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Bigfoot, Bigfeat

My journey to Bigfoot started early. A 4am alarm so I could do a 20 min shakeout run before being picked up by my friend Nate, who was crewing and pacing me. And also driving us both ten plus hours to the event.

Crewing an ultra is tough and thankless. Nate had gone from casually mentioning it could be fun, to being my main crew person for the weekend. Just a week before I pieced together a crew plan involving four people, three of whom were not able to be at the entire event. Brendan and McKaelee were taking time out of their vacation to drive over so Brendan could run 20ish miles with me while McKaelee provided crew support. They would leave Saturday afternoon to continue their road trip. Sarah was coming in Sunday morning after attending a friend's funeral on Saturday. Then her sister ended up giving birth on Friday via emergency C section, so she was on a whirlwind weekend of emotions. I am still in awe of the support these four gave me, giving up so much time, sleep, and energy to help me achieve something insane.

With a convoluted plan of car drops, the plan was either going to work seamlessly or fall apart in the first mile. Because of this, I packed 13 drop bags, one for every aid station, and was mentally preparing myself to do the entire effort unsupported. Having done the first 200 miles of Moab 240 with no pacer, I knew I could handle it if needed, but also knew that having a buddy keeps you focused and moving faster.

Anyway, I finished my run, rinsed off in the shower, made hot tea, and then sat nervously until Nate arrived. We threw my gear into the back of his truck in the dark and I climbed in the front, trying to ignore my anxious thoughts of, What if the race actually starts next weekend? Or today? And Did I pack my shoes? Where are my trekking poles? These thoughts didn’t really calm down as we drove along, chatting and enjoying the changing scenery from Montana, to Idaho, to Washington. What if Brenand can’t start pacing me at Coldwater Lake? Can pacers start there? Do I have a phone charging cord?

Luckily, the race did start that weekend and I was able to check in on time. The pre race medical evaluation was pretty standard, I answered that it was not my first 200, having done Moab in 2020. The medic asked how that race went and I said, “Fine.” He asked if I ate and drank enough during that race and I said, “Sure” knowing both those answers were lies. Moab 240 had gone terribly. I ate nowhere near enough, got massively overheated, sprained an ankle at the halfway point, and death marched the last 120 miles to finish with 45 minutes to spare. But I knew if I had actually eaten or stayed hydrated, it probably would have gone fine! I knew what I did wrong and was determined that this 200 would be different. Moab 240 I now think of as an ultra running bootcamp. This would be a real race.

But because of my poor showing at Moab, I kept my expectations very low. Anything under a 90 hour finish I would be happy with, maybe 75-80 hours if I felt amazing. I did look up the course record and would mention to a few people that I had the insane goal of around 65 hours or something under 66:43. But I always followed that up with, “We’ll see. That’s pretty crazy. I don’t think I can do it.” And I didn’t think I could.

After buying a new phone charging cord (I did have one, it just didn’t work well) plus being reassured by Brendan that pacers could absolutely start at Coldwater Lake, Nate and I headed up towards the start line to camp. We ate cold calzones, because I always eat calzones before a race, and went to bed around 9pm. I opened a card from Jeff, which also held an extra Speed Nut spring gel and a Hyalite crystal he said was charged under the full moon. I put both in my pack for extra energy during the race.

I woke up Friday morning after having actually slept, the first shock of the event! Nate drove me down to the start line and after spraying myself down with sunscreen and getting a picture with Bigfoot, I waited as the minutes counted down. My pack was heavy, but I was used to that now after more unsupported efforts, and a three day running adventure in Bozeman called Scummy Summer Slammer. My poles were in my hand and I was ready to go.

The crew remaining around the start line began to count down, 10…9…8… Here I go! 3…2…1 The runners took off. I have a tendency to start too fast in races, but I was also a ball of pent up energy and anxiety. I allowed myself to run the first mile or so pretty fast. I also wanted to get up towards the front of the pack. I don’t like feeling trapped behind other runners, and while we were on a wider trail I wanted to maneuver to a position where I wouldn't feel stuck. I heard some runner saying all the people running this part would regret it, it was a 200, there was no need to start hard. Well, let her run her race her way, I was doing this my way.

I did slow down as we approached our first big climbs, then got stung or bitten by something on my ear. 40 minutes into the race and I was in a lot of pain. I tried to stay calm, hoping a stupid wasp wasn’t going to end my race, I instead told myself that if the pain in my ear stayed this bad the whole time it would just distract me from any pain in my legs.

After about 20 minutes the pain subsided and we arrived at the boulder field, the blast zone of Mt. St. Helen’s. I knew I didn’t want to take this fast, better to be sure of footing and a few minutes slower, than sprain an ankle 5 miles in. I focused on my feet and repeated my new mantra Don’t let the rocks know you’re afraid as I seemed to fly over the boulders. I didn’t look up much except to find the next flag. Soon enough I was through the boulder field. Holy cow! Am I really done with that section? What was I nervous for? I can handle that. Even sooner I was at the first aid station. My watch read 11 miles. Wasn’t this supposed to be mile 12 something? Has it really only been a little over two hours since I started? I don’t even need a drop bag. I had two shots of coca cola, something I usually wait to start drinking till later in a race, but I wanted to do well and some sugar and caffeine now couldn't hurt. I grabbed a slice of watermelon and started eating it as I hiked back up the trail. Under 200 miles to go!

The next few miles went quickly, any section that felt runnable I ran. Out of the blast zone it was a pretty soft single track. Nothing too technical until we came to the river. There was a rope to hold on to while you clambered down a steep hill to ford the water. The spot seemed manageable, until I slid in the dust. Ok, don’t get cocky. Hold the rope, it’s there for a reason! I crossed the river, then used another rope to haul myself out the other side. We were now running on the other side of Mt. St. Helen’s and there was no tree cover. Thankfully, the weather was cool and a breeze kept us refreshed. I ran along most of those miles too, stopping every now and then to eat a snack and walk. A big part of my race strategy was to always be moving. You can walk and eat. You can walk and put your pack back on. You can even walk and cry.

As we moved across the moon-like landscape, the runners began to spread out. There were people far ahead of me, but no one behind me. I stayed strong, hiking quickly uphill as I passed a few people. Another new race strategy: Hiking and walking were NOT to be done at a sad slow pace, they were to be done “with purpose.” Once again I came upon the aid station sooner than expected. I changed into dry socks and grabbed my waistlight. It was only about 3 in the afternoon, I probably didn’t need it this early, but it was my only chance to get it…I guess I thought I was coming into this aid station closer to dark? I couldn’t remember. My entire spreadsheet of times was out of my head. Hopefully my crew was watching my tracker. I think I was going a lot faster than I expected…

The course thinned out even more on my way to Coldwater Lake. The first two aid stations were shared by runners doing the 20 and 40 mile routes. Now it was just us 200 mile crazies. The trail again felt mostly runnable, good weather, and stunning views. No reason to not keep running along. Right? Am I going too fast? Is this pace sustainable? Is the next aid station now really only one mile away?

I was thrilled to see that Brendan and McKaelee were waiting for me. Brendan ordered me a veggie burger, while McKaelee helped me add more snacks to my pack and take out the empty gel wrappers. I drank more coke and chatted with a volunteer. My politeness started to get the better of me in getting this volunteer's story, when Brendan stepped in and saved me from myself. “We need to go,” he said. Right. More running.

We headed out of the aid station into the sunset. He told me I was doing great, in the top twelve and seven hours ahead of schedule. I told him he was crazy, I was supposed to be at this aid station at 10pm. It was 6:30. That’s 3.5 hours ahead. He said, “You have 1am on the spreadsheet.” “No, I usually think 50 miles takes about 12 hours. So it’s gotta be 10pm. There’s no way I’m that far ahead.” “Ok.” he said, proving to be a great pacer and not argue with me, even though he was right. I checked later. 1am. No idea what I was thinking there, but so glad they kept an eye on the tracker and showed up super early!

As we ran, I stopped to re-tape my left pinky toe. My pinky toes LOVE scrunching themselves under my other toes and creating nice blisters as the bottom skin gets shredded beneath the weight of their neighbors. I've started pre-taping them so they stay in their lane. The right pinky toe was still taped and doing fine, the left was not. My tape job left a lot to be desired, but it would do for now. I hoped.

About a third of the way into this section, during a big climb, we saw a runner up ahead. Sally McRae. I really wanted to pass her. I told Brendan my goal and started hiking even faster. We passed her, but I didn’t slow down. As darkness came on I could see headlamps behind me. I wanted to leave them behind. I didn’t want anyone to pass me. I felt like I could hike and climb all night. Did that mean I could hike and run and climb for two more nights? I hoped so…

At the next aid station, McKaelee told me there was no tea bag in my drop bag. Ugh, I thought I had put tea bags in all of them! Being a non-coffee drinker is hard sometimes. But oh well, nothing to do about it now, I drank some plain hot water, broth, and who knows what else, while Brendand and McKaelee once again emptied my pack of trash and refilled it with snacks. I headed out into my first overnight solo, but with a playlist full of girl power pop in my headphones. I chewed gum to wake up a bit and found myself once again running along rocky trails. Isn’t this course supposed to be really technical? Was running in Bozeman making everything else seem easy by comparison? Or was I just in competition mode?

The next aid station was “Zombie apocalypse” themed and a sign said to blow an air horn to let them know I was coming in….uh, ok. The sound was very loud at 3am in the forest, but I am a rule follower. I was the only runner at this aid station, one came in behind me, but he went right to sleep in his crew vehicle. I was given hot potatoes and coke while the medic asked how I was doing. Was I peeing? Eating? “Yep!” This time, it wasn’t a lie. I was eating well, though following a totally new strategy thought up that day. Rather than forcing myself to eat a gel or something every hour (and panicking if I didn’t) I waited till I was a little hungry, and ate a gel, then a bar, then either another gel or drank tailwind. Doing this about every 90 minutes to two hours led to a few low energy moments and took a bit longer to digest, but seemed so much more manageable. I also remembered Jeff saying he thought people worried too much about eating during ultras. Whatever I got down, that stayed down, would be fine.

I headed off into the darkness again, then watched the sunrise over the cascades. Gorgeous. Still not a runner in sight anywhere around me. I didn’t mind. I wasn’t really in the mood to chat or try and make trail friends. In fact, I felt more like a racehorse with blinders on. Nothing mattered but the next aid station. I pushed myself to keep running, hike the uphills hard, cruise the downhills, always be moving. This was a race and I have never felt so competitive. Later on Nate or Sarah would point out cute frogs or a neat rock formation. I might glance for half a second and say, “cool” then move on. We were racing, not exploring.

I found myself at the next aid station around 8am, Nate was joining me here for 35 miles of pacing duties. This drop bag also didn’t have a tea bag, but a volunteer offered me one of hers. I gratefully accepted. But also made a mental note to truly put them in every drop bag, no matter when I thought I would be arriving. Tea is always a good idea. I ate vegan breakfast sausage, hot and fresh, then got back on the trail. No point sitting around! Nate and I talked as we hiked along, letting my stomach digest the heavier foods. I had told Nate a 200 is mostly hiking. I lied. I still felt good enough to run. What the heck? Ok, go with it! We jogged along and hit the halfway point. Are you kidding me? It’s been around 25 hours. There is no way this is sustainable. What am I doing?

The next aid station I stopped for longer as I asked one of the medics to tape my toes and heels, which were now all getting blisters. She asked if another volunteer could observe, I said yes. She then said, “Are you in a hurry?” To which I replied “...Mildly?” I was too shocked to say “Yes! This is a race! No one has passed me in the past 7 hours, I’d like to keep that up!” She did a great job on my feet though, as quick as she could, and we set off once again.

The weather was getting warm as Nate and I checked off another aid station, then began a section with over seven thousand feet of climbing. The heat continued to increase the more we climbed. At one point Nate suggested I take off my shirt and soak it in the river we crossed. A cold wet shirt helped, and we kept moving. This was where the hiking came in. It felt like we were only going up. And we were never going to reach the top. Even after we left the single track in the trees and hit more of a “road” it was still climbing up! How? Even worse, this section of the trail was made of what Nate termed “flour.” Fine, fine sand powder that created plumes of dust as we hobbled along.

I told him my left pinky toe needed new tape at this aid station and I also thought I should try and sleep. I was going on 36+ hours of being awake. I had already tried to take a ten minute nap during our climb to no avail. This aid station was not a sleep station, but I could try and nap in a chair, right? Nate once again proved willing to do more than he signed up for, and baby wiped my feet clean and retaped my toe while I sat in a chair and sort of tried to sleep. I then took a blanket and layed in the parking lot. It wasn’t working. I couldn’t sleep. I was just going to head towards the next aid station.

I bid Nate farewell, went out for my second solo night of running, carrying a hummus wrap and fresh snacks. I was quite hungry and eager for more “real” food like this wrap, but with my headlamp I could see the dust particles floating in the air around me. I didn’t want to eat until I was out of the flour bowl. I even consciously ran with my mouth closed. No way this amount of dust would be good for you to breathe.

Using my headlamp instead of my waist light made the trail dimmer and I grew more and more tired. I tried twice to “dirt nap” to no avail. At one failed nap stop I pulled out my waist light. The brighter light gave me new energy, as did eating half the wrap when a few sections of the trail became less flour-y. Then I ran out of water. Did this section have any water crossings? I couldn’t remember. I caught up to another runner, Aliza LaPierre, and asked. She said we already passed any water on this section, so no, not anymore. Well, nothing I could do about it. Since it was nighttime and cool, I wasn’t dehydrated. Just wanting to rinse the constant dust out of my mouth. Instead, I did my best to continue keeping my mouth closed and ran along as fast as I could. I never understood runners who ran faster when they were out of water, but now I did. I forced myself to stay calm and move efficiently towards Chain of Lakes. Water and sleep. Every step is a step closer.

I hit the campground and spotted a few cars. One of which was a familiar white ford. I grinned. A cracked windshield and Cheez-Its told me Jeff had done what I knew he would: drive 11 something hours straight from volunteering at the Ridge Run in Bozeman to meet me, without sleeping. I was glad he was there though, I had been debating if I should sleep or not the past few miles. I was tired, yes, but I also move better at night when it’s colder. Still, I was getting close to 48 hours awake the longer I waited. My record is 56 or so, but I didn’t want to get that extreme. He would have a good idea what to do.

I was greeted by Nate and Jeff and the news that this drop bag finally had a tea bag in it! Perfect. I ate something, drank hot tea, and asked if I should sleep or not. Jeff said yes, if I thought I could sleep, I should go for it. Nate went to find an open sleep tent for me, and I told them both to wake me up at 3:35. I wanted to be out of this aid station by 4am. That was only going to be about 30-40 minutes of sleep, but I learned during Moab that sleeping any more than that puts my body into recovery mode and I start to lock up.

I sat down on the cot, took off my shoes, and plugged my phone into my battery pack to charge. Once I was able to roll on to my stomach, the position I normally sleep in, I was out like a light. A big lesson learned here. If I’m going to sleep, I have to commit to sleep and get into my normal sleeping position. Laying on my side or my back on the side of the trail will not cut it. All too soon Jeff came in to wake me up, I was in the middle of a dream and it took a few seconds before I remembered what I was doing. Oh yeah. Time to start running again. I ate a bit more, then left the aid station at 3:50. Nothing wrong with staying ahead of schedule!

The next section was lonely. Still dark and the sunrise was obscured by trees. Plus there were several river crossings that were at least twenty feet wide. No bridge, no logs, nothing to do but get your feet wet as you trudged through the water. I prayed I had actually packed dry socks for every aid station after water crossings mentioned in the runner guide and didn’t just THINK I did like the tea bags.

By 9am I caught up with Aliza again, who had passed me while I slept. We started to talk, I was warming up to chatting with other runners after a lonely night. Her pacer Doug snapped photos while we ran along and summited one of the out and back peaks together. (Elk?) We came into Klickitat aid station (AKA Barbieland) together, though she left before me.

Nate greeted me there with a smile and had his crew routine down: Empty my pack of trash, let me pick new snacks from my drop bag, and then repack it. I also grabbed a new battery pack for my waistlight here, even though it was 10am. I was so far off my schedule it was getting ridiculous. Another medic retaped my left ankle, which had been bothering me before the race began and needed fresh KT Tape. As she worked, I noticed my watch had stopped recording an activity. It was at 2%. I pulled out the charging cord and plugged it into my battery pack. Nothing. It didn’t start charging. Weird. Ok, new problem. I wouldn’t be able to tell how many miles I had gone, but this watch hadn’t been hugely accurate in its mileage already. I would wear it for the time and go based off that for distance. Plus I had Gaia on my phone and could track my own progress. No panic, just acceptance and a new plan made. I took a photo with a sign that said “I am KENough” and left Barbieland, insisting to Nate I would not be at Twin Sisters until 7pm. (I was wrong)

The next twenty miles were long, hot, and difficult. I was so looking forward to Twin Sisters. Sarah should be meeting me there for the last 30 miles! I tried not to look forward to that too much. What if her flight was delayed? But as I swatted thousands of deer flies while hiking along, it was hard to NOT eagerly await being joined by one of my closest friends for our favorite activity: running through the mountains together. I ran out of water again and stopped to filter at a lake. Aliza was there and I told her I was going to jump in the water. She declined to join, but I went for it, shoes and all. It was getting hot and I needed to cool off. The few minutes lost swimming around an alpine lake I would easily make up in faster miles overall once I cooled off.

I continued along solo, not having the energy to put my headphones back in, as I climbed over and under downed trees. Still, this trail was mostly pine needles. Not so bad, pretty runnable. I jogged where possible and once again caught up with Aliza while she and her pacer filtered more water. I needed more too and stopped as well. By the shores of the lake I ate peanut butter and jelly. I considered jumping in again, but the flies were so terrible I didn’t even fill my bladder fully. I filtered one bottle, filled another, and decided to keep going. I set time goals before I allowed myself to check the progress on Gaia. At 3:30 I can see how far I’ve come. This strategy had the added benefit of pushing me to run more. Your progress improves dramatically if you run for thirty minutes versus hike for thirty minutes.

Sooner than expected I came to the turn to head 3 miles down into Twin Sisters aid. I was back to being shocked how quickly aid stations appeared, nice! Even though these dumb flies were beginning to make me want to cry…I was so tired I couldn’t think straight. But I remembered the Hyalite crystal in my pack and summoned some energy to jog forward.

Arriving at Twin Sisters I was relieved to see Sarah and Nate! She made it! Even though it was 5:15pm and I was once again ahead of schedule. I asked her if she was ready to be my brain. She said, “Yes. Why?” And I said “I don’t have one anymore. So if you aren’t, I probably need to sleep again here.” She assured me she was ready and that her watch was fully charged. She would be able to tell me the miles as we ran together! After more tea, coke, protein powder, and all the ice and water my bladder could hold, we started hiking out of the aid station. I felt tired and heavy. I probably should go to the bathroom.

I drank as much water as I could to…get things moving…and soon pulled off the trail to poop. As I tiredly tried to dig a hole with my poles, Sarah jumped in and dug one for me. That is friendship. That is pacing. I did my business and felt so much better! We hiked, ran, and soon were back with Aliza and her pacer. The four of us became a team as we moved through a hellish section of downed trees. Every few feet we were either climbing over or under massive pines. The problem with this, besides it being tiring, is going over puts you in almost a sitting position where your feet get a break and scream at you to stop the pounding. Going under puts you in almost a sleeping position on the ground where just releasing your arms would let you take a nap.

Onward we battled. We were shocked when a runner came from behind and passed all of us, but he was flying. More power to him! I told Sarah I was hoping to finish before 12:43am as that would be under the course record. Beyond that, anything before 7am (under 70 hours) would be rad. Passing Aliza would be awesome, but I knew I couldn’t control how good or bad a finish she would have. That’s why I always try to enter an event with a time goal only. Wanting to podium is neat, but you have no idea who is showing up or how they will do. Focusing on your time only feels a lot more controllable.

We finally got to a forest “road” and left most of the big logs behind. However, this section wasn’t really any easier. It was overgrown with weeds, stinging nettles, berry bushes, and thin saplings that were blown down across the “trail”. So instead of seeing big obvious trees to climb over or under, you had to stay absolutely focused on your feet or you would trip. Despite it being close to midnight, the air was still stuffy and hot. I was so hot it felt like my core was imploding. The tree cover didn’t let up and we had no breeze. Aliza was feeling claustrophobic as well, and finally her pacer Kirsten (sp?) suggested we all do a primal scream. While “Fuck you Candice” was suggsted, we eventually went with my phrase of “Fire the Lorax”. While it didn’t make the trail easier, the experience of four badass female trail runners yelling out our feelings in the middle of cascades at night was pretty cool. The blister on the bottom of my left pinky toe had popped on the way into Owen’s and felt better for it, if weird as the pus worked its way out. The top blister held. For now.

Finally, FINALLY, we hit Owen’s Creek aid. I was putting on road shoes here, and also decided to eat some mashed potatoes. I had made the mistake earlier of not eating something bigger at an aid station and I wanted energy to finish strong. I left my poles with my drop bag gear, since the final 13 miles were all road and my arms were tired. Continuing a trend I did the whole race, I stayed longer than I had planned at Owen’s. Still, doing closer to a 10 minute stop versus 5 minutes felt ok given I left aid stations more refreshed and confident. And it was still under the 20 to 30 lazy minutes I did at Moab.

Aliza left Owen’s almost right away and I was stoked to see her keep crushing. I refocused to try and finish before 4am as Sarah and I took off down the road. The air still seemed hot and we were not out of tree cover yet. I was desperate for the paved roads and open fields. Even with my feet hurting, my left pinky toe especially, I tried to jog as much as I could. My internal heat kept slowing me down. I would jog a few minutes and then get dizzy and feel close to passing out. I finally asked Sarah if I was even going faster jogging than I was walking “with purpose” she said not really. So speed walking it was for now.

A few miles out and I cooled a little from the walking break, so we started running again. With more gratitude than I’ve ever felt for a paved road, we hit the asphalt and turned left to head towards town. Only getting thirty minutes of sleep in the past 60 odd hours was getting to me. I told Sarah I needed to run down the middle of the road, focusing only on the yellow lines. Looking up, around, or anywhere else was sending me stumbling off track like a drunk person. I had already seen some hallucinations (a photographer in a bucket hat who wasn’t there, a Bigfoot like gorilla, fake aid stations. Not to mention the auditory ones of runners coming up behind me. That kept me moving too!). But the strongest was here. After a few minutes on the road we passed a mileage sign. It said: Mile 1. We can’t be at mile 1, we’ve been on this road about a mile already, right? In front of my eyes, the sign switched and read: Mile 6. Ok…the hallucinations were top notch at this point. Time to keep moving!

We ran, we hiked the uphills, we caught up on her insane weekend of birth and death. We eventually passed a sign that said Mile 4. Or was it Mile 1? I couldn’t tell, it kept changing back and forth. I asked Sarah and she said “That says Mile 4. The numbers have been going down. You couldn't have seen Mile 1 yet.”

Onward…And then, the blister on top of my left toe popped. That one hurt. I tried to jog through it, then finally asked how many more miles till we finished. When Sarah said it was about 5 or 6, I said we needed to stop and see what we could do. Sarah would not let me sit in the middle of the road (despite it being 2am), so I begrudgingly walked to the side of the road and took off my shoe. I pulled off the sock and looked at the toe. It was the tape that was pulling on the skin, so I reached to take it off. But Nate did a great job on the tape, it was not coming off easily. I pulled a little and Sarah made me stop, “I think we should leave it.” I reluctantly agreed, put my sock and shoe back on, and we kept going. Soon enough, the skin stopped pulling and it felt like I could run again. We ran along, crossing a bridge (one of my favorite things!) and made it into town.

We pushed on, but as we got to the final mile I said we could walk a little. I was so tired and my feet hurt and I knew I was going to be able to finish before 4am no matter what. I couldn’t summon the energy to care about finishing before 3:45 or 3:30 or 3:20am. There was no one behind me, 3rd Female seemed in the bag. Ugh. Did this mean I was lazy? Or a bad competitor? Why did it matter if I finished at 3:21am and not 3:27am? I had no idea.

Once we turned into the school parking lot though, it was time to run. Nate was waiting at the track to do the final ¾ of a mile with me and Sarah. All the volunteers were out with cowbells, cheering me in. I crossed under the arch and couldn’t stop grinning. I found out I was still under the previous course record! 66:17! Wow, my math skills are bad and even worse mid trail race. I got my finishers photo, ate a pizza, and Sarah and I crashed on cots, while Nate slept in his camp bed in his truck.

I was shocked how well I did. I guess this is what it’s like if I actually, really race. If I believe in myself and my ability and just keep pushing. All the scrapes and blisters and sores muscles were worth it in the end. Around 9:30 the next morning we awoke, found a little breakfast and, of course, I had more hot tea.

I am so grateful to my coach Chris Dawson for making the best training plan for me to succeed, to my crew and pacers, to Jeff, and to all the members of the Bozeman Run Club who followed along and sent texts of encouragement that I could not respond too. PS my left pinky toe is absolutely disgusting and if you see me in person I’ll probably try and show it to you.

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