Canyons 100M reflections

By Coach Mallory

“Why would you want to run Canyons 100 less than a year after running Western States?” 

Before the race, I’d respond to this question by saying that I felt like I had left time on the table at Western States. That I could have executed better or performed better, even though it was otherwise the beautiful day I always wanted to share with friends, family, and community. 

But now I think…maybe it’s more that I keep coming back for the version of me that shows up out there. 

I want to keep putting myself in situations where survival requires being fully present - not just for the good parts, but for the suffering and discomfort too. Situations where self-doubt and judgment come easily but I have to choose to still love myself mile after mile.

Haley pulled an Animal Spirit Deck card for our crew before the race: the Snake, guardian of unawakened magic and potential...

The added bonus of this kind of presence is that you're also able to notice the small things

along the way: the moon in shrouded yellow fog, distant suburban neighborhoods across the canyon dimly lit, deer and wildflowers in the middle of the night in Cool, mist rising off the river at sunrise, the kindness of strangers at aid stations. When the outside world feels cruel and hostile, the back half of an ultra lets you believe deeply and unwaveringly in humanity. That we really are naturally wired for care, community, and creation, rather than war or violence or independence.

Haley, Corrine, and Stevie hyping me up at Michigan Bluff.

Of course, none of this happens alone - huge love to my pace-crew duo Stevie and Haley who carried so much of the race with me. They kept me moving and laughing, and reminded me of who I am when things got hard. Haley kept me calm when we had to slosh through a bog at mile 70, and we gawked at the moon with joy together for 12 miles in the middle of the night. As we returned to Cool for the final time to pick up Stevie, we could hear the morning birds waking up. Stevie paced me for 25 miles, of which only a dozen or so I was coherent for. She encouraged me to be the best version of myself even when I was experiencing the hardest moments of the race. We cried together a bit, but they were actually tears of joy and mutual appreciation for one another and the experience we were sharing. When we got to Robie Point, Corrine Malcolm was waiting for us just as she had been at Michigan Bluff and Foresthill with her characteristic warmth and brightness, and she generously ran us in and offered me her un-edited race commentary for the 50k and 100k. With one final turn into town, Haley joined and we ran it into the finish.

The overwhelming feeling was gratitude. Overflowing gratitude. Not just to be finished, but to feel the contentment that comes with succeeding in something beyond time or performance metrics - to have gone in search of something intangible and know, without question, that I had found it.

Me and Haley getting ready to wander off into the night out of Cool 1 Aid Station

Maybe I didn’t go back for the time I left on the table. Maybe I went back to find myself.

It’s funny because I ended up finishing an hour slower than I did at Western States, so it definitely wasn’t time that I left on the table. It was self-belief. Self-assuredness. Self-love. The ability to put into practice my mindfulness, my connection to my body, and my connection to the earth.

At Western States, I was physically prepared, and I had moments of real presence and gratitude - but I also carried a lot of focus on performance, outcomes, and expectations. There were stretches where I was in the experience fully, and stretches where I was thinking about the clock, where I should be, or whether I was doing enough with the opportunity I had been given. The day was beautiful and emotional, but it was also mentally crowded in a way that made it harder to stay fully grounded in myself.

Returning to run Canyons, I made an intentional decision that the only goal was to practice presence. Something about having to practice this on the same trails I physically and mentally fell apart at Western States felt fitting. I had to practice presence instead of perfection, and I had to stay in tune with myself when things got hard instead of fixating on performance. During Western States my mindfulness practice evaporated before Robinson Flat; at Canyons, the skills were front and center. I practiced non-attachment to outcome, I stayed with my suffering instead of resisting it, and I kept returning to gratitude.

Western States was an emotional whirlwind, but Canyons was a mission.

I was more physically prepared for Western States but more emotionally prepared for Canyons. I’m happy to say that one wasn’t better than the other. They were different in all the ways I needed them to be. Different lessons and experiences.

It was never about time or performance, it was about becoming my own light in the dark.