On Friday May 16, 2025, I ran the Utah 115 in Kanab, UT in it’s inaugural year. And although I can never look at sand the same, I finished it for my sixth official 100-mile finish in 38:27:21 (strava or it didn’t happen).

I also recorded a recap on the Running With Problems podcast, where I got pretty emotional towards the end.

Pre-race

I heard about the race from listening to the Between Two Pines podcast (which I heartily recommend.) Both hosts, Andy Pearson and Dom Grossman were running the race. Originally, the race sounded hard, remote, and beautiful, which appealed to me.

After Trans Grancanaria Classic (77M / 23K / 27:30) back in February, which I went into very undertrained due to an injury in November and a sickness in January, I was able to get two good training cycles in before Utah 115. This had me feeling confident of my own endurance, while still lamenting my lack of speed and fitness on the flats and the climbs.

My intentions were to just get out to Kanab, start the race, and have an adventure. No time goals; no performance goals. I did use ultrapacer.com to calculate a 32-hour finish (A-level performance), a 36-hour finish (B-level), and a 40-hour finish (C-level). Miranda was coming out to crew, so I prepared a spreadsheet for her with locations of the aid stations, nutrition plan, and gear catalog (you can view it here if you’d like).

A week before the race, I was browsing the entrants list, only to find my name missing. I emailed the RD and apparently my registration had been canceled accidentally. Tess was able to reinstate it, but my bib number was out of order, which would end up causing mild confusion to the volunteers.

The big question pre-race was: “How much sand is out there?” I knew we would be traversing the Pink Coral Sand Dunes for a few miles, and I had seen a few photos of sand caves near Cave Lakes Ranch, so minimum 4 miles on sand. On the podcast we recorded pre-race, I said “is there 4 miles of sand or 40?” Soon I would find out how wrong I was. Overall, pre-race anxiety was at normal levels, which is high at times, but manageable.

We arrived in Kanab Thursday afternoon, checked in to pick up my bib and found our AirBnB. Ate a good meal for dinner and turned in early. I slept pretty well the night before, but at 3am I couldn’t get back to sleep. At 5am, I just got up and started getting ready.

Race

Mile 1 - 26

At 7am (what a civilized time to start a race!), we were off. The sun had yet to hit Kanab over the mesa to the east, so it was cool as we traversed up Tom’s Canyon. We hit trail within a mile, red dirt. It switched up a bit before crossing a wide valley. We came to an intersection with a trail called “Cliffs Trail.” Now this was a fun trail! It basically went straight up the side of the cliff. At one point, I had to take a 3.5 foot high step up! Summiting the Cliffs Trail, I came to a sandy OHV road and ate a gel. Now, I knew most of the course was on forest roads from the maps I had looked at. I figured most were dirt or gravel roads. But, as soon as I hit this road at the top and saw it covered in sand, I knew we were in for a sandy day.

Climbing the Cliffs Trail.
Hog Canyon.

I descended this road and Jessica caught up with me. We hit a bushwhacking section where I was a bit more efficient so I took the lead. We chatted and I found out she has a podcast too, The Endurance Studio. Soon we were back on OHV roads and Jessica took off. My shoes were starting to become filled with sand, but I tried to ignore it. A long slightly downhill road grade into Best Friends aid station. Quick bottle fill and I left. But I ended up leaving behind two gels, which I didn’t realize until after I ran out of gels many miles later. (Hilariously, as I was writing this report, I found the gels in the bladder compartment of my bag, which I must have carried the entire rest of the race… lol)

Right after Best Friends, I passed the Angels Rest Animal Cemetery. I thought of my dog Summit and started crying. Gosh, I love that guy so much. He’s currently sleeping at my feet as I write this. Throughout the race, anytime I’d pull out my phone, his face is on my screen, and it would remind me of him. He became my muse, my reason for pushing through the difficulty. I dedicated this race to him.

Angels Rest.
Wind chimes at Angels Rest.

Right after the cemetery, I couldn’t handle the sand in my shoes any longer and stopped to dump them beside the road. Sand dump 1 at mile 12.5 for those keeping score. The Best Friends area was nice, very little sand, but it didn’t last long. Pretty soon we were on another OHV access road, then dropping down, crossing highway 89, bushwhacking some, and now running up Cave Lakes Canyon Ranch. The ranch is private and the first couple miles are on an asphalt road, so I jogged. It was really pretty in this canyon, with classic Utah red rock formations on both sides.

Cave Lakes Canyon Ranch.
Rock Formations in Cave Lakes Canyon.

Soon, the asphalt turned to sand. We had to climb over our first barbed wire fence, this one with just a log sitting at the top wedged in between two wires. I carefully tested the wires as I climbed up onto the log and jumped down the other side. Now the sand was deeper. This was the unmaintained other end of Cave Lakes Canyon. Eventually we came out and up onto… guess what? another OHV road. This one cut across open land to the second aid station at Hancock Rd. I dumped my shoes of sand again… wondering when the sand might abate.

Leaving Hancock, there was one last 8 mile section to get to the first crew aid station at Yellowjacket Rd. Aside from a short bushwhack at the beginning, the entire section is on sandy OHV roads. I dumped my shoes twice on this section. About 90 minutes before reaching the aid, I looked in my bag to grab some extra gels in there, but didn’t find them, only now realizing I had left them at Best Friends. I made a note to eat extra at the next aid because I’d be behind on calories so early. The open land and direct sunlight was starting to heat me up and my pace slowed to around 3 miles per hour, where it would stay for the majority of the race.

When I reached Yellowjacket, I was definitely over the sand. It made simple running very difficult, perhaps 20-30% higher effort. It got into your shoes and made your toes cramped. It got under your feet and caused pressure in weird places. It rubbed your skin and caused hot spots. Over the first 26 miles of the course, about 20 miles were on sandy OHV roads. It did not bode well for the rest of the course.

I saw Miranda at the aid. She told me everyone was having trouble with the sand. I overheard another runner complain about the sand. I guess I was in the same boat as everyone else. Which means I shouldn’t feel bad for moving slowly. Gotta keep my head high. Harder than it sounds. I drank some lemonade and ate some avocado wraps. I got my poles from my crew bag; they would make sand travel easier. It was really nice to see her, but I couldn’t stay long. Off I went.

Mile 27 - 52

Next up was the jewel of the course: the Pink Coral Sand Dunes. A mile down the paved road (which felt amazing btw) and we were onto the sand. The route they had marked took us up the steep side of the dunes (into the prevailing winds) and down the shallow sides. Each climb, no matter how short or tall took a massive effort, spiking my heart rate to max every time. You had to churn your legs so fast and so far. With the poles I had picked up, I didn’t need to use my hands, but really had to work to climb each dune.

After the fifth dune, I felt elated at doing something so hard, being in this magical place, moving with my own two feet. I thought of Summit and how happy he would be to be in the dunes. I had a muse and I had a way forward. I was, for a brief moment, happy.

The Dunes.
More Dunes.

After the fifteenth dune, my happiness was gone, replaced with delirium. I had been climbing and descending dunes. My pace had to be slower than 2 miles per hour. I would half trip occasionally. The repetitive climbs and descents felt neverending.

My shoes were completely full of sand, but I didn’t want to stop. One runner ahead of me was carrying her shoes. I envied her.

After a few miles, eventually we reached some vegetation on the other side of the dunes. And then a sandy OHV trail. I had a new perspective on these sandy trails. Just a few miles before, I thought they were the worst thing. After experiencing the dunes, however, they were now a paltry version of how bad sand can be. I finally emptied my shoes. Glorious toebox room!

With my newfound “optimism” on these sandy trails, I passed a couple of runners from Panama where were even more beaten by the dunes and walk/jogged over to the next aid station. Here I met Andy (who’s a character for sure) and Shai in the aid station, enjoyed bantering with the aid station volunteers, and headed off upbeat.

Barbed Wire Fence Crossing.
Views from Elephant Rd.

I put in a podcast on my headphones. I had lined up 14 hours of podcasts (hoping that would be enough). And I just hiked. Hiked and hiked. We were only at the 50k mark, but I was resigned to hiking pretty much anything flat or uphill. The sand was too much wasted effort for my form/muscles/body/etc. I thought it was too slow, but close to the next aid station, I passed Shai. She didn’t say much. She looked very tired at the aid station. I left before her.

The sun was starting to get low, which means the heat was starting to abate. This was good for me. Even in the relatively “cool” temperatures of 74 degrees with direct sunlight, I was cooking. It would be nice to cool off. I always do better in the cool of night.

I saw Andy facetiming with someone on the side of the trail. It’s so interesting how we all run these races differently. I’m all about efficiency. Minimal downtime. There’s a running documentary (I don’t remember which one; it’s well-known) where Meghan Hicks (I think) talks about how you can walk while you eat, you can walk while you piss, you can walk while you throw up. This is basically my modus operandi. I always move forward, even if it’s slow. I think this race is very exemplary of this attitude. But here Andy was, sitting on the side of the trail chatting up his wife. It was probably what he needed to keep moving.

The next aid station was near the high point. Not much to say about how I got there, but Andy was there. We were both thinking about how to prevent the sand from clogging up our shoes. Andy had the brilliant idea of putting peanut butter on the top of his shoes to create a sand barrier. I figured I’d wait until Clay Flats and try to tape my toebox. We’ll see which solution worked better.

After reaching the race high point and descending some trail with somewhat less sand covering the rocks (which was so nice!), I reached Clay Flats aid to pick up Miranda for the night. The sun had already set so headlamps were out. I had planned a sock and shirt change here. I had Miranda tape my toebox. I ate some cup-o-noodles (best aid food of the race for sure), did a full reset, and left for a 24 mile out-and-back with Miranda.

Mile 53 - 76

It was so nice to be with Miranda. She filled me in on all the gossip from runners ahead of me. Apparently Dom (co-host of Between Two Pines podcast) was super low when he got to Clay Flats and spent an hour complaining in a car, but continued. Truly, everyone was having trouble out here. 5 or so miles out of Clay Flats, we were passed by Andy Pearson (different Andy; he’s the other co-host of BTP podcast) running uphill back towards us. Wow, he was at least 5 hours ahead of us. We cheered him on and kept moving.

The toebox taping did not work well. There was too much sand for it to stick. The constant sand in the shoe problem continued. Furthermore, when I switched socks and relubed my feet, I ended up rubbing some sand into the lube, which was now creating a hot spot on my achilles. I worried it would get way worse. But, I couldn’t do much about it now.

We went through the Belly of the Dragon, which was a cool tunnel/slot canyon under the highway. Originally, the course intended to go to Diana’s Throne and through Elkheart cliffs slot canyon, which would have been super-cool, but a recent course change had been made and instead, we climbed out of the creekbed up a… guess what? you guessed it! a sandy OHV road! Johnny, tell them what they’ve won.

Belly (anus?) of the Dragon.

This was around mile 60. Midnight or so. My mood was starting to darken. Occasionally, I would ask Miranda why I was feeling so low. I was critical of my slow speed. I felt the next aid station would never come. Miranda was supportive, telling me I’m doing really well. It was hard to hear, but I tried.

A few hours later we saw the women’s race leader, Ellen, and a few minutes later, Dom charging uphill toward us wearing a super bright chest lamp. It was one of these “light of the sun” lamps. I wonder how long those last, looked cool. After seeing Dom having come back to life, it was rejuvenating.

We reached the “turnaround” aid station, seeing Andy and Mary at the aid station. I was starting to feel comraderie with my fellow midpackers. We barely ran with each other, but saw each other at aid stations as we recovered from the crazy difficulty we were experiencing together out there. Mary’s pacer stopped there and she left with us. Miranda and her both could hold a jog better than me, so they ran together for a bit on the slightly downhill paved road (which would have been nice if it wasn’t going farther out on the out and back).

We turned off the paved road and onto a sandy OHV trail to reclimb the slight downhill. Mary was moving better so she went ahead. Despite the comraderie and excitement of seeing the leaders, I had returned to being low. Nighttime is usually my favorite at these races, but not today. I was lamenting how much sheer distance I had left. It was merely miles 65. There’s 50 miles to go.

I started to dig down into my pain well. I prefer the “well” metaphor to the cave metaphor. When you first go into the well, you get to pull a bucket of water from your previous experience to motivate you to continue. Eventually you pull all the water out and are left at the bottom of the well. Here you can quit or start digging, finding new water that will empower you today and refill for next time.

Most super-long runs that I’ve done have aspects that feed back energy to you. Be it a mountain summit, desert vista, or even just a fun trail. This race had very little feedback. Aside from the cool trails to climb and descend the mesas near Kanab at the very beginning and end, this course was just sandy sand sand as far as the eyes could see. I was starting to feel the accumulated drain of monotonous difficult terrain in the dead of the night.

I needed to find solace inside myself. I started to run some calculations. The rest of the course was 90% trails I had already run. So I knew what was coming. Soon (or, more appropo, eventually), I would reach Clay Flats 2 at mile 76. At that point, I would have 40 more miles to go. At my current pace of 20 min/mile (3mph), I would reach 40 miles in around 13 hours, maybe 12.5 hours if I was feeling good. Sunrise was starting now, so I would probably not reach Clay Flats until around 8am. I’d need some time there, so I would definitely leave by 8:30am. 13 hours after 8:30am is 9:30pm. 9:30pm is just after darkness, which means I wouldn’t have to go into the second night. Now that was the first comforting thought I had in a while. I could hold onto that. I started telling myself my pace was “OK.” It felt good to know that my pace would get me to the finish line.

Miranda was very tired of the sand. She had only gone 24 miles on it, but had a newfound respect for what we had all gone through.

Sure enough, I did eventually reach Clay Flats 2. Monica (one of the Panama runners) was there, but went into a van and never came out. Mary was there. She jogged off and I never saw her again (she got second!). Andy was there getting more peanut butter for his shoes. Jessica was there. She had been ahead since we shared some miles back at mile 10, but was falling back. She left before me, chasing Mary.

I tried to nap in the car, but it was too late in the morning and I had fully woken up. So I rested for 10 minutes before getting up and getting ready. Miranda had tried a more thorough taping solution on my toebox, but that didn’t last long. I ate two helpings of pancakes and bacon (FTW).

As I prepared to head out, I said “only 40 more miles.” Voicing the calculations I had done before, this encouraged me. Miranda would remember this as an indication of the incredible determination I had, as it sounded insane after the 24 miles we had just “ran” together.

Mile 77 - 116

I had wanted to listen to something (music or podcasts) in the last few miles with Miranda, but I resisted, knowing I would need it later. Now was later, so I put in some more podcasts as I made the climb back up to the high point aid station. I moved consistently, emptied my shoes every 5ish miles, continued to eat a gel every 45-60 minutes. I was starting to pee every 5-10 minutes, which is just something that happens to my body in the second morning after a hot first day. It used to scare me (I quit Silverton in 2021 in part because of this fear.), but not anymore. I replenished fluids and kept moving.

Nobody in the aid station. Jessica and Mary must be moving quickly. I felt fine; chatting up the volunteers. It was a new day. I would finish this day. Just gotta keep going. Didn’t stay long.

The course cut across the desert, cutting off the dunes on the way back. I was told it was downhill. That was a lie. It was uphill for many miles until a steep descent. Luckily, I love steep descents. This was the first steep descent in the whole course. It was at mile 87. It took 87 miles to find a steep descent! I would have liked it to last longer, but eventually it lead to the paved road near the dunes.

I decided to take some acetaminophen. Originally, I had wanted to wait until mile 90, but couldn’t wait too much more. I wanted to jog more and the pain was getting to unbearable levels. The sand’s effect on my feet had been to rip them apart and create way more hot spots than normal. It made running on the hard surface quite painful. I walked most of the road, but enjoyed the friction of a hard surface, even with the pain.

I reached the final aid station where I would see Miranda, Yellowjacket Road 2 at mile 90. Only 25 more miles from here. I had planned a full sock/shirt change here. I rejected it. I just wanted to keep moving. I drank a lemonade. It hurt my chapped lips and oversugared mouth, but I love lemonade. It was delicious. I didn’t stay long. I kissed Miranda. It was time to go. Andy left a bit before me. He was 100 yards ahead of me for most of the next section.

The next section was the reverse of the one that had first destroyed so many spirits the day before. The 8 continuous miles of mostly straight ahead sandy OHV trail originally felt like the end of time. But now we knew better. It wasn’t the worst that sand could be. It wasn’t as steep as the dunes, nor as deep as some of the other OHV trails. It was straight and boring, but it was direct. It was taking me back to Kanab, which meant it couldn’t be so bad.

I turned on Good Kid, M.A.A.D City, always an encouraging album. I moved well, at least for mile 90+ on sand. Day 2 was much cloudier than Day 1, which made it cooler. The miles grinded by.

I reached Hancock Road 2 aid station at mile 98. Both Jessica and Andy were there, looking disheveled. I filled my bottles and kept moving, leaving before them. With each aid station, I wasn’t improving in physical ability, but I was gaining determination and I was staring to think this race would end eventually.

Through the Cave Lakes Canyon again. It was more beautiful the second time. I climbed the barbed wire fence (oh yeah, there were 4 barbed wire fences we had to climb over in this race lol) with the log jammed into the top. I was kind of amazed my body could still do that at mile 100+.

There were some people hiking in the canyon. I must have looked like a horror movie extra to them. After the sandy section here, knowing there was pavement and gravel ahead of me, I dumped my shoes in front of a few hikers. I wonder what they thought I was doing. Jessica passed me on the pavement with her continuous jog. My jog was gone. Long lost many miles ago.

Cross the highway and up to the Best Friends plateau. I kept Jessica in my sights on the sandy OHV trail. But she left me once we reached the nice gravel/pavement roads. I dumped my shoes again (it’s becoming as much routine as eating gels and drinking water.).

I passed Angel’s Rest Animal Cemetery again, thinking of Summit, my dog. By now, I knew I was dedicating this run to him. I was less emotional the second time passing here. But I thought of him and it encouraged me.

At Best Friends 2 aid station, Jessica was sitting down. The volunteer was trying to convince her not to quit. We had only 11 miles to go! I told her there’s no way she can quit here! She said she was kidding. Hahaha! She got me. I thought she was really gonna quit. I left Best Friends quickly. It was time to get this shit done.

I knew the next section would wear on my senses. Another 6 miles of uphill or flat OHV trail. I had run out of podcasts, but found a long one already downloaded for the couple more hours I needed it. Reaching the bushwhacking section was nice. I was getting excited. Just gotta cross the bushwhack, hit the last aid, climb a hill, traverse over, then descend to the finish. It was palpable! I passed a dude named Garth, who I had never seen this whole race. He must have been ahead of me, but was waning in the final 10 miles.

I got lost a little in the bushwhack, but found my way around. Got to the last aid station. No one was at the aid, they were all hanging in their cars, but they came out when I came in. I refilled bottles and sipped a coke and left quickly.

Next up, a sandy OHV trail climb. It was only a mile long, but it felt like the longest mile I had ever done. I dumped my shoes a couple times on the climb. After what felt like an eternity, I reached the top. Here the course veered to a different descent into town. I didn’t know what was coming, but my watch said 3 miles to the finish. Daylight was waning.

I hiked with purpose and even jogged a little. When I neared the radio towers above Kanab, I called Miranda, telling her I was nearing the finish. It was time to get this done. After a few more small hills, the OHV trail turned into a hiking trail, still sandy, but now starting downhill.

The trail opened up onto the side of the mesa, vertical red rock pockmarked with cacti and agave. The city was below me, lights coming online to prepare for night. Civil twilight was yet to come, so I still had time. Finally, this course was giving something back to me. I felt energized. I ran. The trail was hard to find in places, switching from clear singletrack in the red dirt to rock hopping and back. Some short switchbacks dropped us off a point and down into the side of the canyon, traversing on a bench above a rock band. A long switchback swung me around to the other side of a rock outcropping and switched back two more times. As darkness set, I played the headlamp/no headlamp game, trying to move my feet as fast as I could on the technical trail in the waning light. Eventually, I had to relent and put on my headlamp to see the technical trail. The final switchback placed me in a dry creekbed, and I was on the bottom.

Hog Canyon, but a day later.
The Squaw Trail. (I thought we didn't use that word anymore...)

I followed the markers and reached a picnic table. I knew I was less than a mile from the finish. I emptied my shoes of sand one last time. I ran. Dirt and sand turned to pavement. My watch said a half mile. My body wanted to stop. The pain was high. “You can stop when you finish.” The half mile lasted for hours in my head. But merely 5 minutes passed in reality. I crossed the line and wanted to sit.

38 hours and 27 minutes and some seconds. Seventh place (first non-podium finisher). The deepest I’ve ever dug in the well. Near pure internal motivation. It was finally over. I didn’t have to move anymore.

Finish
Buckle and Bib. (is that a good coffee shop name?)

Conclusions

I’m really proud of myself for this one. But I’ll never run this race again. It should go up there with some of the hardest races in the country. It is a graduate level for sure. The 50 hour cutoff is well-deserved.

Some tips for anyone masochistic enough to read this and still want to run Utah 115:

  • Get full-shoe gaiters to prevent sand from getting in, probably need to sew them to your shoes.
  • Be prepared for the softest, finest sand you will find anywhere. Beach sand is easy compared to this stuff.
  • Be internally motivated. You will be alone. The course will be monotonous. You must get your own ass to the finish.

But, I walked away from this with some positives:

  • I found new levels of motivation and depth in my pain well.
  • I dedicated this race to my dog and that motivated me to finish for him. I never thought that would be a motivator, but the proximity to Best Friends Animal Sanctuary really had an effect.
  • Even though I couldn’t run as fast as some of my peers, my constant 3 mph paced movement with high efficiency rewarded me with a good finish placement (top 16% of starters). It really helps me to know that I do have a skill for endurance to place better than people faster than me.

Finally, I’ll leave you with some stats:

  • 116+ miles
  • Over 90 of those miles was on soft ultra-fine sand
  • 38.5 hours
  • 25 times I dumped my shoes of sand
  • 80% of my miles were close to 20min/mi
  • 45 Maurten Gel 160’s consumed (And I found the ones I thought I lost in the bladder compartment of my bag just now.)
  • 4 Maurten Gel CAF 100’s consumed
  • 20 tbps of Gnarly High-sodium Orange Drank consumed
  • = 9600 calories of nutrition
  • 0 poles broken
  • 2 BOA dials on my Speedland shoes rendered inoperable by the sand
  • 0 nipples chafed (thanks to some Leukotape)
  • 4 minor blisters on my feet
  • 6th official 100-mile buckle earned