Bigfoot 200

A long long way to Run

As I sat down atop a cloud covered rocky outcropping that was supposed to be an overlook, I wondered how Steve could still be so positive about the situation. His relentless cheerfulness was almost unbearable. This terrible pointless scramble up a steep side trail to get a better view of the inside of a cloud was another malicious out-and-back that Candice thought would be great fun to throw in at mile 185. This climb had gotten me no closer to the finish line. Now we had to turn around and navigate back down the treacherously steep loose rock covered climb that we just came up for no reason other than punishment. What had I ever done to her? How does she sleep at night?

BIGFOOT 200

Sounded like a good idea at the time.

Maybe it was back in October of 2015, I had just finished Grindstone 100. I had done pretty well. For me. I was feeling pretty good about myself. Except for my feet. We had a mutual hatred for each other, my feet and me. We didn't talk for weeks. I was feeling like I was starting to understand myself as a runner. I wanted to run fast. Like a kid running through the woods with reckless abandon. But that wasn't going to happen, I just wasn't fast. But at Grindstone I think I figured out what I was good at. Running slow. I can run slow for a relatively long time. 

To coincide with this epiphany, I was talking to my younger brother and he was telling me about this girl he knows who was putting on 200 mile races out west. Candice Burt. Bigfoot 200. I can run slow for a long time. It all just kind of made sense. Why not run 200 miles. 

Well, Bigfoot wasn't in the cards right then. Life and what-not. So I ran a 200 mile race in Vermont that we found in 2016, and I did OK, and that just strengthened my resolve. It was inevitable that I would go out west and accept the Bigfoot challenge. 

The trail had been fairly smooth and runnable for about 5 miles as I ran around Cold Water Lake, I was about 50 miles into this thing and feeling good, confident. But then as the sun disappeared behind me the ground rose up in front of me and I began to climb. And climb. And climb. AND CLIMB! What was this God-forsaken trail and why were there no switch-backs. Trying to find the top of Mt. Margaret before my headlamp died I started to seriously doubt my training. 

How do you train for 200 miles?

Good Question. Run?

Training is hard for me. I don't really have much discipline. But I like to run so that usually gets me through. So I sat down one day and made a training plan, I think I spent a whole twenty minutes on it. I counted the weeks until the race, and picked a goal for each week that was a little higher mileage than the week before. I had a few shorter races in my training cycle that I would use for gauging my progress, the first one a trial marathon and the second a 40 miler. (Sidenote: that didn't work. Those distances are in no way capable of informing you of what kind of 200-miler-shape you are in. In fact they both left me feeling slow and undertrained.)

So I kept running. Trying to beat back the self-doubting voice in my head telling me that I was in over my head.

Tim Spaulding, who was training for Western States this summer (and did great at his first 100!) invited me on some of his long mountain runs. Tim also made me feel slow, but they were good hard runs of 30 to 40 miles. Just the kind of hard stuff I thought I needed. I kept to my training plan as much as life would let me. I had a few bad weeks where I couldn't carve out the time to run like I needed, but I hit my peak weeks as planned. My highest mileage week was 85, but I was feeling good. Running strong on my long runs. I was as ready as I was going to get.

Race Week

Travelling to races stresses me out. I'm pretty sure I am the guy that Murphy based his law on. I made sure that my most essential race gear was packed in my carry-on because airlines will lose your luggage, especially on race week. Bad luck likes to travel with me, here's a brief recap: our flight was delayed. Overnight. Resulting in an unexpected hotel stay on the wrong coast and missing the course description briefing in Washington. Our rental car reservation was screwed up, my crew worked it out and we actually ended up with two smaller SUVs instead of one big SUV. Steve lost his wallet as soon as we landed. (Sidenote: Steve is like a Zen Master, he never gets upset or frustrated. Even when you walk downhill for 5 miles!) And after the race our rental car was broken into and Alexis had her suitcase stolen. She is not a Zen Master. Stress. 

My crew was stellar. Jeremy Peterson decided to join us basically last minute and jumped on board as my fourth crew member. Alexis was obviously not going to miss this adventure, she loves to see me suffer. Kevin was in from the beginning, and Steve joined our ranks shortly after we started planning. There was a lot of nervous energy the day before the race. I tried to relax. I wasn't worried about the race, it was too late for that. I think that I was too quiet and reflective leading up to the race and that stressed Alexis out. 

Race Day (s)!

The morning of the race I felt calm. Relaxed. I ate as much as I could, and with a 9 am start I had time for second breakfast. And then third breakfast. Everyone milled around the start line while we waited for some of the shorter races (20 miler,40 miler,100K) to start. Steve jumped in and started helping the race crew get Spot Trackers on runners. Volunteering is in his DNA. It was kind of surreal, there had been a two year build up to this moment. An intense five month training cycle to get me ready. A lot of time and money to get me and my enthusiastic crew here to this point. The start line. And I wasn't really nervous, or excited, worried, or anxious. I just was. I guess I thought I was ready. That feeling wasn't going to last long.

When the race started we all started running, it's a race that's what you do. There we were, 160 lost souls heading into the wilderness to face our demons, slay our dragons, test our mettle. I was thinking in the first mile that we were running too fast. I was running too fast, and a group of about twelve or so runners just kept pulling ahead. We ran for the first mile or so through some amazing old growth forest. Trees twice the size of what we have back here on the east coast. I remember that I was thinking how much it reminded me of the Lake Tahoe area about the time the trees stopped and I ran into the wasteland of Mt St Helens, and there she was right in front of me. 

Mt St. Helens is a somber giant. Even with the top blown off she dominates the landscape. Here we were, 38 years after the eruption, and trees still seemed scared to climb back up her slopes. Patchy scrubby bushes stood out here and there, daring to try to reclaim the volcanic slopes as part of the forest they used to belong to, struggling to find a foothold on her rocky shoulders. 

And then we tucked back into the forest, back among the giant cedars and pines I ran. Up and down gentle slopes and then out again into a field of jagged lava. The course was marked well, but through the lava boulders there was no trail. Hopping however we could across boulders of varying size we made our way from post to post . Through here I caught up with a few runners. At first I assumed they had realized that we were running a long ways and decided to slow down, but after talking to a few I found out that they were actually running the 20 mile race and had started fifteen minutes before me. This realization made me question myself, my pace, my plan. We were only about six miles in, I shouldn't be catching people who started with that kind of a lead. I slowed down a little and began taking some pictures and eating more, but I continued to pass runner after runner. Finally I accepted the fact that I was moving at a comfortable pace and was not making a terrible mistake. The course turned down hill after the lava flow and I actually picked up the pace again. This is where I met Gino.

Gino was from New York, and he was running the 200 mile distance with me. It was nice to have somebody to run with for a ways. We didn't talk a lot, he was listening to a "sick playlist" that he had put together for the race, but he fell in behind me and we finished out the first section together.

Blue Lake Aid Station -mile 12.2 - approximately 2:45

Blue Lake Aid Station was a circus. This was where the 20 mile race turned around, but also the 40 miler and 100K came through here. The aid station was in a road or maybe a dried creek bed, there was no lake in sight, and was well stocked but undermanned to handle the volume of runners that were there. I grabbed some watermelon and was munching that while a volunteer filled my pack with water. "Did you get stung?" I had been stung by something but this question worried me. Was I swollen? Was my face turning red? Were my eyes bulging? Did I look disoriented? "Everyone has been stung that has come in here," he said. "Most people several times." Well I guess I was lucky then, just one sting on the leg.

I headed out of the aid station feeling pretty good. My pace was maybe a little faster than it needed to be but I wasn't feeling tired. About a mile from the aid station I found the Blue Lake. It was an amazing little pond in the middle of the forest, the water was a shade of blue I had never seen water before. It was a serene little pool completely encapsulated by the tall trees, but the water was a deep turquoise that looked like a tropical body of water at midnight. But then it was gone and I was climbing, up and down through the foothills of Mt St Helen, and that's when Gino caught back up. "You really move good across the rocks." I trained a lot on the AT. "I'm from New York city, I didn't really train on technical terrain." Oh. "I think we are running top 10 right now. I bet we will catch some more people."

This was not what I wanted to hear, or a conversation I wanted to have. Gino and I were 14 miles into the Bigfoot 200 endurance run.  We should not be worried about other runners. I was not worried about other runners. My goal was 60 hours and we had been running for less than 4, relax Gino it's going to be a long couple of days. The trail turned down again and we ran and ran until we ran out of canopy and entered the desert wasteland on the north side of Mt St Helens. Somewhere on the two mile downhill Gino had disappeared, and I entered this alien landscape alone. I never saw Gino again, and unfortunately he did not finish.

For the next 15 miles I battled this environment of destruction as I moved forward across ravines so deep and steep that we climbed down into them and then out the other side with the help of ropes, hillsides of loose scree that threatened to send us sliding down into valleys of jagged rocks, wind that blew dust from the sides of the mountain straight down on us, creek after creek of milky looking ashen water that filled your shoes with abrasive grit that ground your well earned callouses off, sun beating down unbearably tempting you to drink your water faster than you can afford to. At the fourth creek crossing, where the water looked like dirty milk poured out of an old boot, I was running dangerously low on water and I stopped and soaked my hat. Two guys were sitting on rocks filling their packs with that water. I hope that those guys lived. I wasn't that thirsty. Not yet.

Luckily there was an oasis in the desert. Two miles or so after that last nasty creek crossing I came upon a small cluster of green in a barren brown landscape. A little waterfall fed by a spring in a thicket of thorny flowering bushes. I joined three other runners here, I sat on a rock and filled my pack and ate a few calories and drank as much water as I could, and then headed off to the second aid station. 

Windy Ridge Aid Station - mile 30.3 - approximately 6:40

There was a two mile out and back to get to Windy Ridge Aid Station. I passed Jordan Chang here, the first time I had seen him since the start. He was 3 miles ahead of me. I'm not sure why this bummed me out, Jordan is so much faster than me, but it did deflate me a little. I had survived the wasteland unscathed except for some uncomfortable chafing, I had run a 50K with only one aid station and felt good physically, I was eating good, drinking as best I could considering the lack of water, and moving well. It was still early, plenty of time for everything to unravel.

The trail from Windy Ridge to the next aid station was a short 9.6 miles. A lot of gradual climbing as we moved away from the dead zone and back into the living wilderness. Trees began appearing, sporadically at first and then in clusters. The ground through much of this section was bleached white sand that would kick up in little clouds around my feet. Filling my shoes with even more silt and debris. The sand gave way to rocky foothills as I climbed up towards the Johnston Ridge Observatory where the next aid station was. Where I would see my crew for the first time since the start. 

I am not sure if I was invigorated to be leaving the barren shadow of Mt St. Helens behind, or if I was just excited to be heading toward my crew and fresh shoes and socks, but I covered that 9.6 mile section in just about 2 hours. I felt good.

Johnston Ridge Aid Station - mile 39.9 - 8:48

It felt so good to see my crew. It was like coming home from work. I sat down. I ate. I changed my shoes and socks. They told me how the other runners were doing. I thought about Gino and I told them that I didn't care. I tried to eat a ton of food, and they told me that the next section was short and mostly downhill. I lubed up my chafed areas, and I headed out for the the next section. It felt just as good to be running as it did to take a break. Things were going great.

This next section was 6.5 miles of all downhill or flat running. Without a doubt this was the easiest section of the course. The downhill was gentle and smooth, lots of open grassy hillside. It was like being on a different planet after the wasteland of Mt St Helens. I felt good and just let gravity pull me down through the hills, into the flat meadows below. This section flew by in a blur of tall grass and switch-backs, and in just about an hour I was at the next aid station.

Coldwater Lake Aid Station - mile 46.5 - 10:12

There were Pirates everywhere when I rolled into the Coldwater Lake parking lot. Pirates. Definitely some of the most enthusiastic volunteers I have ever seen. My crew was ready for me with a big bowl of hot something. I think it was mashed potatoes. I remember that it was great. I remember that I ate too much, and then they made me eat some more. Maybe it was Mac-n-cheese. I sat and ate and changed clothes. I grabbed a headlamp, but opted not to take both headlamps. It wouldn't be dark for a couple of hours, I could make it to the next stop with one fully charged headlamp. No, I'm pretty sure it was mashed potatoes. Jordan Chang's crew was still there, I didn't see them at the last aid station but there was no reason to hurry out of here, we had 19 hard miles to run before our crews would see us again.

I set out on a nice well worn trail around the lake. Pirates cheering me on. Gently rolling and runnable. Unfortunately I had over eaten at the last two aid stations and could barely jog without feeling like I would puke. I tried not to be frustrated as I walked/ran/wasted some really easy miles along the shore of this picturesque lake. It was kind of like running in a Bob Ross painting, epic mountains loomed over magnificent towering pines framing the sunset reflected in the mirrored surface of the lake. I was a happy little squirrel. My stomach would settle down soon enough, I knew I needed those calories for the long night ahead. It was a trade off I knew I would make again. Eat as much as possible when its possible.

The lake disappeared a few minutes before the sun. The trail turned upward and I started to climb into the dark. And climb all night. This was the first significant climbing of the race. The first 50 miles had about 10,000 feet of elevation gain, but it was doled out in tolerable portions, a little hiking here, a runnable climb here, some downhill or flats to break it up. As the darkness became complete, enveloping me in deep shadow, I climbed with my hands on my knees, steep and relentless. The ascent to Mt Margret was brutal. The kind of climb that makes you doubt your training and question whether or not you belonged out here. This course is hard. I wasn't tough enough to be here.

After what seemed like 12 hours of non-stop climbing my headlamp started to flicker. Dimming itself to power-saving mode. Oh shit. There were a group of headlamps up ahead, I had been following them at a distance for the last hour. I picked up the pace. Still climbing. They were only about a half a mile in front of me but it took 40 minutes of running way too hard to catch up. After a quick out and back to the Mt Margret Overlook (beautiful view of nothing in the dark of night) we were running down a gradual ridgeline and I burned hard to catch up to them. Two runners and a pacer. My heart about to explode out of my chest. Can I follow you guys? My light is about to die. They were awesome. 

With a little more than a mile to go my light was completely dead. If it wasn't for Bryce I would be dead too. This section had a few steep narrow cliffs that had to be crossed with care. I couldn't see how far the drop was, relying solely on his light to navigate. I imagine 50 foot drops with rattle snakes at the bottom. Maybe Coyotes. I stayed right on his heels. Thanks Bryce, I owe you. We cruised into the aid station together, laughing at my stupidity. Bryce had run Bigfoot last year. He finished 9th this year. I think.

Norway Pass Aid Station - mile 65.2 - 16:45

I don't remember much about this aid station. It was almost 2 am and I was tired, too much climbing followed by running hard to catch a light to guide me in. I don't know what I ate but I'm sure my crew took good care of me. I wanted to get back out there and get this night over with. I left with more than one light. It was cool but not cold, there was a fog settling in.

Somehow the climbing was not over, I don't remember much descending in the dark, but with all the uphill there must have been some that snuck by unnoticed. I was feeling the toll of all the steep climbing, by the time I started the downhill to the aid station I had made up my mind that I would sleep. This was earlier than I had planned, I had hoped to make it to the 100 mile mark before needing sleep. It was 5 am and I had only covered 75 miles, but I was tired.

Elk Pass Aid Station - mile 76.3 - 20:45

Alexis was ready for me. I have to sleep, I said. "Good, the car is over here." I was expecting an argument, I don't know why, I just was, but she took me to the car which wasn't very close to the aid station and got me all set up. I slept in my clothes, shoes, probably even my headlamp. I didn't care. Twenty glorious minutes of sleep in the front seat of a car. Heaven. I woke up fresh and ready to take on anything. The food was incredible and my crew looked tired. I felt like running again. It's an amazing and encouraging thing to have people sacrifice themselves for you and your silly adventures. How did any of this make sense? They looked ragged and exhausted, tattered, all so I could try to run for 200 miles through these rugged mountains. Puzzling. Amazing. I remember leaving this aid station so thankful for each of them. 

The sun was coming up and lighting up the fog. There would be no visible sunrise this morning. The trails up to Elk Pass were deeply rutted and rocky. The footing was often treacherous and I would slip into a deep rut every half mile or so cranking my ankles this way and that. Near the summit the trail was a scramble of jagged loose rocks, sharp turns and steep drops. This was the adventure I was here for. This section would be tough in the dark. The descent was nasty at first, I caught and passed a runner here. But the trail quickly settled down into a smooth downhill grade for several miles. So much fast running that I had to take a break and walk a few steps. I would pick up my first pacer at the bottom. 

Road 9327 Aid Station - mile 91.3 - 24:40

I spent about 20 minutes at this aid station, eating hash browns and a quesadilla, or a pancake or something, changing my shoes and socks, talking about what was coming up. Jeremey would be with me for the next 21 miles since the next aid station wasn't crew accessible.  I made a big mistake here, I told them that my feet were starting to get rough, and that I would need to do something about them when I saw them in 20 miles. I would regret that soon enough. All of bouncing in and out of narrow rutted trails with wet shoes full of sand and silt have a way of changing skin into something else. Something less tough. I should have taken the time here to tend to my hotspots.

It was so good to have some company. Jeremy talked and distracted me from my deteriorating feet. We ran well for many of these miles, even the climbing wasn't bad. I feel like it was no time at all and he was telling me that I had just run 100 miles, and we weren't far from the aid station. Jeremy was a great pacer for this point of the run, we kept a steady conversation and pace going through this section.

 Spencer Butte Aid Station - mile 102.5 - 27:50

We ate and filled our packs, and spent too much time here. I realized that I was lingering because my feet were hurting. 30 minutes in that aid station and we finally got moving again. The next section was a blur, I kept apologizing to Jeremey because I was moving too slow. My feet were in bad shape. The last four miles of this section were through a busy park like area along the Lewis River. I saw more people in that four miles leading into the aid station than everywhere else on the course combined.

Every step was excruciating by this point. I was hobbling along at a miserable hiking pace when I should have been running. The last miles leading into the aid station I completely missed a few incredible waterfalls as I was too absorbed in my pitious suffering. I was focused so intently on hurting that I was barely moving. Luckily Jeremey got some great photos for me!

 Lewis River Aid Station - mile 112.1 - 30:45

Jeremy ran ahead a little to tell them that my feet needed attention. I was planning on cutting a bunch of blisters open and taping everything up. The countless creek crossings and the dusty trails had conspired to hobble me. Even I was surprised to see how bad they looked when my shoes came off. I had blisters in places that I had never had any trouble with in the past, the spots that were prone to being hot spots had already blistered, popped, and re-blistered!

Steve was hunting for tape and something sharp so I could begin the self-mutilation that would be necessary if I hoped to make it to the finish line, when a man in a blue kilt walked up and asked what I needed. Little did I know at that moment, but Toby was about to become my favorite volunteer of all time and the man who single-handedly saved my race. 

A few weeks after the race Jordan told me that his crew had told him about how bad my feet looked. "Your feet are nowhere near as bad as Todd's," or something like that. How's that for something to be remembered for? My feet were a cautionary tale! 

Toby went to work on my feet like a skilled battlefield surgeon, cutting, peeling, taping. When he was done each of my toes were wrapped up individually and I had a few stray pieces of his super tape on my heels and arches. Anywhere there was less skin than there should have been was covered in a protective armor that clung so well I couldn't get it off for days after the race. 

The next section was almost 19 miles long with 5000 feet of elevation gain and about 8 creek crossings. It was going to get dark again. It was going to rain. I was going to hurt. I ate as much as I could get down and Alexis made me take another sandwich. Steve loaded up my pack for me, everytime I needed something it was in there and I don't remember telling Steve where to put anything. Sometimes he would ask me what I felt like eating, throughout the whole 3 day race Steve was in charge of my pack and it was always stuffed with the right stuff in the right places. 

I left Lewis River with my poles, earlier than I had planned on using them, but the climbs ahead sounded like they would be needed. And the climbs of the first night were still fresh in my mind. I was running again thanks to Toby's magic work on my feet. I was moving well, and about a half mile from the aid station I threw half of Alexis' sandwich into the woods for the chipmunks. I heard they like grilled cheese.

It rained for about an hour as I moved through some rolling rainforest terrain that closed in around me like it was trying to stop all forward progress. These trails were not well-used. For miles after the rain stopped the thick underbrush kept me soaked from the waist down. There were a lot of down trees in this section that I had to climb over, crawl under, or bushwhack to get around. I filled my pack in a creek about 8 miles in, and then the climbing started. I was thankful for the decision to bring my hiking poles, I don't know what mountain we went up here, but I think I went up about 3000 feet in 4 miles. 

The climb took so long that I was disoriented and confused about where the next aid station would be. In my mind it was at the top of the hill, so everytime I started to run downhill I would panic and start looking for course markers. This section was marked for confident runners, 'Dragons' as they called them were only hung at turns. After the worst of the climbing I ran another 5 miles through a confusing web of ATV trails that felt like a maze. It was the middle of the night again and I was convinced that I was running in circles, I would stop every once in a while convinced that I had already climbed over this tree or scrambled up that gully. This feeling, intensified by the lack of course markings, continued all the way to the Council Bluff aid station. I was struggling mentally. I was sleepy again, already. But my feet were in good shape once again and I was moving well.

Council Bluff Aid Station - mile 131 - ???

Council Bluff aid station was crewed by a group that was a family and friends, most of them were asleep, it was sometime in the middle of the night. They had a fire, and beside that fire were some chairs. Such comfortable chairs, such warm fire. It felt like I was on an alien planet. The three people who were awake fed me. Vegetarian Chili and cheese quesadillas and Coke. Billy Joel on the jukebox. Story time. One of them had run Bigfoot it's inaugural year, the others had crewed him. Ever since they had manned Council Bluff, an oasis in a desert of misery, a bright spot at the end of an endless trek and agonizing climb. I wanted to stay, I wanted sleep, but this was not the place for that, these kind people would have let me sleep too long.

So I got up and staggered on. This section was less than 10 miles. A short stretch of Bigfoot. I was climbing but it was easy climbing, some of it was runnable. I was hiking fast. They told me that this was an easy section. I pushed here. I was going to sleep when I got to my crew. It was getting cold and foggy. Horror movie atmosphere, my breath crystalized in my face and the fog devoured my light ten feet out, a thick gray darkness hung heavy. Up and up over some small mountain. My mind was elsewhere. I started realizing that I was moving fast through a foreign trail, and wondering why I was out there. What was I doing here? Where was here anyway? Down the other side, faster and faster. I was running as hard as I thought sustainable because I was fighting off sleep.

The trail dumped me out on a road and I run and run. The road turned onto another road. I slow down. The road turned onto another road. Now I'm walking.  There is a sign, "Crew turn here, Runners this way." Almost there, now I'm running again. SO TIRED. Back on a trail, I'm running and running. When I finally come out into a gravel parking area there are trucks everywhere, but everyone is asleep. I look and look for the aid station, shining my headlamp in trucks and tents. Someone wakes up and I ask. The aid station is that way. A quarter mile. These guys are here to ride bikes tomorrow. I'm so confused. Finally I see Alexis. I'm frustrated and tired and it's freezing cold.

Chain of Lakes Aid Station - mile 140.8 - 43:30

Only someone who has run for 43 hours through two nights can appreciate how tired you can get. I'm actually pretty good at functioning on a limited amounts of sleep, but the more you limit that sleep the less functional that functioning gets. "What do you need?" Sleep. They took me into a warm heated tent to take off my shoes and maybe change my shirt. Someone is asking me about food. Sleep. Now I'm being led outside of the warm heated cozy tent into a refrigerated icebox tent with cots and blankets that aren't big enough. Sleep.

Fitful sleep. I wake up because people are talking too loud. Sleep. I wake up because one of my feet has slipped out of the blanket and is forming ice crystals. Sleep. "Time to get up." I'm ready. Alexis said that she let me sleep for 40 minutes, that's too long. Time to get back in the game. As I eat my head clears and I'm me again. Kevin is coming on the next section. These hashbrowns are good. Pancakes? Maybe I don't know. They told me later that someone on Jordan's crew was cooking for me. Thanks! 

This is where I got in front of Jordan Chang. He slept. A lot. I saw him and his pacer Rudy wandering around getting ready to leave when Kevin and I hit the trail. They're going to catch us soon. Downhill for a long long way out of this aid station. Moving well. Sleep and food are amazing, everyone should try it. We caught and passed a runner and his pacer on the downhill, he looked wobbly and weak. Kevin said that he had been leading for most of the race, but had opted to not sleep. Bad call. Little naps are what its all about. We are in 3rd or 4th now. Wow.

The trail leveled out and we kept running. I was remembering how poorly I ran with Jeremy at the end of his stretch with me, and trying to do better. I was experiencing pacer pressure: a strong desire to run well so as not to let down someone who was doing something awesome for you. Soon we were climbing. And then we were climbing. And after that there was some more climbing.

This was the section where we would get some awesome views of Mt Rainer. The only problem was the clouds. They did not approve of this plan. But we sure did climb. I never saw Bigfoot out there, but I told Kevin that he probably lived up there. The climb was brutal enough to discourage all but the heartiest cryptozoologist from tracking him down up there in the high country. Then there was some more climbing. I think we counted 72 false summits before we actually started the descent into Klickitat.

Klickitat Aid Station - Mile 158.1 - time unknown

The Klickitat aid station was at a road crossing and they had a sweet set up. They had an RV for their headquarters and a couple of big tents. Probably more than they needed considering they weren't crew accessible and were only probably going to have one or two runners at a time. They sat me and Kevin down in chairs and took our food orders. That's right, they took our food orders. I don't know what he had, for me it was a vegan burger, fries and a milkshake. 

"How are your feet?" They're fine-ish. At hearing that the aid station captain called into the RV (in a thick European accent that I haven't quite placed) and his spunky little wife came out to 'work' on my feet. "It's Ok, she likes it." She sat down with a bucket of warm soapy water and started massaging my feet and calves while I ate my gourmet meal. I was very tempted to stay right there, living out the rest of my days at the Klickitat Aid Station. I did not see the point in running away from such lovely people. Surely they could make a job for me in their lovely little commune.

But alas, soon enough we were up and running again. Running away from paradise into the great unknown of the great northwest. The distance between Klickitat and Twin Sisters Aid Station is 19.4 miles. This is where I began to hallucinate steadily. We ran through, over, under and around a lot of fallen trees. In my head we were in some kind of rural logging operation, and I started to spot the lumberjacks hiding behind trees. Peeking out at us. Hiding. Spying. The Bigfoot Logging Company, surveilling runners since 1948. 

I knew they weren't real. But they were still there. At one point I told Kevin that there was no need to worry about them because they were just in my head. He seemed to appreciate that. Somewhere up in this section there were a few high elevation ponds and we talked about getting water but didn't. We should have. I completely ran out of water in this section. I thought I was going to die. I almost asked the lumberjacks for water, but they looked surly and I don't know if that would have gotten me DQ'd or not. Are you allowed to take aid from a  hallucination? 

Out of water with four miles to go my attitude took a nosedive. I think I quit about five times in that four miles. I said things about Candice the RD that I am ashamed of, I'm sure she's a perfectly nice person and her mother too. By the time we got to the aid station Kevin was sick and tired of my bitching and whining. I was sick and tired of that beautiful stretch of rugged trail. And the lumberjacks were tired of me and Kevin disturbing their lumber-jacking.

Twin Sisters Aid Station - Mile 177.5 - 55:10

A small but lively bunch of crew were hanging out here. We interrupted an interesting conversation about naked cartwheels. I wasn't the only person slipping out of my mind. That was kind of reassuring. Kristen Chang looked a little worried about Jordan, but everyone else was in high spirits. It was very uplifting. Food, some kind of sandwich. Someone offered me a beer, I think, but it wasn't a good idea. 

Thirty minutes in the aid station and Steve and I headed out, back up the trail we just came down. Out and backs are stupid. About a mile out of the aid station we see Jordan and Rudy, he looked better than I felt coming into Twin Sisters. I wonder if he took aid from the lumberjacks? We climbed for about 3 miles before we started the long decent to the last aid station. We moved well for a while. The downhill was littered with fallen trees making it impossible to get any kind of rhythm. I bet we didn't run over 1/4 mile without a fallen tree blocking our progress. It seems like the lumberjacks would do better about getting them up faster. In one 1/4 mile section we had to negotiate 42 fallen trees, some of them were too big to go over or under. I probably would have just stood there is Steve wasn't there to help me pick my way around them and get back to the trail.

Elk Peak overlook. You have got to be kidding me. Mile 185. Climb this steep scramble of loose rock to look at that yonder mountain. Are you kidding me? Candice? Really? I hate mountains. Clouds, that's right, clouds.  I batted 1000 at Bigfoot for overlooks. Not one single clear view of anything picturesque.  When I get to the finish I'm going to cuss this lady out. Back down that same stupid steep rocky scramble.

As the light began to fade the single track turned into a grassy road kind of trail. We ran this for about 70 miles as darkness became complete and I completely went out of my mind. I was dozing in and out of consciousness and the dream world wasn't going away when I opened my eyes. I followed Steve through a crazy mix of trail running and Alice in Wonderland. Steve was very patient with me through here, and I must admit that I would not have made it without him. I'm confident that I would have wandered off somewhere and slept for days in a field of Poppies or something. I remember waking up at one point and asking him what we were doing out here? "Just making it to the next aid station." Why don't we just take a car? He just politely laughed and kept on moving.

Owen's Creek Aid Station - Mile 193.5 - 60:25

We finally rolled into the aid station, 16 miles took me over 5 hours of sleep running. The last aid station. Just the sound of that was enough to wake me up. Coffee. Calories. No sitting down. Let's get this thing done. I was pumped up. If not for the clear headedness of my exhausted crew I would have taken off running without any water or food. Care was taken to keep me moving forward. At a race like this your crew is so important. Mainly they are your mind when you lose yours. 

Alexis took me out for the last section. Gravel road. I was alive, on fire, driven to get this done and sit down. We were flying, 8 minute pace. How long is this section? "Thirteen mile." We should probably slow down. She kept me moving. Up and down. One minute I'm sleeping in the middle of the road. The next we are running strong. My feet hurt. My eyes were heavy. My mind was foggy. The road was long. Long. You should go on without me. I will catch up later. "No, it's dark. Come on."

Then there was civilization. Houses. Lights. Hallucinations. Dogs, vicious dogs. They must be real because Alexis is running from them. A drunken voice in the darkness calls out "Hunter get back over here." I stop running and the dogs stop chasing. I start running and the dogs bark and chase. This lasted for a few tense minutes before Hunter and his companion went back to the drunken voice in the dark. 

"Come on, we're getting close." So much running. Then more buildings. Lights. People. My crew had came back to run in with me. We must be close. Running. I hate running. The finish was still a mile away. They walked a long way. Then the finish. The track, the lights, the people, Candice the Race Director. The finish line: 63 hours 15 minutes 06 seconds. That's a very long time. Second Place. 

An accomplishment that I absolutely could not have achieved without my incredible crew. Selfless crew. Thoughtful crew. Amazing crew: Alexis, Steve, Jeremy and Kevin.

Reflections and Aftermath

Its been two months since I ran Bigfoot. Most of my toenails have started to grow back. My want to run has returned, even though my schedule hasn't allowed much running. Every once in a while, when my mind is not otherwise occupied, I start to think about the next big thing. What challenge lies ahead?

When I was asked about Bigfoot 200 immediately after the race my response was this: It was a beautiful rugged and challenging course. I hated it and I loved it. It was amazing and everyone should give it a try, test themselves against those terrible mountains. but me, no thanks. I have wrestled that demon and I am ready to move on.

But now, now I am not so sure. I am haunted by a quiet voice, a nagging voice, whispering about unfinished business. A sixty hour finish. A smarter run. The thought of retracing my suffering steps up and over some of those mountains is daunting, no doubt, but the allure of doing it better still pulls me in that direction. Maybe I just need to find something else to distract me. I don't know, but I may just have to go back one more time.