1999 finisher

It’s been six weeks since the race, and I’m still on a “Badwater high.” I’m high from the unselfish help given to me, and my crew, by Lisa Smith and her sister Julie. Before we even got our bags into the hotel, Julie and Lisa were there to offer crewing and racing tips. I’m high from watching Chris Moon hike the final few miles to the finish line. I’m high ‘cause, when Major Maples became disqualified after accepting an IV, he didn’t quit. He continued on with his crew to lift a fellow crew’s vehicle from the deep sand, then helped Maria DeJesus get to the finish line. I’m high after hugging Louise Cooper-Lovelace, a woman recently out of chemotherapy for breast cancer, shortly after she finished this amazing run. I’m high because when Lisa Smith got to mile 129 and had to go to the hospital for an IV, she didn’t quit either. She returned with her crew to finish what she started; an effort to raise money for breast cancer and spinal cord injury research.

I’ve been trying to succinctly describe my feelings after finishing this incredible event. I’m in awe after witnessing the individual acts of indescribable courage and selflessness. I’ll echo the words of my new friend, Lisa : “I love the people who are involved in this event. There is a silent understanding between us all. You don’t have to explain yourself or get asked WHY you do this? We all know why. It is pure love to test oneself. Badwater. It teaches us so much about ourselves. You feel so strong and powerful. You will always have this with you and the people become your family. We love you unconditionally.”

I had just finished the Leadville Trail 100 on Saturday (09-21-22, 1999), and I had the pleasure of seeing Denise (Jones), Adam (Bookspan), Marshall (Ulrich) and Scott (Weber). Many of Scott Weber’s athletes were also out there to race. I paced one of them to Winfield. Marshall and I were running through the woods at mile 65 in the middle of the night, and we both agreed that our bodies were “beat” from Badwater, although I think Marshall has more reason to feel tired than I do; I didn’t do the Badwater solo, THEN do the race. That man is made of iron!

As for Badwater…

I remember it like it was yesterday. I had the September, 1991 issue of UltraRunning magazine open to page 36 . . . and the title of the article was Death Valley-Mt. Whitney: Some Good, Often Bad, Always Ugly. I began reading about Kenneth Crutchlow and “other adventure racers who lost so many brain cells doing the run from Shoshone in southern Inyo County to Scotty’s Castle at the northern edge, that they had the bad sense to go back to Death Valley on an almost annual basis to do it again and again through the early 1970’s.” The story continued on to tell of the birth of “a run from Badwater, which is the hottest (134 degrees at Furnace Creek in 1913) and the driest place (1.5 inches of rain per year) in the world, to the highest point in the contiguous United States – Mount Whitney’s summit (14,494 feet).” Crutchlow was the first to do it in 1973. (Editor’s note: actually, Al Arnold was the first to do it, in 1977.) The article told of one runner in the 1991 race, Dr. Ben Jones, who “added a little humor by using a coffin to store ice during his race. Having immersed himself in the melted ice water at mile 111, he is reported to have claimed to be the first runner to have risen from a coffin to complete a race.” I was hooked. I knew that someday I’d be on that course killing brain cells.

The day begins at 4:00 a.m. as we leave our hotel and begin driving to the start of the race, 70 miles away. This hotel room, which is at the half-way point in the race (Panamint Springs Resort), will be ours for the next two days in case my crew needs sleep. We meander through the curves of highway 190 as it snakes through the Panamint mountains, then across the valley floor towards Badwater. We stop at Stovepipe Wells to pick up ten bags of ice that we pre-bought the day before, and to fill the van with gas. As we approach the turn to Badwater, we can see a Hi-Tec vehicle blocking access to the turn-off. They wave us to continue east to an alternate starting location. Seems the torrential rains last night washed enough mud across the road to make it impassable. We cruise to the alternate start, but on the way a car passes us just as our van is wading through a mud puddle, and SPLAT! We’re covered with mud! Not such a big deal except that the left window is open and Greg and I get a surprise mud shower. At the alternate start we assemble along the highway with all the other crew vehicles. My crew and I confer on all the last minute details; how much carbo-mix to how much water, what food to have ready, etc. We’re all set to assemble at the start when Ben Jones announces that snow plows have cleared the road to Badwater, and we’re heading back there for a 10:00 a.m. start.

After a nice breakfast at Furnace Creek, we all get our vans moving to Badwater. What a caravan! Forty two race crews and several movie crews all lined up along the bare desert highway. At the starting area all of the racers gather ‘round the Badwater sign for a pre-race photo, then “five minutes to the start” is announced. I hurry to get my race number on my long sleeved Sun Precautions jacket, then take my place among the other 41thrill-seekers. One of the racers, Adam Bookspan, who is a symphony musician, plays our National Anthem on the trumpet. Count-down from ten and we’re off!

I’m VERY happy to be moving as I settle into an eight minute-per-mile pace. The first ten miles are one big traffic jam. Crew vehicles are desperately trying to reach their runners without blocking the course. At about mile five, Andy sets out a hurdle that we brought as a practical joke, so I step over it. Greg and Jeff stop each mile for the first 15, then every two miles after that. I alternate energy drink with water, and keep a bandanna with ice in it around my neck constantly. This allows crisp, cold water to soak the front of my shirt, which feels wonderful even with the slightest breeze. Greg paces me off-and-on for many miles. I feel great as the miles pass. At around mile 20, I’m running with Maria DeJesus from the U.K. She’s running well, but is wearing a soaked cotton tee-shirt. I ask her if she has a racing shirt with wicking fabric, to which her crew man says “yes,” but she refuses to switch shirts because her sponsors names are on it. A few more miles pass and I crest a hill where I can see Jeff and Greg playing hacky sack. At least they’re enjoying themselves!

At mile 40, I approach Stovepipe Wells as a strong cross-wind begins to whip sand across the road. The onset of the sand storm coincides with the onset of a nausea in my stomach. I’m beginning to feel sluggish and tired. I stumble into the general store where I jump on the scale that Greg and Jeff put out to weigh me. 174 pounds – I’ve lost two since the start. I’m met with a movie camera and questions from some of the production crew. They ask how I’m feeling and what I intend to do. I tell them that I’m going to sit down until I feel better, so I get into the van and close my eyes. My heart sinks as I realize I’m getting worse instead of better.

An hour passes, and as I sit in the passenger seat of our crew van, I see other racers making their way past us on the road, bandannas and hoods shielding their eyes from the whipping wind and sand. I long to be out there with them, but the nausea in my stomach and cramps in my legs won’t let me walk. I feel helpless, and as we sit idle with the minutes ticking by, I know my crew feels the same way. It is then that I remember reading a past account of this race, where Dr. Ben had given a sip of carbonated pop to someone in my same condition to make him vomit. His thinking was to empty the stomach, then begin re-hydrating. Greg suggests that I try some 7-UP, so I take a sip, then realize I have a short few seconds to get out of the van before I barf all over the road. I’m scared when I see blood in the vomit. There, kneeling on the side of the highway, with my head spinning, I have only one question; after only 42 miles, is this the end of my race? Later on, Greg will tell me that he and Jeff thought this was the end for me. But the amazing thing is that I feel better almost immediately. We’re worried about the blood, so Jeff and Greg ask a nearby California Highway Patrolman if he knows where the paramedics are. Turns out they are back towards the start tending to others worse than me. Eventually, Noel Hanna and his crew come in and park next to us. We’re thrilled to find out that one of his crew is a nurse, who says I just have a ruptured capillary, or a stress ulcer, and I should take several Tums (which she gave to us), re-hydrate to get my weight back up, then hit the road if I’m feeling okay. We jumped all over that advice. It wasn’t long before we were power-walking our way up the next 5000 foot climb.

As the sun set and the stars emerged, setting off the crickets, we tried to forget about the almost three hour delay at Stovepipe, and focus on our renewed goal of getting to the top of the pass. Several times, Andy would ride his Harley ahead of us, turn around, shut off his engine and headlight, then coast toward us in a weird game of ‘chicken.’ Luckily, he never hit me! Near the top of the pass, Jeff made Greg and me some Ramen noodles; the best noodles I ever had! Then, Jeff left me with my double bottle pack and drove Greg ahead to our motel about ten miles up the road. I reached the top of the pass and started down the other side when Jeff returned.

We re-filled my bottles and I insisted that Jeff increase the stops to three miles, so he could take 20-30 minute naps as we descended the pass. I was finally able to run again and felt so good that I crept up on Jeff at one stop, started making those noises from the Friday the 13th movies, and totally freaked him out! I met and passed several runners on the way down the pass. I was impressed when I met Cathy Tibbets, who had a pacer who turned out to be from the movie production company! I later learned that these movie makers became so enthralled with our race that they lost almost as much sleep as we did trying to personally experience as much as they could. I finally reached the Panamint Valley floor and began walking the last few miles to Panamint Springs Resort, when I remember everything going black, then awoke to find my right leg buckling beneath me. I had fallen asleep while walking! At Panamint Springs, I got in the van with Jeff and we reclined both front seats, set our watches for one hour, and we’re both out cold. When we regain consciousness I’m ready to start climbing up the next mountain pass. Jeff crews me a few more times before he heads back to let Greg take over the crewing duties. Near the top of the pass at 80 miles, Greg, Andy and Bonnie meet me with real food; pancakes, bacon and ham! This tasted sooooooooo good that I devour it quickly. Greg paces me for most of the morning, then alternates with Jeff later on in the afternoon. I alternated walking with running over the pass into the town of Keeler, at 107.8 miles. A California Highway Patrol officer pulls up in front of us, gets out of his car, says “Howdy,” then walks behind our crew van to two tour busses that had been speeding. The officer tells us he’s going to write them tickets for not slowing down for the runners!

At 120 miles, I’m truly in ‘no man’s land’, for I’ve never run past 100 miles in one shot, and I can feel the miles on the pavement exacting their toll on my body. I’m mostly walking now, and as I near Lone Pine, I’m on a ‘death march.’ My crew decides that I should stop at our hotel for one hour of good sleep. We shuffle into town, stagger to the room, pull off my shoes and lay down. I pull the covers over my head and realize that I’m shivering uncontrollably. “Just get some sleep,” I tell myself. Bang! My hotel room door flies open and hits the wall as four very excited people rush into my room. My eyes are wide open and my heart is racing. I’d only been asleep for half-an-hour when Art and Stephen start yelling at me to “get out of bed ‘cause it’s the wrong thing to do and I should just get up now and keep goin’ up the mountain!” Greg and Jeff are asking me what they should do; listen to them or let me sleep? I’m finally able to convince Art and Stephen that I’m gonna be okay. if I can just rest my brain for awhile, then Greg and Jeff usher them out and close the door. I know Art and Stephen are only trying to help me ‘cause I’m a “greenhorn” in this race! After an hour of sleep (and one ugly nightmare), I lace up my shoes and hobble down the stairs. I see my crew and ask them “which way up the mountain?” Bonnie joins me as we begin walking up Whitney Portal Road. Up ahead we can see a string of lights snaking their way up the final 13 miles to Whitney Portals, at 8,300 feet. I can feel the excitement building in my crew again. After two low spots of un-certainty, they are now certain that we’re going to cross the finish line tonight. Andy finds yet another opportunity to scare the hell out of us. He flicks on the halogen spot light 20 yards from us, making Bonnie and me think we’re about to become desert road-kill. At two miles from the end, Louise and Julie hop out of Louise’s crew van to give me a hug. At this point, I tell Jeff and Greg that they’re going to cross the finish line with me, so Andy and Bonnie head to the finish to get pictures. A few more switch-backs and we can see a brilliant flood light shining up to the serrated peak of Whitney. I grab Jeff and Greg’s hands and we raise our arms in victory as we run the last 50 feet to the finish tape! The rush is incredible. This race that I’ve dreamed about for the last decade is over … and we did it.

1999 finisher

After driving most of the night through rain and a spectacular thunder and lightning storm, we arrived at the Stovepipe Wells Village shortly before the pre-race meeting. It was good to be back. What a delightful afternoon I had milling about and chatting with some very special people. I met Ben and Denise Jones, Matt Frederick, Lisa Smith and her wonderful sister, Julie. I also became acquainted with many other people that I would have the pleasure of running with during the next several days. Later in the afternoon while relaxing on the porch outside our room, we saw it appear on the horizon.

A dark an ominous thunder and lightning storm began to sweep across the valley floor churning up the desert and creating a huge wall of sand that would soon be thrashing Stovepipe Wells. The ferocious sand, rain and lightning storms that followed inundated the area for over an hour turning the complex and the highway into a river of mud and rocks. It was almost worth the trip just to be here in the middle of this incredible phenomenon. As the storm moved down the canyons, numerous other flash floods created havoc everywhere in Death Valley. The next morning, with the help and cooperation of the National Park Service, plows were use to clear the debris off all the roads. Although the race was delayed four hours, we were all fortunate enough to be able to caravan in for the start at Badwater. Everyone was excited and thankful for this. We are finally at the starting line and will be off in a few minutes. What an honor it is for me to be standing in the middle of Death Valley on this small strip of highway among forty-one other courageous runners and their crews. All these people are my heroes. You can sense everyone’s adrenaline, energy and emotional levels rising a few notches as Adam Bookspan plays the National Anthem for us on his trumpet. It is beautiful. It is hard to believe that the time is near. I have been waiting for this very moment for a year. It is almost surreal, like a dream come true. It would be nice if one could freeze time and put this in a bottle to be savored forever.

After synchronizing our watches and counting the time down, the 1999 Badwater Race begins. This small group of elite runners, with lots of hard and demanding work ahead, are now on a mission to attempt to fulfill their dreams by finishing and conquering the toughest and most extreme race in the world. Early in the race, I run with a group of my friends. There is lots of kidding around as everyone sloughs off nervous energy. Leading this group is Major Maples and his crew hoisting American and Marine Corps flags, which are waiving in the slight breeze. It’s a spectacular and emotional sight.

After several miles the pack thins out as all the runners settle into their own pace and everyone begins to get serious. Running alone, I zero in on the challenge ahead. In my mind I have ran this race a million times since last years finish. After eight months of intense mental and physical preparation, I feel capable of finishing in 37-hours. The unusually high humidity and the temperature hovering around the 115-degree range should not be a problem. Three months of being blitzed in a sauna will take care of this. My crew of experienced runners including Vince Pedroia, Julie Dell’era and John Rodgers, instinctively realize my needs and will be at my side the entire distance.

They will keep me hydrated and well fed. Using squirt bottles and a super soaker (an extra large squirt gun), they will keep my sun suit from drying out during the heat of the day and will massage my legs at pre-planned resting spots. Besides leapfrogging a runner now and then and enjoying the beauty of the ever-changing desert, everything goes smoothly as we reach Stovepipe Wells. Looking across the desert while taking a short dip in the pool not only do I see Lisa Smith passing by, but also another sandstorm being whipped up and heading towards the motel. After a quick massage and a phone call home to my wife, we head up the hill towards Towne’s Pass in an attempt to skirt around this new storm. Too late. Immediately the sandstorm with its intense wind comes crashing down on us. It becomes hard to move up the mountain as I lean into the wind for more than an hour.

Shortly after the storm subsides, Steven Silver catches me. After introducing ourselves, he tells me his game plan which is alternating four minutes of running with four minutes of power-walking. This approach was new to me and sounded interesting, so I joined him for a few segments. The strategy worked so well that by the time we had run the ten miles to Townes Pass, I was hooked. This was the beginning of an amazing partnership, which would last all the way to the finish line some 90-miles away.

Everyone knows there are a thousand reasons a buddy system, even if pre-planned, doesn’t work. What we managed to accomplish together during the next twenty-five hours was definitely unique. Our pre-race plans, finishing goals, and running paces were similar. During numerous low spots we coaxed each other to keep moving forward. During the high periods we simply fed off each others positive energy and picked up the pace. We were captivated by the ‘if he can do it than I can do it syndrome.” Most importantly, we just hit it off really well together. We were always well aware of our mission and constantly made a zillion calculations. We also took time to joke and kid around, which was our way of dealing with some of the tired and frayed edges. We did have a lot of fun out there.

Near Panamint Springs we caught Lisa Smith and tried to sneak by her, but she quickly dusted us off. At Panamint we decided on a well deserved catnap in the hospitality room. We were now talking about a 36-hour finish. There was to be no sleep as my mind continued to calculate all the possible finishing times. Just as we were ready to go the room started spinning and I almost passed out. I had bonked in other races and had some immediate concerns. With the cold shakes, I made my way into the bathroom seeking any kind of relief. Steven was ready to go but I was in trouble. There was no way that this partnership was going to dissolve. So, after a few more minutes I gritted my teeth and started up the mountain with Steven in the cool and dark of the night. Fortunately, I began to recover and felt much better. Near the top a wild burro was about to chase my crew across the road. It backed off as we approached. After cresting the hill and passing Father Crowley’s Point, I became concerned about a large white figure just off the side of the road. Steven assured me that it was only a big white rock and we probably would be safe since it travels only a few inches every million years. Near the Death Valley National Park sign, we discovered the alternating mile marking signs along each side of the highway. We were now able to judge our pace more efficiently which made it easier to calculate estimated arrival times anywhere along the course.

We arrived at Keeler with a burning question. What’s that all about, the grave site and large cross at mile 96? Maybe Ben Jones knows. We could ask him the next time he drives by pulling his goody-filled wagon. After another short rest and massage, off we go. We begin to think a 35-hour finish is possible. My left hip, which would give me problems on Mt. Whitney, begins to hurt. Unfortunately, a few miles later around Swansea, we pass Lisa (who is having a very hard time). I feel sorry for her. Lisa is my number one hero. In Lone Pine, my beautiful wife arrives which gives me a new source of energy. After two malts, some pudding and a quick leg massage we start the climb to the Whitney Portals.

The beauty and majesty of the mountain is powerful and overwhelming. We begin talking about a 34-hour finish as we surge up this long steep 13-mile hill and into the switch backs. Eventually we spot the last mile marker. With nineteen minutes to go we have a chance to break 34-hours. I think we can make it if we power-walk very hard, but Steven tells me we will have to run. I follow as Steven begins to run up the hill. It is hard because the pain in my hip is now excruciating. As we press on I am doing more of a running hobble. Steven keeps yelling back for me to suck it up and keep running. As time is slipping by and everything is hurting, I wonder, how come the last mile always seems the longest. Finally, after one last bend we spot it in all it’s glory. The finish line. Steven is almost there and could easily cross but he is waiting for me. As I hobble up he holds out his hand for me in an unselfish gesture of compassion and sportsmanship. As we clasp hands and head for the tape, we are yelling, screaming and crying. We cross the finish line together in 33 hours and 57 minutes and collapse into each others arms. The mind and body are shot. All that’s left is the emotional release. It is exhilarating. The intense passionate feelings pouring out during the next few fleeting minutes will be cherished forever. It is heaven on earth. It is for this moment that I worked so hard. It makes all the training in the cold, the rain, the heat, the long runs, the 140-mile weeks and the months of baking in the sauna worth every second. In the ultrarunning world it doesn’t get any better than this.

I left the mountain knowing that, if I can do this, then anything is possible. It has made me feel like a giant. This Badwater experience has become part of my spirituality. I know it has made me a better person. I will be back.

Thank you, Matt, Karen and all the other fine people at Hi-Tec. Outstanding job. Thank you, Ben Jones for all your support and compassion. Thanks to all the crews. With your help we are able to achieve our goals. Thanks to all the runners. I admire and honor your courage to even attempt this most difficult of all races. You are all winners. Thank you, Steven Silver for everything. Marian loves you and so do I. A special thanks to my wonderful wife Christine for the thirty-one years of love and support. This one was for you. Being surrounded by so many caring, compassionate and talented people made this one of the most fulfilling five day periods of my life. It was an honor to be a part of the 1999 Hi-Tec Badwater Ultramarathon. Thanks a million to everyone.

To read what Steve Silver had to say about this, click here.

1999 finisher

During races, all the attention is focused on the competitors. Who is in first or where is so and so? Are they going to break the record? Lets get a picture of the runners for the newspaper. Wow, they look great this far into the race.

Why do they look so good? Who has helped them maintain the lead or even kept them going. The unspoken always giving and sacrificing individuals not in the lime light. The Crews: The Real Heroes.

This is a story of one such crew member who helped an inexperienced runner complete the BADWATER 135.

In the fall of 1998 I was introduced to an incredible man named Greg Jenkins. At the time I was a personal trainer and he became a client of mine. He wanted me to prepare him for an upcoming caribou hunting trip in the arctic. I figured no big deal. That was until I found out both of the man’s knees had been destroyed in motorcycle and car accidents. This man had died and come back twice. I couldn’t believe this guy was even walking. But train we did, Sometimes walking on the treadmill at a pace of 5-6 mph with an incline of 15%. Don’t ask how.

This “should have been crippled man” inspired me. I was contemplating running a 100-mile ultra at the time. I had just finished my first, the JFK 50. I was a little nervous. I didn’t know if I could do a hundred. I told myself if this man with broken knees who never ever complained could hike hundreds of miles across the tundra, well I should be able to run a 135 miles.

I ran my idea by Greg. He said not only was he sure I could do it, but he would go with me to make sure I finished. So I applied, eventually got invited and started preparing for the race. Greg built me a special room in his storage shed to train. It had an industrial gas heater on the ceiling, 5000 watts of halogen lamps hanging over me, floor heaters, a dehumidifier and a treadmill. I thought, “Thanks a lot Greg for the torture chamber.” But train in it I did, hour after hour. The time came to leave. Greg had spent hundreds of hours and thousands of dollars getting our support vehicle ready. There were so many modifications to that vehicle I can’t even begin to list them all. Then he got supplies out the wazoo and everything he could possible think of which would benefit us in the desert. Greg’s nickname had been “OK Jenkins.” “OK” standing for overkill. We had more food and first aid supplies than an army going to combat. We looked like the Beverley Hillbillies leaving Maryland heading out for Death Valley. We stopped in IL and picked up my brother Greg. To avoid confusion, my brother Greg was to be called “Shag” and Greg Jenkins was to be called “Yukon.” What a trip. You can imagine three guys in an extended cab truck together for over 2000 miles. I need say no more. We arrived in Death Valley a couple days before the race. Yukon immediately went to work getting everything laid out properly. Food went here, the generator went there, first aid supplies went over there. Nothing was left to chance. We were prepared.

Race day: Shag and Yukon have the vehicle ready. They both tell me they know I can do this. Yukon tells me to think of it as a 1000 hundred meter dashes and it shouldn’t be that bad. He also tells me to remember, It’s dry heat. “Yeah right,” Greg. Through the entire race they both were incredible. They changed my shoes and socks, made me eat, drink, and kept me motivated. They were by my side every minute. Never once did they let me out of their sight. At mile 41, I was feeling pretty rough. Yukon pulled out the portable shower and bathed me like a father would a son. He told me, you’re doing great, I know you can do it. Shag fed me and we were on our way.

At roughly 0400 AM into the first night I started to bonk. They were there, always by my side. For a brief moment I lost sight of them around a corner. It was very dark. I was zoning. Then I heard this loud noise and saw I bright light. I thought, “What the hell is that?” Rounding the bend, I see Yukon and Shag standing in the middle of the road. Bob Seeger was blaring and halogen lights were lighting up the entire night. They both have their shirts off and are synchronized disco-dancing like two raving mad men. “Oh my god, this can’t be real.” It was real and extremely funny too. It helped to lighten the atmosphere and got me going. It primarily helped me to get away from these two.

Mile 110. Yukon cuts the sides out of my shoes to relieve the pressure. My feet are so swollen. He tells me to keep going. You can do this.

Mile 130. It’s midnight. I’ve been running for 30 some hours now. My feet are numb. I’m delirious. I haven’t slept in about 45 hours. I’m taking as many steps side to side as I do forward. Stumbling. Hallucinating. Staggering. I can’t do this. Out of nowhere, Yukon is by my side. He grabs me by the arm. He stabilizes me. He pulls me forward, the whole time telling me, “I know you can do this. I’ve got you. You are going to do this. I’ve got faith in you.” His reassurance comforts me and gives me a boost. I feel that thing inside which a son feels towards a father. I can’t let him down. Hours later we stagger across the finish line. We finished together. Without these two, I never would have finished. They gave so unconditionally and unselfishly. Never once did I hear them complain. They are the Real Heroes.

September 15, 1999 my friend, father figure, an hero, Greg (Yukon) Jenkins, died of a brain aneurysm while hunting caribou in the arctic. He died doing what he loved to do best. I plan on going back to Badwater in 2000. It won’t be the same without him, but I know for sure, when I’m feeling as if I can’t go on and want to stop, his spirit will embrace me by the arm and whisper “I’ve got you. You are going to do this. Trust me.”

Badwater Finisher: ’94, ’95, ’96, ’97, ’98, ’99, ’00, and ’01

Here’s what worked for me at this year’s 1999 Hi-Tec Badwater race

1. Compeed secured by Elatikon tape at the forefoot. Stayed in place throughout the race; no blistering.
2. Compeed ‘mini-strips’ wrapped around ‘little’ toes.
3. Anklet nylons overlayered with super thin sock liners. ‘Double Layering’ with little or no moisture absorption.
4. Custom insoles (low volume/full length) molded by Russ Bollig of the ‘Podium’ in Boulder, CO. Eliminated ‘shearing’ and resultant blistering caused by my over-pronation on the right side.
5. New Balance 1200 shoes. Most comfortable, least problematic shoe I’ve worn at Badwater. Worn them ‘out of the box’. I did cut a hole for my right little toe at mile 72. Tread was completely burned off by mile 135, but that is usual for most footwear I’ve used at Badwater.
6. ‘Dri-fit’ Nike baggy running shorts (without brief). Added bike shorts with chamois insert later in race.
7. Solumbra long sleeve running shirt by Sun Precautions. Very comfortable. Wore it ‘out of the box’. The special sun protection aspect of the fabric was excellent: no burning even though the shirt was often wet (wetting cotton reduces it SPF rating, but Solumbra’s sun-protective qualities are not affected by water). Very pliable fabric…no chafing.
8. Aussie style ‘cowboy’ hat with brim. (Sorry Aussies and Cowboys…I know I’m hopelessly insulting both groups with my poor command of ‘hat terminology’). First time I’ve used this style. I liked the large volume of ‘open space above the head and the flow through ventilation. It allowed for more ice to be dumped in and quicker melting. Plus made me feel very ‘adventuresome’. I did use my standard desert hat for parts of the race.
9. Black Diamond (Chouinard) climbing pants for Whitney. Heavier, more bombproof, warmer fabric than ‘tights’. Allows more comfortable bouts of whimpering while laying on, beside, under the granite on the Whitney climb. Nothing worse than a cold ass or sharp edges to distract one from their internal misery.
10. Montrails Vitesse for the mountain. Removed the sock liner and did not use my insoles to give my swollen feet some extra room. Nice grip on the granite.
11. Blackburn Pack with wide mouth-screw down lid bladder system with spring loaded valve. Have used Blackburn equipment the last several years. Lightweight/bombproof/the ‘bells and whistles’ you **need** (stretch cord to secure jacket etc.)/no fluff equipment. The spring loaded valve beats anything on the market.
12. Patagonia mid-weight capilene zip-T long sleeve shirt for the mountain. This is the most versatile shirt I’ve ever owned. Light weight/super comfortable/warm!
13. Patagonia ‘Pneumatic’ Pullover Jacket for the mountain. Still waiting for the perfect jacket that is lightweight/breathable yet can handle a downpour.
14. 1999 Suburban LS 4 Door 4WD. Huge and comfy. Air conditioning system was the only one that has ever worked effectively for my crew in the race. 4WD is a great safety feature for extracting the vehicle from the ‘soft shoulders’ near the dunes at Stovepipe Wells. Mini-vans no more!
15. Orange Cytomax. Standard ‘per the label’ concentration. Approximately one quart (32 ounces) per hour during the heat of the day; 20 ounces per hour at night. Supplemented with plenty of icy cold water almost every mile.
16. 1/4 teaspoon of regular table salt per hour mixed into the Cytomax. NO stomach problems.
17. Tapioca Pudding; bananas; Pringles; Campbell’s ‘Double-Noodle’ Chicken Soup (straight from the can); Hamburgers; Scrambled Eggs-Hash Browns-Bacon slathered with extra salt, ketchup and Tabasco Sauce.
18. Bloody Mary Style Tomato Juice. Mr. and Mrs.. T’s Brand has a whopping 2070 mg. of sodium in a 12 ounce can. That will bring you back from sodium depletion in nothing flat! It will kill you in ‘regular life’.
19. My crew: Theresa (my wife) and Rick Nawrocki (‘Story of a Champion’). They worked in sync and constantly provided the support I required to make the journey from ‘lowest to highest’. In the 92 hours of pre-race and race activity, they got less than 10 hours of total sleep. Despite this, they remained vigilant and responsive. Super people.
20. The camaraderie and support from my fellow racers and their crews. Badwater is an extraordinary race that attracts extraordinary people (like all ultras). The collective energy/support/understanding/enthusiasm is why I return to Badwater year after year.

What didn’t work

1. Reliance on training done 10 years ago. I’m thinking about hiring myself to get me back into shape!
2. Ensure. Usually has worked for me. This time made me instantly nauseous when I tried it at mile 115 or so.
3. Coca Cola. I usually drink lots on the racecourse. I got that unpleasant ‘this is going to make me sick’ feeling when I tried to use it too often this year.

1999 finisher

Ken Clouber, RD of the Leadville Trail 100 tells everybody at the Friday morning briefing proceeding the LT100, ” You are better than you think you are and you can do more than you think you can.” Never in the thirty-five years as a runner, with ten as an ultrarunner, was that more true than at the 1999 edition of the Badwater 135.

I have run Badwater twice …1996, where I finished 2nd in 37:45 and in 1997 where I finished 6th in 39:15 … nothing great, but acceptable. I started my own business in December of 1997 and for a while I was able to balance my life between work, running and a modest social life ( I separated from my ex-wife a week before BW in July 1996). But a year later (1998) I found myself working sixty-hours a week and running forty miles a week. Formerly I ran eighty to one-hundred mpw. My 1998 Leadville proved to me, at least, that mega-mileage for a somewhat competitive runner, was not that important as I finished it comfortably in 28:07 (my fifth finish, and third fastest). I tried racing a race a month instead of training and living in El Paso, Texas, that meant travelling. That worked for me. I ran a pretty easy 25:30 at the Mochican in June, so I felt confident, and ambitious enough to run a 36-hour Badwater. I told Jim Wolff and Howard Zaitchek, both returning crew and pacers, that this year my goals were a 36-hour finish and top ten and with the field assembled that was an accomplishment.

In the field was a POW (Postal Office Worker) named Art Webb. I thought he was a little odd running with the American flag and all, but who are we to call someone else odd? I paid him little attention and kept my distance, postal worker and all. The race, arguably, underwent some challenges … and they have been documented so I won’t review them again. Once underway, I ran a few miles with Lisa Smith, always a pleasure, and she gets my vote for the most attractive extreme athlete in the world, inside and out. Then I picked up with David Jones, 1997 winner and he was fun to run with until he took off at about 20 miles. Then it was my buddy Howard … all the way until Stovepipe Wells (Are there really wells there?). During that trek we ran into and with Gabriel (Flores) and Carlos (Banderas) and I knew I was over my head … but then Art Webb buzzed by at about 35 miles or so and I thought, “OK so I’m eighth, still on target for top ten.”

Arriving at Stovepipe, I was saw Art take off and he diplomatically offered to run with me if I got going right away. I told him that, if I caught up with him, I’d look forward to running with him for a few miles… little did I know at the time it would be ninety miles. After encountering some wind and rain, between mile 43 and 45 or so, I did run into Art and his wonderful crew, Dr. Vince, Julie and John … and the rest is history. I told him my strategy … four minutes running and for of walking … with downhills all ruinning and uphills mostly walking. If ever there was a team effort it was team Art and Steven. Both of our crews joined in helping each other. Art’s crew, with their massage therapy, in-van supermarket and continually upbeat attitude, made the race not only memorable and outstanding, but also alot of fun. Art, on the other hand was a real trip. We talked most of the way … about a lot of things … like how Norm Klein doesn’t consider Badwater a “real race;” about how the film crew, all thirty-one of them, avoided us like we were lepers and about how we were going to break thirty-six hours, and maybe even do thirty-five … and as it got closer to that town town from the Twilight Zone, Keeler, we started computing a thirty-four hour finish, if we really ran hard to the Portals. Leaving Keeler, we passed a brave and gallant, and still looking great, Lisa Smith. We were in fourth and, in fourth, we were going to finish. We had our trials. Me, I was a wobbling wreck from Father Crowly Point (80 miles) to the 97-mile mark. Art was not a lot fun out of Panamant and up the Whitney Road, but it didn’t matter. We were going to finish this together and together we did. At about a mile and a half to go, there was a “1 Mile to GO” sign, so I got real excited about finishing in under 34 hours. Art felt that we could power-walk the last mile under 18 minutes. Somehow, I didn’t share his confidence. We had to run and for the most part we did, but that was a LONG one mile … actually, Howard said it was 1.3 miles. I kept telling Art we could do it and we did, with WE being the operative word… and yes, I waited a for a few seconds for him to come into view when I was near the finish line, but this was a team effort and that’s how it ended … team Art and Steven, 33:57.

On a personal note, without Art, his crew, my crew and all the encouragement of the Hi-Tec folks, especially, Mariane, whom I still have a crush on, this would have still been a very special race, as both my previous my Badwaters were, but doing this one together, being with each other during the “best of times and the worst of times,” made it the MOST special race and one that I will long remember. Thanks Art!

To read what Arthur Webb, had to say about this, click here.

Age 68, 1999 finisher

As usual, I am a wee bit late with a Badwater story. But I’ve been busy. After Badwater, I went almost immediately back east for over two weeks and then to Leadville for over two weeks. At Leadville I helped with the bike race and with the LT-100. Saw Adam and Denise at the start but never saw them afterwards. I crewed for two people. First one was Ron Vertrees from Vallejo and he dropped out at 60 miles. So then I ran/walked the last 23 miles with Lee Schmidt from Napa. My first time at Leadville in a crew capacity instead of a runner. Crewing is damn hard—I think I’d rather run.

Badwater was a tremendous experience for me this year. I had injured my back early in the year so that AR50 in April was my last run greater than 10 miles. I virtually stopped running in April and all I did from then on until Badwater was walk and the farthest I walked was generally 10 miles with one walk of 20 miles. Most of the time I was taking short daily walks like four miles. Most of my friends and family thought I was crazy to do Badwater with so little training and with a ruptured disk in my back. Since I was already entered into Badwater my intent was to start and walk as far as I could. Turned out to be 135 miles. I think that I only ran about 15 miles total and that was when the camera crews were near. I walked all the rest. Actually, it wasn’t so bad. Who am I kidding. It took me over 53 hours. I had only about one hour of sleep the whole time and my feet starting blistering at 35 miles. Thanks to Mike Paradise, who played doctor with my feet repeatedly, I was able to hobble through, but man were my feet hurting. If I ever do Badwater again, I gotta figure out what to do with my feet.

Hallucinations: I can’t believe the things I saw. I wrote to Dr. Barbara (Warren) and told her all about them. They were very similar to the ones I saw in ’98. Mostly buildings, bridges, and geometric shapes. Also I saw green woolly worms. At one point this year I needed to fix a shoe and I didn’t want to sit on the ground so I started to think about sitting on a post, or bench, in front of the buildings that I was constantly seeing. But then I remembered that hallucinations don’t make good seats. Also, during the second night, a policeman stopped and told me to look out for the snakes (?). I thought he said “snakes.” So the rest of the night I worried, and I saw snakes on several occasions. People keep asking why do I do these strange things. Well at my age, I have more past than I have future. And the past is made up of memories. More memories can be built up at one Badwater event than are built up in several months of the other normal sometimes mundane stuff that we do. So, I think that’s why I like Badwater—it provides a burst of memories. Memories such as running down the road in the middle of the night with Chris Moon (amputee) discussing blisters. I argued that I had more than he did. What an inspiration he was. I might have given up if it hadn’t been for Chris.

I hate to say this but I feel it coming on again. I know that I will want to do Badwater again. When I finished last year (1998), I said never again. When I finished this year, I said never again. What’s wrong with me? Is this a form of Purgatory? Am I condemned to run forever through the desert heat due to something bad that I did in my past life?

1999 competitor

Badwater 1999 is not over for some of us. Myself and fellow running friend Louise Cooper-Lovelace still have to complete our journey to the top of Mt Whitney. We will complete our dream on Sept.18th, 1999 and anyone who would like to join us is welcome. We will meet at PJ’s diner (next to the Dow Villa Motel) in Lone Pine at 4:30am on the 18th. Not only will we climb the mountain to complete our journey for the causes but also to honor a young girl named Colby who lost her life to cancer while we were running the Badwater course. Those who watched the”48 Hours” coverage on Louise also saw the story about this amazing young child; her courage, strength and determination touched many. We will carry her beautiful spirit with us to the summit and sign her name in the logbook for she is one of the heroes of this year’s Badwater race. Afterwards, on Sunday Sept.19th, we’ll travel back to LA and celebrate the completion of our quest at Louise’s house. We will also celebrate our Birthdays, which both fall during this week.

Beyond covering the 135 miles of the Badwater course we set out to raise $200,000 for Breast Cancer Research and Paralysis Research. Both causes are very close to our heart. Donations are still being sent to The Christopher Reeve Paralysis foundation, with a 50/50 split to support both causes. (Donations can be made on-line on behalf of Louise and myself at www.paralysis.org).

On the eve of the Badwater 1999 race I am in my hotel room with crewmembers running around trying to get the vans ready for the morning. Marshall Ulrich is getting a massage from my sister Julie. The sky is turning black, the wind is picking up, and the sand is starting to blow. The wind is so powerful it is rocking the vans back and forth. Lightening comes along with the downpours of hail and rain. This is the desert? I tell Marshall to take a look outside; I saw that look on his face. Shit!

What will they do if this keeps up? The roads will all be closed, the course will be flooded. This doesn’t happen in the desert. I turn to Marshall and I ask him “if this happened during the race would you stop and get in your van?” “He replied, “well I think I would.” Not more than 5 seconds later Marshall’s crew member Gary said, “he’s full of it.” He knows that most would get out of the storm and stop until it passes, but there is no way Marshall would stop. HMMMMM I think to myself what would I do?

The next morning everything looks like it is a go. We all head to the start -282 ft. below sea level but we’re stopped by officials just before the turn off. Sorry they say, “the road to Badwater is closed, the race is going to start 17 miles in another direction.” What? This can’t be! This won’t be the Badwater course; it won’t be going from the lowest to the highest. I think to myself, “we can’t have this.” But, I am happy when we arrive 17 miles down the road and learn that several of the runners feel as I do. We want the Badwater course not an alternate route. However, I understand why others just want to get going and I will respect whatever the race officials decide. The decision is that we will wait until 10:00am…until the road to Badwater is cleared and opened. It will be a 4-hour delay.

9:50am. My sister Julie gathers our crew and Louise’s crew together. Holding hands, we form a large circle and Julie leads a prayer for all of us and for all of those who are running and crewing. She leaves us all in tears with beautiful word’s that touch each of our souls. Adam Bookspan, a race walker, plays the national anthem on his trumpet and once again some are brought to tears by the beauty of his talent.

We all cheer and the gun goes off. I grab Louise’s hand and squeeze it tight, close my eyes and wish her a safe journey. I know she is going to have an amazing race, she has my lucky number, 7, on her chest. I enjoy running the first several miles with all the guys who I have run this road with before…the conversations, the laughs, jokes, and the words of wisdom. The energy in this desert, on this day and everyday, is like nothing I have experienced anywhere else in the world.

I soon find myself running right next to Noel Hannah of Ireland. I give him a hard time; earlier this year we chased each other through the Sahara desert for days. He asks what music I’m listening to…poor guy had to listen to me sing my way through the Sahara. Only this race is different because Noel is smiling a lot more – his beautiful wife is riding in the car next to us, she is one of his crewmembers.

The storm hits me about 43 miles into the course; where ever you happen to be on the course, you see it coming. I think about Marshall who is ahead of me and I smile. The lightening scares me a bit; I don’t want the crew out on the road with me. The winds come again; the sand hits my legs and it hurts. There is a runner in front of me. He looks back several times to see if I’m going to catch him and he keeps running. I think that if he can run in this wind I should be able to run as well. But I realize that I am walking as fast as he is running so I just continue to walk. Soon I see Marshall up ahead. Just 2 weeks prior, he lived one of his biggest dreams…to complete the Badwater course self-contained. He is the first to accomplish this. How did he recover so quickly? How does this man do it? I have never met anyone with the same the strength and endurance that this man has. I see the look on his face, he is tired but he will recover yet again… he will be back to pass me soon enough. He usually does. This is what he does best.

We reach the mountains roads during the night. It’s cool out I think,..the heat has not been a factor for me this year; it’s the humidity that makes it different. Climbing, climbing I feel great. I love this place I keep saying to myself. It is like no other place on earth. Why is this? The crew and I are having a lot of fun together. I send them back to see how Louise is doing. I learn she is doing awesome!

Steve and Art came flying past me into Panamint Springs. I’m sticking to my plan. Run 4 min. then walk 4 min. Let them go, let them go. I ask David, “who is that?” He says, “Art and Steve.” I say, “that little shit.” Art had told me last year that if I was going to run the race again his plan would be to stay on my heels to the finish. I smile as I think about the conversations we have had and how happy he is that his wife is here with him. Now I pass them and fly up Father Crowley’s. I have never felt better at this point in the race. Yes, the usual aches and pains but I am having so much fun…just taking it all in.

100 miles…I see the time a crewmember’s watch. I don’t like to wear a watch, I find that I look at it too much. Just over 22 hours! Wow, at this point I’m still feeling great.

115 miles…the sun is directly overhead and it feels much hotter today. I’m beginning to feel weak. It’s not important what happened, it just happened. We drop my flag and go to the hotel in Lone Pine. We stay there awhile and then we head back to my flag. Meantime Art and Steve pass me again. Back on the road again, I’m moving slowly… this is all I can do. Marshall greets me on the road we give each other the well-known look. He passes me and we both continue on. Once again I think about how strong this man is. I think about Louise. I find out that Eric Clifton is heading up towards the finish. This is good news. I knew he could do it and am thrilled for him. Louise has our friend Nurse Karen on her crew. She comes to check on me. Angelica is close behind me now. She knows I’m just ahead and I can feel that she is trying to catch. I’m doing the best I can.

The start of the Portal road…I am ready to take on the last 13 miles to the finish. Nurse Karen gives the ok. The body goes through such phases, this will pass I’m sure of it. I move slowly. This is ok…we are far ahead of our pace. Angelica closes in. Tears fill my eyes…not because she is passing me but because of the respect I have for her as a fellow competitor and athlete. We take the time to give each other a hug. I tell her to go for it. I think my crew is expecting me to go after her. I’m doing the best I can.

7 miles from the finish, Nurse Karen suggests that I stop. She says, “you have nothing more to prove out here.” I listen to her words. I think of the promise I made to myself and other’s…by continuing the race I would be breaking that promise. To continue with the race would be a poor decision. I stop. Sad yes, what happened is not important.

6:30am the next morning I wake up and look at one of my crewmembers. He sees the look in my eyes and says, “you want to go to the top, don’t you?” I said, “yes, I’ve got to go to the top. We’re all going to the top; we’re going to finish what we started. I may be disqualified as an official competitor, but the #1 goal was always just to finish.

8:30am…I’m back to where my flag was dropped. I move slowly. I laugh with my crew. We congratulate others who are coming down the mountain. Denise is on her way down with Ben; she broke 48 hours. I am so proud of her and this accomplishment and realize how happy I am to be here. Race officials drive past us as we make our way to the finish. I see tears in their eyes. I hear the words; “you have a lot of heart.”

My good friend and crewmember, David, left earlier this morning to summit Whitney. I see him get out of a truck and walk towards me. He says, “I couldn’t do it, I had to finish with you and our team…and then I am going to take your race number, 35, to the summit…you are going all the way to the top. (This didn’t sink in until the next day when he showed up scared and bruised from doing just that…getting my race #35 to the summit, 14,496ft. above sea level…the highest he’d ever been.) I round the corner to the finish line…I can see it. I gather my crew and we join hands. It’s here! I feel the same elation that I did the year before and the year before that. This is Badwater and this is the finish. I raised my arms and look up to sky and say, “thank you for getting us here!” I gather my crew…we share a group hug and wipe the tears of joy from our eyes. Together, as Team Dreamchasers, we completed this journey through the desert…and our race for the cures. It’s a journey that will live in our souls forever. I am presented with a pancake the size of a large pizza. I sit and the reflections begin…and will never end.

Badwater is beyond a race of 135 miles. For those of you that have run or driven the course, crewed for a runner or sat and listened in on some of the race stories, know this to be true. I have had the privilege of racing all over the world; there is no other race that touches me like this one. No other event is talked about by the competitors and crews like Badwater. So what is Badwater? It’s beyond compare. It’s a spiritual journey for all. It’s a union of people that have an unspoken respect, admiration and love for each other. It’s a personal quest for each and every person that is involved, whether they are in Death Valley or somewhere else cheering us on. It’s a family full of loving, caring, sharing and giving. It’s God’s country, whatever you make of it. It’s Ben and Denise, the Major, Marshall, Art, Steve, Chris Moon, Dan Jenson, Cathy Tibbets, Noel Hannah, Adam Bookspan, Brian Manley, Scott Weber, Bill Mennard, the Twins. It’s Louise. It’s all of us runners and crews who are out there sharing our spirit in one way or another…and leaving our footprints in the sand.

I finished in over 48 hours, with over 16 hours of down time. Whether you made it to the finish or not it takes courage, commitment and dedication just to make it to the start. We all witnessed what this event is all about. Be it runner or crew you have a story to tell of how Badwater and beyond touched you and moved your soul to dance and you are forever changed.

I thank all of you for this experience. The crews Louise and I had were wonderful. They traveled from all over the USA to be a part of Team Dreamchasers; without them this would not have been possible. Thank you…Hi-Tec, The North Face, Contageware and my good friend Jim Johnson for making this dream turn into a reality. A special thanks to the Christopher Reeve Paralysis Foundation for there continued support and assistance.

I leave you with one final thought. Many have expressed interest in continuing our quest for racing for the cures. Please don’t hesitate to ask for our assistance. If you can touch and save just one person and continue the race for the cures then it makes the journey all worthwhile. Let’s all continue to work together, as one big, happy family.

***To my crew: I am forever grateful to you for taking time away from your jobs, families and personal responsibilities to share this life changing experience. I realize now just how much this has all meant to each and every one of you. From all of the letters that I’ve received I understand that the journey was worthwhile… and in some ways is only beginning.