Running through grief: How DeShawna Joe honored her daughter with the Grand Slam of 200s

By Henry Howard

DeShawna Joe thinks about the worst day of her life every time she wants to quit.

When her legs scream in pain at mile 150. When her toenails fall off. When her body begs her to stop somewhere deep in the wilderness at 3 a.m. That’s when the Navajo ultra runner returns to Sept. 5, 2023, the morning her 16-year-old daughter, SoRaya Niesha Manakaja, was tragically killed.

“I always think of that moment,” Joe says, her voice steady but weighted with memory. “As a parent, we’re not supposed to bury our kids. There’s no other pain than losing my child. And when I think about being on a trail and I’m falling and I’m hurting — my toenails are coming off, I have blisters on my feet, my back’s hurting, I’m hungry, thirsty — I always think it’ll pass.

"This pain is hurting now, but it’s OK. It’s just temporary.”

That perspective carried Joe through something most people would consider impossible: the Grand Slam of 200s — the Monster 300, Tahoe 200, Big Foot 200 and Moab 240. In 2025, she completed all four races, becoming one of the few people — and one of the only Native American women ultra runners — to accomplish the grueling feat.

But for Joe, originally from Rock Point, Ariz., and now living in Tremonton, Utah, these races weren’t about achievement. They were about survival. About finding herself again amid her grief. About learning to live with a pain that never goes away.

A life changed in an instant

SoRaya was riding her bike home early on a Monday morning after visiting a friend. She was wearing AirPods, a white sweater and black pants. She never heard the dump truck coming.

“She passed away tragically, instantly, thank God,” Joe says, finding a small mercy in the fact that her daughter didn’t suffer.

The world that Joe had known — the comfortable, ordinary yet sometimes chaotic rhythms of motherhood — shattered. Everything became “shocking, out of the ordinary.” She entered survival mode, but this time it wasn’t on a mountain trail. It was in her own home, trying to figure out how to keep breathing when part of her had died too.

Joe had run ultras before. She’d completed 100-milers, including one at Crazy Mountain in Montana where SoRaya crewed for her and waited at the finish line. That race still holds special meaning — her daughter was part of it, sharing in her mother’s accomplishment.

She tried to run Crazy Mountain again after SoRaya’s death. This time, she couldn’t finish.

“It hurt more,” she says simply. “But I’ll go back one day.”

Completing the Grand Slam of 200-mile races

As a Navajo woman, Joe’s ultra running already defied cultural expectations. In traditional Navajo culture, women are discouraged from running in the mountains at night, from being alone in remote places with wild animals, from putting themselves in uncomfortable or dangerous situations.

“It’s kind of like a taboo thing with our tradition,” Joe explains. “My grandma and my grandparents used to say, ‘Don’t be going out at night. Don’t be driving at night,’ because they’re always concerned for our safety. They don’t want us to suffer or be in uncomfortable positions.”

But grief doesn’t care about taboos. Joe needed something that would match the magnitude of her pain, something that would force her to confront discomfort because comfort had become its own kind of suffering.

The 200-mile races gave her that. They stripped away convenience, comfort, even dignity at times, and left her with only what mattered.

“Being out there, hurting and suffering and just hungry and thirsty, it makes you really humble,” she says. “You kind of take it for granted that you can always have those things every day. Being out there and just suffering, it helps you center who you are again.”

At the Moab 240, a photographer captured Joe with her head down, deep in one of those low moments that define ultra running. At Bigfoot 200, she ran completely unsupported — no crew, no pacers, just her and the trail and her memories.

“It was hard, but I did it,” she says. “And I think anyone can do it.”

The ultra community carried her

The trail and ultra running community embraced Joe with what she calls “endless love and support.” At aid stations throughout her races, volunteers wrapped her toes, served her food and asked if she was OK. Her support system followed her from start to finish, witnessing her push through pain that was both physical and emotional.

In 2026, Joe will give back to the ultra running community by volunteering at Destination Trail Races.

But the community that matters most is the one back home, the one that gathers each year for the SoRaya Manakaja Memorial 5K in Chinle, Ariz., on her father’s side of the family land in Porcupine Ridge. The free race raises money for causes close to Joe’s heart. Last year it was the Navajo Police Department, bringing in $460. This year, she plans to support the Navajo nursing home. 

“It’s for meaning and it’s for a good cause,” she says. “I’m not taking any of the money. It’s all going back to the community.”

Honoring Soraya: The Memorial 5K and Diné Strong

On Joe’s Instagram profile, she identifies as “#DinéStrong” — Navajo Strong. It’s more than a mantra. It’s a mission.

“I try to inspire my people and try to keep them active and try to keep them moving forward,” she says.

She acknowledges the barriers that keep many Native Americans from participating in trail and ultra running.

The cost of races and required gear. The lack of representation. The cultural taboos. The difficulty of finding the right support system.

Joe found her community in Tremonton, particularly at Ogden Running Company, where her friend Jeremy provides shoes and gear and support. Now she wants to be that person for someone else.

Her outlook is welcoming: “Whoever needs help, I’m willing to help. Just ask.”

She encourages Native runners to be open about their needs. “It doesn’t cost a thing,” she says. “Not a lot of people will ask for help these days because they feel more prideful, but it’s hard to find the right community.”

SoRaya’s presence

Throughout the Grand Slam of 200s, SoRaya was there. Not physically, but in every step, every mile, every moment when Joe wanted to quit.

“I feel her everywhere I go,” Joe says. “She just shows me certain things and guides me. I just know she’s around, and she tells me that I’ll be OK, just trusting the process.”

She imagines what SoRaya thinks watching her mother push through these impossible distances: “It’s like, ‘Mom, that’s my crazy mom.’ She’s like, ‘Girl, we crazy.’”

SoRaya never liked running. When Joe would invite her for a run in the mountains or around the neighborhood in the cold or early morning, SoRaya would decline. “No, I’m comfortable. I just want to stay home,” she’d say.

Joe never pushed. She doesn’t push any of her other daughters she’s focused on raising. Right now, she’s in “mom mode,” waiting for her girls to get older before she takes on more races. She knows the trails will still be there, but her daughters’ childhood won’t.

“These races are always going to be there,” she says, “but your kids are only going to be 10 or 7 once in their life.”

A faith that endures

Joe’s faith grounds her grief in something larger than loss. She believes SoRaya is in a better place, and that belief shapes how she approaches both running and life.

“We’re all going to leave this world one day,” she says. “She kind of put the reality in for me, and my faith is so high that we’ll be there one day. The faith of her love is implanted here in front of me saying, ‘You know what, mom, just trust me. I’m here. I’m always here.’”

The Grand Slam of 200s wasn’t about conquering mountains or achieving a goal. It was about learning to carry an unbearable weight and still move forward. About discovering that physical pain, no matter how intense, eventually passes while the love for a lost child endures forever.

“The following weekend you’ll be like, ‘Oh, I’m in bed, showered, eating good food,’” Joe says about recovering from a 200-miler. “It does pass.”

The grief doesn’t pass. But Joe has learned to run with it, to honor SoRaya with every mile, every finish line, every moment when she chooses to keep going even when everything in her body says stop.

Because if she could survive putting her daughter in the ground, she can survive anything a trail can throw at her.

Diné Strong, indeed.

To learn more about Joe Joe’s running journey or the SoRaya Manakaja Memorial 5K, follow her on Instagram. If you’re interested in supporting Native American runners or want to get involved in making trail and ultra running more inclusive, reach out to your local running community and ask how you can help.

Speed drill

Name: DeShawna Joe 

Hometown: Rock Point, Ariz. 

Number of years running: “Since high school but was never serious about it … until I turned 30 years old.” 

How many miles a week do you typically run: “Just like 2 miles a day or 15 miles a week. Nothing serious lol  “

Point of pride: “Just being able to feel alive and happy knowing I can still move my body.” 

Favorite race distance: “200 miles! Because they make you suffer better and you're in your own survival world. You confront your discomfort and see the world's beauty in a new light. Sunrises and sunsets are highlights of 200-milers. The ultra community is fantastic, offering comfort and confidence with their presence. Love the positive support we receive at the end.”

Favorite pre-race or training food/drink: “A nice juicy steak! Training food I like to keep it simple with apple juice and candy.” 

Favorite piece of gear: “My poles! I love my poles I feel like they are my second pair of legs that I need to stay balance and moving.” 

Who inspires you: “My kids! Because I want them to know how strong they make me and that they can do anything that’s possible!” 

Favorite or inspirational song to run to: Morgan Wallen, Smile. “Because it makes me think of my daughter watching me and smiling down on me from heaven and I always think of all the fun memories and moments we had, I do everything for her!” 

Favorite or inspirational mantra/phrase: “Just one step closer ! Just one more step. That’s it! Keep moving!” 

Where can other runners connect or follow you: 

• Facebook: DeShawna Joe  

• Instagram: @forever_sorayas_mum