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The Long-Distance Grind

What crewing a top 10 finish at Western States taught me about grit, hope, and consistency

Jul 02, 2026

It's the Monday after the Western States Endurance Run.

I'm constantly having to remind myself that not everyone cares, or even knows, about Western States. For those who do—whether you're following along on the livestream or attending as a fan, supporter, or racer—it's one of those pinnacle experiences so powerful and moving that you just assume the whole world has to be in on it. For a weekend, it's everything.

Time shown below Western States Endurance Run sign

I had the privilege of crewing Canyon Woodward on his journey from Olympic Valley to Auburn. The course, famously once referred to as The Western States Killing Machine, ascends into the high country above Lake Tahoe before dropping into the hot and dusty canyons on the western slope of the mountains and ultimately finishing with a 300-meter dash around the track at Placer High School. Over 100 miles and 18,000 feet of elevation gain, runners face a grab bag of challenges: oxygen depletion at 8,000 feet, unrelenting sun exposure, quad-destroying downhills, and a final runnable 40 miles that sneaks up just when your legs want to quit.

Mt. Waddington bike to climb (Langdon and Ben with soot on faces after bushwack)

I've known Canyon and his family for over a decade, and have watched him quietly grow into one of the most consistently well-performing 100-mile trail runners in the game. His understated demeanor might undersell him to the wider public, but if you know Canyon, you know there's a quiet intensity there that can move mountains. During his undergrad at Harvard, Canyon co-led a small group of concerned students to push the university to divest its $53 billion endowment from fossil fuels. Along with his co-conspirator Chloe Maxim, he's authored the book Dirt Road Revival: How to Rebuild Rural Politics and Why Our Future Depends On It and co-founded Dirtroad Organizing, a non-profit dedicated to training and supporting political organizers working in rural America.

“Progress often comes really slowly through uncertain terrain and dogged work day in and day out,” Canyon says in his Patagonia ambassador announcement. “I think pessimism is lazy as fuck; hope is a muscle that takes really active cultivation.”

Our crew was a ragtag bunch: Canyon's childhood friend Nic, his college friends Henney, Grace, and George, his partner Stevie and brother Forest, a Green Racing Project teammate Mead, and Luke and me, two of his fellow ambassadors on the Patagonia Trail Running team. Canyon’s parents joined us to cheer him along at Foresthill and the finish line, along with his sister and nephew and friends from both Patagonia and Mount to Coast.

Racer running through a neighborhood road

Given that many of us had never crewed before—much less crewed Western States, an enigma in its own right—we practiced our transitions in the days before the race, nailing the best sequence of events to get Canyon in and out of each aid station as quickly as possible. Dump ice water on head, give ice hat, stuff pockets with gels and flasks, give ice bandana, go. And it worked. The day of, Canyon didn't spend more than 20 seconds in any of the crewed aid stations—no shoe changes (he wore just one pair of Mount to Coast M1s), no reset, barely any words exchanged. Just unload, load, and keep running.

From the outside, Canyon's day was about as undramatic, smooth, and well-executed as possible, and I couldn't help but feel immense pride watching him move alongside many of ultrarunning's greats. Canyon largely flies under the radar—no YouTube channel, no six-figure contract, no wild showmanship. But on the day that it mattered, he slowly and steadily picked his way through the field, passing giants and up-and-comers alike, including the likes of Jim Walmsley, Kilian Jornet, and Hans Troyer. In the end, he finished in 8th place with a time of 14 hours, 45 minutes, and 24 seconds. In 2023, that would have earned him 2nd place. In 2022 and 2021, he would have won.

“I’m motivated by the long distance grind of chipping away at audacious goals.”

At Western States, the top 10 male and female runners are given automatic entry into the following year’s race, a coveted position that most don’t take for granted. Canyon once shared, “I’m motivated by the long distance grind of chipping away at audacious goals.” In four runnings of UTMB—the only race that rivals Western States in terms of importance—Canyon has gradually placed higher each year, moving from 49th to 29th to 23rd to 13th. Canyon worked for four years to get into Western States, and in his first running, he came in 8th. I, for one, am excited to see what happens next year, and the year after, as he continues to chip away at his audacious Western States goal.

Canyon Woodward running and crossing finish line

Watching him race, I found myself thinking a lot about what actually motivates Canyon. Outright winning doesn't seem to be the point—he consistently seeks out the most competitive races rather than the ones he could win. It’s the same thing, maybe, that drives him to organize rural voters and push billion-dollar institutions to change. A belief that showing up consistently, doing the work, and playing a long game is its own kind of winning. It’s not flashy, but boy is it effective.