Bigfoot and the Imprint on my Life
This is the full report. For those who are bored easily, this is not for you. I will cry, and bitch, and feel sorry for myself, and hopefully end in epiphany. If you’re not into that see the post. It sums it up nicely.
This is the story all about how, my life got flipped upside down….
To start is a sad place. Sad/Happy. Sappy.
I had done it. I used all my skills, my CV embellishments, and hidden my true personality long enough to acquire a job. Not just any job though. A Vancouver job. ‘Sighs’ life is….. fuck.
This meant moving. This meant starting again but it also meant leaving a city and friends I had grown to tolerate (Tom).
We chatted. It was a good idea. But we were still going to stay in touch. We were going to achieve the impossible. Long. Distance. Relationship. (Man Friendship. Mrandship.)
One way that we decided was to run together. We would both start Strava accounts (don’t look at mine, it’s mostly me bragging about how far I ran before I shit my pants), and we were planning to run a race together. That way the training and encouragement would be to a goal and it would keep us honest.
Well. Facebook was doing some overtime directed-marketing and an ad came up that I didn’t ignore. It was for Bigfoot Ultra Marathon. The name alone sounded good. I sent a link to Tom and we discussed it.
The timing was good.
The distances looked compelling.
And who would give up the chance to run around Mt. Saint Helen’s looking for a sasquatch?!? (More on that later)
January 1st, 2017 we were both on our computers (900 km apart) and signing up for the race. We both got spots, Tom in 100K, Verner in the 40M, (lolz) and were excited for about 35 seconds.
What the flying fuck had I just done?!?
I have paid to do this?!?
I hate Tom.
Months passed and we trained on. Tom in Edmonton. Verner in Vancouver. Both progressing through ups and downs. Both knowing deep in the back of their minds how actually stupid they are. The dread bubbling up like a backed up kitchen sink, with burned scrambled egg goo and a piece of wet toast that you have no idea why anyone would put in the sink? It’s not a fucking garbage can?!? And we have a compost?!? WTF!!!!
Luckily I had friends. I called in some support from a few ‘good’ runners (LOLZ).
Keith: It’s pretty much about putting one foot in front of the other. Just keep doing that until you’re done and you will be fine.
Jay: Drink dummy. Drink all you can.
Tom: U R An IDIOT.
About a month ago I started accumulating things. Shoes with better grip for running on trail (the better to trip over small rocks with), a vest with pockets (the better to hold all the Clif bars you won’t eat), a portable water filter (the better to ‘recycle’ my fluids with).
I was all in at this point. I had done the training (little late and light considering I was still recovering from a hip problem that eliminated me from BMO marathon), made the purchases (I attempted to charge the butterflies that lived in my wallet rent but they left instead), and booked the vacation time (which is still foreign to me considering my previous line of work).
The only problem I had was the hard feeling in my gut that this was too much. I had bitten, and was now poorly attempting to chew. The sun was ever too present as I flew. I had brought a Nerf gun to a bazooka fight. As I reached out to people, bought the necessary equipment, and trained with friends and frangers (strangers who are just friends you don’t know the name of) it was a feeble attempt to hear ‘No, you’ll be fine. People do these all the time. Stop worrying’.
But that’s not me. I am a worrier.
The trip started Friday morning. Tom and I made a commitment to show up to the family run group I lead but upon showing up at the hill noticed
I HAD LEFT MY SHOES ON THE ROOF OF THE CAR.
If there was ever a sign someone was looking out for me it was this.
‘You will be fine Verner. We wouldn’t let you get there unprepared”
Either that or Tom drives the equivalent of a 99 year old grandmother and takes turns at mach -178.
We put in a solid effort ‘giggles’ as we walked a leisurely two hills but high-fived the shit out of those crushers. They wished us good luck and we were on our way.

We had a very light hearted drive up. We stopped at Trader Joes and saw a great sign.

Approaching the mountain we were a bit surprised. We hadn’t caught a glimpse of anything substantial at this point. We were driving up but it didn’t seem to lead to anything….. We drove around a corner, about 10 minutes from the parking lot and BAM. The trees parted like your dads toupee and head in a tornado, the mountain rose like a nuclear missile out of a North Korean silo rushing across the blue-est sky/ocean (skocean) destined to destroy the hopes/dreams (hreams) of all who opposed it: Tom/Me (Tome).

The collective gulp of Tom and I in the car was deafening. We were spiraling down the proverbial poop chute.
Reaching the start line we checked in, got bib numbers, found a camping spot, and met the locals (more later). We were surveying the competition and it was pretty apparent I was a bit of an anomaly.
Oh. Did I forget to mention? This was my first Trail race! My first Ultra marathon! The farthest distance I had ever run in my life (by about 30 km)! And the first time I would race wearing a hat! (fuck it I’m leaving the last one in).
Everyone we met seemed to be a seasoned veteran. This was a training run. A warm up for the main event. It wasn’t planned but it seemed fun and fit between my race plan.
Actual conversation:
Trail god: So this is your first ultra?
Dumbass: Yup!
TG: Well you picked a pretty hard one!
DA: Yup! ‘starting to sweat’
TG: What’s the farthest you ever raced then?
DA: Yup…….. I mean I mostly run half marathons?….. I had planned on a marathon but I was injured….. ‘sweat more obvious now’
TG: 40 miles is a long ways past a half….. But you’ll be fine!
DA: Yup……… ‘glazed look comes over face, tries to find organ donor card in wallet’

But this would also start a trend. We met some really great people. Brendan (above) was a biotech engineer from Portland. He was super friendly, and echoed my feelings of being unprepared. But as a friend told me before ‘so many people over train for these. You’re gonna be fine!!’
As I recall I said to Brendan, ‘well there’s no danger of me being over prepared for this……’
Saturday morning: Race day.
Tom had asked me to set an alarm for 6 am. I asked him what the chances were he would sleep through his two alarms let alone sleep. He hit me. I hate Tom.
But in the end I was right. Someones car alarm went off at exactly 5:38 am. Needless to say Tom was up and getting ready.
This was a bittersweet moment for me. I got up early because I wanted to wish him luck, take a picture, and start my prep for the days events. But it was also terrifying. When I originally planned to race with Tom I had planned on it being “with” Tom. The same race. But he was proving himself on course long before me, chewing up the road, and trail, making a powerful name for himself. His next proving ground would be a 100K race, beyond what I was ready to sign up for.
His race started at 7 am.
Mine at 9 am.
He would leave without me.
I was alone/scared…..(fucked is the technical term)

In the spirit of the race a small child was dressed in a sasquatch costume and was roving the start line taking pictures with the soon to be runners. Fuck. It was at this point I made one for sure decision.
Since I had arrived and even in the week before people kept asking me one question: When do you think you’re going to finish?!?
I hadn’t really though about it. I kept saying “before the cutoff” as that seemed like a good goal. Just finish the damn thing. It really doesn’t matter how fast.
However that ghoulish little shit in a dime store costume put me in a position most American college graduates in 2014 found themselves in: fucked.
My race started at 9 am.
The final cutoff was 3 am (18 hours).
It was likely very dark by then.
If that little shit was running through the forest in the dark when I came down the final chute (4 km stretch) I was going to be put in prison for upper cutting a minor.
This was a tricky predicament.
Only my mom and some wet bed sheets know: I am terrified of the dark. The only thing more amorous than an untrained golden retriever is my imagination. Monsters, aliens, tall fast people, and my own heartbeat: all the things that sound the same in the dark forest.
It was at this point I put my foot down. I would be done before the sun hit the ground. There was no god damn way I was going to be out in those woods with all those crazy fuckers (sorry, ‘Ultra Runners’) chasing me. So now my goal time changed to between 11 and 12 hours. Significantly faster than previously appraised. However anyone who was within earshot now knew I was coming in with the sun or not at all as I was more likely hiding in a cave till sun up.
After Tom left I felt a little lost. I knew sort of what to do? Put on shoes? Eat? Take off shoes, put on clothes, then shoes again?
But this was a different ball game. I had never fueled during a race. I had never taken water on a race. I had never planned to poop on a course before (Thank god Tom told me to take toilet paper).
So many new things and I was again, alone to prepare (fucked is the technical term remember). But it made me strong. Remember the story that old bastard (I mean your dad) told about throwing his kids in the water at the deep end to learn to swim. Well I was doggy paddling the shit out of there as fast as I could. I was learning to swim.
I made it to the start line! I was dressed ‘quickly runs back and puts on shorts’ completely! And got some photos to send my wife in case she needed to identify my body!!


As 9 am approached I pooped, paced, and panicked. I may have well have been at the disco I was so distraught. I lathered my testicles and arms with so much bodyglide and sunscreen I looked more like the walls of a teenagers bedroom than an ultra marathon runner. But a pre-race lecture (where they assured me the trail was ‘marked really well’ but be careful when scaling the canyon walls on the provided rope……), and new friends helped take my mind off of it.
The race director started the countdown from ten….
I needed to poop again!
nine……
Where is my bladder and water bottles again?
eight……
How many calories did I pack?
Fuck it go!
We were off. I was given the advice to run slow. Run the slowest I had ever run. Then back off a bit. A bit more. Essentially the pace of the tectonic plates that first cause St.Helen’s to explode. I made every attempt to do so and found people to help.
The first 4 km are down a narrowish chute, in the trees. Little technical terrain and essentially no indication of what was to come. It was difficult to reign in my speed and prepare for the next 38 miles but I did okay. I found Jed! He was in a yellow shirt, mentioned he usually trained on the mountain, and was a runner from Portland. We exchanged pleasantries and agreed running together for the first leg was a good idea.
14 miles of spirit building goodness.

Eventually we would pick up another friend, Bryce. He joined us from behind and as a trio we would march. The Three Muskateers (as I literally just named us) would march through the forest (pretty flat), my first boulder field (kinda awesome but scary), across the Planes of Abraham (desert), and through Ape canyon (dessert), to Oasis aid station (1 of 2).
As we ascended some fairly steep rocky cliffs I was thinking the pace was a bit fast. I didn’t feel it in my muscles, but from the exertion I could tell there was no way I could keep it up all day. It began when I tried (but eventually failed) to fuel. I had brought by all estimates a million calories with me (see earlier when I mentioned being terrified, vapid, and flailing to be prepared) but entirely comprised of Clif bars. 6 different flavors however by the 6th (at about 3 hours) it was taking me longer to eat the bar than it was recommended to wait between meals.
I drank a lot of water (in retrospect it wasn’t enough) and coming across a sandy ridge, down several sets of ladder stairs I was amazed to see the aid station and relieved. It stuck out like a sore thumb.
Imagine climbing across a desert, eyes watering from the sun, muscles sore from another mile in the heat (by now it was 12 noon and the temperature was rising to about 28 C) and a jagged green, though thin line is cut from the mountain side. In the middle of it runs a lush 5 foot river, surrounded by 2 feet of emerald trees on either side. In the middle of said stream, plastic bottles being filled by wonderful human beings.

But it didn’t last. I filled all the containers I had, grabbed a handful of a couple treats and noticed everyone had left? I was alone. Not sure what the disconnect was but I was now the Lone Ranger. Even my horse had abandoned me. Fuck.
I got the hell out of Dodge. I quickly dragged my hat and buff through the stream as I exited stage left…..
Volunhero: Hey!
Body of recovered hiker 1: Hi!…..
V: You have to leave north. That way goes nowhere.
BRH: Oh……thanks!
Scenes similar to this were played out throughout the day in which I take wrong turns only to double back 10–20 feet. All told I probably ran closer to a 41 miler with all the wrong ways I went.

Alone I ventured. We were on the North-East side of the mountain. This faces Spirit Lake (where the trees blasted into said lake still float). One mile outside this aid station was the first of some important turns. This was the turn off for the 100K out and back loop to Crystal lake. I distinctly remember wishing Tom well here. This would be the last place Tom went before me as he ran his extra ~35K. I wished him luck and ran across a series of switchbacks, river crossings, and scrambled up sand dunes.
It was also here that the heat, lack of salt, and muscle apathy began to rear its ugly head. I noticed when I ran and my ankles compensated for uneven ground my calves started to cramp. It wasn’t dire at first, I only felt the inkling of a cramp in the beginning but as I ran it would begin to paralyze me. Not because I was in a cramping fit but because I felt if I ran on I would be paralyzed. I began to walk a lot more in this section. In reality section 2 would be titled ‘How to Break a Verner’. I caught up with Jed in this section as well. We both remarked that we thought section 1 was a bit too quick and would adjust our pace for a 12 hour finish. I was running entirely by feel and at that moment felt I was traveling faster than he felt comfortable. We parted ways. Bryce and me exchanged places several times however he eventually passed me and I toddled off.
I was running across a series of dessert canyon, scrubby brush covered flats and rocky downhills. It was hard. Climbing was torture. Flats were a relief but spirit breaking as I had to walk a lot of them. And the downhills were tear jerkers, every misstep meant I stubbed a toe or stumbled and sent my calves into a moaning fit. As I came to the top of what seemed a final plateau I stumbled upon some day hikers foraging for strawberries in a field.
THEN IT HIT. Like a truck driven by a texting teen, I needed to poop. Not in five minutes or even seven seconds, RIGHT FUCKING NOW.
I jogged by and looked for cover. I desperately looked for cover. On the left of the trail was essentially a sheer cliff down about 400 meters to a river (Toutle river), on the right an old log and a field of strawberries. I am not super proud of this but this was essentially my only choice. I walked the 20 meters to the log, sat down, pulled down my shorts (all the while my calves and quads screaming at me to stop bending my legs) and pull my sorry desiccated excuse for a penis aside so I could pee. I couldn’t situate my butt over the back of the log so I just leaned over and made every attempt to not cover myself in human waste. (I now owe Tom all the gold in Africa for forcing me to bring toilet paper in my vest)
This was all as I watched those two runners go by taking pictures of each other and laughing in the sun (fuckers), and a fellow female 40 miler. Not my finest moment. But a turning point. I felt a bit better and ran a bit easier when I finally got up. If your keeping track this is the point on the northern mountain where there is a little jog in the track (pictured). I actually laughed to myself as I started to descend some sandy switchbacks through forests. Unfortunately this is also the last place I ate while running. I couldn’t put another Clif bar in my mouth. Thankfully it never came back to haunt me but it could have been different. And I will think about this forever in retrospect.

This is where the sand really began. I called it the sinking sands because every step sunk out from underneath you. It was really just fancy falling down a slippery slope toward the river I heard earlier. The river they warned us about at the pre-race meeting. I came to the top and low an behold Bryce was there! We exchanged some encouragement and I descended the rope. It was really cool, and considering my legs were so swamped by this point using my arms to finally get somewhere felt good. The funniest part is thinking back to the race director saying
“You could probably make it down without the rope but we felt it would help the 100Ker’s in the dark so you guys benefit too I guess”
Apparently she thought in addition to people dumb enough to sign up for this we were also part monkey as there was a matching section on the other side of the Toutle river.

This section was hard. Part was the heat (hottest part of the day probably 30–35 C in the open), part was the varied terrain (sand, uphill, rocky switchback), but the other was the volunhero at Oasis who misspoke and told me it was only 12 miles to Blue Lake. By the time I reached the Toutle I had already decimated the 3 litres of water I had taken from Oasis. I needed water now.
I pulled up to the river and drenched every piece of clothing I could get in it. I filled both water bottles and sucked harder than Batman VS Superman through my LifeStraw (4-1/2 star, would recommend). I drank almost 2 litres there and took another 1 with me. Refreshed, I dragged my ass out of that canyon on the rope provided (thanks for that I guess?) and climbed.
Climbing through the forest this time there was one difference. I was watching my watch. I didn’t use my Fitbit (1/2 star, would not recommend) as it has less battery longevity than most Samsung Note 7’s. But I had watched how many km I started with and knew how far 12 miles would be to the next aid station.
12 miles.
As I passed the “12 mile” mark I began to become dejected. I was passed by a couple of people, my pace slowed. I began having to tell myself out loud to keep moving even. Everything hurt. Every water body I crossed I filled up. But still the station never appeared. I could even see the lake now but WHERE. THE. FUCK. was it?!?
He misspoke. It was 14.4 miles to Blue lake and 12 to home from Blue lake. I passed some hikers who gave me a strange stare (likely due to the blood thirsty look in my eye), and bounced through old river beds, dried out forests, and finally to the short out/back to aid station 2. I was saved.
I passed the two people who passed me previously as they were leaving. We exchanged smiles (I think my mouth moved in an upward direction) and they bounced (much higher than me) in the opposite direction. I heard a cowbell ringing
“runner IN!”
“Number!?!”
“83……’drool’”
I felt like a piece of beef jerky. Not like I wanted to eat some but that I had been left out, skinned, in the heat, no water, to dry. They sat me down, gave me Coke (life saving), wraps, quesadillas, chocolate. They bandaged my blisters (from the sand in the hills), filled my water (put ice in the bladder), and prepared me best they could.
They didn’t know it but I didn’t want to leave. Not only because they were so nice but I was approaching done. I was a limp carrot, over boiled and ready to be mashed between the toothless gums of a geriatric. These volunhero’s saved my day. I came into Blue lake at 4 pm almost to the dot. That gave me 11 hours to finish the race (5 if we are living in a reality where Verner would rather eat razor blades than run in the dark….. which we are) but I felt like I would need a million.
Volunhero1: Need anything else?
V: New legs?
Volunhero1: You’ll be fine. You’re doing great! Keep it up!
But they had. They gave me legs and I ran out of Blue lake 15 min later. Only 999985 minutes faster than I had assumed I would be leaving. I remember fondly my time there. It was a saving grace. A true oasis. But I grabbed 6 packets of M&M’s and ran out.
“If the oven’s hot, anything will burn” thanks Keith. Unfortunately those only lasted about 6 seconds (would have been less but I tripped, stubbed my toe, and tried to destroy an entire ecosystem with my mind. Moral: don’t run and eat). This was the last thing I ate before the end.

Another runner had mentioned we needed to climb. As soon as we left he said we would make it back up to 4600 ft. Foolishly asking where we were then, I did the quick math and determined I needed to climb only about 500 m out of Blue lake. Each step was hell. The blister bandage was doing the best it could, but the cramps in my legs, thighs, and ankles (seriously WTF! Ankles?!?) were slowing me considerably. One runner I had seen in Blue lake passed me on the climb but I struggled on.
It was unrelenting. It went on forever. It eventually ended at one of the most humbling sights of the day. Coming to final ascent I came upon a group of runners. I assumed they were hikers stopped for the night, but they were huddled around a fellow runner. He had collapsed due to heat stroke. They all sacrificed the remainder of what would have been an amazing finish to help out another in dire need. The man white as a ghost, barely able to speak, huddled on the ground in the shade. They bid me onward, saying there wasn’t much I could do considering they themselves were waiting for SAR. As I left I remember hearing, “you’re almost there, not much further from here”. The best/worst thing I had heard today (borst?). I was almost done but the reality of the near end of that other runners day kept me very humble.
After the ascent came the final boulder fields. Similar to the first ones I described imagine hopping from rhinoceros sized jagged pumice stones while exhausted, hungry, thirsty, and HOLY FUCK!?!?!?!?!

The race photographers camera went off, sounding like a rabid woodpecker with a blood lust. For the second time that day he had scared the living daylights out of me. Hopefully there is a good photo of me before I dropped a boulder in my Lulu’s but I doubt it.

Having crossed the boulder field I started to encounter more snow coverings (4 or 6 little bridges), shadowy fields, but in the distance I saw a very familiar sign.

This was it. This was the chute I had waited for. I knew from this point it was about 4 km home. Home. That place where I sit. Eat. Hug my wife (She better fucking be there). But most importantly NOT RUN!!!
A friend in Vancouver had run with me 3 weeks before the race said: “save it. Run really slow at the beginning then you can catch people burned out at the end.”
When I commited to that chute I made quite the deal with my body.
Verner: Get me the fuck out of here as soon as possible and I will deliver to you the most nutritionally disgusting but delicious things you desire.
Body: Warp drive…..ENGAGE!!!
I was the wind. I was literally air molecules using Brownian motion to jettison myself along the space/time continuum. I was Usain Bolt…….’s distant cousin.
Looking back at Strava I was moving much slower than I thought. Averaging about a 5min/km I wasn’t breaking any records but at the time I thought I was reversing the rotation of the earth my feet were pedaling so fast.
It was also at this time I noticed some long shadows. The sun was going down as I entered the chute at about 7 after 7 pm. I was losing time on the sun and further committed to GTFO. To hell with any small girls dressed as sasquatch.
I passed one fucking person. He asked me as I went by (close to the speed of sound so it was hard to hear):
Runner1: Is this your first ultra?
Air molecule: Yeah.. and last.
R1: Well you picked a hell of a course. This is a really hard one.
AM: Well, I’m a fucking idiot.
He made a remark about how he though I would reconsider now, or in a week but I was so fast I didn’t hear it.
Tom and I had a fun little shake out run on Friday. We ran the first 800 m to a gravel pit. I saw this pit. I recognized it. And I stepped on the fucking gas. I was out and never stepping foot in these trees ever again.
Crossing the finish line, 10:29:something,something, there was little applause (that I remember). There was some whoops. But mostly me. Isn’t that what was important at that time. I almost quit at Blue lake. I almost didn’t even start. I struggled, and whined, and cried (but no tears as I told myself I couldn’t spare the water). But I had make it. With time to spare.
My wife was there to greet me. I embraced her and was so thankful for her warmth. She gave me her chair. She asked me if I needed anything. I started to panic/weep/struggle with my zipper on my vest:
Erika: Verner! What is it?!? What do you need?!?
Moron: ‘pulling phone from pocket’ I NEED TO PAUSE MY STRAVA!!!!!

It took me about 30 minutes to calm down. Stop yelling. And just be a person again. I was done.

I sat and cheered on new friends as they crossed, but I couldn’t get the feeling out of my head it wasn’t over. I was worried about Tom. It’s not so much I didn’t think he could do it. If anyone could it was him. Scientists often hypothesize the last creature to survive on earth (cockroaches, etc.) but they forget to look at Tom whose beard can stop a nuclear winter, whose bicep can curl a mountain, whose smell can scare a small girl dressed as sasquatch.
But it was going to be dark, and technical, and mostly did I mention DARK?!?
I tried to sleep but couldn’t. A combination of candy, coke, and worry kept me awake until 3:30 am. Sarah (Tom’s girlfriend) had talked to the radio operators and they said he checked in at Blue lake at 10:30pm and he would likely be home in 4–5 hours. Home.
We woke at 3ish to be early not to miss him. Walking to the fire I was cold. The girls grabbed some chairs and I mentioned I would go sit by the fire to be warm and wait. That’s when a nuclear winter hit me. The fiery hairy chin of an olympic level god had blinded me as he roared with laughter. Tom. He had made it through the dark. In spite of all that, the boulders, the trees, the little sasquatches he made it. And fucking early (a real friend would have waited).
We welcomed each other back to the land of the sane and counted off which parts of our bodies would never be the same (hint: starts with ’N’ and rhymes with swipple).
I was immensely proud of him and laughed at how even I had underestimated how fucking awesome he is.

What an awesome and amazing trip. We learned a lot about ourselves. We met new people, we destroyed little bits of ourselves to build them back up again. But more importantly: I got out before it got dark.
The other reason I couldn’t sleep is because there are no showers at the mountain. So here’s a picture of me in a speedo washing up at the lake.

Thank you to all my friends that gave me advice. But also for believing in me. I made it! And I might even do it again. Erika said it was pretty inspiring…… and that she might want to do one too……..
OOOOOOOHHHHHHH are you thinking what I’m thinking!?!?!?!?
ROADTRIP!!!!!!


This is the farthest I have ever run. I currently have the worst PR for a marathon ever (though I guess that means the next PR will be easy?…. Yay…..). But it won’t be the last?
