This year, my plan was to attack as best I could. I wanted to see if I could not only improve on my time from 2025, but try to actually go sub-13 once again. I knew this was a tall order, but I had to try. My training was going very well, I was feeling strong, and I was entering a well-deserved taper period two weeks before race day. But then....everything changed.
Just as I was starting my first of two taper weeks, we received word of a completely unexpected death in the family...and Black Canyon became an after thought. Almost immediately, C and I hopped on planes back east and had to deal with a whole slew of arrangements. On top of the mountains of logistics and organization that had to be sorted in short order, we were both dealing with an overwhelming sadness. The Black Canyon was the farthest thing on my mind and any hopes of a tactical and assertive run along the course were gone.
The weekend before the race went by in a blur of grief and disbelief. At one point, I went out for a very short 3-mile run in the sub-zero frigid temps of rural Pennsylvania, and found that it brought me a sliver of peace and solace amidst the emotional week I had just endured.
We both went through the motions during the funeral services and spent much needed time with immediate family. As the weekend rolled into the following week, and various important tasks were checked off, things reached a point where it made more sense for me to return home (while C stayed back east). I agreed to fly back on Wednesday and take care of things back home. By the time I made it home, it was just three days before Black Canyon, and it was still the last thing on my mind. But on Thursday, I talked with C over the phone. She encouraged me to still run the race. She knew very well that I use running as a way to deal with my most difficult emotions, and she encouraged me to "take the day...and ease your soul on the trails."
...she knows me well.
It still didn't feel right, or appropriate to go race a 100k with everything that was going on (never mind that I felt incredibly selfish for even considering it). It was about this time on Thursday that we also learned that the several family members were reporting that they had tested positive for Covid. Given our proximity to these same family members, we were both rightly concerned that we had been exposed. With all of this new information, I made a deal with C. I told her that I would test myself for Covid over the next two days...and if it came up negative on the morning of the race, then I would start. Should I start though, there was no way I was going to be in the right mindset to truly race for a sub-13. It would be entirely about easing my mind and heart. I had also effectively told myself several months prior, that this 2026 race was likely to be my last at Black Canyon. It's not that I don't like the course, I just feel as though I've had my fill. Five years running any single event is a lot...and it just felt like a good year to hang up the BC100 hat.
On Friday, I tested negative for covid, despite convincing myself that I had a "scratchy" throat. I drove down to my friend's house in the Phoenix area to set myself up for race morning. I picked up my race packet at the expo, put together my two drop bags, and settled in for an early night. At 4:00 am Saturday morning, my covid test came back negative, so I drove the 30+ minutes up to the Anthem Outlets where the bus pickup occurs. I hopped on the first bus, and we made it up to the start line with plenty of time for the start. This year, I opted to start in the "elite" 7:00 am wave...not because I think in any way that I qualify as an "elite" runner, but simply because I wanted the earliest start.
At 7:00 am sharp, the gun sounded, and first wave made the traditional loop around the track before heading down the 1-mile road stretch in the town of Mayer.
The early miles felt nice. I eased back into a comfortable 9:00 min pace, and turned my brain off. It felt as though I was just out for an early morning training run. Despite all the people around me, I felt no urge to "race." The air had a chilly bite to it, but it was refreshing. It also helped to keep my heart rate low. My breathing felt good, and I was entirely sure by this point that I had also dodged the Covid bullet.
The first 7 miles along the course always progress quickly. The course rolls a little, but is mostly flat and very runnable. I found a nice pocket well behind one group of runners, and well ahead of the next. Despite there being over 1000 people in the race, I managed to somehow find a quiet spot to run alone. This is precisely what I was looking for.
Around 7.5 miles in, runners reach the first aid station at Antelope Hills. My favorite stretch of the entire 100k course comes immediately after this aid station. For the next 12 miles, all the way to the Bumblebee aid station, the course twists its way around serpentine switchbacks and curves, while all trending downhill. It goes without saying that this stretch is fast and fun. Every year I run, I treat those first seven miles as something of a warm up, with the race truly starting around mile 8. This forces me to go easy in those first seven, loosen everything up, and then turn on the legs after Antelope Hills. And this is exactly what I did. For the next 12 miles I picked up my pace, and found a perfect flow state. It was magical. I floated down the beautiful trails just as the sun was starting to warm things up.
Mile 8 on the course...in a perfect flow state...
I lost track of my pace, and the clock time...and just ran on feel. Over the next two hours, a lot of thoughts ran through my mind, and it felt fantastic to decompress and just exist on the trails. I thought about the recent family tragedy, and those I have lost...and I thought about other things that had been causing me anxiety lately. I zipped through the 12-mile aid station fairly quickly after a brief refuel, and then pushed on to Bumblebee at mile 19. The race always makes a dramatic shift at Bumblebee. The "easy" stuff is over, and leaving the station, runners are presented with the first big climb of the course. It's also at this point when you realize you are only just 1/3 of the way through the run, and that 62 miles is a really long way. Despite this, I still felt really good. I had splits from 2025 written on my hand, and I noted that I was reaching aid stations about 3 minutes behind my times from 2025 (and this was without even trying or watching my pace). I felt as though I was being much more conservative, so my initial thought was that I might have a little more in the tank later in the day.
I jogged up the big climb out of Bumblebee (a climb I sometimes just hike), and then weaved my way in and out of the drainages and canyons over to the Gloriana aid at mile 24. This stretch, while mostly trending downhill, always seems to sap my energy a bit, and this year was no different. When I reached Gloriana, I felt a little worked, and took a couple extra minutes refueling and icing up. The temperatures were rising fast, and the direct sun was already starting to sap me a bit.
Mile 21--just past Bumblebee Aid
I left Gloriana feeling well, and was glad that I took a few extra minutes to cool off and refuel. I eased back my pace slightly on the next stretch on my way over to the Deep Canyon aid (and half-way point). This stretch features some notable climbs that I was very keenly aware of, so I paced myself accordingly. I knew precisely where each climb was, so knew when to downshift in preparation for them. As I approached Deep Canyon, I knew that my time from 2025 had been just under 6 total hours. When I crossed the timing mat, my watch read 5:59...so I had effectively caught up to my 2025 ghost and was on the exact same overall pace. Again, I hadn't planned this, I was just running on feel all morning.
I spent a few minutes sorting through my drop bag, and properly refueling, before heading out to the next aid at Black Canyon city. As you leave Deep Canyon, runners are presented with a several-mile-long dirt road that undulates notably. This can be a difficult stretch as it is entirely exposed, and also difficult to establish any sort of rhythm on. Along this stretch, I noted that I was doing much better than I normally had along those miles, and soon was ahead of my 2025 pace. Again, I wasn't planning for this, but given my earlier conservative pace, the dividends were now coming in.
The Black Canyon city aid station is a difficult one because it involves a 1-mile out-n-back. I never liked this portion of the course and it can feel really demoralizing. I made the turn on to the final one-mile stretch and eased my way down to the station. About 100 meters before reaching the end of the out-n-back at the station, my right toe clipped a rock and I went down hard. I did a full superman landing on my chest with both hands outstretched taking a lot of the impact. I scraped a notable amount of skin off my hands and both knees in the process. In an instant, all of my flow was gone, and I was sitting on the trail, bloody, and frustrated. I absolutely HATE tripping on trails, and despite my hyper vigilance all morning, I managed to get briefly distracted by the upcoming aid station just enough that I took my eyes off of my feet. It's incredibly how fast a positive mood can turn sour. I got up, brushed myself off, and walked into the aid station still feeling annoyed.
My right hand was dripping with blood and I spent a few minutes just cleaning up my wounds at the aid station medical table. After several minutes of clean-up, and a few more minutes of refueling, I finally left the aid station back up the same one-mile stretch I had come in on. Leaving Black Canyon City, runners are presented with the longest (and arguably most difficult) stretch of the entire course. This leg of the course features over 9 miles until the next aid, and features the single biggest climb of the day. This is the toughest mental challenge on the course, and I had just put myself into a sour mood.
I fought desperately to put my recent fall out of my mind, but it was difficult. On one occasion just a few minutes up the trail I almost tripped a second time and knew that I was not in a good mental place. So, I decided to spend a few minutes walking, and cooling off. I knew it would cost me some time, but I didn't care. I needed to get back to my positive flow state.
I hiked the remainder of the out-n-back up to the fork, and then slowly began running again. Things were gradually improving, and soon I was crossing the large swath of the Agua Fria River. My feet did get wet on this crossing and once on the other side, I put my head down and began the longest climb of the day. At this point, I had also gone all-in on my music, and was playing tracks that I knew would help improve my mental state. I had to keep reminding myself that I was not out there to race, I was out there to ease my soul, think about those I had lost, and perhaps find some peace.
I downshifted on the climb as it was also still notably hot in the direct sun. I could feel my mental state slowly moving back towards one of positivity and this allowed this long 9-mile stretch to move by much quicker than it usually does. In less time than I expected, I rounded a turn in the course and came up on the next aid station. I felt happy knowing the "hardest part" of the course was now behind me (or at least I thought). I spent a few extra minutes refueling and hydrating at this station, and then headed out at a comfortable pace en route to Table Mesa (the last large aid station of the course) at mile 51. This stretch is notably shorter (only about 4 miles) and does progress rather quickly, and with little climbing. It is a nice place to open the legs up a little more and make up some time. The problem I was noticing, is that I was starting to feel a bit off. For the first time in many years, I was developing notable stomach issues and any time I tried to run fast, my gut was not happy with me. Experiencing gut issues during a race is quite rare for me, but when it does happen, it always makes it very difficult to run consistently...and always takes a long time to clear itself up. I knew this was going to slow me down, so I eased back a little on my way to Table Mesa, hoping that the now-cooler temperatures, and easier terrain, would calm things down.
When I arrived at Table Mesa, things weren't really much better. I still found it difficult to run with any sort of consistency (despite my legs feeling relatively fresh), and no amount of ginger seemed to help. It was looking as though I was just going to have to "gut it out, " and suffer a bit for the last 10+ miles.
I checked my watch leaving Table Mesa, and I was still in good shape as compared to last year, but notably slowing...meaning a sub-13 would be difficult without significantly picking up my pace a bit. I did my best to work up a respectable shuffle leaving Table Mesa, but I had to keep working in walk breaks to ease my stomach. I knew it was all costing me time, but I also felt like I wasn't really moving any slower than I was in 2025 along this 8-mile stretch. Despite hiking, I managed to push my way up the last big climb at almost a 4 mph pace.
Somewhere about 5 miles into this 8-mile stretch, just as I was finishing out the last little climb before starting the descent down to the final aid station, I had to pull out my headlamp. I continued my mix of running and hiking as best I could until finally coming up on the last station around mile 59. It's always nice reaching this little station, as it's effectively just 3.5 miles of easy running into the finish from this point. Every year I've run Black Canyon, I always manage to do quite well on this final stretch, but leaving the station this year, my stomach took another turn in the wrong direction. I found myself again frustrated. I ran whatever I could, but I was getting passed by a lot of runners over this final stretch. I knew that in 2025 I had actually run these final 3.5 miles somewhat quickly, but this year I just couldn't get anything going without my gut barking at me. So, I did what I had been doing...I split my time between fast hiking and slow jogging...doing my best to just get to the finish.
Somewhere about 1.5 miles from the finish, my watch rolled over to 13 total hours and I knew any chance at a sub-13 was over. With any pressure for a sub-13 now completely out of my mind, I eased back and jogged in the rest of the way at a slow and comfortable pace. I crossed the line in 13 hrs, 16 mins...faster than my 2025 by a mere 3 minutes. In the end, I did have my second best outing at Black Canyon, despite not even trying to truly "race," but I couldn't feeling a little annoyed by my gut troubles (and my earlier fall).
Crossing the line in 13 hrs 16 mins (3 minutes faster than 2025)
When I compare my overall splits from this year to 2025, it becomes clear that my gut issues were very detrimental. At Table Mesa (mile 51) this year, I was over 13 minutes ahead of my pace from 2025. Over the next 11 miles, I lost an additional 10 minutes...about a minute per mile slower. Most of that time loss actually came in the final 3.5 miles. In 2025, I ran that final section at a 11:00 min/mile pace. This year, my pace was over 13 mins/mile.
Despite my gut issues, once I crossed the finish line, I felt renewed. The day had "worked" to easy my mind and I was glad that I did decide to stay in the race. I also finished early enough in the day, that when I made it back to my car about 30 minutes later, I was able to drive all the way back up to Flagstaff that night and still be in bed by 11 pm.
Sunday morning when I woke up, something felt off and I just attributed it to race fatigue and from breathing in dry desert air for over 13 hours. I took it easy for the rest of the day, but then had a terrible night of sleep that evening.
Monday morning I woke up feeling absolutely terrible and I knew exactly what was happening. There was the distinctive burning in my sinuses, the notable scratchy throat, and the recognizable pressure on my chest. A few minutes later my worries were confirmed with a VERY bright and obvious positive Covid test. For the next 6 days I was isolated to a single room of my house, in a miserable state. I had to cancel another week of classes and fell even further behind. My suspicion is that I had been exposed to the virus during the funeral (along with other family), and that my body had been "winning" the battle, thanks in part to my new vaccination early last fall. But then I subjected my body to 13+ hours of strain along the BC100 course, and I effectively annihilated my immune system in the process. Because of this, the virus was able to win the battle and knock me down for a week. Incidentally, one of the more uncommon symptoms I often get with Covid, is an upset stomach and nausea. It certainly might explain my gut issues over the last 10 miles...
Yesterday, I finally tested negative and was feeling like my old self again. For the first time in a week, I left the house, making a quick trip up to the grocery store. When I left the store, my car failed to start with an obviously dead battery. It would seem as though the old adage, "when it rains, it pours" has been in full effect for me these past few weeks. 200 dollars and a new battery later, I'm back up and running and desperately trying to catch up on my backlog of life.
As far as Black Canyon, I feel pretty confident saying that this was my last outing along the course, and I've seen all I needed to see there. I suppose that could change, but it seems unlikely. I'm very glad I had those 13+ hours this year to sort through my emotions. I had a lot to process and I spent a considerable part of the day thinking about those that I have lost over the years...
...and I think that wraps things up...and I will end this report here. Please do take care everyone, and take care of yourselves and each other.
