Chasing Down Bigfoot: The Final Chapter

Entering the track with Jim Julian
Photo Credit: Samantha de la Vega

Water refilled, I thanked them and waved goodbye in the pre-dawn glow. Jim hiked back up with me, apologizing that he couldn't join me for the rest of the trek. Thirty minutes up the trail, the GI purge continued, and would at 15-30 minute intervals for the rest of the course. Jim bid me farewell when we met up with Susan and Reed on their own descent into the aid station. Though the company had kept me awake, I was glad to be alone with the consequences of my dietary indiscretions.


Over the next few miles, the sun rose to reveal a beautiful meadow in the midst of a comparatively mild climb to the final summit. Now out of danger of being pulled in the last stretch, I let the exhaustion sink in and allowed myself the luxury of a fifteen minute nap in the pink glow along the trail, breathing in the fresh air and wishing I could smell the wildflowers around me.

Finish line with
Photo Credit: Samantha de la Vega

The last peak summit soon followed and from there it was a downhill obstacle course of fallen trees. You think it's hard to navigate a log or two at the end of a 50K? Try out 50 or 100 after 180 miles. Honestly though, the debris didn't bother me so much, as it kept me awake and gave me a reason to focus on something other than my injury or exhaustion. The real trouble began when the "easy" part started. The trail petered out to a forest road and I watched as a horrified bystander as my bowels, temperature regulation, and ability to stay awake all seemed to revolt at once. I'd overhead, get chills, squat to feel my now empty stomach and intestines cramp, force myself to hobble faster to a given point, and slap myself awake when I had been still too long. The distance crawled by and I couldn't believe the final aid station hadn't appeared. All I wanted was to reach that aid station...because I knew my drop bag had wet wipes. Yep, wet wipes were my number one desire at that moment, which is saying something for someone who loves beer and ice cream and sleep as much as I do.

Photo Credit: Howie Stern

At last, the mostly cleared picnic table appeared and I barely looked at the two volunteers as they informed me that the official cutoff had passed a few minutes ago. I left with my precious cargo and a wave for the final stretch into town.

Once my feet hit pavement a new rhythm began. Shuffle until you have to walk. Walk until you have to stop. Stretch out against the poles. Fall asleep in that position. Wake yourself up. Repeat. It sounds awful, but the time was almost peaceful. Thanks to the wet wipes, my shorts were no longer so uncomfortable and the chills/sweats had abated. This segment did contain one very lucid hallucination of the road being blocked by a herd of cattle, but I knew that imaginary or real cows couldn't pull me from the race, so they didn't worry me.

Photo Credit: Jerry Gamez

A few miles from the end, a vehicle stopped on the shoulder and I knew before seeing him that Jim Julian would be inside. Sure enough, he got out and started walking. Less than a mile later, the head medic, Nick, dropped off another pacer named Peggy and together we marched on. I remembered seeing Peggy at the pre-race meeting some days before and thinking that she looked like the type of person I wanted to be friends with. In my haze of exhaustion, I think I forgot that we weren't actually friends at all, but I can tell you that my gut instinct was right. With the two of them sharing stories and buffering my path from passing cars, I no longer had to take stopping breaks until the last half mile. In response to the pavement, my feet began to swell inside the shoes to the point where it felt like walking on pillows that stab your soles. I listened as they talked about building things, Brazilian Jiu-Jitsu, and home cooking, reveling in the realization that I could let these people be with me and support me without shame or guilt. It was joyous and humbling and made me more than anything wish to give back and support someone else on an epic journey.

Photo Credit: Jerry Gamez

The high school track finally appeared and Peggy asked if I wanted a beer at the finish. She ran off to fetch it and declined the hug and thanks I tried to offer...not until the finish line, she admonished. Soon, Jim left me too, and the music played as I "danced" and "jogged" around the track with Little Foot close behind.

What seemed like an army of people cheered and made a tunnel at the finish, Candice at the front and Peggy waiting with the promised beer at the end. It was over, I was the final finisher (DFL) following roughly 105 hours on course, and I had never felt so proud and part of something great in any time I'd walked away from a race with a podium finish. I had found the people, the adventure, the limit I had looked for since starting to run not so many years ago.

Finish line with Tina Ure
Photo Credit: Jerry Gamez

Epilogue: Time doesn't stop at the finish line, though it sometimes feels like it should. Becoming re-acclimated to "real" time took a bit longer than expected...leading to a missed flight and my friends again coming through to save the day. It pays to have friends with connections at airlines and ones who will literally give you the shoes off their feet when you can't find yours at the airport (thanks, Ryan and Trey!). You also sacrifice time with injury, which is why it must be a personal choice to continue with unknown consequences. For those who want to know, it took about two weeks to not have constant foot and ankle edema and a whopping eight weeks to have close to full range of motion in my left ankle/foot again. It still has a big knot of scar tissue at the foot to ankle junction that is likely to be a permanent change in my anatomy.

The elevation profile from all those peaks and valleys also made a permanent physical change in the form of a tattoo that spans my upper back, so more than scars and pictures remind me of the lessons learned and stories gained on a daily basis.

By far what I think about most when I look back at the four days of the Bigfoot 200 is joy and gratitude. The awe of beauty at the edge of reason and limit, mixed with the fierce desire to give back. Thank you for being a part of my story and allowing me to be a part of yours.

Happy Trails!