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.

Bull Run Run 50 Miler (2018) Race Report

Bull Run Run 50 Miler

Saturday, April 7, 2018 6:30 am

Clifton, Virginia

**WARNING**
This post is long. I like to think of myself as a storyteller. So in just the same way I couldn't merely tell you I had a burrito for lunch yesterday without telling you why I settled on burritos, where I got burritos from, what I had inside of it and how I felt afterwards, I can't just merely tell you I ran Bull Run. In other words, for me, there is no long-story-short.

The Backstory

Last year, I wanted to run something different. I had heard through the grapevine of the 50 miler put on by the VHTRC in early spring, I like 50 milers, and my running partner, Kevin C, was training for Western States, it seemed like the perfect timing and fit. We agreed and put in for the lottery.

I received word I had gotten in to Bull Run last year on the afternoon of a particularly trying day for me. Six week later, by the time the race had rolled around, I was focused on working on the shame and fragile amount of self-worth I was facing. Determined to run BRR to help Kevin train for Western and just to have a good day on the trails I moved forward with my plans to run it as a training run. But then foolhardy actions the week of the race jeopardized even that when my hip got inflamed/irritated/unaligned.

The morning of last year's Bull Run found me in the bathroom of our hotel room getting dressed and I remember thinking clearly of not starting, I was weighed down still with too much doubt. It would just be so easy to not. Not start, not try, not face the demons. But I started anyways. However, the morning  of last year's race was a heavy one with fears for my hip, my head, my heart.

I survived, I even had a pretty good day at BRR last year. KC and I finished in under 10 hours and just ran to enjoy the trails and the blue bells, to partake in a supported long run. But I wanted to go back, train harder, race the 50 which is my self-proclaimed favorite of the ultra distances.

Training for the 2018 Race (with a side of Terrapin Race Report)

The plan. The plan was to train, to be smart, to be ready. Ah, the best laid plans. All started well enough, I made a plan, complete with incremental mileage increases and cut back weeks, a few shorter races for speed. It wouldn't get me to anything over 50 miles in a week in training but that was ok. We, KC and I, made it through the lottery and registered. Things were going well enough. A few shorter weeks due to life. Little did I realize I was making a mistake.

I have this pair of Altras. And for the life of me I CANNOT get them to stay tied. But because I'm cheap or lazy or just not very bright sometimes I didn't replace the laces, I just tied them tighter. And tighter. A week into March I woke with the feeling that I had a bruise on my foot. It got worse over the next few days until it hurt to wear shoes. I took days off, held on to a positive perspective and hope.

Then a little knot appeared. Then the knot grew. As did the discomfort. More days off. Finally, a quick Google search despite knowing I shouldn't. Extensor tendonitis...from shoes being tied too tight. More days off, with Terrapin quickly approaching. It is better to be undertrained or so the doctor says.

I had signed up for Terrapin 50k as a long training run in my peak week for BRR. I was hoping to be as close to 9 hours at BRR as possible. I figured that even though the terrain at Terrapin was nowhere near similar the mileage and hard effort would do me good. I hadn't planned to taper. Just train through. But then the foot. So an early two week taper. Never got over 40 miles in training. I was able to convince myself that it would be ok.

I replaced (finally!) the laces in the Altras the night before Terrapin. I went into the race optimistic for a good day, not afraid of the weather, with a plan to work hard.

It was going ok, but I was slower than I hoped at Goff Mtn. But then this song by Frank Turner came on, it could NOT have been more perfect in that moment of doubt:

"Down at the bottomI found the things I'd forgottenThat despite all I've done, I can learn, I can learn and this time I'm Gonna hold onto thatI'm gonna forgive myselfAnd then ask for forgivenessCrossing my fingers and toes'Cause God only knows I need thisLord how I need this"

And while the song was still playing I thought, "You're going to be ok". And I believed it. Damn, did I believe it. I've tried to convince myself of a great many things and I know when I'm fooling myself, but this, this I finally and completely, believed. The rest of the day was good. 

Everything would be ok. 

Enter, stage left, the angry calf. You know the one, the one that mocks and challenges me at forks in the road? But not this time. So the training hasn't gone as planned, so the calf is hot and bothered. Two weeks to BRR, just relax! And I believed in that. And so I didn't run, and I didn't worry (much). Because I'm, as silly as it sounds, finally figuring somethings out about myself. That in spite of all that doubt, I'm going to try. I'm going to do my best.

At this point in time I had to re-evaluate, my original goals of a close to 9 hour finish were looking fairly slim, not that I couldn't, but I had to recalibrate the expectations. Between the lower than planned mileage and the calf, I had to come to terms with what I would go for. But as long as I remember, everything will be ok.

"I have made mistakes, I continue to make themThe promises I've made, I continue to break themAnd all the doubts I've faced, I continue to face themBut nothing is a waste if you learn from it"

The actual Bull Run Race Report starts here:

The start of this year's race was different than many starts I've had, it was so calm. I felt so calm. I was so ready for something I didn't feel ready at all for, yet ready to begin again. We were off and running just as scheduled at 6:30 am. I started near the front, something I don't do generally in ultras or any races, I could see only 30 or maybe 40 people out ahead. I didn't fret that I was starting too far up front. Last year I had kind of felt stuck in groups that were hard to get around, I thought being up front would be better, I got caught up in the pace a little, but it felt good.

I felt for the calf, it was tight and there was discomfort but not in the same place as the previous two weeks, I ran with it (pun absolutely intended). I was moving along, it felt quick for me, there was a girl right in front of me and one right behind who passed me and I tried to stay with her to the aid station at mile 7. I was hoping Todd would say top ten. I was running hard, most likely, TOO hard, I wanted the efforts to have me in the top ten and then I would just try and hold on as long as I could.

We came in to aid one which is at the top of these short steep timber stairs. Todd and Cooper were ready, new bottles and Mountain Dew in hand. Then Todd says..wait for it.. "You're third! And second is right there."

Leaving Centreville Courtesy
 VHTRC Facebook Page

"WHAT??"

Not quite what I was expecting, now I'm convinced I've gone out too hard, I'm wondering where Rachel Bell Kelly and Bethany Patterson are, the two girls I've been running behind can't actual be first and second, because I can't possibly be third at mile 7, UNLESS, I'm running that stupid hard.

Yep, probably. But I drank the Mountain Dew, grabbed the new bottle and took off as Rachel and Anna (the eventual winner) were coming into the aid station.

From here you do an out and back loop before coming back to the aid station. Last year, there was high water, the out and back was brief, there was a lot of foot traffic and this is precisely why I had gone out fast, to avoid most of the traffic congestion. This year, the loop was much bigger and a lollipop design. My stomach had been a little upset but news of being third and the pace and the sugar combined made it all that much worse. I sang a little Avett Brothers to myself, "Just do your best, it's the only way to keep that last bit of sanity."

The stomach turned for the worst and I had to hop off trail. As soon as I did Rachel and Anna passed me and yet I still couldn't find tree cover. I made the stop as brief as possible but from my position in the woods several people had passed by. I hopped back out and did my best, the loop was crazy, people going in the wrong direction and there was a little confusion about what was the correct direction. Thankfully we did it correct and a loop is a loop I suppose so I think all in all everyone was fine but it did break up the miles and it seemed far less congested than last year.

Back at Centreville I was now 5th, and not quite as close to the top 5. I was still moving at a good pace but the stomach wasn't letting up. I swapped bottles with Cooper and Todd gave me crackers and a few GU for my vest and I drank some more Mountain Dew. I left the aid station and ran back along the stream to the start/front area where I would see Todd and Cooper again. But the stomach just would NOT let up. I had to stop again. And again. I would pull in 4th and then have to stop. It was frustrating. The pace, on trails, was good, I managed the first 12 in 2 hours (according to my Garmin) with several bathroom breaks. I was happy about that even if it felt a little wreckless, I figured the speed may have upset the stomach but I still ran that hard for another hour.

By mile 18ish my stomach was a wreck and unforgiving. I ate a few crackers to lay off the sugar a little but I also figured it was time to slow down. Leaving aid three I was right behind Rachel, still 5th place but with a stomach that was beginning to really worry me. Todd seemed a little worried here, but then he reminded me of what we had talked about, the race wasn't meant to be, not with the training and the foot and calf problems. It would be ok.

Just do your best! I reminded myself. What is there to regret if you do your best? After the aid station I finally took two pepto, and stopped to use the restroom again, losing sight of Rachel and being passed again by a female, now I was 6th. In the next few miles I went to the bathroom three more times, each time I was passed by more runners eventually losing count of my position. It was hard to slip, it was hard to have my stomach be an issue, and yet I held on to the notion that I would do my best despite my stomach. I would not let it get me down. Accept the now and work with it the best you can. If I had to walk a little to settle the stomach than so be it, if I had to use the restroom a dozen times, then so be it, just do what I can and keep moving forward.

Right before the marina aid station, and coming back from a restroom break I saw Sophie Speidel coming up on us, she had told me of her times and tribulations at Bull Run at the start line, she had come back for redemption, and she was running true to her words, she looked strong and fit as ever, a legend and inspiration to me on trails. It wasn't until after the marina that she ran off and out of sight, but she kept me on my toes before and after.

On the way to Fountain Head aid station my legs also began to tell me they were done, they suggested the distance was not in them. I took two more pepto and kept on hope that the stomach might not get worse, it had time to improve. I was now 10th or 11th female, I had lost count, I was just trying to think of other things, my 'whys'.

Bull Run Run this year was my tenth 50 miler. I love the distance. Bull Run Run is almost entirely single track trail with so little other surface that it could be stated that it is entirely trail, it has a little bit of everything, steep ups, steep downs, long ups and long downs, flats, streams and rocks, roots and bridges, it is a beautiful course with well run aid stations, it's a runnable course but that is in no way to suggest that it is an easy course. I was renewed in the thoughts of ultra running as a whole, that I get to spend my day doing this, part of my life. That I get to revel in the highs and work through the lows to make me a better runner and a better person hopefully on and off the trail.

By Fountain Head I was tired and there was still so much distance to run, but Todd and Cooper were there smiling and dressed to run, they started out of the aid station there right behind me but were going for only five miles before returning to the aid station to crew again when we came back from the ten mile loop here. Todd had stories of the front runners and the crews, the aid stations and the wildlife they had seen. They weren't with me long but they were a distraction. Through here I caught up with Greg Loomis and Curtis and those brief conversations were pick me ups.

Kevin and I were talking a bit about the course when Greg caught back up and ran with us to the entrance of the Doo Loop and we talked Hardrock and ultra training. It was also a good distraction. But in the Doo Loop I was left to my own thoughts, how much easier this day was compared to last year when simply beginning was daunting. Here I was on this day, so far from a year ago, maybe others can't see it but I can FEEL it, I may not be able to explain the depth of the bottom that I felt I was standing in a year ago, but I thought about mental illness and how hard it is, how hard it is to explain, how common it is and yet so unspoken. I was thankful to be exactly where I was. And just as thankful for the journey, though it may not be over, that has taken me here. I got a little emotional but it was truly tears of happiness, or accomplishment, of fighting to get back to where I know I should be, need to be.

And then I saw three women up ahead, and I thought, the race is not all but lost, just do your best. And so I ran to and finished out the Doo Loop with Sophie and Rachel. They're both training for hundreds, it made me think of running a hundred again, now that I finally feel better about my mental race. We came into the Doo Loop aid station and I asked for a plain slice of bread with peanut butter because I was trying to not overdo the sugar by having jelly.

I left out of there and I felt better, maybe better than I had all day. My legs hurt, my knees ached, but my head was good, I trusted myself, and I was lifted up by Sophie calling me "the closer". But there were many miles ahead left to run. All I had to do was run.

I came back into Fountain head tied with Sophie and Rachel for 8/9/10th. Todd was encouraging and told me to go! I felt a little rushed out of this aid station, I walked over to the aid station table and ate a pringle, but there just wasn't anything else appetizing. I wanted to eat but my stomach, which was finally feeling some better after hours, had me concerned. But I vowed that I must get to eating right or would risk my best.

In the next few miles I tried to hold on and keep a steady pace, we left with about 13 miles to go and yet the legs felt so heavy, so dead. And yet, slow as it was, we ran more than walked, Rachel passed me and disappeared, I could hear people cheering for Sophie just behind me at the second to last aid station, with 8/9 miles to go. I started to walk. I had a little lull, a down moment. I took two ibuprofen, a GU and got out the headphones, it was time to stop whining about all of the pain and really get to work.

With the music on I settled into a pace, a groove if you will, and ran a little faster, a little harder. I passed Rachel and then started to spot other runners and just focus on running steady, hard but also smart, it sounds so easy and yet there's such a balance to it. I had to keep from working the calves to the point of cramping. The stomach felt knotted but held up, I started eating at half hour intervals.

I got excited as I worked along the river to the marina and the last aid station, I planned to drop my pack and long sleeve shirt, I did so in as quick a movement as I could, Helen was there offering encouragement and anything we needed. I just needed to finish. I left on a mission, 5.5 miles to go, run as smart and hard as I could.

Through the soccer fields I remembered last years race, how we had walked the smooth uphill, talked about how fast a course this might be, I thought still that I have work I could do to better my performance at Bull Run but I was giving every last drop that I had in my current state, for the day at hand.

I passed a female and was now on a mission to chase down any other runner I could. So often I finish and there was a runner just seconds ahead, I just worked and gave every ounce I had left. Through the rocky stream bank there was another female that I passed but she was only slower going over the rocks, I figured I would have to drain every ounce in the last miles because she was a clear fighter with fight left in her, and yet I loved it, it gave me that extra push to do the same.

In the end, I finished with a PR, 9:16, on a course that was at least two miles longer than last years and 6th female. It was the toughest race my stomach has given me with the exception possibly of Iron Mountain in 2013. But I don't know that I have EVER had a stronger race mentally, not once did I let the stomach wear me down to worry, to fear or doubt, for a HARD day it was a very, very GOOD day. And for this I'm thankful.

Take-Away

Bull Run is a deceivingly tough course, but it's beautiful and serene. It has bits of everything, and well stocked and supported aid stations and volunteers. And I will be going back, because I think I'm not done there yet. Many thanks to Todd and Cooper for coming out and spending their day in the cold, snowy, sleety, windy weather to feed me mountain dew and swap bottles off every few miles. It isn't so much the handing me a bottle but the love that the support suggests. I really couldn't do it without that.

-Alexis

Hellgate 100K 2017 Race Report

Hellgate 100k

December 9, 2017 12:01 a.m.

Glasgow to Fincastle, Virginia

"Go do, you'll know how to
Just let yourself, fall into landslide"
-Jonsi

I've been quite a nervous wreck the days and hours preceding Hellgate but this year was quite different. I really had no idea what I was capable of running. I felt under trained to the point of not even feeling like a 'runner' anymore. But the simple fact was I was registered for Hellgate and my husband, Todd, would not accept me bowing out when I really wanted to over Thanksgiving weekend.

I was calm. Steve Higgins was going to crew. Sheryl Mawn was going to ride over to the start with us. I had my gear. This was not my first Hellgate. I knew exactly what I would need to do. At one point Todd joked to someone about my splits being like clockwork. I like routine, I crave reliability.
I think in some ways I would 'settle' forever if I could be guaranteed an ok day.

I wasn't nervous. I had my gear in order, more than I needed, everything I wanted.

It was cold, but we've had colder, last year. The snow that had me slightly concerned during the afternoon wasn't even present at the start. I was a little unsure of how many layers to wear. Todd, Kevin and Sheryl all weighed in.

Chelsie was in a great mood, she was hurrying me up out of the car for a pre-race picture. And I'm glad she did, that is part of the pre-race fun. After pictures we all headed over to the start.

Todd gave me a quick pep talk and a hug, we exchanged warm wishes, we figured for a multitude of reasons we wouldn't be running much of the race together.

As usual the last few minutes flew and also crept by in only the way that minutes before something grand can. Then we were off. And the first few miles were easy enough and perhaps a bit fun. I was cold and then hot and then there was Todd to help me with getting my houdini off and stashed away for later. The glasses I wore last year for all of Hellgate kept fogging over. It was both cold and hot. I was sweating and my toes were throbbing from the cold.

At the creek crossing I tried to use the rocks, they were slick, I slipped a little and just walked through the cold water the rest of the way across. Then it was further then I remembered to the aid station and I thought about how I mistake some of this race for other runs and races. At aid one you take a left turn and head up a gravel road to Petits Gap. The first few minutes of this road running were ok, as usual I found the legs to run more than I would have imagined, I was moving ok.

But then I started to walk. And it was cold. And my legs ached. Masochist. Too much racing and no training, I thought. And then I wondered "Why did I sign up for this? I'm in over my head." And then, as is SO common it irritates me I mentally started to crumble, "I can't do this today. I'm not trained. It's above me. I should just be helping Steve crew Todd and Kevin. That's what I'll do, they'll just have to understand. Then I felt like I was going to cry, biting my lip and honestly trying to fight off the ugly, knowing it was ugly. I thought about quitting, about sleep and warm cars, about it being ok to quit because I just wasn't prepared to run 65 miles. I tried to convince myself that it was ok to quit.

Then Todd caught back up with Kevin and I who were walking and he asked how we were doing. I didn't respond. I thought about how I wasn't going to tell either of them that I was done, it was unfair to unload and possible effect their moods with my own. They would just have to understand at the aid station.

Earlier in the run, about 2 miles in, I told Kevin that if I could keep Todd in sight I was going to try to follow him on the downhill to Camping Gap Road which is one of the nastiest and ugliest parts of the whole course. As Todd passed us Kevin asked if I wanted to try and keep Todd in sight as he started to pull ahead running. I told him no. I thought I'm not even going to run that section now.

Horton will never allow you into Hellgate again if you DNF.

And you'll lose your Western States qualifier.

I wanted to tell myself I didn't care about either of those things, but I did, and I do. And I believed those thoughts. So I told myself that I had to get through Petits. I had to just keep moving. I went through the next few hours in my mind and was glad that the aid station at Floyd's was now moved due to the Parkway closing and that I wouldn't be able to 'quit' again until Jennings. By Jennings I would just have to get my head together.

So I started to pick it up, just a little, tried to keep with Todd. We came into Petits, the three of us together at just after 1:30 am. Steve did great having all three of his runners there together at the same time. He gave me Mountain Dew and I swapped out my hat with a visor for a stocking cap. I dropped off my empty bottle of Tailwind and headed out. Todd was gone by this point, moving through that aid station in a way that argues the reputation he has for aid station loitering. I had to run the downhill without his pull. I vowed to run it hard anyways. It was rocky but it wasn't as bad as I recalled. I caught and passed Jeremy Peterson, he said Alissa was killing it and I remarked about his fun Santa Hat. I tried to move swiftly over the trail and I think I did well enough. Nearing the trickiest turn in the whole course where you turn right onto part of the Terrapin Course I caught up with a sizable group concerned that the course had been jeopardized and we had missed our turn. Through the group I saw Todd who found and made the correct turn. So without any missed time I made that turn but noticed there were at least three people who had missed the turn and were coming back uphill. I recalled being really worried about this very turn my first year.

Just as we made the turn Todd stepped aside. Turns out he was having trouble with his light but I didn't come to find that out until much later. I thought he was pulling over to use the restroom. I ran again hard through here for me. I had a large group of guys behind me so I tried to push so they didn't feel I was slowing them down. I made the turn onto Hunting Creek Road at 2:12 am. That is the exact same time I made it in 2013, the other snow year, and just about this time it started to snow, again. I was already in a different place mentally since Petits Gap road, I was now on to finishing.

I stopped to use the restroom and I pulled out my iPod. I started to think about the race, about racing in general. About all the people.

So many people had spoken during the day and hours leading up to Hellgate how 'fun' it was going to be, how 'excited' they were, how 'adventurous' it was going to be. These words were said again and again by many different people. Were they lying? I wasn't excited. This wasn't fun. Why couldn't I look forward and enjoy Hellgate?

I turned my iPod on at this point. And "Go do" by Jonsi came on. It was dark, and cold, snow was falling, it was an open gravel road with people ahead and behind me. But it was PERFECT. In this simple moment I seized what was right before me. I love this. I mean truly love the simple act of running, that I alone can do it. THIS is what I love. But this is what I rob of myself. The very enjoyment that I seek. And I know what it is.

Expectation. What I think others expect but really what I EXPECT from me. And I broke that down. I decided right there to throw it all out. Expectation, finishing times, goals, everything and just run. I listened to my music and I ran and I walked and I contemplated if it was snow or dust, dust or snow and my mind travelled to other places and things and I was very content in the moving, in the knowing that whatever my day looked like, it would truly be ok. That the people who love me would love me no matter what I could do, would do.

I got to Camping Gap at 2:55 am, I was happy with that. I got some grilled cheese and mountain dew, I hadn't eaten anything since the start, was just drinking Tailwind and wanted to eat some real food. It didn't go down great but I said thank you and kept moving. I ran every step to the grassy road and then I took walk breaks but tried to just be steady and enjoy the running.

Kevin had been running with me from the start. I don't think I had said six words to him. Finally, I felt good enough to speak. I told him about my rough patch, about how I don't know if all of those people are telling the truth but I want to be excited about running and I think the only way to do it is truly just do it for me. Whatever that means. And right then it just meant running fluid through the woods.

But the talking helped and we were moving well. Then Kevin stopped to go to the restroom and I heard this loud scream and I turned to see Todd running up giving Kevin a shout and a smack on the rear (pre-bathroom break I believe/hope). Todd said he had been chasing us for miles, since the Terrapin trail, he said we were running well. We fell in with him and just ran along in the beautiful snowfall. This was a lot of fun, I enjoyed this. And before long the grassy section was over, I took out some Lemon Oreos and Todd pulled ahead and out of sight. I ran trying to reel him back in to Overstreet Falls but he moves across rocks like water.

I was thankful to hear the creek in the darkness and finally see the lights of the aid station ahead, it is a shame to lose the crew access but it's also nice to have that aid two miles sooner. Clifton Williams crew was set up here and he offered me everything you expect from a cold, night race: broth, peirogies, quesadillas, grilled cheese and MASHED POTATOES! They were my favorite food of the whole run. I love to suck the potato filling out of the peirogies so mashed potatoes were perfect for me. After some mountain dew I was off and headed up to the closed Parkway.

I crossed over the parkway at 5:05 am, for having already gone through the aid station that is a pretty good time for me, probably the best time I've ever made it there. In 2013, my last snow year when the aid station was similarly moved due to snow I made it here in 5:25. I felt good about that.

The next section is hard for me, HARD hard. It's when my body usually gets done and really wants sleep but it's also downhill for several miles over rocky, somewhat technical terrain. I was running along getting really tired and trying to move as FAST as possible because I read once that will wake you up. Well, it doesn't work. And I swear I was running 'fast asleep' as this headlamp and runner passed by me and woke me up. I looked back and Kevin was gone, no one but the flying runner ahead of me. I stopped to go to the bathroom and still no Kevin. I went on down the trail but the being startled awake and Kevin being gone served to wake me some. I ran about as hard as I could down the trail. I tried to move fast enough that my feet weren't staying long on any unstable rocks but I still turned my ankles again and again.

Kevin caught up with me and I just tried to pick it up even more. I wanted real food and to see Steve at Jennings. My right hip were beginning to hurt and both of my knees were aching. I wanted some meds and just to stop at an aid station for a couple of minutes. I wanted coffee.

A few minutes before the aid station I was moving so fast over the open service grassy road wondering and looking off to the side to see if I could catch a glimpse of Jennings when I fell in a mud creek running across the course. I went DOWN, hard and fast on the right hip. I instantly feared it would make the hip worse but miraculously it seemed to calm the hip down as now the whole right side hurt like hell. Thankfully, no blood, no torn or broken limbs, back up and moving as fast as I could.

I made it to Jennings in about 6:15, again the quickest I've ever made it here. At this point, I felt like I was running just to run, I was having fun, I was feeling exactly what I wanted, that I was in charge of my day, and that it was becoming a good one. Something I've always wanted but never had at Hellgate.

Jennings Creek was awesome!! There were Christmas lights and inflatables, there were tons of people and so many there offering me things. Blake asked if I wanted to sit down and I said no. I saw Amy Albu, the first female I had seen in HOURS, and it reminded me that I was 12th, Steve later siad I was 11th there.  Don and Steve were on it, getting me everything I needed as quickly as they could. I took 3 ibuprofen and drank mountain dew. Blake offered me my husband's tater tots and I accepted and asked how long ago he'd left the aid station. He just laughed and said he's right there. I looked over to see beside the chair they had offered me was Todd. He was quiet. I immediately felt awful that I hadn't even noticed my own husband! Clearly I was more out of it than I felt. He got up and left, saying bye to Kevin but not to me which hurt my feeling slightly but I figured it was possibly because I slighted him slightly.

I got more Tailwind and Don informed me that I was not drinking as well as I thought. Sam Price offered me some broth and I took it, it was so hot and lovely. Leaving the aid station Wade offered me a bit of a Mimosa and I declined. But then I thought, what the hell and went back for a sip. I toasted with another Mimosa drinker who may or may not have existed? Either way, it was fun.

I left out of the aid station with Kevin. It was just after 6:20 and I felt great, considering. I was surprised how dark it was and for how long up that climb it was dark. I've never left Jennings with so much darkness left. It felt good. I started to think about how well I was moving just running. I really appreciated that. I was enjoying the day, I wasn't running too hard and I wasn't chasing anyone or anything.

Todd was gone, we could see Amy a time or two in long stretches. From Jennings you go up a long road. Up and up and up. Then you go around a little gate onto a trail that is somewhat flat and you run over to a road that is down, down, down. At the end of the down there is another little gate to the right. Here is one of my three favorite spots in Hellgate. It's a short trail that takes you over to yet another gravel road up to Little Cove Mountain. But this little trail is stunning on a good day. And a snowy winter morn is a good day. It was the most amazing I have ever seen it. We passed Amy here and then later Todd, he just moved aside and said keep on I tried to apologize for my unintentional slight at Jennings he just said we were running great and told me to keep it up, I knew he meant it. The trees were snow covered and in patches it was like running through the likes of the frozen Narnia. It was possibly the highlight of my day.

Much to soon it was over. We were back on a road and there were a few cars and we made the turn up to Bobblets. A few minutes later there was Wade running up alongside us, at first I literally had no idea where he had come from, then it dawned on me that he must have been in one of the cars. He gave us bright smiles and good cheer and headed back down the road we had just begun on. Kevin shared a frozen but delicious Take 5 candy bar with me and we talked a few minutes. Most of the time we were just running alongside each other without a word between us.

We saw, caught and passed a few runners including another female. We made it to Little Cove at 7:54 am. Again, I had never been here before 8 am. I was convinced now that despite feeling out of shape I was moving well for me. At the aid station I drank mountain dew and asked about Brenton, he was in 12th there they said, I was 7th or 8th or somewhere, they couldn't be bothered with letting me know, it was kind of funny and I was thankful that I really didn't care. I figured I was somewhere between 8th and 12th.

We left the aid station and I looked at my watch. It was 7:56 am. I felt pretty good. I want to make Bearwallow in two hours, I told Kevin. If I could, that too would be the best time for me. I figured I wasn't going to be fast but I could be steady. And so I was. And it wasn't in my mind fast, my watch says I stayed fairly stead around 11-12 minute miles. I started for the first time all day to steadily pass other runners. This section, usually one of my LEAST favorites, that takes you to the Devil Trail and ultimately to Bearwallow, was beautiful on Saturday. It also felt EASY. It has never felt easy. The snow probably helped.

The only thing that wasn't easy was my freezing, aching feet. I told Kevin I was worried they were too cold and were going to cause me trouble with 5-6 hours left to run. He advised that I don't plan on changing them at Bearwallow because they were going to be cold and wet regardless. My first ipod died, then my headphones, thankfully Kevin had a back up pair on him that he loaned me. We got on some trail and I nearly tripped and face planted but caught myself a foot before the ground, the freezing feet were worrying me, if I can't feel my feet I can't move dangerously over technical ground as well.

But still we gained and caught more runners. There was a good group of us who met the Devil Trail at the same time. The Devil trail was just different this year. It wasn't easier or harder, it was both. There were spots that I think the snow made easier but then there were portions where the snow and leaves made it much more slicker and testy than other times I've run it.

I was through the Devil Trail quick enough, I was focused on making it to Bearwallow. I crossed the creek not worrying too much about the water but still managing to cross with dry enough feet. Then up the hill, across the road and over to the path that takes us to see Horty. I figured I was so far down from the front women that he might not even be there. Then I noticed Kevin was gone again. I looked back and up ahead and there were two women.

Turned out it was Amy Ruseicki and her friend who she introduced to me, Kelsey Allen. I had seen Amy's name on the list but hadn't seen her pre-race so wasn't even sure she was there. She said they had opted for naps and bringing in dinner in place of the pre-race festivities. Probably a smart move.
I told her I was becoming more and more hopeful of a sub 14 hour day as I was running towards the best time to Bearwallow by 20 minutes! If I could maintain that I could PR.

We came into Bearwallow at 9:37 am. That is nearly an hour faster than my first year and nearly 20 minutes faster than I had last year. I was stoked. Something about getting to Bearwallow. It's like the point in the race where it really changes from "can I?" to "I will!!". At least for me.

And I was in top mental shape here. I mean I felt good! Horton told us we were 5th, 6th and 7th. I was surprised to hear I had finally gotten that close to the top females and yet also surprised that getting there at 9:37 am I was 7th. Oh well, can't control who shows up, can only control what you can run, right?

Maybe.

So anyways, I am in a good place, I have Clifton offering me warm broth, quesadillas, peirogies, Opal has warm mac and cheese for us, Steve had mountain dew and all of my gear, Don was taking pictures and Sophie came over and told me that I was the closer and that I had this. That felt good, I want to be the closer. I got antsy. I wanted 5th, or BETTER! I told Kevin I had to get going.

I left, ahead of Amy and Kelsey and Kevin. I left on a mission. I was feeling ok other than my feet and knees. But who isn't hurting at Bearwallow? I was trying to make light work out of the next section. The path to Bobblets is MY section! It is my very, most favorite!! Except there are more hills than I remembered. And so. Much. Damn. Snow. And there's Amy and her friend coming.

I was racing. I wanted to move ahead. Maybe catch other runners. Other women. I tried to run. And when Amy was right there I tried to run harder.

Thing is. I couldn't shake them. I started to slip. I fell down. I had to stop and use the bathroom. I was becoming a mess.

By the time we made it to the road to Bobblets I realized something. I wasn't having fun anymore. I had been before Bearwallow. Then I got all wrapped up in a top spot and was having less and less fun. But I didn't let it get me down. I realized and accepted that I had pushed and maybe too hard and was feeling now like I had less than ever to give. But I just kept moving. It will be a good day if you do your best. Amy and Kelsey passed me and I settled back into my own day.

At Bobblets I saw many friendly faces, Tony, Joe, Sam, Gina, Blake, Anna. They gave me broth with rice and I let myself stand there with my friends for a few minutes and take in the cold morning in the woods. It was just after 11 am I believe, my watch said 51.8, their sign said 49. Kevin and I left yet again together.

We were walking out of the aid station and my legs felt so done. I was pretty mad at myself for running too hard the previous section. I still had 15 miles to run. I didn't think I could do it in 3 hours but I thought I could in less than 4. We walked for too long down a hill but I couldn't get my legs to move. I stopped for the restroom and finally found a little spark to get the legs to go. But it was at a ten minute pace, downhill.

We finally made the turn into the 'Forever section'. Mentally and physically I knew I had challenges ahead.

Ipod two died. Just on a good song too. I was the dead moving forward. I was a little disappointed that one six mile section going too hard could do me in, but then I also figured it was less than usual training on top of it. My knees were SO unhappy. I did well to keep it together here I think. Usually I have some really low spots here. I wasn't thrilled by any means but I accepted the responsibility that I hadn't trained like I could have and should have, that I ran too hard racing the last section, that I get carried away between who I am, could maybe be.

So it was bad,but not too bad. I told Kevin to go on, he went around me but then he looked back a time or two. A mile or so into this section he told me he didn't know where I would finish placement wise but he said he thought we could do 14 hours still. Every mile on my watch was saying over 17 minutes. I didn't think we could. I wasn't unhappy about that. There's always next year. We can do 14:30, that is a great time.

We were moving along, and I was still trying my hardest and it hurt, and my knees yelled louder still. I told Kevin to go on, he could and should break 14 hours. But he didn't disappear. It was a long, arduous journey through the weaving in and out to Day Creek, usually I like this ok, on this I didn't. We also found some of the thickest snow and leaves on the whole course.

Meghan Hicks caught us going into Day Creek, I had never met her, but I knew who she was, she was very friendly and kind. We kind of stayed with her but she got in and out of Day Creek before we even got there.

At Day Creek there were SO many familiar, cheering faces, Dennis, Melissa, Opal, Steve, Rhonda, Dana, Cam, Mike, they all were so positive and helpful, they said and offered all the things that are perfect. I didn't argue when they told me I could be 5th, that I was the closer and only 3 minutes separated me from 5th. I didn't want to unload about my knees and feet. They fed me mountain dew and helped me out of my jacket and pack and gave me a bottle for the road home.

I left Day Creek at 12:48. I thought my chances of breaking 14 were absolutely shot. I hd taken myself out of the running by being overzealous earlier. I would do the very best I had left, whatever my knees could give me. I was freezing and my hot hands were no longer working. A few yards out Kevin said he was going to walk to the parkway, about 2.2 miles. At first I wanted to argue, but then I felt my body and it said it didn't have a run in it left uphill. So I swung my arms and hiked with everything I could. Hiking hurt the knees but not as bad as running did.

I started to think about the time, started to wonder if I could pull off 14. I knew I would be disappointed if I ran 14:01, would second guess 60 seconds. Would have to wait a whole year to try again. So I drank a little Tailwind (which has mostly been amazing for me over these past few months) and hiked with purpose and mentally prepared to run the downhill until I either puked, cramped or finished. That bit about it being a goal to be able to walk Sunday, forget it, no longer important. I wanted to be able to tell Todd I had finally broke the 14 hour barrier, something he has told me for years I should be able to do.

We got to the parkway just after 13:30. As I walked across the closed parkway I wondered if I could run those final miles in under 30 minutes. How fast can you run a 5k after 60+ miles on no sleep, Alexis? Let's find out!

At least it's all downhill.

And off I went. Music on, legs doing there best to move, they didn't let me down. I passed Amy Talmadge headed back up the trail, flying UP! I passed a male runner and then, around the gate I passed Amy and Meghan, Amy cheered me on and told me I had the PR in the bag, I told her I really wanted the sub 14, she told me I had that too. But just in case, I pushed even harder. At the mile to go sign I had less than ten minutes, I pushed so hard, so scared that something would happen and I woul just barely miss it. Even through the camp I looked at my watch a dozen times I feel like.

Finally, the finish, 13:56:20, a 17 minute PR from last year and the first goal ALL YEAR that I have hit and I had totally put it aside these past few weeks figuring the training just wasn't there for it. I finished 6th female which is one spot from a 'podium' finish at Hellgate but it was a tough year. Top 8 females were under 14 hours this year. I am good with my time and my place.

The rest of the afternoon is really what I love about Hellgate, the slow shuffle back and forth to cheer in our friends and share race stories, pictures and pizza. I always forget just after midnight why I'm there but always remember come Saturday why Hellgate is special.

A few weeks ago I did a long run. On the long run I thought about Hellgate, I always joke that I hate Hellgate, that the only thing I LIKE about Hellgate it having FINISHED Hellgate. On that particular long run I gave Hellgate a good, hard thought. What if, it turns out, I thought, that Hellgate is actually my favorite? I shared the thought with Todd, he agreed that somewhere in my hard interior I have some love for Hellgate I just don't share outloud.

So there it is, Masochist suits me and my strengths and I really love it in its way, but I think, at the end of the day, Hellgate is my favorite ultra. It encompasses all of the things that I really truly love about ultras, it's hard in such a way that it never gets easy. It has all of these special people who volunteer their time and lose sleep. It starts in all darkness that you must endure to come out the other side into a daybreak that only serves to then remind you how comforting the darkness of night really was. It's all there, the ups and downs, the beautiful trails and the unsteady ones too.

A friend told me on Monday in such a way, that I belonged there, at Hellgate. It's quite possibly the nicest thing anyone has ever said about my running. I've read a lot of books and I've had a lot of thoughts that lead me to believe, that at the end of the day, all we really want is to belong someplace. If that's at Hellgate, well, that thought makes me pretty happy.

And that's a thing I've been longing to be.