Friday, March 18, 2016

Chasing Down Bigfoot: The Beginning of the End

I followed Jim Dees' (also known as Darkling Thrush) dulcet tones through the woods for some time, straining to hear until they faded into the distant sound of running water, breeze through the trees, soft tread of my fresh shoes on the pine needle floor, and rhythmic click of poles.

Warned that there was a long climb ahead, I drank and washed my face in the winding river tributary. The climb was long, but not terribly steep in my now time adjusted memory. It leveled out high on a panoramic view just before sunset. To get a better view, I climbed a little higher off course for a picture, turned on my headlamp, and said "hello" to another night. This night blurred in and out of focus, punctuated by the sudden development of nose bleeds (a new life experience) and the need to watch out for cars on a network of forest roads.

For once, the aid station appeared earlier than I expected! Following my "feet up, eat, get going" plan, I chatted with the one conscious aid station worker and stuffed my nostrils with paper towel wads until the dripping stopped. It was a short distance to the next station and next planned sleep opportunity, so my mood was great. In fact, I had decided since midway through my time with Cody that I would be in a great mood for the duration of this time on course...whether time ran out, regardless of pain or weather...that I didn't deserve to be on this trail if I couldn't smile or feel the joy of it.

One of the questions I sometimes get is "how do you run safely on the trails after dark?" I have to say that when you're sleep deprived, it's actually far more dangerous running in the dark on roads. The trails keep you interested and awake(ish) and give you borders. It's something like bumper bowling...you may not roll a strike, but at least you're not ending up in someone else's lane. Moon lit forest roads, on the other hand, turn you into a ping pong ball that bounces from side to side across the road until a car comes and encourages your sense of self-preservation to kick in.

I learned an important lesson at the Chain Lakes station. Bad sleep can actually make you more tired than shuffling around in the dark. My mattress choice was a poor one, so I ended up on a deflated rubber mat in a frozen daze 90 minutes later. Temperature regulation goes out the window when you sweat a lot and don't sleep enough. Phases that felt like too much tequila, followed by teeth chattering like a Christmas movie, eventually resulted in a return to decision making ability. Enough coffee could revive the dead, I think. More coherent, I noticed Allie's van and was delighted to get a fresh set of batteries for the final night, as well as my own resupply fuel options.

About a mile back on course, it hit me how much energy I had used getting warm again. I was exhausted. A tree crashed in the woods and I imagined what it would be like to be squished by a brontosaurus... Then promptly fell asleep on a log in the warm glow of the morning sun. Fifteen to twenty minute power naps in the sun do more than 90 minutes of frozen dozing. Lesson learned.

No longer worried about dinosaurs, the trail spun down a winding track. It was hard to find a rhythm, though because my temperature regulation still wasn't cooperating. One minute, I'd be sweating profusely like a menopausal hot flash. The next, I had chills and goosebumps. After hours alone, I heard chatting behind me. An older competitor, Reed, and his pacer caught up and I used their rhythm and conversation to revive my own forward movement. Just a bit of human contact was enough to clear the cobwebs and I suddenly felt strong power hiking back up all the elevation we had lost early in the segment. Together we hiked up to the expansive view of Elk Peak, then scooted down to the third to last aid station, just ahead of an ominous mountain storm.

At Klickatat, I felt awake and finally ready to get going on finishing this course. Kent "Bull" Dozier, another ultra distance legend, came p to discuss the weather report, a lost runner, and his and Phil Nimmo's decision to drop due to foot issues. While sad for their shortened adventure, this knowledge armed me with additional motivation. No matter how slow it was, I could smell the finish line and had a plan to get there. I had been right not to quit all those miles ago.

Storm subsided, I followed Reed and his new pacer (his lovely wife, Susan) into our last sunset. This part of the course had been reverently dubbed the "Bigfoot Game Trail," and it quickly lived up to its name. It wound across the side of slippery, gravel strewn cliffs...no longer single track, but a choose your path of lease resistance and hope that it led you to the next marker. Reed and Susan had gone ahead during a downhill portion, so I crawled and slid and marched and scrambled alone, watching the cutoff grow closer, knowing I couldn't go faster and I had no room for error. Later, I heard many people talk about time spent lost in this section...one for over 18 hours, another who slept overnight on the ground with her pacer after becoming confused and sliding partially down an embankment. Why didn't I lose the trail? I think it's probably because I was no longer willing to second guess anything, because it would break my concentration. I willed the next marker to appear, because I had no time to turn around and add superfluous steps.

The single track finally reappeared and my best guess of distance left me with a good chance to make the Twin Lakes cutoff with about ten minutes to spare. Suddenly, I saw a headlamp coming toward me, then turn back around. The mumbling I heard sounded like Reed, but Susan wasn't in sight. As I got closer, he said something confused and incoherent, looking ten years older than when I had last seen him seven or eight hours before. Fortunately, Susan appeared up ahead, and I felt a stab of guilt as I passed, knowing that his race had come to an end.


Not far past them, I made a left turn onto a trail that I though marked about three miles to the station. Forty five minutes to cut off...tight, but I could get it done. Then, my heart sunk and unexpected panic began when a sign appeared thirteen minutes later. THREE MILES TO GO. I hadn't put together a ten minute mile in over 100 miles! I was going to get cut with less than a marathon to go and more than twelve hours to complete it in.

Not caring the consequences, I literally hauled myself down the trail, throwing my poles in front of me and launching forward with my upper body strength, letting my feet find any landing place possible. It was reckless, stupid, but I wanted to arrive at the station having given everything if this was my end. I would go out fighting. Five minutes, four, three, two... the aid station lights were visible, but I wasn't going to make it. An exodus of my friends...Jim Dees, Stephen Jones, and others who had become friends simply because we were on the same journey...came from the station toward me and cheered that I was still going, even as my heart was breaking.
Twin Lakes Aid Workers-Photo Credit: Jerry Gamez

At the end of them was a man I didn't recognize. He pulled off trail and followed behind me, telling me to walk instead of continuing my awkward pole vaulting gait. He introduced himself as Jim Julian. He'd paced the first place woman (Gia Madole) and was now working the aid station. He was sure that Craig would let me keep going. My panic only slightly abated and Jim received about half of my attention as he rambled on about all the things this aid station lead had done that made him a regular bad ass. All I cared about was the fact that this one person was in control of when my race would end.

Five minutes after the official cut off, I came into the Twin Lakes aid station. Craig Longobardi took one look at me and said I was good to go, but that I couldn't sleep. The workers commented on how coherent I was...being an emergency veterinarian makes you a very good actor when tired. (I probably shouldn't admit how easy it is to convince someone to let you make life and death decisions when sleep deprived.)

Photo Credit: Jerry Gamez
Since they couldn't offer sleep, I think I became Craig and Jim's project to get to the end, so they were going to feed me. Halfway though the second plate, laden with every vegetarian option available, I realized that they may have killed me with kindness. Midway through a bite of artichoke dip, I felt the gastrointestinal rebellion and barely made it to the porta-potty before the diarrhea began.

Yep...I'm going to leave you with diarrhea before I finally wrap up this Bigfoot story. Somehow, it seems appropriate. Sorry, not sorry.

2 comments:

  1. Even though I was there and know the ending, I'm finding your recount of our adventure an enthralling story! I had no idea you were so close to cutoffs! (and having been there/done that, I know how stressful that is!)

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  2. I am enjoying all of these. Happy I waited till I could read them all in one setting! What a crazy adventure that was, for all of us.

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