In 2004, Richard Benyo and Tom Crawford were inducted. They organized the first Badwater race in 1987, then became the first runners to complete a double Badwater, in 1989, about which Richard published the book, “The Death Valley 300.”
Their plaques read:
Richard Benyo/Tom Crawford is proudly inducted into the Badwater Hall of Fame
in recognition of his efforts in promoting the race and “making it a double” (twice!)
A Badwater 2004 Race Story
Badwater Finisher, 98, 99, 00, 01, 02, 04
Originally published in Marathon & Beyond Magazine, July 2005
Except for the glimmer of a thousand stars and the faint glow from a few porch lights, the desert outside my room where I am pacing is almost pitch black. It is two o’clock in the morning. A hand full of ravens flit and scratch on the ground near the parked cars. There is noise off in the distance from some animal life digging through the trash cans and the air conditioners drone and hum away in an attempt to keep the warm desert air from the rooms at the Stovepipe Wells Hotel. Otherwise it is quiet.
As I concentrate on the enormous challenge ahead my mind and nerves ramp up as adrenaline, excitement and anticipation slowly starts to drip into my system. The body finally realizes that in just a few hours it will be running the 135-mile race that begins at Badwater, California, the lowest spot in the United States, and snakes through Death Valley and over two mountain ranges before finishing at the Portals halfway up Mt. Whitney. This footrace is considered the toughest in the world. There will be no more sleep tonight and probably for the next few days.
Although I have been here many times, this year is more special. At the pre-race meeting yesterday and at his eulogy in January, I honored my fallen friend, Jason Hunter, before his family, his friends and many great athletes. I dedicated this race as well as the traditional eleven-mile climb to the top of MT Whitney that follows it, in Jason’s name. I am sure that he will be out here, at least in spirit, for guidance and inspiration and to help me fulfill this tall order. I have but one goal now and that is to finish. There are no other options.
In the minutes before the ten o’clock start, I mingle and socialize with the other runners aside the Badwater sign and the Kiehl’s Sponsorship Banner draped across the road were the race begins. I notice that the Sea Level sign that was missing last year is again attached and perched 282 feet above our heads on the rugged side of the Black Mountains. All is well. The National Anthem is played in our honor and hundreds of photographs are taken just seconds before the starting countdown to this grueling event. It is good to be back. This will be my seventh consecutive Badwater Race.
During the first twenty five-miles, while I am still fresh and the endorphins stream through my system, I run and joke with some of the other runners. There is Chris Frost who gives me a Lance Armstrong yellow charity wristband, prompting the joke that we are engaged again. I wonder if his fiancée, Tracey, knows about this? And Lisa Stranc-Bliss, the running Doctor, who pronounced me alive enough to continue on during a bad spell in last year’s race. Want to feel humble? Run a few miles with everyone’s favorite and ultrarunning legend, Marshall Ulrich.
We run north along the great sprawling salt basin with its colorful landmarks reminding us that we are indeed in Death Valley. The Timbisha Shoshone Indians call it “Land on Fire”. We pass by Dante’s View, Coffin Point, Devil’s Wheat Field, Furnace Creek, Salty Creek, Devil’s Golf Course, the Sand Dunes and Stovepipe Wells. The land is picturesque but inhospitable. Left unattended, one could die out here in just a few minutes.
My van is filled with tons of supplies and my crew; Christine (my wife), Vince Pedroia, Juli Dell’Era and John Rodger will be alongside me the entire race. They will attempt to keep me fed, hydrated and cooled off by using squirt guns and sprayers. The van itself looks like a rolling billboard with messages, memorial banners and inspirational drawings from special children taped on both sides. We have another vehicle at Stovepipe Wells to be used to shuttle into town for rest, supplies, Snicker bars and other emergencies.
Around the thirty-mile mark I comment that it is unusually cool, maybe only 115-degrees. But that’s about to change; someone hears my big mouth and begins to stoke it up a few notches. By the Beatty turnoff (mile-35) where the race turns to the west, it is at least 125-degrees. Headwinds generated somewhere in the canyons, pick up the radiated heat from the pavement and are superheated even more as they sweep furiously across the Death Valley basin.
For the next seven-miles the suffocating winds are incessant, and it feels like its 140-degrees or more. It’s like opening a furnace door and standing in front of it with a fan blowing the heat on you. The mouth and eyes dry out, unprotected skin burns, the nasal passages and lungs sting, and it becomes hard to breathe. The cooling body sweat and the water sprayed on the running clothes evaporate immediately, and my core temperature rises as intense heat presses heavily against every cell. Fortunately the months of training in a 180-degree sauna have prepared me for this. I handily move ahead, although the heat will take its toll later tonight.
At Stovepipe Wells (mile-42) I could take a quick break. In the past I have cooled off in the small pool, which is now filled with runners and crews, or I’ve used the shower to rinse the heat away but not this year. I have found that the body starts to shutdown once it stops to relax for more than ten-minutes. I have suffered severe cramping and have witnessed convulsions and techni-colored barfathons by other runners in this pool area. Since this has a tendency to ruin your day, my plan is to continue to go forward and take short respites on the stoop of the van every few hours. So, I just sneak on by.
Then I face the most difficult part of the Badwater Race: the seemingly never-ending sixteen-mile 4900-foot climb to Townes Pass (mile-58). The first few miles are directly into the sun and the hot winds continue to blow. As the sun sets, Chris Frost catches me. When we reach the Emigrant Campground halfway up, we take our first mini break. Kari Marchant, a live-wire crewmember, joins us and we gradually move up the mountain now dimly lit by a half moon and the Milky Way. We pass the time by laughing at raunchy jokes. I have to tell all of them, because they didn’t know any.
At the top, next to the radiator tank, we take another short break. The wheels are beginning to come off and the tired body wants to lie down. This race has become serious. The weariness that is clinging to the body is similar to tying on a spare tire and dragging it to the finish line. Chris naps while I cool off my legs with iced towels and gorge on peanut butter, PowerAde and Ensure.
We then run other eight-miles, down the backside of the pass to the edge of the salt flats in the Panamint Valley. Looking across this five-mile basin and into the distant hills, we can see a string of a dozen or more muted red flickering brake lights. My emotions lift knowing that I am in the middle of other runners and their crews who are also struggling along this course in order to realize their goals. Misery loves company. As soon as we catch a runner, Chris tags along and they move ahead into the night. I am alone again
Suddenly, on the side of the road, there is a quick and blurred movement. I turn and catch a glimpse of a coyote, maybe more, scrounging around in the bush. The one closest is gaunt, wiry, skittish, nervously pacing and panting. Scrawny and undernourished, it salivates from hunger pangs. I immediately flash on Harry, the protagonist in Ernest Hemingway’s “The Snows of Kilimanjaro”, who lies on a cot in the African savannah dying from the gangrene that has invaded a cut in his leg. Hemingway writes, “… it occurred to him that…he was going to die…and…the hyena slipped slightly along the edge of it”.
Oops! I make some noise and flash my lights towards these guys and they slink away into the scrub. But I sense that they are still close by: dug in, crouched, waiting, peering, hungry and ready to strike for their next meal. I know that I am rank and it must be wafting in their direction. Hopefully they have targeted a smaller morsel in the area. I decide to hurry up before they drag me off into the desert.
Fortunately dawn is approaching and the coyotes and other animal life will soon vanish into the sand in this sparse desert. They will attempt to survive another day somewhere buried, hidden and protected from the brutal heat of the scorching sun. And we runners think that this Badwater Race is tough. For a moment I contemplate their difficult lives: if they manage to survive during the hostile summer then we should be able to handle a few days.
I run to the Panamint Springs Resort (mile-72) looking forward to a short break. I have been active with minimal rest since the start of the race. My overworked, strained and taxed body is fighting back. It needs to be rejuvenated, and it wants it to happen right now. A ten-minute respite turns into forty-five as an unsuccessful catnap is attempted. Then, in another survival moment, I step inside the hotels bathroom/septic system for relief. Whew! Yet, there is even a richer prize than basking in all this glory. Anyone finishing this race in less than forty-eight hours is awarded a cherished and coveted brass belt buckle.
After gobbling down a cup full of freshly made scrambled eggs and chasing them with a Starbucks Frappuccino, it is time to run up another steep eight-mile winding pass to Father Crowley’s (mile-80). The views along the way are breathtaking. The multi-colored canyon walls that spill into the salt flats below are incredibly beautiful. These huge chasms are routinely used as military training grounds for the F-16’s that swoop down deep inside after their imaginary prey.
My crew is finally able to make cell phone contact with a hometown radio station. After I broadcast my progress report, the host asks me if I have seen my shrink lately. Well, yes I have, but obviously it isn’t working. I just hope the kids that I run for are listening.
At the top it is time for a change of shoes. One sock is soaked in blood and the other is glued to a severe blistering problem and will hamper my effort as the race wears on.
The next ten-miles of gradual rolling hills is brushed in purple and yellow hues and dotted by old abandoned silver mines that probably dead-end into shattered dreams. The landscape is filled with the colors and scents of sage and withered yucca.
A huge rock and dirt formation near the Death Valley Park entrance sign (mile-85) is shaped in the formation of a Stegosaurus. It has several rows of bony plates along its back, so maybe it is one, partially buried, camouflaged and sleeping. Two years ago during the night I saw them crawling across the desert floor. There are times during this race when the demons stir about somewhere within the dark corners of the tired mind and it begins to hallucinate and sees strange things. But, I know that the dinosaurs I saw were real and I suspect that they are still out there, somewhere on the move, despite evidence that they are extinct.
It is early morning and the headwinds return like a giant heat-searing hair dryer. A chronic Achilles problem is flaring up and progress becomes more of a run-hobble. At the Darwin turnoff (mile-90) the race bends north and I will attempt to run the next fifteen-miles that are mostly downhill. The winds that are now at my back help to push me along.
At mile ninety-seven a minor problem has developed. We are out of ice, low on water and the drinks are warm and hard to swallow. Right on time, Nancy Shura from the medical team stops and gives us all her leftover ice and water. Ironically, a similar scene occurred last year when Monica Scholz stopped along the Panamint Salt Flats and replenished my depleted supplies.
At the 100-mile mark high up in the mouth of the pass, I can finally see the great sprawling Owens Valley. But, three-miles later, I can’t run anymore. The hot tailwinds have cooked my hamstrings and they are now misfiring. We ice them down and I wear long pants in a feeble attempt to keep them cooler. But the damage has been done: they will not respond to this tinkering and I struggle five-miles into the weather-beaten trailer-park burg of Keeler (mile-108).
After a short rest I still feel drained and wilted from the battering of intense heat over the last two days. For the third time in the last five-years the winds are blowing sand and ash from fires in the Sierras across the arid and desolate Owens Lake and into our path. As I gag and choke on the smoke I resolve to plod along until the sun sets behind the mountains and then hopefully run into Lone Pine. My wife and Juli drive into town in order to rest for the final climb.
Once I start running I feel much better. But just a few miles later, I need water and my van is nowhere in sight. Although it is now dark, it is still hot and I begin to overheat. Unable to continue I wait and waver on the side of the road for about thirty-minutes until the van finally shows up: John had stayed behind to make sandwiches in preparation for the final climb. He should have gone ahead to stay in touch and maintain a sense of timing, but, that’s okay. The heat has tortured everyone and understandably a misjudgment was made.
I shuffle the last four-miles into Lone Pine (mile-122), where I rest and cool down at the hotel. The air conditioner gives me goosebumps and my crew believes I am suffering from heat stroke. They call a race medic, who determines the real problem: that it was time to get going and finish this thing off before anything else went wrong.
Shortly, we start up again. Even though Vince and I laugh most of the way, the steep and relentless thirteen-mile climb to the finish at the Portals (mile-135) is pain-stakingly slow. I need to leave something in my tank for after the race, because I still have to climb to the top of MT Whitney. During a weary moment a massive pack of large rats at the side of the road sweeps towards me. Startled for a few seconds, I move over to our van while Vince protects me from the “varmints”. He tells me that I had likely just flashed on some grass that was growing through the cracks in the roadbed. I am not so sure and hurriedly move forward.
With four-miles to go we enter the first of the two-long switchbacks and realize that the end is only an hour away. The pace quickens, there is more spring in the step and now a renewed sense of urgency to polish this Badwater off.
My crew will walk with me the last mile. Everyone is more alive, giddy and spirited, except for nearby campers who yell from their tents to shut up so they can sleep. Sorry, but fat chance. With only a few bends in the road to go the physical and mental demands step aside. As they begin resting on the back burners, I start tripping on my emotions.
With our hands held high and a great whoop we cross the finish line together. Each year that I break the tape a great sense of achievement and pride flushes my system. It is the successful culmination of months of training and a few days of intense hard work over this extremely challenging course. Badwater will never get old. Finishing this race in 43-hours and 28-minutes with my beautiful wife and crew by my side is as good as it will ever get.
Later, sitting alone and relaxed on a bench in front of the hotel, I reflect on what I had accomplished the past few days:
Although I had survived several mini disasters, days of extreme heat and cold, drying winds, the ever-present Achilles tendonitis, severe blistering, vertigo, and incredible weariness, I never at any time ever thought about quitting. I hope that this will set a positive example and inspiration for all the children.
I was fortunate to have run, walked and shuffled, along with many of my friends, through Death Valley and up Mount Whitney. There are very few places on earth that equal in grace and majesty.
I finished Badwater and summated Mt. Whitney for my friend, Jason, a satisfying tribute to his incredible life. It just really feels good that I did what I had to do.
And finally, I will soon be going back home into the “real world” with restored confidence and convinced that if you can do Badwater, you can do anything.
Thanks to Badwater Race Director, Chris Kostman, and all the people from AdventureCorps. There would be no Badwater Race without their effort. It was also comforting to see the emergency vehicles, the medical teams and all the race personnel cruising around and monitoring for any problems.
Thanks to Kiehl’s for their title sponsorship and all the skin care products.
Thanks to Injinji for the socks touted to prevent blisters. Maybe I should have worn them. Well, duh!
Thanks to Hammer-Gel for the Endurolytes. These things work great. Now, can you make a pill to prevent aged related aches and pains? Better hurry.
Kudos to Dean Karnazes, Ferg Hawke and Monica Scholz. Breaking 30-hours on this course is a major achievement.
To every crewmember and especially mine, thank you for your sacrifices. It could not have been done without your help.
Thanks to nurse Nancy Shura for stopping to help just in time.
Thanks to Marshall Ulrich, the consummate gentleman, for everything. But don’t forget Heather next year.
Congratulations to Lisa Stranc-Bliss for her incredible 37-hour finish and then the MT Whitney summit. It is amazing that Lisa and others have figured out this Badwater Race on their initial attempt. Heck, I have been experimenting out here for seven-years and still manage to screw it up.
Congratulations to Chris Frost for his fine effort. Each year he has a better finishing time and I know why: he has all my good stuff. Last year he stole my best super-soaker. This year he not only ripped off one of my new hand held spritzers but he also ate all my premium turkey slices. For awhile I thought that he had hijacked my van with the rest of my secret supplies and even kidnapped my wife. The engagement is off and next year I am bringing a security guard.
Most of all thanks to my wife who has put up with this kind of insanity for 36 years. Everyone appreciates all her hard work, sincerity and compassion, but not as much as I do.
It was a privilege to be a part of the 2004 Kiehl’s Badwater Ultramarathon.
I can’t wait until next year.
I will be back.
Crewmember for 11-time finisher Jack Denness
“Death Valley” Jack Denness is something of a legend at the Badwater Ultramarathon. A ten-time finisher before the 2004 race, including a double crossing in the early 1990’s, he entered with high hopes of keeping up with Marshall Ulrich and maintaining his place as joint record finisher at the event.
Crewing for Jack was a no-brainer for me. Certified loonies from the UK may be plentiful, but few of them live just a few miles from the town I called home before I moved to Boulder, Colorado. Jack seemed the kind of character I could work with: his jovial appearance in the documentary ‘Running On The Sun’ kept my spirits up, even as my dream of completing the race myself in 2006 seemed to dissipate with every piece of graphic footage of a foot worn down to a virulent blister.
And let’s face it; we both enjoy a Murphy’s Irish Stout from time to time.
Meeting Jack for the first time in Las Vegas a couple of days before the race, my suspicions were confirmed. He was nuts. He hadn’t trained properly this year—perhaps finishing ten times had made him somewhat blasé about the whole affair, or perhaps the fact that he was just one year from his seventieth birthday was slowing him down at last. Either way, for the first time he wasn’t completely prepared.
But before I continue, let me reassure you that this story has a happy ending. Jack did finish, albeit in a time outside the cut-off. And the Badwater organizers were kind enough to keep the Mt. Whitney finish open for him in recognition of his longtime commitment to the race. He was awarded an Honorable Finisher medal, and great credit should go to the Kostman brothers for their generosity in recognizing this year’s achievement.
Darla, Jen, Keith and I were awake at 4:30am the morning of the race. We spent the moments before the race taking the obligatory photos and video footage of the runners, and then cheered as they set off on their odyssey. Jack trotted along merrily for the first mile, and then began walking. He didn’t run another step for the next 134 miles!
Thanks to a new rule created at least in part for Jack’s benefit, he could now be paced before Furnace Creek. I walked a few miles with him before he obviously revisited his expectations of the race. It was to be a race of attrition, a battle not against time but against the gradual wearing down of his body over nearly three days. I think Jack acknowledged this early, though his crew—and loyal wife, Mags only realized later.
Between Furnace Creek and Panamint Springs, Jack wouldn’t be paced. He had set his heart on finishing almost entirely by himself, although later he would be glad of company. His stride deliberate and determined, he weathered the early morning heat well and reached Furnace Creek in fine fettle.
Our crew had divided into two teams: me and my partner Jen, and Darla (a race crew veteran and team leader) and Keith together. During the entire time we spent on the road we worked as a remarkably efficient and friendly team. Our combined focus on getting our athlete to the finish tied us together even when we were working apart. Our roles became second nature—Jen driving the van and preparing fresh bandanas and headgear for Jack, me enjoying the opportunity to spray someone with a squirt gun and get away with it.
The heat was intense, but we didn’t suffer. We kept well-hydrated, well-covered and took regular air-conditioned breaks in the van. Having read plenty of horror stories about the crew melting while the runner continued on apace, we knew that we owed it to Jack to be prepared. For me, the weather was positively balmy—I’d spent all summer in Colorado running long distances in seven or eight layers of clothes, and my sauna workouts were up to 45 minutes each. I was ready for Death Valley—at least, for the small portions of it that I would walk with Jack.
Our crew shifts generally lasted around eight hours each. We snatched sleep at almost every rest point, so our fatigue, though very real, was not nearly as bad as we expected. As Jen later commented, the race should never be an ordeal for the crew. Without two teams, we would have been in real trouble.
Through Stovepipe and up a seventeen-mile hill, Jack continued steadily. His gait was strong, his steps sure and his demeanor good. Jen and I took turns blasting the James Bond theme to Jack to keep him in the mood for action, and as he walked into the night he was certainly slower than expected, but by no means down and out.
Approaching Panamint Springs, however, things took a turn for the worse. Jack was exhausted, too tired even to catch a few moments of sleep in the runners’ room (and not helped by the noise of a couple of less-than-considerate competitors’ crews). He lay on the bed for a while, refusing even to take off the shoes that would adorn his feet for the entire race. Finally, as evening drew in for the second time, he struggled to his feet and continued.
As we set off again up the hill, we realized that we were hours behind schedule. There was no chance of Jack finishing within 60 hours. In fact, we projected around 72–74 hours at that point. Still unaware that Jack intended to finish the course whatever, we began to seriously consider asking him to pull out of the race. Mags would not hear of it, of course, her experience of Jack being so much greater than ours. Even so, it weighed heavily on our minds.
Another worry was the state of Jack’s feet. We spent some time treating blisters on the hill, and I decided to walk behind him a hundred feet to ensure that cars saw my flashing red rear light before reaching Jack on this narrow, winding stretch. Jack didn’t realize this, and at one point when the van was long out of sight he stopped for a rest against a guardrail. Padding up silently behind him, I asked if he was ok. He sprang a couple of feet into the air, utterly shocked to hear another human voice!
I walked all night with Jack, occasionally running ahead to warn oncoming cars of our presence. It was a dreamy, wafting experience to walk with my head turned up to the dark, moonless sky. Jen and I saw the occasional shooting star, and she even walked a couple of miles behind Jack herself. It was by far our favorite part of the experience.
As dawn broke, the extent of Jack’s troubles became clear. He was leaning heavily to the left, a position we came to call The Leaning Tower of Jack. His steps had slowed to a shuffle, and he was hardly coherent at the regular half-mile stop-offs as we began descending again.
Then something remarkable happened. The dark blue early morning sky began to lighten, and Jen, a quarter mile ahead of us in the van, began playing an Alice Krauss track from the soundtrack to ‘O Brother, Where Art Thou?’ It is, for those who have not yet heard it, an inspiring and uplifting gospel-style tune, complete with full choir as it builds from a single voice to a vast, expansive climax.
As the song progressed, Jack’s steps became surer. His lean became less pronounced. His head lifted, and an overwhelming understanding of his nobility overcame me. This was a remarkable man—a man who had raised thousands for good causes, who had traveled the earth to find challenges worthy of him, who was refusing to give up despite the knowledge that he could not complete the race in the stipulated time. From my vantage point a hundred feet behind him, I could see that whatever else happened on this journey, Jack would finish it with or without us.
Our team-mates appeared shortly afterwards and we only rejoined Jack some way out of Lone Pine. He had made up a couple of hours since we left him, striding along gallantly as he passed the familiar landmarks that told him he was finally nearing the base of Mt. Whitney. By now, he was happy to have company and I walked with him in the heat, spraying him down frequently (it was the only time that the heat really got to him). Dozens of crew and finishers came out to see Jack and wish him well, offering drinks and unloading crates of yogurt for us.
When we finally reached Lone Pine and handed off to the other crew again, we knew that we’d be seeing him at the finish in a few hours. It must have been slow going, but with the support of his team, not to mention Wayne Simpson and his crew too, Jack was nearing the top when we got there at 1:30 a.m. or so.
The finish itself was emotional for all of us. We were so proud of our athlete that we could hardly contain ourselves, desperate to be one of the many people trying to hug him. He drenched himself in Murphy’s and was presented with his finisher’s medal, and graciously thanked his crew for spending so much time out on the road with him.
To say we got more than we bargained for would be an understatement. The experience for me, a future runner, and for Jen, a future crew leader, was invaluable. The sense of camaraderie amongst the runners was wonderful, and the feeling of finishing, albeit a vicariously, was one of the highlights of my year.
My commitment to running Badwater has only become stronger thanks to the experience of crewing. I recommend it to anyone who wants to run the race—indeed, I would advocate making one race as a crew member a mandatory requirement for entry.
If you’re considering crewing, three bits of advice for you. First, take the night shift if possible, or at least part of it. It’s a magical experience to run alone in the night in Death Valley. Second, believe in your runner. Have no doubt that anyone who is accepted to this race has the capacity and the will to finish. Some don’t finish of course, but it’s not through lack of capability or training. It just doesn’t work out for them on the day. And third, bring the soundtrack to ‘O Brother, Where Art Thou’ and watch your runner stand tall and proud as it plays at dawn—it’s a memory you’ll treasure forever.
Photos by Chris Kostman and Keith Kostman.
With three national film crews scrutinizing her every step and overconfident runners virtually nipping at her heels, Pam Reed was under extreme pressure.
Her energy level was simply not at its typical unrelenting heights, and with temperatures lower than last year, Reed finished in fourth place overall at the 135-mile Badwater Ultramarathon in Death Valley.
“It was a very, very difficult event for me,” said Reed, who was attempting a three-peat at Badwater. She won the event overall the past two years.
“I’m really happy I finished. When you expect to win and then people pass you, just staying in there is hard. All the publicity and all those television stations were there. They were all in my face.”
Reed was the second woman finisher. Her time of 31 hours, 17 minutes and 55 seconds was nearly three hours slower than last year and close to three and half hours slower than 2002
Dean Karnazes, from San Francisco won the event in 27:22:48. He had finished in second place behind Reed in 2003. Monica Scholz from Ontario, Canada, won the women’s side in 29:22:29.
The 27th annual event began in Badwater, Death Valley, the lowest point in United States at 280 feet below sea level and ended halfway up the 14,494-foot high Mount Whitney, the highest point in the contiguous U.S.
Runners braved temperatures reaching 120 degrees, but it was cooler than last year when the mercury soared to 133 degrees at the start line.
As of Tuesday night, another Tucson runner’s quest to finish the race is still alive. Bruce Gungle, who is running for the first time, passed the 90.3-mile marker in 26 hours and 11 minutes. The forty-five year old is the only other local runner to ever compete in Badwater. He has a 60 hours, until 6p.m. Thursday, to finish.
Reed felt the burden of being number one early in the race. Up until the 17-mile point, Reed said she had several runners mimicking what she was doing, running alongside her.
“This one woman in particular wanted to run my race, so she was right behind me stepping on me, literally,” said Reed.
As anticipated, until the second time station at 41.9 miles, the race was wide open with several runners posting top times. By the third time station at 72.3 miles, Reed led the women’s field and was in third place overall, about two hours behind the leader.
But in next 17 miles she gradually lost her edge. At mile marker 90.3, she was five minutes behind the Scholz and in fourth place overall.
“When (Scholz) passed me I went after, and then I was feeling pretty good but then all of a sudden my energy level wasn’t there,” said Reed. “I couldn’t do it.”
Reed’s only intake during the race was Ensure, Red Bull and half a peanut butter sandwich. She never slept and estimates that she ran or jogged over two-thirds of the race.
Having the benefit of training in Tucson, her friends have said that she is more competitive when the temperatures are hotter. Last year Karnazes, who has completed an ultramarathon in Antarctica and four Badwater Ultramarathons, said he couldn’t keep up with Reed in the dire, 128-degree heat.
Throughout the race, three television crews interviewed her and her five-person crew. And the day before they were conducting interviews in her hotel room.
This fall she will be featured on PBS’s Nature program, 60 Minutes and the Discovery Channel.
“It was dumb on my part to let it happen. But on the other hand it was exciting,” said Reed.
At the final time station on mile 122, Reed was in fourth place, 55 minutes behind Scholz.
The exhausting 13-mile climb up Mount Whitney was her toughest ever. It took her over four and a half hours.
“We walked the entire time, extremely slow,” said Reed. “I got completely killed on Mount Whitney. I just didn’t have anything left.”
Ein Bericht von Andrea Schuster-Betz
Für des Menschen Aufstieg ist keine Grenze
und jedem ist das Höchste offen,
hier waltet allein deine Wahl.
Als das O.K. für die Teilnahme von Thomas (*) am Badwater-Ultramarathon kam, dachte ich, na ja, bei 48 Stunden Köln hab ich Thomas ja schon betreut, diverse 24 Stunden-Läufe und 200 km von Perpignon nach Barcelona, aber die Berichte, die ich über den Badwater-Ultra gelesen hatte, haben mir schon Angst eingeflösst; diese Hitze, davon hielt ich gar nicht viel, hatte mal in Südfrankreich eine Sonnenallergie! Ich sagte mir, mit ein paar Stunden Höhensonne und Allergietabletten im Gepäck wird`s schon gehen. Vor Jahren waren wir schon mal im Death Valley, aber nicht zum BadwaterUltramarathon. Großes Unbehagen vor Badwater hat sich in mein Gehirn gefressen….
4. Juli: Flug von Frankfurt nach Las Vegas. Wagen mieten und einkaufen von Dingen, die wir für den Lauf benötigen, stehen auf unserer Zu-tun-Liste. Wir fahren Richtung Grand Canyon, wo wir 4 Tage später vom Brigth Angel Point eine 10 Stunden-Tour zum Colorado River und zurück starten. Ein kleines Training vor Badwater.
10.7.: Es geht Richtung Furneece Creek, mit einem Stop in Badwater. War es vielleicht ein Fehler, die Klimaanlage nicht öfter auszuschalten? Ich kann mir zu diesem Zeitpunkt nicht vorstellen, 2 Tage später einen Begleitung zu einem Ultramarathon zu starten, diese Hitze… Die Stunden unter der Höhensonne waren mangels Zeit ausgefallen, die Organisation einer 350 km Veranstaltung im Juni hatte uns Wochen zuvor keine freie Minute mehr gelassen, die Allergietabletten hatte ich auch vergessen…
Wir machen Rast in Furneece Creek und machen die Erfahrung, dass man hier Auto-Türgriffe besser nicht mit bloßen Händen anfasst, weil man sich dabei leicht verbrennen kann und eisgekühlte Getränke relativ rasch trinken sollte, weil sie sonst innerhalb kurzer Zeit eine „angenehme „ Temperatur von über 30 Grad haben.
11.7.: Nachmittags Einschreibung und Pre-Race-Meeting aller “Wahnsinnigen.“.
Um 16 Uhr über 45 Grad Celcius im Schatten!! Ich habe mir schon einen Fluchtplan überlegt, wie ich aus diesem Hexenkessel flüchten kann, da fiel mir ein, dass außer Thomas nur ich den Führerschein habe, also, Zähne zusammenbeißen.
Letzte Vorbereitungen am Abend, die NamensSchilder müssen am Auto angebracht , Getränke vorbereitet werden usw. Erst nach 23 Uhr heißt es gute Nacht.
12.7. Wecken um 4 Uhr 30. Start ist um 8 Uhr. Sachen zusammenpacken. Von Beatty geht es nun 67 Meilen nach Badwater. Schnell zum Gruppenfoto aufstellen, noch 10 Minuten bis zum Start. Chris Kostman, der Organisator, wirkt beruhigend auf die Teilnehmer ein, nicht an die ganze Strecke zu denken, sondern in kleinen Schritten. Das klingt logisch, diese Erfahrung habe ich auch schon gemacht, hoffentlich hilft sie auch hier den Teilnehmern. In Gedanken wünsche ich allen Teilnehmern ein gutes Gelingen.
10, 9, 8, 7, 6, 5, 4, 3, 2, 1 es geht los. Da läuft er nun. Wieviele Stunden werden vor uns liegen? Thomas lässt es langsam angehen, weiß nicht, wie er auf die Hitze reagiert. Ankommen heißt die Devise und ich weiß, dass Thomas das Wort “ Aufgeben “ nicht kennt. In Furneece Creek wechselt er von seine Kleider, lange Hosen und langes T-Shirt sind angesagt, um sich vor der Sonne einigermaßen zu schützen. Bodo, unser Begleiter bietet sich an, uns einen Kaffee zu holen. Bei dieser Hitze kann das wohl nicht schaden…
Welche Strecke haben wir insgesamt zu bewältigen? 215 km oder 130 Meilen? Ich entscheide mich für die kleinere Zahl!
Es funktioniert ganz gut, alle 1 bis 1,5 Meilen machen wir halt, um Thomas zu versorgen. Am Nachmittag zieht er Handschuhe an. Nein, kalt ist ihm nicht, die Sonne brennt nur unberbittlich. Sieht schon komisch aus, bei über 50 Grad Hitze. Alle sind in guter Verfassung.
Zu meiner Überraschung vertrage ich die Hitze sehr gut, habe keinerlei Beschwerden, lege mir während des Fahrens nasse Handtücher auf Schulter und Beine, die Klimaanlage bleibt aus, da wir öfter anhalten und raus in die Hitze müssen. Wir wollen uns erst gar nicht an die Annehmlichkeiten der Kühle im Auto gewöhnen.
Zwischen Furneece Creek und Stovepipe Wells weht teilweise ein starker Wind, der nicht angenehm kühlt, sondern einem heiß ins Gesicht bläßt. 50 Grad C. Unbeschreiblich.
Stop in Stovepipe Wells. Kein Eis mehr zu kaufen. Nicht so schlimm, wir haben noch etwas und Thomas hat sowieso gemeint, die Getränke sollten nicht mehr so kalt sein. Er wechselt wieder seine Kleider, es ist abend, die Sonne hinterm Horizont untergegangen. Ca 1 Stunde Pause. Getränke vorbereiten, das Übliche.
13. 7. Es geht in die Nacht hinein. Thomas verordnet mir irgendwann eine Schlafpause, er geht alleine weiter, hat Trinken und einen Energieriegel dabei.
Leider vergisst unser “ soll ich noch einen Kaffee holen – Mann “ mich zu wecken, ist wohl auch eingeschlafen. Ich schwinge mich hinters Steuerrad und fahre los und fahre und fahre und fahre. Nein, ich kann mich nicht verfahren haben, es geht ja immer gerade aus. Endlich, er ist in Sicht. Über 2 Stunden ist er alleine gelaufen. Er ist noch am Leben. Wir sind am Towness Pass und machen halt. Thomas ist sehr müde, legt sich ins Auto. 5 Minuten, noch mal 5 und noch mal 5 will er Pause machen. Verordne ihm eine halbe Stunde ab Stück, nach 1 _ Stunden geht es bergab Richtung Panamint Springs. Unser “ soll ich noch einen Kaffe holen – Mann “ wird ihn begleiten, das wird ihm gut tun. Es ist inzwischen hell geworden. Manchmal kommt der Medical Service vorbei und fragt, ob alles o.k. sei, das beruhigt. Diese Sicht den Berg hinunter ist einfach überwältigend. Außer Thomas`s Müdigkeit geht es uns allen gut.
In Panamint Springs bestellen wir Frühstück, es ist 8 Uhr. 35 Grad C. Ein Reporter vom ´Fit for Fun´ Magazin macht Bilder von uns, bin nicht sicher, ob man uns darauf wiedererkennen wird, so müde sehen wir aus.
Lange Meilen wird es jetzt bergauf gehen, die Aussicht phantastisch sein, what a wonderful world! Auch hier herrscht ein sehr starker Wind, aber nicht so heiß.
Müsste mal dringend telefonieren! Fahre 10 Meilen nach Keeler, ein verlassenes Nest, eine Geisterstadt, wo man viele Häuser vorfindet, die mit Holzbrettern vernagelt sind. Muss unverrichteter Dinge wieder zurückfahren.
Es wird langsam Nacht. Thomas Müdigkeit kommt immer wieder mal hoch, so wenige Stunden Schlaf in einem Hotel voller “junger Hüpfer“, die die Nacht zum Tag machen, sind vor solch einem Vorhaben wie der Badwaterultra nicht die ideale Vorstellung
In einer kurzen Pause legen wir uns auf die Strasse und betrachten den schönsten Sternenhimmel, den ich je gesehen habe, what a wonderful world.
14.7. In Lone Pine machen wir wieder Frühstück, ich bestelle Pfannkuchen, aber Thomas ißt nur sehr wenig. Keine Blasen an den Füssen, keine sonstigen Beschwerden; wenn nur diese Müdigkeit nicht wäre. Man gratuliert uns. Nanu denke ich, wir sind doch noch gar nicht am Ziel. Aber wer hier ankommt, gibt sowieso nicht auf, der Rest ist nur noch eine “Kleinigkeit“,
Der Berg ruft und wir brechen auf, eine endlos lange Strecke von 18 Kilometern, die einfach nicht enden will.
Unsere Kräfte lassen jetzt wirklich nach, die Kraftreserven können wir anscheinend nicht mehr auffüllen. Kein Hunger, nur noch trinken. Es wird Zeit, dass es zu Ende geht.
Es wird hell, das belebt noch mal den Geist, aber nur für kurze Zeit. Habe keinen Blick mehr für diese herrliche Aussicht, mein Kopf kann nur noch daran denken, ans Ziel zu kommen. Thomas hat auch große Mühe, einen Fuß vor den anderen zu bekommen, was wohl in ihm vorgeht? „ Ich muß mich noch umziehen, so verdreckt, wie ich aussehe, kann ich doch nicht aufs Finisher Foto“, gesagt, getan, soviel Zeit muß sein.
Nach 47 Stunden und 43 Minuten haben wir es geschafft!!! Und auf dem Foto sehen wir gar nicht so müde aus, wie wir uns fühlen. Nur noch ein Gedanke hält mich aufrecht, der Gedanke an ein kühles Motelzimmer mit Bett. Bis zum gemeinsamen Pizzaessen mit Läufern und Begleitern schlafen wir uns aus, oder sagen wir fast.
… und einen Tag später wird Thomas mit einer Gruppe Amerikanern den Mount Whitney besteigen. Da sie mitten in der Nacht aufbrechen und mir mein Schlaf jetzt sehr wichtig ist , gehe ich nicht mit. „ Die hätten dich mit dem Hubschrauber runterholen müssen“ wird er später sagen, „es war nicht einfach“.
Aber er hat es geschafft, denn das Wort “Aufgeben“ kennt er nicht.
Die Strecke fahren wir auf dem Weg nach Las Vegas noch mal ab. An verschiedenen Punkten machen wir Rast und verinnerlichen uns das, was wir während der Veranstaltung nicht so recht genießen konnten.
Ich bin glücklich, dabeigewesen zu sein und verspüre eine Sehnsucht, wiederzukommen.. Übrigens, die Hölle war es nicht und: bangemachen gilt nicht.
Es gibt nur 3 wahre Gewinner:
Derjenige, der als erster das Ziel erreicht,
derjenige, der das Rennen zu Ende läuft
und derjenige, der sich selbst herausfordert.
Mehr Fotos auf www.euraudax.de.
(*) Warum nennt sich Otmar Thomas? Weil der Name Thomas international und sein 2ter Vorname ist.
2003 official finisher
Following is the report of Badwater participant Scott Ludwig of Peachtree City, Georgia. A Badwater rookie, his crew consisted of Paula May (Crew Chief), Eric Huguelet (Paula’s husband), Al Barker (Scott’s training partner over the past 10 years), Gary Griffin (Scott’s friend and an accomplished ultrarunner from Tallahassee), and Josh (Scott’s 17-year-old son). Everyone on the crew is an accomplished runner. Here is Scott’s story. (Note: there is a reference in the story to a ‘streak.’ Scott has run every day since November 29, 1978—the ‘streak’ being referred to.
Seven days in July. ‘Badwater Week.’ And what a week it was.
Paula, our crew chief, held the final DARKSIDE crew meeting at her house. Gary, Al, Paula and I. Josh? Had to work. Eric? Went to the Braves game. Priorities, you understand.
We went over our final gear check and chronological plan for the upcoming week. It appeared we had our game plan firmly in place. All that remained was the execution. Of the game plan, that is (not me!).
Years of training and months of planning were about to be put to the test. We believed we were ready. And willing. And yes, able. We’d find out soon enough.
Delta takes us from Atlanta to Las Vegas (by way of Dallas). I’d like to say an uneventful airplane ride, but that would be a lie. As I had been heavily hydrating the past several days, I finished off a 20-ounce bottle of water just before boarding the plane. After sitting on the plane for 30 minutes (we still had not left the gate), I realized I had to urinate. Desperately. Just as I was about to visit the restroom, the pilot announced we were ready to take off and to please be seated. OK, I could wait until we were in the air.
However, we crept along the runway, making my particular condition magnify in urgency. When the pilot announced that we were ‘4th in line for takeoff,’ that was it for me. I jumped out of my seat (figuring I had time, since planes take off at two minute intervals) and headed to the restroom, despite the flight attendant ‘reminding’ me that the pilot asked that we be seated. I told her I couldn’t wait any longer.
While I was inside the restroom, I heard the flight attendant (obviously on the phone to the pilot) saying ‘I’m sorry, sir, he said he couldn’t wait any longer and ignored me.’ Just freakin’ great: two years of dedicated Badwater training down the drain ‘cuz I just know once I exit the restroom I’ll be escorted off the plane. The pressure was so intense that I wasn’t even able to urinate. Upon exiting the restroom, I was relieved (literally, not figuratively) that the flight attendant merely assaulted me verbally (as if I were an 8 year old) about disregarding the pilot’s instructions. I apologized and told her it wouldn’t happen again. Later, once we were in the air, I returned to the restroom, where I was finally relieved (figuratively, not literally).
Once we landed in Las Vegas, we rented our 14-passenger van, dropped off two of the seats (we needed storage space!) at the house of a friend of Paula’s, and made a final shopping trip (cooler, meals, water, miscellaneous items) to Walmart. Finally, we checked into our hotel for some much needed rest (I slept 12 hours—something I haven’t done since college).
Gary, Eric, Paula and I went for a short run in Vegas. We noticed we were perspiring—something we weren’t expecting considering (a) we were running at a 9-minute pace and (b) there’s no humidity in Vegas. What implications did this hold for Badwater?
We loaded up the van and made the 2 _ hour drive to Furnace Creek, where we were welcomed by temperatures hovering around 120 degrees. Welcome to hell. Once we settled into our rooms, we drove out to the starting line in Badwater, where it was even warmer. Driving back to the hotel, we let Josh out of the van 2 miles out so he could run in to test the conditions.
Gary and I waited for Josh, anxious to hear his report. However, he didn’t need to say a thing: the color in his cheeks said it all. They were BRIGHT RED, approximately the color of a ripe tomato. Later that night, Josh and I went to the pool to cool off. Or so we thought. The water temperature had to have been in the 90’s, and the air temperature was still close to 110. Surely the conditions would improve by Tuesday (race day).
The rest of the evening was spent raiding the hotel’s ice machines and wondering whether or not Al (he was flying to Las Vegas this evening and renting a car) would be able to find us in Furnace Creek. He did. A good omen, perhaps?
Another 9 hours of sleep for me; a good investment for what lies ahead.
A short run to start the day, followed by a visit to the hotel’s breakfast bar. Actually, breakfast buffet is more like it. Fresh fruit, cereal, breakfast burritos, eggs, bacon, sausage, hash browns, English muffins, biscuits and gravy, pancakes, apple fritters, juices, coffee, soda, water…good timing, as the crew and I were able to load up on some much-needed calories. After all, we would be living on fig newtons and pretzels for the next two days.
We made a trip to the Furnace Creek Visitor’s Center at noon to pick up my race number. We met Jay Birmingham, the first man to officially ‘race’ from Badwater to Mount Whitney over 20 years ago. He autographed a copy of his book about his feat, The Longest Hill, for me. I met Chris Kostman, the Race Director, and had my pre-race ‘mug shot’ photo taken. Three hours later my crew and I would return for the pre-race clinic.
Imagine 300 people in a room…for almost two hours…with weak air conditioning…and temperatures outside over 120 degrees. Sound like fun? Sounds like pre-race conditioning, if you ask me. I can’t remember the last time I was that hot (wait—yes I can, it was yesterday!). But you get the picture. We were all familiar with most of the information presented in the clinic—race rules, race history, etc. A short video of last year’s event was shown, focusing on Pam Reed’s historic finish (first female winner of Badwater!). Pam was back to defend her title, and she was assigned to my time group (10:00 a.m., the other two groups starting at 6:00 a.m. and 8:00 a.m.). Pam, deservedly so, was presented with a plaque in honor of her accomplishment. At the end of the clinic, all runners were invited on stage to be introduced to everyone else in the auditorium. It was so hot on stage, my knees started to perspire. Drops of perspiration were literally saturating my shoes. More pre-race conditioning, I assume. 20 painful minutes later, we were free. Unless, of course, you opted to attend the foot clinic. Which we did. Fortunately, Paula felt comfortable that she knew how to take care of my feet should problems arise, but she and Gary attended anyway. Me? I went outside to get Marshall Ulrich’s autograph for a friend of mine. Plus, it was cooler outside than it was in that damn auditorium…
We ate dinner as a crew one last time before tackling the beast. The crew gave me a card wishing me well, with a personalized message from each one of them (particularly Josh’s, which he had signed with the insightful message ‘Your son, Josh’). Early to bed: 9:00 p.m. The game plan was for me to sleep until 6:00 a.m., eat breakfast at 6:30, and then nap a few more hours before we headed to Badwater at 8:55. Great plan.
Great plan, but terrible execution. I was awake at 1:05 a.m., and absolutely could NOT get back to sleep. I was, however, ready to eat at 6:30 (although it killed me to make another pass through the breakfast bar and only eat 2 pieces of French toast, some eggs, and a few pieces of melon). Such a deal for $8.50. Next on my schedule? A short nap. If ‘short nap’ means lying on the bed staring at the ceiling for 90 minutes, then my ‘nap’ was a success. At 8:55 I was more than ready to go. It was time to get this show on the road, or as one of the support vans had written on both sides, to ‘shut up and run.’ My crew and I boarded the van at precisely 8:55 a.m. and headed over to Badwater, semi-oblivious to what lied ahead. Soon enough I would be totally oblivious to just about everything.
We arrived at the starting area on schedule, just in time for the Race Director to call the runners over to the ‘Badwater sign’ for pre-race photos. We assembled at the starting line around 9:58, listened to the starter’s instructions, stood silently for the National Anthem, and shook off any remaining pre-race jitters. At 10:00, we were on our way to a destination some 135 miles away.
Pacing was prohibited in this segment, so my crew provided me ‘pit stops’ every mile or two (depending how I felt). At first, the entire crew would tend to me at once (imagine being mugged by five people armed with spray bottles, water bottles, wet towels, a wet shirt, and sun-block—it’s the best description I can offer). Soon enough, they would develop an ‘assembly-line’ rhythm that was much more efficient and effective. I ran with Pam Reed, the defending champion, for…oh, let’s call it four miles…before she pulled away. I was content to run alone, not wanting to expend valuable oxygen by making small talk with any of the other competitors. My sole focus was to move forward…at all costs. I reached Furnace Creek in 3:02, an average ‘pace’ of 10:06 per mile. I changed shorts, shoes and socks, as they were totally soaked with perspiration and water.
Gary was my first pacer, and he opted to run this entire 24-mile stretch so that he could develop a feel for this event. As we got close to Stovepoint Wells, Gary and I both got to experience what 130 degrees feels like. For weeks leading up to this event we had heard the analogy that the heat ‘feels like putting your head inside a hot oven’ or ‘is like blasting a hair dryer directly in your face.’ Gary and I and the rest of the crew can now say that is exactly what 130 degrees feels like! It was so hot the palms of my hands felt like they were on fire (due to the heat radiating off the road surface). I continually asked Gary to splash water on my hands to cool them off. A crew member for another runner said they put a thermometer on the blacktop road and it read 141 degrees. The soles on Gary’s (brand new!) shoes began to separate, as the heat was melting the glue.
Occasionally a desert wind would blow across the highway. If you’re thinking this served to cool us off you would be mistaken: these desert winds felt like blasts from a roaring fire, and the best thing I can say about them is that they didn’t singe my eyebrows. Even if it felt like they did. We completed our second leg in 6:28, an underwhelming pace of 16:10 per mile. At least we were getting ready to ‘cool off’ by heading up to Townes Pass.
OK, so maybe heading up to Towne’s Pass isn’t such a great thing after all. A seemingly endless (18-mile) climb to 5,000 feet. Eric accompanied me for this portion of the course, and the only analogy I can make is that it was similar to walking up flights of stairs for the better part of five hours. Now’s probably not the best time to mention that I detest walking up stairs. I experimented with trekking poles, but it was difficult to say if they were more of a help or a hindrance. Once we reached the summit, I changed (actually, the crew changed) into my running sandals, so that my toes would not ‘bang’ the front of my shoes on the downhills. (I would repeat this for the duration of the event on the downhills) The rest of the crew alternated pacing me once we reached the summit, before Paula took the final stretch right before the checkpoint to allow the other crew members to use our room at Panamint Springs to shower and/or take a quick nap. I mentioned to Paula that I was debating on whether or not I should stop at the room, and finally decided that I did want to take a quick shower and short nap so that I could psychologically divide the remaining 63 miles into a ‘different day’ from that of the first 72 miles. We completed the third leg in 9:04, a robust 18:08 per mile pace.
Somewhere around 5:30 a.m. Paula and I entered our room at the Panamint Springs Resort. If ‘resort’ means ‘Norman Bates Motel,’ then, yeah, this was a resort. I took a quick shower (I forgot to remove my watch, so once it got wet it became so fogged that it was of no use for the remainder of the event). I lay down and managed to fall asleep, and the next thing I knew Paula was out of the shower. She lay down on the other bed and said she was going to sleep for ‘5 minutes.’ As we had no alarm clock, I was afraid to fall back asleep for fear that we would not wake up in ‘5 minutes’ and sleep away valuable time. In approximately 90 seconds Paula bounced up and said ‘Let’s go!’ She never fell asleep. I found out later that my sleep consumed a whole 60 seconds. Fortunately, in my mind, I did fall asleep, and I could now mentally ‘divide’ the race into two different days.
Eric was called back into active duty, as the next 18 miles were uphill—all of them! There was very little terrain that was even remotely runnable. Eric did a superb job keeping me motivated, focused and hydrated during this period. We even managed to pass a few other runners (climbers?) during this portion of the course. Eric (rightfully so) reprimanded me when I broke one of my race guidelines (‘no wasted motion’) by taking a few steps backward to see a wounded bat on the side of the road. The forth leg took 6:22, an it-could-have-been-worse 21:13 per mile.
It was during this stretch that my crew and I realized just how difficult it could be to consume 300 calories per hour during an ultra event such as Badwater. Up until now, I was taking my Sustained Energy (SE) drink (flavored with Crystal Lite lemonade) for the bulk of my calories, occasionally eating pretzels, jellybeans, or peanut butter to round out my 300 calories per hour. But at this point, I was starting to gag at the thought of drinking any more SE (without the flavoring, it honest-to-God smells and tastes like swampwater). Paula asked me what I would like to eat, and I replied ‘popsicles.’ Al made a quick trip in the extra car to find some. When he returned we were disheartened to find that after eating two popsicles, I had consumed a whopping…30 calories! At that point I began eating small portions: 3 pretzels, 4 jellybeans (‘how many calories now?’), 2 bites of peach jello (‘how many NOW?’). Unfortunately, I had to take ‘a swig’ of SE to round out my 300 calories. Gag.
I don’t know who was looking forward to this 32-mile stretch more: my crew or me. After seeing me walk for the better part of 30 miles over the last 48 miles, they were ready to run (‘run’ in this case meaning ‘get this thing over with’). Paula (our downhill specialist) took the first pacing assignment, and before I knew it we were off at an 8:00 minute pace. I would pick out ‘targets’ from which to run from and to, and would continue this practice over the next 32 miles. With the exception of Eric (who we were ‘saving’ for the final 13-mile climb up Mount Whitney), Paula, Gary, Josh and Al would take turns pacing me for two miles at a clip. This exercise evolved into my first official 32 mile ‘fartlek workout.’ Fortunately, I was on a ‘second wind’ (actually it was more than a ‘second,’ but I lost count) and managed to complete this stretch fairly comfortably in a time of 7:27, a pace of 13:58 per mile. It was during this stretch that Josh got excited and broke a pre-race request of mine (‘don’t tell me how my fellow competitors are doing’) by mentioning I was in 8th place.
Being this late in the race, knowing where I stood wasn’t such a bad thing, as holding my place and finishing in the Top Ten at Badwater was certainly a realistic expectation at this point. An expectation I was fairly comfortable with, until Eric tells me around mile 115 that there’s a runner up ahead, and I should be able to catch him in four or five miles. Josh was my next pacer, and I asked him if he wanted to catch the other runner NOW. He did, and so did I. We sprinted approximately a mile where we caught and passed this runner, one who I had last seen over 100 miles ago. Eric unofficially timed our mile in 8:15, but it felt like a sub-6:00. Gary took the next leg, and Eric mentioned there was yet another runner about a mile ahead who I could catch in four or five miles. Gary and I shuffled along, until we spotted this runner in the distance. As I did with Josh, I asked him if he wanted to catch the other runner now. He did, and so did I. We took off at a 6:00 minute pace (or 8:15 if you believe Eric) and caught him within a mile. Adding insult to injury, we caught him on an uphill. At mile 120. Ouch. (We found out later this particular runner finished an incredible nine hours behind us) Josh took the final two mile stretch into the checkpoint in Lone Pine, where we found out we were now in 6th place.
Paula had prepared some Raman noodles for me, the first food I had in 36 hours that remotely resembled an actual meal. It was heavenly. All five bites.
As Josh will be quick to tell you, I was absolutely dreading the final 13-mile leg to the portals of Mount Whitney. And rightfully so: after 122 miles of desert and two mountain ranges, making a runner cover these final 13 uphill miles is just plain mean! Eric was once again my pacer, and he did everything in his power to keep me focused, positive, and hydrated. I managed to stay focused, positive, and hydrated—for 7 miles. At that point—6 miles from the finish line—I fell backwards, barely maintaining consciousness. I asked for some more Raman noodles, but Paula had nothing to heat them with except for the radiator of the van. The noodles warmed—slightly—but they were extremely ‘crisp.’ Paula, Gary and Al provided shoulders to (literally) lean on, as there were a few moments I nearly fell off the side of the mountain. Paula was force-feeding me Gatorade, and Gary was continually splashing my head and shoulders with ice cold water. I asked one of them to slap me in the face, but they wouldn’t do it. I guess they thought a slap might knock me totally out, which would put a serious cramp in completing our journey. I continually asked Josh ‘who was behind me,’ thinking that—surely—someone would be passing me in my limited condition. Unfortunately, if someone did make an attempt to pass me at this point, there wasn’t a thing I could do about it. Fortunately, no one did.
The last 2 miles seemed endless, as we wound around the mountain with no end in sight. Cars were passing us in both directions, many shouting words of encouragement as we neared the finish line. At least I think we were nearing the finish line. Occasionally I would find myself walking more side-to-side than forward, a victim of fatigue, exhaustion, and (I’m convinced) oxygen deprivation (we were at altitude, remember?).
Eric drove the van ahead to take his video camera to the finish line officials, hoping they would film us as we ‘triumphantly’ completed our mission. He agreed to meet us at a point one mile from the finish, where the six of us would congregate and run the rest of the race ‘as one.’ When we caught a glimpse of Eric in our headlamps, it was a bittersweet feeling as thankfully, we only had a mile to go, but nonetheless we still had a mile to go!
After what seemed like another hour, we saw the lights at the finish line (it was now just past 10:30 p.m.). The six of us ran (assuming ‘ran’ means ‘shuffled sort of fast’)—with our heads held high—through the finish line banner, officially signifying the successful completion of our journey. Hugs all around! Chris Kostman officially told us that we finished in 6th place and we were the 3rd place male finisher. Not bad for a bunch of Badwater rookies. The sixth leg had taken 4:10 to complete, a 19:14 per mile pace. Not bad when you take into account the last two miles consumed a full hour.
I sat down in the official finisher’s chair—surrounded by my wonderful crew—for some final photographs for the website. I literally looked like death warmed over, but I couldn’t have cared less.
We enjoyed our journey, and we were successful. We couldn’t have asked for anything more.
My crew—God bless ‘em—join me for a 3-mile run (gotta keep the streak alive!). Afterwards, a little housekeeping on the van followed by an incredible lunch at the pizza parlor across the street from our hotel, the Dow Villa. Josh and I split a large cheese pizza, but we eat less than half of it (Josh because he ate everything on the late-nite menu at the hotel’s diner last night; me because my stomach had apparently shrunk over the past two days). I spend the afternoon limping back and forth across the street to the laundromat the wash some of the dirty clothes Josh and I have generated this week. I met the wife of a Badwater entrant (Art Webb) at the laundromat, and she told me her husband was still on the course. (We passed him on our way back to Las Vegas the next morning; he was at the half-way point of the course) as he was experiencing some difficulties (he did eventually finish, however)
All Badwater participants and crew members were invited to a pizza dinner at a local elementary school that evening. We spent a lot of time talking with Pam Reed about her performance and her training. She said she has to run 3 times a day, as she has to manipulate her running around her demanding schedule as a mother of three. I invited her to our 50K race in November, and she said she’d run (we’ll see!) if I’d return the favor and run her race (the Tucson Marathon) in December.
After dinner, a short video of this year’s race was shown. As my luck would have it, there was a special feature on each of the top five finishers (I finished 6th, remember?). Regardless, it was well made and very inspirational (up to the point that it didn’t convince me to run it again).
Following the video, Chris Kostman hosted the awards ceremony. He asked all runners who failed to complete the course to stand, and they were given a rousing ovation for ‘having the guts to try.’ Very deserved. Then, all finishers were called to the front of the room to receive their finisher’s medal and, for those finishing under 48 hours, the coveted belt-buckle. We posed for photographs—I’ve never been in front of so many flash bulbs before—and then Pam and men’s winner Dean Karnazes were asked to say a few words. Chris closed the evening by referring to us all as part of the ‘Badwater family.’
A pretty nice honor.
Post Script: On Friday, we made the drive back to Las Vegas. Obviously, we ‘retraced our steps’ along the same route we had started 3 days ago in Badwater. If I hadn’t already decided I would never run the race again, this would have done it for me. I realized that yes, the heat was a huge factor in my performance, but the mountains were much more significant. We stopped in Stovepipe Wells for a drink, and the heat—only slightly over 110 degrees today—still felt like we were sticking our heads inside a hot oven.
Friday night, we enjoyed a crew ‘victory dinner’ at the Pink Taco in Las Vegas. Afterwards Paula, Eric, Al and Gary returned to the hotel for some much-needed rest before our 6:00 a.m. flight to Atlanta the following morning. Me? I had promised Josh that if I was still able to walk after the race—and at this time I barely ‘qualified’—I would take him to see the casinos before we returned to Atlanta. The four hours Josh and I spent—at MGM Grand, New York New York, Mandelay Bay, Excalibur, Luxor—I wouldn’t trade for anything. Josh was so impressed with the large casinos, the bright neon lights, and the endless ‘eye candy’ the city has to offer. But for me, walking on two severely blistered feet was a true test of my pain threshold (I’m sure I exceeded it somewhere during the night). We finally got to bed just after midnight, allowing me two hours sleep before I had to get up for one last run with Gary before we all headed to the airport for our long-awaited (and triumphant) return to Atlanta.
And yes, you read the previous sentence correctly.
2003 staffer & 2002 finisher
The Runners’ Report did indeed spend part of last week in and around Lone Pine for the end of the Kiehl’s Badwater Ultramarathon. I had hoped to be there for the whole race, working on the webcast, but that nasty four-letter word, “work”, got in the way. I was, however, able to leave after work on Wednesday and pulled into the parking lot of the Dow Villa at about 8:45 PM.
When I got there, the race was actually over. In fact, beating everyone, including the first wave of runners who started from Badwater at 6 AM Tuesday morning, was winner Pam Reed who had already crossed the finish line at the Whitney Portals at 2:26 PM on Wednesday afternoon. By the time I got there, four of the 73 starters had finished and 6 others had passed through Lone Pine and were on the Portal Road. Among those already on this last stretch to the finish were Louise Cooper and Bill Lockton who both ran phenomenal sub-40 hour times.
But that is not to say that there weren’t many more amazing feats to witness. I worked the Lone Pine aid station on Thursday, through the early morning hours and then again as the final runners passed through. I also helped Greg gather some info for his webcast duties. I’m sure that many of you were anxiously following the progress of the race through the webcast. Greg and the whole staff did an absolutely fantastic job this year. I can honestly say that those working at race headquarters got about the same amount of sleep as the weary runners and crews. Everyone associated with supporting this event were so passionate about their work and should be sincerely thanked for their efforts.
In between these volunteer stints, I got a couple of chances to see Nancy Shura making her way along the course. She looked strong on each occassion, except for a zombie-like stare she wore on the final arduous climb up to the finish. Nancy and her crew (Saundra, Wendy, Michele, Sandy, Mike, Larry, and Heather, with a final assist from Craig) did a fabulous job and she completed the course in 52:35.
One of the things I really enjoy are the first-person accounts of the race written by runners and crew members. I’ll spare you any more of my perceptions under the assumption that we’ll be reading more in the future from the participants. But I will add some miscellaneous notes about what I saw and heard at the race this year:
Miles and miles of congrats to everyone involve in the race this year… especially RD Chris Kostman who took a great event and has somehow managed to improve it every year.
2000, 2001 & 2002 Finisher
Training hard & being in great shape doesn’t always mean achieving one’s goal. That was the story at this year’s Badwater. I had the best crew that any runner could dream of: experienced runners with great backgrounds to help me achieve my goal. This year started out great & turned into managing injuries just to finish.
I met Ken Eielson Sunday in Lone Pine & we drove together in the crew van to Furnace Creek. He had driven out from Colorado. The next day we did the pre-race check in and met the rest of my crew by the cabins at Furnace Creek. Theresa Daus-Weber & Scott Snyder who flew out from Colorado to Vegas and drove a rented car to meet us. We all went to the meeting and I got to know the two men on my crew. I crewed with Theresa in 1999 so we knew each other pretty well. I had pre-taped my feet that morning so now it was time to rest & let my crew arrange the van the way they wanted to.
I started at 8am and we had my splits figured out for a 45 and a 47 hour finish, since this year I was going for the buckle. I was about 10 miles into the race when I felt a twinge in my left groin. No, you have got to be kidding I thought, not this early in a race of this length. I kept running hoping it would go away. I got to Furnace Creek 45 minutes ahead of a 45 hour finish. So I ran off to the next check point. It seemed hotter than usual, especially out by the dunes, but again I ran into Stovepipe still 45 minutes ahead of schedule. I noticed I was running a little different since I was favoring my left leg & the blisters on the balls of my feet were proof of that, but I opted not to look at them.
I headed up Townes Pass and was strong till the summit with the help of Scott pacing me. Now started the real problems. The down hills really seemed to aggravate my groin (psoas muscle) so I limped my way down. Near the bottom Chris Frost, a friend from Malibu, passed me & hooked me up with a guy on another team who was a masseuse, He worked on my quads for about 10 minutes & off to Panamint I went. I still was in good shape to buckle. I had some breakfast & headed up Father Crowley’s. Now Ken was back with me & we talked and joked while we were entertained a few times by some of the jets. At about mile 87 Shannon McQueeney & her Mom caught up with us. I knew her dad Scott from the 2000 race & had been in contact with both of them as Shannon battled cancer for the last 6 months. We had so much in common, catheters, chemo, radiation & hair loss. I knew of what she had to go thru first hand. It had just been 17 months since my bone marrow transplant. Shannon came out and ran a mile with me & really pumped me up. So I asked my crew for some wild music for my mini disc player & started to run strong to Darwin. That is where the next major problem showed up. Since I was favoring my left leg my feet blistered worse than usual and because of that I was running on the edges of my shoes which caused my right ankle ligament to hurt or tear. Now at Darwin my goal changed from the buckle to just finishing, I had to finish. My crew wrapped a small bag of ice with a Ace bandage to my ankle and I was off.
We got to the 100 mile mark and Scott rejoined me. I couldn’t believe how bad the smoke from the fires had gotten. Now was the 20 mile, 2nd night, death march to Lone Pine. At 40 hrs. my crew decided I needed to lay down & rest my mind for 30 minutes because that is where my fight was going to come from, my body was spent. This is where I lost all the time, getting to Lone Pine and going up the Portal Road. Coming into Lone Pine I got charged up again, made the left turn and started up. Around 8 miles from the top Shannon & her Mom caught up to me again and Shannon came out and did another mile or so with me. We talked about doing the last mile together. I talked it over with my crew & we all decided to meet 1 mile from the finish. Last year I did that mile alone & reflected on my transplant. But this year I was going to do it with another cancer survivor. My crew continued to give me fresh cold bottles every mile and I worked my way up. What a climb at the end of a 135 mile race. Shannon and I started on the last mile. We rounded the final turn and decided to join hands and finish with arms in the air as cancer survivors. I did it! Number three! I received my medal from Chris Kostman, got congratulations from my crew, friends & Al Arnold, the 1st man to do the course 25 years ago. What a finish!
I think this will be my last Badwater: 3 for 3. Next year I will probably crew for someone, maybe even one of my crew, because it looks like both Ken & Scott might want to run this race. Otherwise I will drive the course & try to help as many people as I can, achieve there dream, and finish this race. I would like to thank my crew who was flawless for the entire 53:20:07. No way I would have finished this year without their constant devotion.
2003 race official
Joyce and I were at the 6am start of the Badwater Ultramarathon on Tuesday morning, July 22. We had been designated as one of the two medical teams (since Joyce is a registered nurse) to drive the course and assist runners with medical difficulties. Things were quiet until the temperature reached the 130 degree mark. Then, all hell broke loose. Many runners and crew personnel were taken to, or stopped at, Stovepipe Wells (approximately 40 miles) for a dunking in the pool and/or emergency medical assistance. For a while, there, a couple of the hotel rooms looked as though they were MASH units: People stretched out on beds, some with ice-packs and some with IV’s. One crew member was sent to Lone Pine (approximately 122 miles) for immediate treatment (we learned that he took 7 liters of IV).
But, eventually, we were blessed with nightfall and higher elevations as we progressed along the highway with the lead group of runners. We slept about 3-4 hours in Panamint Springs (approximately 70 miles), and then headed back out on the course to offer our services. A runner who led for the first 100 miles required assistance, and Joyce eventually got him up and moving forward. He had to reduce his speed considerably, but he did hold on for a 4th place finish. He just asked too much from his body.
At the Portal to Mt. Whitney (the finish and the 135 mile mark), Pam Reed repeated as the winner in approximately 28.5 hours, followed by the first male runner in about 29 hours. Out of the first 5 finishers, 3 were females. In total, 47 runners finished, from the starting field of 73—a 64% completion rate, and testimony to an effective pre-race, runner-screening / invitation process.
Maybe my hernia surgery which precluded me from competing was a blessing, because the heat on the first day was extreme, even by Death Valley standards. With the humidity in the mid-20’s, it was, all-in-all, a pretty challenging combination. Although I didn’t participate as a runner, I learned a great deal about the course, the pacing needed to finish, the typical medical problems, and the sheer determination that must be brought to the event.
Of course, we came away with many memories, but none more vivid than the management responsibilities of the runner and the crew. Badwater has no aid stations, and all runner support/success comes from runner awareness and the mobile crew. I liken the situation to a multiple-day endurance ride: Everything has to be kept in perspective for an extended period of time. The runner, like the endurance horse, must be physically expended, but, then, readied to keep going.
We had other memories, too. Wednesday evening we exited from our race responsibilities to help a woman with two young kids, whose car had broken down in the middle of the Death Valley National Park. We drove 6 miles back to Panamint Springs and called a Park Ranger for emergency assistance. Then, we returned to the woman, gave her and the kids peanut butter and jelly sandwiches, and some chips for dinner. When the Ranger arrived, we left to rejoin the race.
Our most unlikely and unreal memory is of the fighter-jet which buzzed us as we drove along the desert highway. It was as though we were at a baseball stadium and a military jet emerged from the top of the stands in a fly-over. We were driving along and suddenly a fighter-jet was coming right at us, following the highway, just a few hundred feet off the desert floor. The pilot must have been practicing low-level maneuvers. I went into my “earthquake mode,” meaning that I just sort of mentally suspended my reactions, knowing that I was powerless to change the circumstances. It was an unreal situation. But it became real as the plane passed over us and climbed back to altitude. The jet exhaust blasted everything.
Badwater is over for this year, but Pam Reed, the winner, gave the race some nice publicity with her appearance on the David Letterman show Thursday night, July 31st. Letterman could not believe that she did all that for a belt buckle, but what does he know? Aren’t we are all nuts in our own way? I admit that I am, and I’m penciling-in the event on next year’s calendar.
2003 entrant and 2002 finisher
There is stress prior to any big event, especially Badwater. The idea is to keep it to a minimum. However, if you are the husband and crew chief of the runner, as a husband you never have the right answer. As the crew chief prior to the event, you know you are ultimately responsible for everything that happens. As the husband of the runner, your heart aches during their suffering, and as the crew chief you have to deal with people stressing out who don’t realize they’re stressing out (they are in denial). Why? One word, Badwater.
“This is the most stress we’ll ever be under!” states hubby/crewchief. It’s one week before Badwater and 3 weeks before going to China to pick up Sarah Qi Qi, our first child we’ve been expecting for 2+ years. The journey for great running has been 27 years thus far, and the task of creating a family began over 15 years ago, 4 years into our marriage. Believe it or not we’ve been through a hell of a lot worse. So technically I think ‘this is child’s play’. Then we look at each other now calmer and say, “Well it’s just that we’re excited.” Then hubby/crew chief states, “Jody I got to deal with your adrenalin too. You’re bouncing off the walls venting on me.”
I laugh in agreement, “Yeah, sorry hun. I’m just so psyched. But I got it together” I pause as I listen for dinner burning, I hope not as Norm unloads the washer. I continue, “I’m sorry, honey. I’ve cut back so well on mileage this week, I’m just cranking.”
“It’s okay,” he replies. “I’m just letting you know, so if I seem edgy you’ll know why.” In our nearly 22-year relationship we’ve learned to pre-warn. At about 5000 RPM is the pre-warning. We redline like our VW at about 7000-8000 RPM. Norm and I sit down to eat and start to discuss Badwater.
“Call Rudy. He called before,” Norm reminds me.
I respond, “I’ll call him at work tomorrow, my brain just needs a rest.” I know when I call Rudy we’ll be on the phone for at least an hour. Norm is just finishing up the signs for the vans. His back bothers him from leaning forward stenciling 6-inch letters in black. We’re awaiting phone calls from the agency on the China travel meeting, the travel agent for China and our guide. Norm’s double checking Badwater and hotel reservations. He’s finishing up sewing another ice hat and special gloves for me. We get phone calls about the baby, wanting to know where I’m “Baby Registered”, etc… These people don’t care about Badwater because they can’t even run a mile so they can’t relate! In lieu of this, we discuss greed and obesity.
We dream of owning a second home in Death Valley. We love it there. Norm states, “I checked the internet for anything new from Chris and the weather in Death Valley. By the way, double check the runner and crew forms. Did you fill yours out?”
“Yes,” I reply.
Norm continues, “So we got the VISA’s for China. God I hate going into the city. But while I waited I went to the Intrepid and did the tour. The Park and Drive situation was screwed up.”
“Well the Secaucus train derailment messed everything up,” I respond.
“You’re not working a full day Friday?” Norm asks.
“Yes Honey,” I answer, “a full day.”
“Isn’t that a bit much?” he asks.
“Honey, it’s only a 10 hour day. People need me and I’ll have a total 3 weeks off plus a partial week of work after China. Some people I treat are not so accepting of this. If I don’t work, I still have to pay 2 rents ahead on my office, I have payroll, I have monthly tax payments, you know,” I reply.
“Jody, don’t get so stressed. I just thought you took more time off from work for Badwater last year.”
“No, that’s not what I did,” I say. “It’s the same. I’m OK with this. I have 3 days of no bodies before the race. I’ll be fine.” I then say a little prayer that I don’t get anyone too emotionally unstable in my office for the rest of the week.
When I get drained, one thing I’ve learned is to pray for that, to conserve energy. Fortunately or unfortunately, I get so emotionally involved with people at work it drains me. I’m concerned with quality of life for everyone and if anyone knows this about me, better than anyone else it’s Norm. He sees the train coming and lassos me from the tracks before I get clobbered. It’s funny, we even finish each others sentences sometimes. I had an acquaintance point this out to me last year. Meanwhile, Norm is counting batteries, flashlights, etc…”Where’s the GU?”
“Uh, in my bag?! I think,” I respond. “OK, let me dig.” As I unpack, find them and re-pack for the tenth time in a week he continues.
“So how many bottles of Succeed Caps did you pack again?”
I sigh, man I want to veg. “Well, I put 2 _ bottles in the big bag, I have 1 full bottle in my carry on, uh, hmm. What are you thinking?”
“What about the crew?” Norm says.
“I’m paranoid, lets bring another bottle. That’ll be 450 Succeed caps. How’s that?” I ask.
Norm laughs. “Paranoid is good.” During that night we do this gibberish back and forth with a little China and baby thrown in to amuse ourselves. “Honey, I have a 12 hour day tomorrow, it may be reduced by an hour but I really need to be stupid and watch the boob tube for an hour and go to sleep.
The next few days our adrenaline is getting more pumped. Saturday (7/20) we get to Newark Airport. The hour before out flight, Norm asks, “Where’s Gary (one of our new people)?”
“Oh I’m sure he’s here. I bet you he’s eating. Don’t worry Norm, he’ll be here. He’s an ‘on time’ kind of guy,” I assure him.
Last year I was the one paranoid about the crew getting to Death Valley. Last year I was the runner, the setter-upper and the crew chief. I had all the worries last year. That drained me last year. This year was different. Norm set up 95% of the stuff, me 5% and I was really able to focus on being the runner. Just then Gary shows up.
I smile and say “Hey, how you doing? When did you get here?”
“Oh I got here a while ago. I was eating,” Gary answers.
I turn to Norm. “See I told you. Norm got scared, Gary. I told him you were probably eating because you’re always on time for stuff.”
The flight is uneventful. I sleep most of the time. I even slept through breakfast. After we land, the three of us make our way to baggage claim. Norm comments, “We had seven bags last year. It was crazy. I can’t remember what we brought.”
“The chairs, Norm. Remember that?” I remind him.” We found out I preferred the bumber and can’t sit long anyway, my back hates sitting. Oh yea, we had a porta-pottie with us. I couldn’t sit in that position. It burned my butt and legs too.”
“Oh yeah,” Norm says. Meanwhile Gary’s probably wondering, ‘What the hell did I just get myself into?’ We get to the baggage claim area and Gary’s brother Tom is there to take him golfing. Norm and I will be traveling to Stovepipe from LV alone and we’ll meet Gary, Al and Carol on Sunday at Stovepipe Wells. After we depart Norm marvels, “Only four bags, Jody. That’s so amazing.” I agree. Norm and I pick up our rental van and go off food shopping.
I’m obsessing. “Seedless Watermelon, we have to get it in Las Vegas, not Pahrump. If we wait till then and they don’t even have watermelon. Well you know how it works.”
“Jody, whatever makes you comfortable,” Norm says. The lady at the car rental is interested in watching the race and tells us where we can get seedless watermelon. As I write out the Badwater website, I can’t stop seeing watermelons. I write “www.badwatermelon.com” Then Norman corrects me, we laugh, I write “www.badwaterultra.com”. I say to the car rental lady as I hand her the website, “Thank God I didn’t write peanut butter and jelly instead.” We laugh. Some day I’ll have to tell you guys about my obsession of my doing a “Cliff Claven” from Cheers impersonation at work, making everyone laugh for a week until a guy named Cliff came in and I called him Cliff Claven in front of him after I treated him. It was an accident I was having my secretary fill out his bill in front of his.. Talk about embarrassment.
After food shopping and lunch we drive into Pahrump, it begins to pour. Yup, you heard me, pour. Like as in rain real heavy. I get a bit perturbed, “Norm, Badwater better be hot. Because if it’s not, it’s not Badwater. It’s just not the same.”
Norm replies, “Don’t worry Jody, it’ll be 130 degrees on race day.”
I reply, “Okay, I’m just checking.”
I notice the temps seem cool at 94 degrees. Anyone else not understanding the essence of the Badwater race could not appreciate my comments. It’s comparative to Crocodile Dundee’s comments, “That’s not a knife.” As he pulls out a machete, “This is a knife.” And the muggers run away.
Before we know it, there’s flash flooding as we drive to Stovepipe Wells. Norm has to drive through about 5 major flash floods. I squirm as he drives. I remind him I need to go train in Badwater by about 5pm for a few miles. After we check-in at Stovepipe Wells, we get our running and hydration items together and drive towards Badwater. At about Artist’s Entry on the left, there’s a roadblock; a flood is coming. We are warned by the Park Rangers we might not be able to pass back through again. We figure we’ll take a chance. We continue to Badwater start line. Norm will leap frog me every _ mile. I need splits. I’m imitating the first 3.1 miles of the race; this is to get into the right frame of mind. I’ll do this again Sunday morning too. We get done 30 seconds sooner than I planned. “Norm, I have to do this slower tomorrow and Tuesday by 30 seconds or I’ll be dead in the water.” We drive back to Stovepipe Wells making it through the flooded road we were warned about. At dinner that night, one of the waiters we’ve become familiar with, Andrew states “ There’s no traffic allowed through Townes Pass, there’s flooding. I don’t know if your race will take place.” I state, “The race is Tuesday. It’ll be okay.”
Upon waking Sunday, I stretch as Norm buys ice. Norm drives me to Badwater. I do my little run like last night, only this time only 3 seconds slower than I plan on Tuesday. Now I feel comfortable. I have a sense of pace back in my legs. After that I have 3 bowls of cereal, 70 ounces of water, gatorade, and a banana. I rest, I take a 2 hour nap. Before we know it, the rest of the crew arrives. Gary accompanied Al and Carol from Las Vegas to Stovepipe in our second van.
The plan: have everyone rest for a bit, go to dinner in Panamint and tomorrow show the crew the rest of the course from Stovepipe to Whitney Portal before the check-in and meeting in Furnace Creek. Monday we awoke at 5:45am. I stretch, have tea, and eat and rest. Norm takes the crew and drives over the course. I get out to run at 6:30am. I jog for a minute and then I hear a familiar voice. It’s Rudy, strolling, coffee in hand, sandals on, “You’re crazy, man!”
I smile, stopping my watch. “Rudy! Hey, I called you this week, left a message. You want to do a two mile jog?”
Rudy gives me a hug. “Nah.”
“You sure?” I egg him on. “C’mon. It’s only 2 miles. I’ll share my water with ya. Huh?”
He smiles and shakes his head no I continue on. My crew leaves for their tour. I have gatorade, water, fruit, and 4 bowls of cereal and fall asleep for 2 hours. Before I know it, Norm and crew are back. We drive to Furnace Creek, except for Gary, he left something at his brother’s Gary has to meet his brother in Pahrump. He gets back just after everything is over. We get back to Stovepipe Wells for preparing ice chests and then dinner.
Before dinner, we decide we want a couple of group pictures. We coax a guy we see by his car in front of the Road Runner section of Stovepipe to take our picture. Somehow, he knows we’re here for the Badwater Race. After he takes our picture, he makes a not-so-thought-out statement in his foreign accent, “You must all have big egos.” We all shake our heads, laugh, and say “Yeah, right.”
He leaves, Al makes believe he’s talking back to the guy and says, “Oh yeah. We have a third crew vehicle bringing our balls in.” Now we can’t stop laughing. The comments fly.
During dinner at Stovepipe Wells, we start discussing foods to eat to gross other runners out. I suggest the pink hostess twinkie snowballs. Or cheesecake with tuna fish. Then Gary says, “we need a team sign.” Meanwhile, Al and Carol are yelling “Where’s my soup? What took you so long. It’s a 15-minute drive. You were gone 3 hours.” During this, I make Nick’s hand gestures of a woman who’s top heavy.
“That’s the sign,” Gary states. We ROAR. Then I say, we have to say “Pink snowballs” when we do the Nick Palazzo sign. All of us have the sign down pat now. So after this during the entire dinner, we’re doing the Nick Palazzo gesture.
Before we know it, its Tuesday morning Race Day. Norm sees cloud cover near Badwater. In my mind, I know it will soon abate. You just have to face the music when you’re in Badwater. As my husband says, “Nothing personal, it’s just Badwater.” I eat PBJ, a banana, take in water, Gatorade, and a Succeed Cap as we drive to the start. I have the 10am start. Before I get out of the van to go to the bathroom in Badwater, I put on an ice cap. I’ll not take any chances. I had the runs a bit, but shook them off. It was only positive thinking. I would tolerate. Major Maples knocks on my van window and gives me some good news. Saddam Hussein’s sons Ebay and Yahoo are dead. This gives me extra energy. I’m really pumped now. I thank him for such motivating news. I drink more, then go take pictures with him.
Before we know they play the Anthem and we’re off and racing. My stomach feels crampy, I figure adrenaline. I look at my watch at Telescope Peak and realize it’s 11 seconds too fast per mile back off by 30 seconds. My stomach gets worse. By 3 miles, my legs are dead. My arms get shaky. Norm hands me a new ice hat. The string in the front gets tangled. I yell to get me another one and toss the one just made. Too much ice in the cap, I let them know. About 1/4 mile later, Juan Olivera, one of Rudy’s crew, is holding an ice hat similar to one of mine.
“Is this mine?” I say, confused.
“No,” Juan says. Then I realize, what am I thinking? At 3.5 miles I feel worse. At 5.5, I’m by the van. My stomach is so bad I just want to curl up in a ball. My arms are shaking, my legs have been wobbly for a good 2 miles. I think it’s a sugar problem. Norm massages my stomach, I eat more, I get worse. By 11 miles, I’m in the van. I feel sick. We call the medic, then we stake me at 11 miles and drive to Furnace Creek to get my blood sugar checked. After putting ice on and popsicles 45 minutes later. I see Dr. Lisa Stranc. She takes my temperature; it’s 104.3 degrees. I know it was not initially the heat. I take a 2+ hour break. I get back to the stake at 11 miles at 2:30pm. I begin to walk like Lisa advised. My stomach still hurts, but the rest of me seems fine. By Furnace Creek, I have hope. Whatever it was must be gone now. I’ll run soon, I figure. I don’t start running until 30 miles. I walk with Major Maples for quite some time before then. We have a good talk. By 38 miles, I start to feel like a runner.
It’s dark out by Stovepipe Wells, I find out many have dropped, including Rudy. During this, I realize it was food poisoning. The oil I poured on my spaghetti Monday did taste slightly rancid, but I was hungry and had not a care in the world. But I figure I’m over it. I’ve had food poisoning before 4+ years ago and ended up in the hospital for 6 hours to get IVs in. Perhaps the reason why it didn’t put me completely down is that I was well-rested and hydrated. Last time, I was overworked and overtrained. I’ve ran and worked through worse. It’s all what you’re used to. Or willing to go through, sometimes. I was terrificly motivated when I arrived at Stovepipe Wells. I gulped my Gpush and began my favorite part of the run, up to Townes Pass and then that beautiful downhill to Panamint. After I got past Wild Rose, I’d passed several racers. My body, for some reason, wanted to slow down. I couldn’t for the life of me think why. By Townes Pass my body hated me for walking. Actually, my back is not designed for walking. Norman and Al were buzzing around trying to get ice.
21+ hours had passed. I sat just before Townes Pass on the roadside. My back was screaming, I felt my posterior legs warning me not to run down the hill without Norm massaging me. Gary and Carol crewed and waited with me. I waited 12 minutes. Al and Norm showed. They got the last bags of ice between Furnace Creek and Lone Pine. Norm sent Carol and Gary for rest in Panamint. 15 minutes into Norm working on me, a friend showed up; Rae Clark. He stopped by to see how I was doing. He basically told me to be smart. He knew I was not racing well. Nothing was worth injury or death. Up until this point, both of our adapters in our vans weren’t working for our phones, mashed potatoes and the like. The air conditioning, primarily in the white van, would only work if you drove it 10 or more miles, which only was done 2 hours of the race so far. I felt bad for the crew. I expected discomfort, all this stomach delay was not good for the crew, it adds more stress. At about 30 miles, our battery went dead in the white van and we were SOL for 10 mins. Major Maples and his crew were with us, however, no jumper cables. Just in the nick of time, the Race Medic car drove up to check on us. We’d seen him most of the first 50+ miles. Nice guy. Well, he jump-started us. Thank God.
Soon after a 20-minute sport massage, I was running like my old self, hauling butt down towards Trona Lane and Panamint Springs. It was still mostly cloudy at this point. However, at that point, I started to burn up more. My stomach rumbled. I ignored it until I had about 4-5 miles until Panamint Springs. Then, the sun burst out. I put on my white shirt, sunglasses, and ice cap. I knew I maintained a fever since I began running at 11 miles. I had been sweating profusely since about 14 hours into this thing and now, just as I’d run downhill, I’d drink 10 ounces every 15 minutes. Sweat was pouring off my hands and my stomach was still cramping and bloated. It never cleared up. My legs began the wobble before the sun even came out again. I felt weaker still. This time my brain just pulled me forward. And when the sun came out, I kept thinking ‘get air-conditioned’ just for a little bit at Panamint. I prayed one of our cans had A/C. I had Al radio ahead, yes they had A/C in Gary and Carol’s van.
With 3 miles to go, I lost mental focus. I could see I knew what I wanted. Norm walked to my left. One thing I know if I notice pain; then my brain is shot. I can usually associate into pain if my brain is functioning even 50%. It was not. I remember it was an effort to speak because I needed to focus on placing my feet on the ground. I knew if I wobbled it was over. The brain can only think of 3 things at once when on optimum capacity. I could think of one at best. I didn’t know what a mile was anymore. I’m a numbers person. Jokingly, some call me “Rainman.” My husband calls “The Good Little German.” I began to notice the pain that it normally would be considered a mere annoyance. Now it was on my mind. I knew not to scold it. I always tell myself, ‘You won’t die of pain. Pain doesn’t kill.’ Because if it did, many of us who do ultras would be dead. You can heed pain and still enjoy life. But don’t fear it, or it will take away your freedom. I dragged myself to sunny Panamint Springs Resort, and focused now only on the van.
I can’t remember if I said anything. I don’t remember getting into the van. I remember having ice on me and eating mashed potatoes. I spoke with Dr. Lisa Stranc. Norm and I were worried about another runner. She told me she was going to check on him. I was relieved. Then I fell asleep 4-5 times and had nightmares. Then fell asleep for about an hour. And when I woke up, I felt 5 times worse. I couldn’t think. Norm asked me a question. I was slow to respond. He suggested we cross the parking to the hospitality runners’ suite.
“How about 4-5 hours of more rest?” I asked. I didn’t want anymore sun, that was my initial reaction. About 20-25 minutes after that I DNF’d. I felt worse than at 11 miles. But it was like I didn’t really know how I felt. I usually can describe stuff but this time for some reason I just couldn’t. It was like I forgot how to. That’s what bothered me.
