this weekend, but I’m going to love myself enough to also allow space to own my progress, as well as the pure love I have for this sport that I think is such an integral part of a healthy, sustainable, and—yes—objectively successful running life.
I’m allowing myself to think the terrifying thought that maybe this wasn’t a “fluke,” like my brain first said once I’d finished, but instead that it’s what I’m capable of when I give my best, and things go right.
It’s scary to think that because what if I’m wrong, and what if I never have another race like that?
But if the alternative is refusing to believe that I’m capable of more than I realize, well that’s not a joyful, self-loving, limitless life. So I’m trying to lean into the idea that I’m just starting to discover what I’m capable of, and that the work and time I’ve put into this sport is starting to add up and pay off in new ways (because I feel absolutely rich just getting to do this day in and day out regardless of how I stack up to anyone else).
I’m tearing up writing this because I feel so damn lucky to get to do this—and I love my time on the trails behind my house, and above my sweet sweet home of Missoula, as much as I love any race high or result.
Running really is medicine if you allow it to be, and it’s the most wonderful, rich, productive way to meet yourself in full truth—for better or worse.
No thought is hidden, no weakness avoided, no strength buried.
Joy and suffering maximized.
Sunday morning, they held the awards ceremony for the 100 mile race, and for the 100K age group winners.
After double-checking that I should in fact come, and that it wasn’t just for the top three (😅), Ally, Carly (who came to pace Heather and Amy), and I sat down in the race expo tent where we’d picked up our bibs just two days prior.
It felt a bit surreal to shake hands with Catherine Poletti, the Co-Founder of UTMB, after accepting a plaque for top-10. She told us we were invited to bypass the lottery and register for the UTMB finals in Chamonix, France, for this year or next, whichever we wished.
It also felt surreal to stand next to people I’ve followed on Instagram for years, like Alex Borsuk (4th female).
After about 24 hours of debate (and encouragement from friends) I decided to take the UTMB ticket for this year.
My plan, as I said earlier, was to earn stones to apply toward next year’s lottery, hoping to race in 2024. I told myself UTMB is “the real deal,” and I need more time and experience under my belt before taking on the Alps.
But I’m going to choose to believe in myself now and ride this momentum I’m feeling.
Plus, all my best friends are going to be there racing or supporting partners racing, and how could I turn down the chance to join them?!
The end of August feels like a ways away, and also like no time at all.
Time to start planning another 100. 🎉🏔🥳
But first, rest.
Finally, thank you to each and every one of you who texted, messaged, called, or otherwise reached out before, during, and after the race. I can’t tell you how loved I felt by everyone! I don’t know what I did to deserve so much love, but I really felt covered in it, and it seriously helped me keep going.
I hope I can repay you all when you take on epic adventures, and that we can keep sharing and encouraging each other in this beautiful sport and lifestyle.
Nice work Morgan! That's so exciting to finish a 100M strong rather than "death marching." My advice for future ultras for what it's worth: don't mess with your feet. Don't take off your shoes, don't change shoes & socks, and don't deal with blisters unless it's absolutely necessary. I pre-tape my toes and lube my feet well for 100s and multiday stage races, and then leave them alone as much as possible. Treating your feet mid-ultra almost always is a time suck and risks not actually helping, if the tape or whatever comes off a few miles later. If a blister erupts, it tends to hurt then "numb out" or pop on its own. Good luck with the UTMB buildup.
Morgan,
I am so happy for you! What a feat you acomplished! Thanks for a great write up of your race. It really brought back memories of race emotions, both the highs and lows. You are a great runner both Pysically and Mentally. Your future is so bright you better keep those shades on :) Good luck on the UTMB!