Before last year, I had never been to the Grand Canyon. I'd seen it in photos and movies, and everyone I knew that had been told me I would love it. I'm not the type of person to just go somewhere for a viewpoint, so obviously I took on one of the most extreme challenges the Grand Canyon has to offer. The Rim to Rim to Rim run (R2R2R for the acronym-obsessed ultrarunning community) is exactly what it sounds like: you start at one rim of the Grand Canyon, run all the way down to the river, up to the opposite rim, then turn around and do the whole thing in reverse. It's between 42-50-ish miles with over 10,500 feet of elevation gain and loss through terrain that ranges from scorching desert to alpine forest. All in a single day. When you explain this to most people, they look at you like you've completely lost your mind. They're probably right. I'd been scheming this run for a while, gradually building up my endurance and skills through countless mountain adventures. The High Sierra Camps Loop and other training runs had been decent preparation, but the R2R2R presented unique challenges: extreme temperature swings (sometimes 50+ degrees difference between rim and canyon floor), limited water sources, remote trail sections with no easy exit options, and terrain that seems specifically designed to destroy your quads and test your mental fortitude.

I knew that spring and fall were the only options, so after a solid season of training and practice runs, I decided that mid-October was ideal. I drove from the Bay Area in California to the Grand Canyon area over the course of a day, arriving just as night was coming on. I went down a dirt road on National Forest land to camp for a few hours before my early start, and what do you know... Flat tire! So the challenge actually started with a late night tire change and me mentally trying not to even think about how I was going to get a new tire in the middle of nowhere in a place I've never been to before. Luckily this isn't my first rodeo with changing tires when you least want to, so everything went smoothly and I found a quiet spot to get some shuteye and was able to fall asleep. Around 3am I got up, drove back down the dirt road on my donut tire without flatting, and made my way to the backpacker's parking lot in Grand Canyon Village. Thankful that I finally made it, I was mostly trying to push away thoughts of my tires so I could focus on the challenge at hand. ## Gravity Assist I started at 3:50 AM in chilly temps, my headlamp carving a small tunnel of visibility through the pre-dawn darkness. The early start wasn't just for the Instagram-worthy sunrise experience but a necessity. Starting early meant hitting the canyon floor on the return before the day's heat built up, which can reach furnace-like levels even in fall. The South Kaibab Trail drops 4,700 feet in about 7 miles. On paper, that sounds fun! Gravity does the work, right? In reality, it's a quad-busting, technical descent that demands your full attention. One wrong step on those steep switchbacks could end your day very quickly, and all you can see is what your headlamp lights up (except the many other headlamps you see switchbacking their way down too). As the first light began to seep into the canyon, the landscape transformed from deep black dropoffs to your side to a truly unique blend of color and scale that photographs simply can't capture. Layer after layer of red, orange, and purple rock stretched out in all directions. I met some happy folks doing their own rim-to-river, rim-to-rim, and rim-to-rim-to-rim adventures on my way down, feeling great, but knowing I still had 35 tough miles to go after this initial descent. ## The Box (aka The Air Fryer) By 6:30 AM, I reached Phantom Ranch, the historic oasis at the bottom of the canyon. The temperature had already climbed into the 60s before the sun was even up, a preview of what was to come. Phantom Ranch is a surreal place, a little pocket of civilization tucked into this wilderness. While tourists who stayed overnight were leisurely enjoying their coffee and I could smell things cooking, I was just passing through, pausing only to refill water bottles and down some sugar. North of Phantom Ranch, the trail enters a section ominously known as "The Box." It's a narrow gorge with black Vishnu Schist walls that trap heat like a natural oven. Even in spring, by mid-morning, it can feel like running in a sauna. I'd read horror stories of summer temperatures reaching 120°F in this section, cooking unprepared runners. Thankfully, the fall conditions were more merciful, but I still moved efficiently through this section, keeping my effort level sustainable. Bright Angel Creek provided a constant companion through this stretch, its gentle burbling occasionally tempting me to just sit down in it entirely. I settled for dipping my hat in the clear waters whenever possible. ## A Vertical Journey Through Ecosystems Beyond The Box, the real work began as the trail started its long climb toward the North Rim. The next 14 miles would gain over 5,700 feet of elevation, but the climb is deceptive. It starts so gradually that you barely notice it, lulling you into a false sense of security before the grade ramps up significantly in the final miles. What's fascinating about this section is watching the landscape transform around you. It's like taking a journey from Mexico to Canada in a single day. You start in desert scrub, then gradually begin seeing more vegetation as cottonwoods give way to pines. The air becomes cooler and richer with oxygen, and the soundtrack shifts from the buzz of insects to the whisper of wind through trees. The final four miles to the North Rim are what ultrarunners technically refer to as "a brutal slog." Nearly 3,000 feet of climbing in thin air (the North Rim stands at 8,297 feet), with seemingly endless switchbacks that had me bargaining with my legs to just keep moving forward. I transitioned from trying to run to what can generously be called "power hiking" but was really more like "determined vertical stumbling." But the changing environment provided its own reward, the cooler air and plenty of tourists were a welcome contrast to the heat and solitude below. ## Halfway There, Halfway Done Reaching the North Rim at about 11:00 AM was supposed to be a lovely moment of accomplishment. After about a full marathon's worth of running and hiking and one canyon crossing complete, I should have been in great spirits. The issue is that the North Rim sits at about 8000 ft of elevation, which isn't crazy high, but was high enough that I was feeling pretty nauseous. I tried getting down as much water as possible, but my body was not having it. I struggled to get comfortable and decided that it was time to make the turnaround. I filled up my bottles and headed back down the North Rim, crossing paths with many of the people I had seen throughout the day. I felt better as I descended but quickly got stuck on a skinny trail behind a trail crew that included several mules. A group of us were forced to wait while the trail crew loaded up the mules with their equipment - no shade, no water source, no where to go for about a full hour. Brutal, but I think my legs welcomed the break. Once we got the go ahead to continue, I found myself in a group of runners all going down at the same time which was a lot of fun. I'd leap frog with several groups the rest of the way back to the South Rim as we took breaks at different spots for different lengths of time. ## Same Same But Different I kept my pace controlled on the descent, knowing that blown quads would make the final climb out of the canyon nearly impossible. The afternoon sun had shifted the light in the canyon completely, illuminating features that had been in shadow during the morning hours. It was like running through an entirely different landscape, despite following the same trail. By 4:00 PM, I had returned to Phantom Ranch, now transformed from the cool morning oasis to a hot afternoon checkpoint. The plan from here on out was to take the slightly longer but more gradual Bright Angel Trail, a different way than I had descended but closer to where my car was parked. This offered crucial advantages: reliable water sources and more shade during what would be the most challenging part of the day—the final 4,380-foot climb back to civilization in the afternoon heat. Luckily, my nausea was back to normal and I was able to still get down some fuel. I think one of my biggest blunders here was taking several Tailwind packets (basically sugar and electrolytes) that contained caffeine. I knew I'd want the boost and might need it while I was hiking and running in the dark, but it became the last thing I wanted to put in my body and I had no other choices. ## A Real Test of Years of Training The climb out of the canyon tested everything I had prepared for and then some. The afternoon heat had peaked in the mid-90s through the Box and at Phantom Ranch, making the lower sections of the climb feel spicy. My pace slowed to what can only be described as a determined shuffle. Runners would pass me on the trail, and I'd pass them at rest stops as I was just filling my bottles and continuing on. Indian Garden, located roughly halfway up the Bright Angel Trail, appeared like a mirage after hours of climbing. Its reliable water source and shade from cottonwood trees provided essential relief. I soaked my hat in cold water and took a moment to assess my condition. I was tired but moving steadily, and the upper portions of the trail would be more forgiving as temperatures cooled with elevation gain and the sun going down. The final miles to the rim became a meditation in forward motion. The sun fully set behind the canyon walls, draping me in the same darkness I started in. The temperature dropped noticeably with every hour and overall just felt lucky with the conditions I had throughout the day. ## I actually made it I reached the South Rim in total darkness, completing the 51-mile journey in approximately in a bit under 17 total hours. My nausea came back and all I wanted was to be sitting down in my car eating real food. I had a room at a Days Inn about an hour away that I was wishing I could teleport to. In the end, I had some mixed emotions about feeling sick, maybe feeling like I should have trained more, and some frustration around being held up for an hour in the sun at elevation. Challenges this hard usually mean you're not having fun by the end of it, and I'm pretty sure I was fully in that camp for a while. At the end of the day, I was able to experience a full immersion in one of the world's most magnificent landscapes, experiencing it not as a passive observer but as an active participant in its scale and challenge. That engagement creates a connection to the place that simply visiting a viewpoint never could. Even while I was totally wrecked, I was already thinking about my next trip to the Grand Canyon. ## What It Really Meant Days later, once my quads stopped screaming at me every time I encountered stairs, I began to process what the experience had really meant beyond the physical achievement. The R2R2R offered me a privileged perspective on the Grand Canyon that few ever experience. I had seen it transform throughout the day as light and shadow played across its features, felt the dramatic temperature changes as I moved between elevations, and witnessed the remarkable ecological transitions from desert floor to alpine forest and back again. The journey also reinforced important lessons that extend beyond running. The Grand Canyon demands respect, preparation, and humility. Success there isn't just about fitness but about making good decisions, adapting to changing conditions, and recognizing when to push forward or when to adjust plans. These are lessons that apply well beyond the trail. Perhaps what will stay with me longest are the moments of solitude in such an iconic place. Despite the Grand Canyon's fame and the millions who visit its rims each year, there were stretches on the trail where I encountered no one for miles, where the only sounds were my footfalls, my breathing, and maybe the burble of a nearby river. In those moments, I could pretend I wasn't just passing through the landscape but becoming part of it, if only briefly. I think most people that read this will still question why the heck anyone would attempt something like this, which is totally fair. For those that are now interested in trying it, I'd say go for it! Learn from my mistakes, pray to the weather and water gods, and give it everything you've got - it'll be a memorable experience no matter what! And yes, I did end up getting a new tire, but it wasn't easy. Of course, my SUV had a weird enough size tire that no one in the area had a new or used one. I ended up driving about 2 hours on the freeway on my spare tire to get to a Discount Tire that had tires in my size. And because I have AWD and tires that had 10s of thousands of miles on them, I had to get a full set. Just another problem to solve and honestly nothing compared to the day before. Got the tires and made it home in the same day, no problem. An adventure I'll remember for a long time.