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Photo by: Kate Hale
Wow I’ve been dragging my feet on writing a race recap from the Big Foot 200. Maybe as much as I was dragging my feet, 275km into the race as my friend and pacer, Kate, and I marched up a 23km FSR as day turned to night. We were entering my third night of racing and my feet were finally putting out alarm bells on how much pain they were in. I could feel the sides of my shoes pushing in on my swollen toes. Relief only found by stopping, leaning over my poles and raising off the balls of my feet onto my heels. The road ahead certainly leading to the finish line, but at that perfect douche grade that running isn’t really an option, and knowing it’s just going to be a very long walk into Twin Sisters aid station. As we marched, Kate and I deepened our relatively new friendship with questions both common and novel. “What’s your favourite constellation?”, “How do you maintain long distance friendships?”, “What Olympic sport would be your best chance at not coming in last?”. While Kate thoughtfully answered, mercifully in long-form so I could just walk, I’d listen while also taking in the sloping forest on either side of us, dancing with my cognition. Sometimes I’d lean in to the visions I was seeing, aware they weren’t real, but enjoying the mental tricks like a micro dose of magic mushrooms.
But I suppose I should go back to what led me to walking through Nature’s Fun House while Kate told me about her relationships, favourite book, and least favourite sport.
How did I get here?
Having completed a handful of 100 mile races, I knew I wanted to try my hand at a 200 mile race. So far, I’ve always surprised myself with my ability to handle difficult races and walk away with the feeling of these being the best and most transformative days of my life. They deepen my friendships, and increase my understanding and appreciation for myself in ways that are difficult to achieve otherwise. I was signing up for a 200 to chase these feelings again. I chose Big Foot because of its proximity to Vancouver, which I thought would make it easier for crew to join, and because of its aggressive elevation profile. I worried about my body’s ability to run for 200 miles but would never question its ability to hike for that long. Besides that, I didn’t do too much research. Partially because I was in Scotland with my mom at the time, getting into bed after perhaps a few drinks at dinner, and realizing the lottery closed the next day. Most race lotteries are harder to win than a 649 jackpot, so I entered my credit card details and went to bed figuring I'd have lots of time to decide while on the waitlist.
When I woke up, and my name was one of the first drawn, I came to learn that the lottery is a bit of a strategy. Apparently almost everyone gets in. And once you’re in, you’ve committed $1600USD with only partial refunds if you find yourself sober second guessing your choices, or like me, realizing it's a much more logistically difficult race than you expected.
Actually, it was my partner and crew chief, Pat, who started sending me comments from the Big Foot Facebook group. Things like “make sure you know how to change a tire and bring a few spares”, and “I covered 2500 miles crewing this race”, and “this race is harder to crew than it is to run”. Uh oh. Pat wasn’t exactly happy at my choice to register us for this race before we discussed it. I say us, because while I may be the one running, crewing these races is a huge lift as well. I told him not to worry, I could always do it without a crew. But let’s be real, a big part of me doing these races is to share this experience with some of the people closest to me. But luckily, there’s always at least one person I can count on…
My mom, affectionately referred to as Mama Susan. She has crewed me at more races than anyone, will do anything to help me, and I know would get to difficult aid stations hell or high water. An added advantage I hadn’t even accounted for, was that this meant I could bring our dog, Ozy, When faced with something that feels like I'm asking way too much of someone, I always have my mom.
In addition, I had an all-star pacing team that made me feel sheepish whenever folks during the race asked if I had a crew or pacers with me. With a challenging race like this it can be difficult to wrangle folks to chase you around the mountains, whether it be in a car at aid stations or on foot as your pacer. With aid stations often 25+km apart, each pacing section is relatively burly. A race re-route the week of the race also meant that one pacer would be covering 88km. Most would be hard pressed to have a pacer who could or would hop in for that section. I had 4 pacers who would gladly join me. Kate was the lucky winner to spend 20 hours with me on my final night. The rest of the all-star pacing team consisted of Taylor, April, and Harley. But they’re best learned about as we recap their sections.
And Pat? Despite early, deserving annoyance, he was IN. His strengths are having everything in order and ready so that the crew and pacers are where they need to be on time and with what they (I) need. While I carried the weight of running, he carried the weight of logistics and support, which lived up to the reputation of being as hard as running the race.
Despite being 200 miles (330km) long with 15,000 meters of vertical gain, the crux of Big Foot isn’t the race itself. It’s the logistics and planning to get your crew and/or comforts to each of the extremely remote aid stations. Once the race started, it felt like a weight lifted. When people ask me, after the fact, if I’d do another 200 mile race, the biggest hesitation is not the physical experience of running the race at all, but the planning that went into setting myself up for success in the race. You’re preparing and packing 12 drop bags, trying to think ahead of everything you might need.
Preparation gives me a sense of control, and I feel proud for the details I thought of and how this planning came in handy for other racers on the day as well. At 150km, a fellow racer asked if anyone had bug spray. “I do!” I yelled, as I tossed them the spray I’d packed in my drop bag after reading about the horrendous bugs during this stretch and knowing my tolerance for buzzing is pretty limited. At 236km I was at the aid station with a woman I’d been leapfrogging with for a full day. She asked for Tylenol, which I gladly passed over. Each of my drop bags had anti-chaffing, fuel for the next stretch, a mish mash of meds and first aid items, different clothing layers, and sunscreen or bug spray depending on the stretch I was heading into. There’s nothing I’d change about my drop bags.
I could probably write an entire blog post about how I prepared for this race, and maybe I will. But you’re probably ready to hear about the race, huh?
Provisions!
Drop bags!
Race nails
Food prep
Photo by: Anastasia Wilde
And so it begins.
The race starts with everyone pretty bunched together. We went through the blast zone of Mount St. Helen's. Climbing through boulder fields, across rivers, and up to the Johnston Ridge Observatory. At the only aid station I'd have to tackle alone, I took the time to change my socks, but forgot to take gels for the next 41km / 1200m stretch. I rationed what I had, and mentally panicked. I entered some mild level of despair when I caught sight of my watch and realized the section was taking even longer than anticipated. Nevertheless, I made it down to the first crewed aid station just as the light of the first day dropped over the lake we were about to run around. I scarfed down potatoes and soup hoping to make up for the relative lack of calories on the last stretch.
I reported the 3 stats I’d been preparing for Pat:
“It took 2hrs to hear the first ‘are we almost there’ joke
“It took 4hrs to have my first David Goggins sighting”
“It took 7.5hrs to see someone puking… way too soon!” I bragged
Then Taylor and I set out, and I puked almost immediately. Karma!
Luckily, I was with Taylor, who is an absolute gem. He’s humble, open, and easy going. And great at reminding me to try sips of drinks or bites of food every 10-15minutes. When we debated who would have to take off my toe bandaids at the end of the race, the obvious vote was Taylor, if that says anything. Taylor and I climbed and climbed into the night, and I was surprised to find how tired I was so early into the first night.
Sleep
I hadn’t made a strict sleep plan for the race, but had assumed that based on past race experiences I wouldn’t need to sleep the first night. I never have felt the need in 24hr races. But there I was, 9pm on the first night, too tired to walk. I had read that for 200s it can be better to sleep when tired rather than waiting until aid stations. Aid stations can be noisy and give you a boost of energy. So I tried my first 2 minute trail nap. I sat on a log with my head in my hands, woke up after 1 minute and felt completely refreshed. I’m not sure how many naps I took, or how long the jolt of energy lasted, but that’s how we continued our climb. Strong hiking, turned to sleep walking, until a 2 minute nap was a necessity. If you had told me a 2 minute nap would feel reviving, I wouldn’t have believed you, but now I’m a believer.
This climb was probably the hardest (or maybe second hardest with the never-ending nature of the FSR) of the race. I just remember seeing headlamps ahead and feeling like the top was always changing. At one point a runner came towards us and asked if we had been to the out and back, one of three on the course that require you to tag a peak. A gift of views for those who get there in the day, which I never did. I was in disbelief when a runner we were with told them that we were still a long way away.
A funny aspect of this climb was that my tracker was pinging in a way that made it seem like we were having a back and forth with David Goggins. If you don’t know who David Goggins is, it’s best you look him up than me try to describe him. Having a celebrity in the race with such a persona definitely added an element to the race. Seeing the tracker, Taylor and I pondered what to do if I did in fact find myself running with David Goggins. In the end the trackers were playing with us and while we were within hours of each other the entire race, I never saw him besides on one out and back where he told me “Good job”.
With the sleepy hike up the hill and being behind on eating, Taylor and I decided to take a longer stop at the 90km aid station. I laid in a gravity chair by the fire dozing while listening to the race chatter, including a gentleman who was asking a medic to tell him he shouldn't continue without ever actually saying those words. After 20 minutes we finished our noodles and headed out.
By morning we made it to the aid station where April and Kate were waiting. I went into the bathroom feeling terrible, but took a wet-wipe shower, changed all my clothes, and walked back out feeling like a new person. An ultra-runner superman moment. April and I set off for what was probably the easiest section of the course. Big Foot is notorious for being a rugged race so I was prepared for some difficult sections. I wasn’t prepared to create a bushwacking grading scheme in the first 50k.
April being adorable
April braiding my hair
For the record, the bushwacking grade system includes:
Novice → The bushes are closed in on either side but you can mostly walk through normally while getting caressed by branches
Intermediate → You keep your arms out in front and push branches and leaves out of the way
Advanced → You have to turn your body sideways, close your eyes, and put force into breaking through the brush
As if covering 320km isn’t hard enough. Anyways, April’s section was beautiful single track with gorgeous views in all directions. This section breezed by thanks to the easy trail and April’s positive outlook. She consistently pointed out every mountain, reminded me to eat, and before we knew it were back at our crew.
The Crux
At this point, Harley took over for another long section through my second night. Unfortunately my trail naps were becoming less successful and we decided I’d have to get horizontal for proper naps. Can you imagine having a friend sitting in a dense forest, on a log, headlamps off, and setting an alarm for 10 minutes while you sleep? During one nap, I was awoken by the sound of what I assume was Big Foot because nothing else makes that noise, and was ready to get the heck out of there. I’m not sure trail naps would have been possible for me without someone ‘keeping watch’. It always felt silly waking up and saying something to the effect of ‘alrighty, let’s roll’. Ultra running is weird.
Harley and I planned to take a proper rest at one of the sleep stations, to overcome the poor trail naps I was getting. But when we arrived, a mix of exuberant volunteers and a pack of women coming in meant a nap wasn’t going to happen for me. Despite not being in ‘race mode’ having three women in an aid station with you, makes it hard to go down for a nap. So we left the aid station and vowed to nap along the way.
Two highlights from the race happened along this section. There’s a lot of information online about the course and views, but no one talked about what we were about to see. After being in the depths of remote trails for two days, we ended up in a well-visited park. We followed a river until we saw what is called “Nature’s Net”. It is a waterfall straight from Narnia or Avatar. It was like a multi-level sprawling waterfall with cave-like pockets. There were people hanging out at the base in the river, lounging at the top above the falls on the rocky plateau, and in each of the cave openings. It was SO cool!
As we jogged through the park, dodging folks enjoying their leisurely Saturdays, I saw a large group walking towards us. Someone around 11 years old yells ‘RUUNNNNEEERRRRRSSSS! TUNNEL TUNNEL TUNNEL!’ and the group parts and puts their arms up for Harley and I to run through. As if this wasn’t amazing enough, the last person in line had a golden retriever puppy in their arms. I know this sounds like it must be a hallucination but Harley also swears it happened.
While it was a challenging and long section taking us into the night, Harley never wavered in his support. I had really hoped that Harley and I would have a smooth section, given he had the hardest section with me at Fat Dog. While I definitely felt better this time around, we were probably moving at about the same pace, just with less puking. Harley’s a wonderful companion for a tough section through the woods. He’s capable, knowledgeable, and buys into my silly antics like thinking of all the flagging as dragons from my latest book series.
So ticked by the final section of our three-part adventure. We eventually popped out of the woods to a small quiet aid station in the pitch black where a few racers were huddled by the tempting fire. But I had Taylor, April, and my mom waiting with something even more tempting than a fire. The back of our CRV that Pat had fashioned into a bed, and my adorable dog, Ozy, waiting for me for a nap. I set an alarm for 30mins and heard the crew head back to the fire to help runners coming in. When I woke up, it wasn’t the feeling of rest that made it hard to get up, but the warmth. But with a few more bites of noodles down, April and I shivered our way out of the aid station and into the rising sun.
Snoozing with Ozy
Crew!
Girl Math
At this point, I just had one small section with April, an 88km section with Kate that was a no-drop zone, and then the final 16km of pavement to the finish. And friends, you’ve heard of girl math, but this is called adventure math. And despite being over 130km from the finish, it now felt like I was ‘home free’.
I promised Pat I wouldn’t behave like I was ‘home free’ until I had 50km left. What that meant for us, was that despite not being talented enough to go into every race having a chance to win, I’ve found myself on a few podiums. But I can’t go out and race like I’m going for the podium. Though if you had asked me, I would have said going out ultra conservative is how you race like you’re going for a podium in a 200 mile race. The final podium at Big Foot and every 200 miler Rachel Entrekin has entered paint a different picture. One lesson from this race was that 200s aren’t a completion activity like they might have once been. My point was, I was going to take everything super easy until I had 50km left then decide if I wanted to ‘race’.
While this section was generally uneventful, it was the start of me leapfrogging with the closest woman to me. At this point she was running alone and told us she had been sleeping 3-4 hours at each crewed aid station. All I could think was how strong of a runner she must be to still be around my timing given I was only stopping up to 45 minutes each time. When she described having a hard time actually falling asleep, I told her about my success with trail naps and when we caught her again on an out and back we saw her attempting her first one. Later in the race, Kate and I stopped our conversations as we passed, careful not to wake her. She was lying on the side of the FSR in broad daylight and we gave her pacer a thumbs up as we passed. Stoked she was getting some sleep. There’s something really funny about being in a running race where you literally pass other racers while they are sleeping.
Last section before the last section
When we reached Kate, it was the last time I was going to see the crew until the last time I was going to see them. Or so I thought…
This section was such a beast I only have fragments of memories from it. Climbing an exposed hill with Mount St. Helens behind us while Kate runs ahead for pictures. Getting to an aid station where a volunteer embodied the saying by Maya Angelou that people will forget what you say and do, but will remember how you made them feel. I couldn’t tell you about what we talked about, but I can tell you she felt like a warm hug. I left that aid station sure I’d get to cruise the downhill to the river, but found myself stifled by the heat, or nausea, or maybe just the cumulative 240km in my legs.
I hated not feeling strong here. I hated being on easy terrain after 2 days of bushwhacking and huge climbs that forced moving slower, to hit a downhill FSR and feel like I had to walk it. I was eating well. At this point consistently having solid food at aid stations and a precision nutrition gel every 30 minutes. This ache couldn’t be solved by calories.
We hit a river and detoured down to wash my face, which I hoped would be a reset. It was short lived on a lovely cruisy forested section before hitting our endless FSR. I wonder if earlier on the FSR we decided it was runnable we would have run more. But after the difficulty of the downhill FSR, I didn’t even really consider it.
Slogging on this FSR for hours, I got nervous we had gone off course. There was no way we were meant to walk on an FSR for this long. But Kate assured me, we wouldn’t be seeing so many gel wrappers if we were going the wrong way. The ultra-runner’s bread crumbs.
My guy(s)!
As we neared the last aid station of our section together, I tried not to think about the chance that Pat would be there. I especially tried not to think about this when I felt my toes pushing out on the fabric of my shoes. My feet too swollen for my current shoes, and Pat having the extra shoes that were a size bigger that I borrowed from a friend last minute before the race. This was one of the most remote aid stations, and was only crew accessible if your crew was willing to drive 3 hours on a rough road to the aid station, and then volunteer for 3 hours, before turning around and driving 3hrs back out.
Pat knew I wanted him there, but you’ve already heard about his enthusiasm for the ridiculous crewing this race requires. He remained effusive about it, and I didn’t push the subject. I told you earlier there’s always one person I can call when it feels the ask is too big. It turns out there are a few people who will be there even if I don’t call. As Kate and I turned towards the aid station, I saw our CRV, parked like it thinks it’s a jeep up on the closest thing to a parking spot on this overgrown road. I checked the license plate to make sure it was ours. The aid station captain was there to welcome us by telling us ‘our crew is here and they are the best’. Pat and Taylor have been there in the middle of the night taking care of runners, with a seat saved just for me.
If it wasn’t incredible enough to be welcomed by your good friend and partner in the middle of the night in the woods, things only got better. I had my feet looked at by a woman named Thor, who I understand is a legend in the 200 space. I’m pretty sure I heard her full name is Thor God of Thunder Feet? I won’t gross you out with the details but the searing pain of her working on my feet made me worry they would have been better off as they were. Kate and I shuffled to our private tent for a 1hr nap. When I got back up, my feet felt brand new.
I changed into my bigger shoes and Kate and I got the play by play of what to expect on what is notoriously the worst section on course. This turned into a three part quest.
Part 1: summit the mountain
Part 2: descend the steepest slope of the course, hopping over endless fallen logs
Part 3: emerge from the green tunnel
Refreshed from seeing Pat and Taylor, getting my feet treated by Thor, taking a nap, and the aid station crew framing this section as a Quest, Kate and I were energized and ready!
Receiving our quest
Green Tunnel
Perhaps because of its reputation, this section went by easier than expected. We reached the summit in what felt like no time. Made it down the steep descent. I struggled a bit (lot) more than Kate getting up and over the fallen logs, but there were fewer than I expected. And the green tunnel was actually a really nice lush path. Despite being a beautiful path, I frequently had to stop to just get off my feet. It’s comical to remember how frustrated I was at not being able to run continuously for 15km stretches when it is now 300km into the race. But it’s true, I wished I was able to.
As we hit the road, and realized how close we were to that final aid station, I allowed myself to really think about the day. I got emotional thinking about how this was exactly the adventure I wanted. I was getting an epic adventure surrounded by people I love, and I was once again showing myself who I am.
Pat, Taylor, my mom, and Pat's mom, who drove out from Seattle on a whim after following the race in our text thread, were waiting at the last aid station for us. Pat was on tap to take me to the finish, a fitting end given he paced me for the final stretch of Fat Dog last year. With all he does for me, it only feels right to close out these events with him by my side.
The End
It’s a tricky thing having a partner pace you. Maybe similar to having family with you. There are no walls, no protection mechanisms, no masks. So whether I blame that, tasting the finish line, or being on pavement, my body essentially shut down with 12kms to go. As much as I wanted to run along this road with Pat, and finish strong, I was brought to a stand still, and in one generous moment from Pat, a full sit still. Pat tried to coax me along. “Let’s run between these markers then walk!”. He’d put a branch or an arm out as a makeshift finish line for each marker I ran. But unfortunately for him, the real pattern was run, stop, walk, run. I needed to relieve pressure from my feet whenever I could.
After inching our way along this road, baking in the sun, we turned the corner and I saw the track.
When people ask what I think about over a 70hr race the reality is it’s things like asking my pacers what my finish line pose should be. Despite 72hrs to prepare, I crossed the line unremarkably, into the arms of the most remarkable crew.
I'm sure you may wonder what does someone do after running for 70hrs. I lay in the grass drinking Fresca and eating my custom pizza watching a few people trickle across the line. We eventually went back to the Airbnb, showered, napped, and dipped in the rushing river right outside. We went for dinner where I ate half the bowl I ordered, but the entire ice cream cone that was dessert. Then we lazed in the living room zoning out to Love is Blind while unpacking all my drop bags.
Not the image of someone completely wrecked that you might imagine.
The Learnings
But as much as this was my longest race in time and distance, it’s not even top 3 for most painful or most difficult. If you take care of yourself, running 200 miles is actually pretty comfortable. In a race that long, you have permission to nap when you want, not push too hard early, stay comfortable at all costs, and eat really good food. I’m not saying they are easy, but it’s a funny thing to equate distance to difficulty.
More than one person gently asked me before this race about how I was thinking about it given I DNF’ed a 100 mile race just a few months ago. As if DNFing 100 miles relates to being able to finish a 200 mile race. While I worried that the feelings I had at Cruel Jewel could resurface at Big Foot, I never once considered that DNFing that race meant I was more likely to DNF Big Foot. If anything, I believed then, and I believe now that DNFing Cruel Jewel was an act of ensuring I finish Big Foot. And the thoughts I had at Cruel Jewel, that I no longer had the desire for these races, that I wasn’t really a runner, that I hated doing this, never came up during Big Foot. I never once wavered in whether I’d finish all 200 miles. It was all a matter of getting from one section to the next. Bit sized pieces that added up to 320km, 70hrs, and 15,000m of elevation.
But this is one of the funny things with taking on goals. You can’t predict that because it’s the longest you’ve done it will be the hardest. Or that because it’s the furthest, it’ll be what makes you the most proud. If anything those goals I told you about at the beginning, about wanting to re-create the magic of Fat Dog, didn’t really happen.
Finishing Fat Dog, all I wanted was to race more to get that feeling over and over. Finishing Big Foot felt more like closing a chapter.
There's a million moments that made up this race, and more people than I can describe in this post. I wish I could include them all. They all mattered. But sith no exhaustion, frustration, or pain this is a chapter closed. For now.
A final special note to thank the team behind the race, the volunteers, and my fellow runners. A whole other post would be required to accurately reflect your roles in this race. Thank you thank you thank you.
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