Oh no, there are sheep walking all over the highway and the cars are speeding by at seventy-miles an hour and nobody is stopping to help save them. I just can’t stand by and let them all get run over, so in the blink of an eye I went from ultrarunner to ultrasheepherder. It seemed to take forever to chase them off the street and into the safety of a makeshift pen out in the middle of nowhere. How come no one else is helping me? I wonder if I am the only one who sees this happening? I have had some scary hallucinations out in the desert but this is the worst one yet, because it is so realistic.

Yet this can’t be a hallucination, because it is still two days before the Badwater Ultramarathon and I am in my hometown of Santa Rosa, CA. This roundup has really happened. Unfortunately, we are leaving for the desert in several hours and I will have to leave these guys all alone for a few days hopefully with enough food, water and lots of luck. Will they be all right or will they break loose and run back on the road? Will their owners or will “Miss Bo Peep who has lost her sheep” find them? Will they have enough to eat and drink or will the dogs get them? I will spend lots of time over the next five days worrying about these guys as we head for Badwater.

The van is filled with electricity and excitement and there is the usual apprehension as my crew and I leave Lone Pine and begin our journey across the mountains and into the magnificent beauty of Death Valley.

As soon as we arrive at Stovepipe Wells I immediately stumble into two of my friends and heroes, Lisa Smith and Marshall Ulrich. He has just completed his first, double crossing. At the prerace meeting I meet Ben and Denise Jones, Paul Stone and his wife Abby, Steven Silver, the Major, Errol Jones, Rick Nawrocki, Shannon Farar-Griefer and others. I attempt to get the autograph of every runner for my annual journal. It is all so incredible. It is good to be back.

As we mill about the starting line just before ten in the morning, I find it hard to believe that this is already my fourth consecutive Badwater Race. Very little has changed. The juices are flowing and the butterflies are still the same each year. Pictures are taken at the Badwater sign and at the starting line, which is draped with a Sun Precautions Banner. Perched high above our heads, at 282 feet on the side of one of the huge granite walls of the sprawling Amargosa Mountain Range, is the Sea Level sign. The entire scene as usual is almost surreal.

As we nervously await the start and stare into the maw of this most difficult 135-mile enterprise, we are all honored and privileged to have the National Anthem sung to us by Barry Oschner, brother of Badwater runner Nathan.

The word is given and off we go. After months of running high mileage, weeks of sauna training and one year of waiting, this unbelievable trek is finally happening. It feels good to be running and fortunately it’s only 110 degrees. Early into the race there is no one to socialize with because everyone is already in single file and there are huge gaps between runners.

I eventually settle into a comfortable pace, while my crew (Lina, John, Pilar and James) begin feeding, hydrating and keeping me sprayed down with cool water to help protect me from the blistering heat. For the next two days they will keep me going by doling out Crystal Geyser Water, Power Gel, Ensure, Cheetos, Starbucks Frappucinnos, soups, watermelon, peanut butter, puddings, fruit cups, bagels, chicken sandwiches, tuna fish, and two of my new secret weapons, O’Douls non-alcoholic beer and GLACEAU fruitwater. That should do the trick.

As I run along monitoring the needs of my body, I realize that I am completely surrounded and engulfed by the overwhelming and immense beauty of Death Valley. It is easy to understand why this Great Basin, with its colorfully named landmarks, has been established as one of our treasured national parks. Although the desert and surrounding mountains are arid, desolate and sparse, the views, which are breathtaking, continue to draw me to the Badwater Race each year.

Everything goes smoothly and it is rather peaceful and uneventful for the forty-two miles into Stovepipe Wells. I do remember making a special effort to tell one of the crew’s that I thought they were too far ahead of their runner. These people belonged to the eventual winner, Mike Trevino. Shows you what I know. Feel stupid? Yeah.

My plan was to run this race in under thirty-hours. I arrive at Stovepipe Wells on schedule. It has taken me seven-hours and I am feeling tremendously strong and confident. I reward my effort with a cool and refreshing dip in the pool because at five in the afternoon it is still a scorching 126 degrees.

Although my doctor suggested that I take up swimming for my age-related arthritis, I told him I wasn’t sure but I didn’t think it was possible to swim across Death Valley. Maybe he meant doing a couple of laps when I spend a few minutes in the pool. I am sure that’s what he meant, so in I go. But after ten minutes in the water, everything changes drastically. I suddenly become hampered with a bad case of cramps in my calves and hamstrings, which keeps me sidelined for an hour.

Lying on the ground attempting to recover, I look around at all the large black ravens sitting in the trees all fluffed up with their beaks wide open and their tongues hanging out trying to find relief from the scorching sun. They are shinning examples of the animal kingdoms struggle to survive even in the most extreme conditions. We are only out here for a few days but they are here all summer. Admire their will? You bet.

I consume lots of salts and electrolytes that my friend Bobb Ankeney has given me. My crew massages my legs and the cramps begin to diminish. Fortunately I had recovered enough to start the long trek up Towne’s Pass just as Major Maples, who was in the pool, began his lengthy Technicolor Barfathon. One of my strong points has never been a good puke spectator.

For unknown reasons I have always felt bad along this 18-mile climb to the top at Towne’s Pass. I always feel great every year when I arrive at Stovepipe Wells and terrible when I leave only minutes later. It’s puzzling and mysterious, so next year I think I will try something different and just sneak on past the resort. My theory is to keep doing this race until I get the job done properly.

Halfway up the momentous climb I run into Steven Silver and Shannon Farar-Griefer. Shannon (who I would have the pleasure to run with through the Santa Monica Mountains in Southern California a month after the race) has just had a bad case of blisters attended to by the “Blister Queen” and crew person, Denise Jones. We run together for a few miles and have a good time joking and kidding around.

It is nighttime in the desert and we are all treated to a spectacular display of hundreds of shooting stars amongst the billions of other glimmering stars peering down from the heavens. Every year I get goose bumps from this awe-inspiring spectacle.

Suddenly from somewhere out of the darkness, my body is clobbered by extreme weariness, which practically stops me dead in my tracks and will plague me for the next forty-miles.

After my struggle to the top of Townes Pass (58-miles), I spend an hour seeking a few unfulfilled minutes of desperately needed sleep. For some reason I have always had trouble sleeping on this course. I try the old trick of counting sheep but it doesn’t work. All I can see are my buddies that I had left penned up back home jumping over the fence and dodging all the cars on the highway. It will be two more days before I can get home to see what has happened to them.

Since there is to be no sleep, I drink and eat as much as possible. I am mentally and physically exhausted. It takes a major effort to get up and get going again. I gather some steam by running down the hills and power walking across the salt flats to the Panamint Springs Resort (72-miles), where I seek another hour of unrewarded sleep. I am in terrible shape and I know that the upcoming mountain climb will be torturous.

I have a craving for scrambled eggs but the restaurant is not quite open. Kari Marchant, who is crewing for Shannon, gets the cook to make me some eggs and I am treated to breakfast on the side of the road about three miles up the climb out of Panamint.

A few miles further, as we edge up the mountain pass, we witness a spectacular fly by from an F-15 cruising along the canyon walls. This guy really gets close and he tips his wings just before banking off and in seconds disappears into the horizon. Yet another special treat out here in the desert. It must have cost the race director a bundle to put this display on.

It is early in the morning when I take a much-needed rest after the eight-mile and extremely steep and difficult climb to the top at Father Crowley’s (80-miles). While sitting in a chair I look across the canyon and see this man falling out of a gigantic multicolor hot air balloon. He lands on top of a huge green trampoline and starts bouncing around. As soon as I point this circus act out to my crew it all disappears into thin air. Although everyone thinks it was a hallucination, I know it was for real and that’s all that counts.

It is day two and again we are all be faced with the extreme challenge of surviving this monstrous undertaking while being consumed by the blistering, drenching and relentless heat. With these happy thoughts embedded in my frazzled brain, I start running.

Three miles later my wheels begin to come off as I continue to suffer more bad spells. The weariness continues to be overwhelming and I can no longer move forward. Sleep deprived, my body is screaming for some shut-eye. The sandman still does not cooperate as I lay in the hot van and only feel worse. I told my crew that things were getting desperate and I was beginning to have some doubts. I have been running ultra’s log enough to know that the body has an amazing way of recovering even during extremely bad spells, but since this one has lasted so long I feel that only a minor miracle would get this old beaten and battered body to the finish line.

LinaYoung tells me that she didn’t come all the way out here to see me quit. She reminds me of what I had put on the race bulletin board only a few days ago, “If Marshall can do this thing four times then there is no reason that the rest of us shouldn’t be able to do it once.” That did it. It was like getting hit square on the forehead with a sledgehammer of guilt and shame. I have written enough in the past about not giving up and now it was time for me to dig down deep. I knew I owed it to her and all the kids that I run for in Santa Rosa. It was now time to practice what one preaches.

I loaded up on as many carbohydrates and liquids as I could swallow. Looking for more relief, I take off my running shoes and put on a pair of shower clogs. Then I crawled out of the van and started moving forward. With words of encouragement from my crew I was able to somehow struggle the seven-miles across the heat of the valley, passing the Death Valley National Park entrance sign and the Saline Valley turnoff, before arriving at the 90-mile checkpoint at the Darwin turnoff.

Another hour slipped away at this rest stop while I guzzled juices, ate and cut the toes out of a good pair of running shoes. Amazingly, after being physically tortured for twelve-hours I finally start to feel better. Actually I started to feel a little more positive about a mile ago after the “Mayor of Badwater”, Ben Jones, stopped by for a brief chat. I think he doused me with some of the magic that I have witnessed him use over the years to help revive other physically and emotionally broken down runners. Anyway, I knew that the next eighteen- miles to Keeler (108-miles) were mostly downhill and with this new lease on life I was able to run to the old mining town in less than three hours.

Along the way we stop for pictures at the gravesite with the large white cross, which is about one hundred feet off the highway. Although the cross makes a terrific landmark at mile ninety-six, I wonder the same thing every year, why are these people buried out here in this desolate place? I will ask Ben Jones. I think he knows the story.

I stop briefly around the 100-mile mark where one can finally see the panoramic view of the great sprawling Owen’s Valley with the majestic Eastern Sierras and the towering Mt. Whitney in the background. Absolutely stunning.

Arriving at Keeler I wonder what would be more appropriate than for a postal worker to have dinner on the bench in front of the post office, which is located two streets deep into this tiny burg–and that’s what I did. Wow! I could live, work and train here everyday. Then again, maybe not. My wife wouldn’t really like it out here, since there doesn’t seem to be a Macy*s anywhere in sight.

Now I am feeling really strong and healthy and run the fourteen miles to the Dow Villa Hotel in Lone Pine (122-miles) in two hours. This is the way I had planned on running the entire race—well, maybe next year. I was able to generate lots of speed as I zipped by the mosquito-infested bridge over the Owen’s River. Man where these guys hungry for blood.

Before the final assault to the Portals, I gobble down a couple of malts and french fries. Ironically as I make the left turn onto the Whitney Portal Road I meet Steven Silver who is also ready to go. We talk about finishing together like we did two-years ago, but for various reasons there is separation as we both struggle and trudge up the 13-miles towards the finish line.

About halfway up, in the refreshing cool of the evening as the brilliant quarter moon slips behind the mountain peaks, it occurs to me that being familiar with this course should make the final stage of this race seem shorter. But a phenomena of this event, that I believe everyone who has already been here knows, is that this climb appears to get longer each year and the switchbacks go on forever. Is this just an oddity or maybe the mountain continues to grow taller? That’s it. We are all running too far. I think it is time to dig around in the old toolbox and get the measuring tape back out.

Fortunately I was able to get through the switchbacks safely by sneaking past all the prehistoric animals that were after me last year. They must have been snoozing. Passing the last mile marker, I send word down to Steven that we will wait for him to catch up so we can cross the finish line together. I was just going to stop and wait but I was becoming nauseous and lightheaded and felt I would pass out. So I slowed to a crawl and a few hundreds yards from the finish line Steven and his crew finally catch up.

While holding hands, and surrounded by both crews, we run the last few feet screaming, yelling and crying. It is all over and we have both made it again. The deed was done in forty-hours and nineteen-minutes. Not exactly what I had intended but I will gladly take it.

Although I am extremely exhausted there is still a tremendous sense of accomplishment, satisfaction and enormous pride spilling out during the next few minutes of emotional release. It is one of the few moments in life that gives you an incredible high. It has always been worth the struggle to get here. It is my number one reason for running this Badwater Race every year.

Although the race is over, I have one special task to accomplish. Later in the morning I will climb to the top of Mt. Whitney. It will be my first time. Back at the hotel in Lone Pine I spot Marshall who is about to begin his climb to the portals. He wants me to summit with him and his crew. He says it will be a “hoot”.

While waiting for Marshall to get prepared to summit, I spot Rick Nawrocki who is about to complete his race. What a great sight it is to watch this gentle giant, with all his cancer related problems over the last few years, break the finish tape. What a proud moment for this honorable human being who had everyone crying.

Marshall, his crew Bob, Ernie, Jay, David and myself, begin the assault of Mt. Whitney at three-thirty in the afternoon. It’s incredible but this man who has already run some 450-miles still has an enormous amount of energy and he sets a quick pace as we charge up the mountain.

As it starts to get dark in the middle of the switchbacks a park ranger who checks our passes and thinks about stopping us, relents, but has some trepidation about letting us continue up the mountain. “Don’t do anything stupid”, she says. I have to chuckle to myself about all the irony. Here is a group of people who have probably challenged and conquered most of the extreme events in the world, including having just run across Death Valley in the blistering summer heat. No, we wouldn’t do anything stupid.

In the darkness along the western side of the pinnacles our flashlights would occasionally brush across the sheer face of the granite walls, which seemed to fall for thousands of feet into a dark abyss. I realize that one misstep or stumble anywhere along this narrow trail, which winds along the mountain for miles and is filled with rocks and boulders and you would be history. Maybe it was better to be doing this climb at night since I am afraid of heights, or as George Carlin says, “afraid to fall from heights”.

David gets altitude sickness and Jay volunteers to help him descend. Though we will only have two ten-minute breaks up this eleven-mile climb, Marshall, Ernie, Bob and myself continue to briskly forge ahead. Marshall with his wonderful personality and his ever-present warm smile offers me words of encouragement There is no whining, complaining or negative vibes from anyone. This is serious stuff and our main objective is to summit the mountain with all deliberate speed.

I promised Lisa Smith that I would help look after Marshall on our way to the top. Problem is that he winds up babysitting me. It took everything I had just to keep up with him. This man has earned enormous respect from me. I have been around lots of rugged people but I have never known any man as tough as Marshall. He is in a class by himself. Close to the top around 14,000 feet, I have trouble breathing but manage to gulp enough air to continue on. So this is what a “hoot” is all about.

At eleven-ten we arrive at the cabin on the top. What an honor it is to be standing with these three tough as nails people on the peak of Mt. Whitney. Although it is a pitch-black evening and you can’t see anything it doesn’t matter. The emotions are still indescribable. It’s almost as exciting as crossing the finish line. I have finally completed the goal I have had for years—the 146-mile trek from Badwater to the top of Mt. Whitney.

After we take a few pictures and sign the guest book by the cabin, we start to descend. The climb down is swift but is slowed as we meet an extremely sick David. Marshall, who is now on the last leg of his quadruple crossing, darts ahead with Jay as we escort David down at a more leisurely pace. We have problems with our flashlights working properly and eventually will have to nestle alongside the trail for an hour until daybreak.

Near the Portals we run into Shannon Farar-Griefer, Rick Nawrocki and Scott Weber who are just beginning their climb to the summit. I have only had one hour of sleep in the last four days and did not even recognize that it was, Denise Jones, who was with them, and was giving me a big hug.

At the Portals I hitch a ride to Lone Pine where I find my worried crew who figured we had all ran right off the side of Mt. Whitney during the night. After saying our good-byes at the morning breakfast, we pack the van and head home. Just before I go comatose and get some much-needed sleep, I spend a few minutes reflecting on this Badwater Race.

It is hard to believe that the six days out in the desert have gone by so quickly and the entire experience is already over. Although I am totally exhausted, I already miss so many things.

I miss the months of training and the baking sessions in the sauna at the 24-hour fitness center. I miss the journey from my home to the desert when all of us are fresh and full of vigor. I miss the reunion with all my friends and especially all the camaraderie.

I miss all the energy, apprehension and trepidation at the starting line. I miss the two days of challenging this most difficult event as we raced across the heat of the valleys and the relentless climbs over the three major mountain ranges.

I miss the buzz during all the good miles from all the endorphins rushing through my system. I even miss all the miles of torture and suffering (but not as much). I miss seeing Ben Jones and Chris Kostman who were always somewhere out on the course making sure everyone was okay.

I miss the all the excitement and the emotional release as we crossed the finish line. I miss climbing Mt. Whitney, especially since it was my first time. I miss the unbelievable picture postcard beauty of Death Valley and Mt. Whitney.

But most of all I miss everything—the entire package. In my little ultrarunning world it does not get any better than this. I cannot wait to recover and start training again for this all-consuming and unbelievable adventure. I will be back.

Thanks to Chris and Keith Kostman and all the people at AdventureCORPS who made this race possible.

Thanks to Ben and Denise Jones just for being Ben and Denise Jones.

Kudos to race winners, Anne Langstaff and Mike Trevino, and all the other runners who were brave enough to toe the starting line for this very difficult race.

Thanks to my crew, Pilar, John, James and especially mother hen, Lina, who knew instinctively the right things to say and do during some of my desperate times, which enabled me to keep going and reach my goal.

Thanks to Lisa Smith (the toughest lady I know) and crew who helped Marshall Ulrich inspire everyone by completing his quad for starving children.

Thanks to new heroes Chris Moon (running for several charities) and Shannon Farar-Griefer (running for children with cancer) and all their crews’ help, while each completed a double-crossing.

Thanks to all the other crew’s who helped everyone fulfill their dreams.

Thanks to SCORE INTERNATIONAL and the American Postal Workers Union for their sponsorship.

Thanks to, Christine, my beautiful and understanding wife of 33 years for being so special. And no, we are not moving to Keeler.

For the fourth year in a row my crew and I had an incredible week being around all the wonderful people and all the beauty that is in Death Valley. It was again an honor to be part of the toughest footrace in the world, the Sun Precautions Badwater 2001 Ultramarathon.

Thanks again to everyone a million times over.

Blessings to all.

# 94 Arthur Webb
Badwater 98,99,00,01

PS: By the way, all the sheep were okay when I returned home. Their owners had found them and had herded them back to the safety of their own pens. Amen.

2001 finisher

I returned to Death Valley for a second go at 135 mile Badwater Ultramarathon against the mild protests from co-workers, friends and family. Why? Was the most prominent question? Why do you want to put yourself through that “torture” again? This is a most common view from most non-runners, and runners not familiar with ultra running or extreme sports. I do not consider it torture, I think it is “fun.” Besides, if you don’t challenge yourself every now and then, how do you know who or what you really are?

Look at it from my perspective: I love to run. The longer the run, the more I enjoy it. Compare it to a golfer. If anyone who enjoys playing golf, for enjoyment and some mild competition were given a chance to play golf with his golfing peers, for say 60 hours, I am sure that person would certainly do it. All the golf you can play in 60 hours for one green fee. Now would you call him or her a little crazy? Yes, probably.

I not only get the chance to run for 60 hours, if I want, or for however long it takes me to run the given distance, I also get to do it in a little heat. In this case it was 135 miles in approximately 130F degrees (atmosphere temperature). The reflective surface temperature can get a little hotter, about 150 to 180F degrees. But that does not happen until the afternoon and by then you are either acclimated or numb to the heat (fried), and besides, it is not that hot all of the time. The temperature at the start in Badwater this year was in the cool mid 80s.

Seventy-one ultra athletes toed the line for the Sun Precautions 2001 Badwater Ultramarathon. Some were repeats and some new comers, including six women. I ran the first 17 miles to Furnace Creek in 3:26, five minutes ahead of last year, as I was all fresh and ready to face what was in store for us later in the day. This section is spent renewing old acquaintances, meeting new friends and setting up the pace according to how you feel and how well trained you think you are. This part is easy as long as you don’t go too fast and exhaust your legs too early. Lots more fun is sure to come later.

The section between Furnace Creek and Stove Pipe Wells (don’t you just love the names) is a time for acclimating to the heat. During this section you will talk to God often and ask that He keep the sun behind a cloud and the temperature below 125. He does not listen to us very well as the temperature when I was approaching Stove Pipe Wells reached a deep frying 126 to 128. The secret here is to drink, drink, drink and then drink some more. You must stay hydrated or suffer the consequences. This is followed by peeing, peeing and peeing some more (you hope). Vacating the bladder is how you monitor your hydration level. I reached Stove Pipe by 3:30 PM, 9:30 into the race, 16 minutes ahead of last year.

But this is where the race really starts. By now the runner has run 41 gut-wrenching miles and processed gallons of Gatorade, water and copious amounts of various other drinks in hopes of remaining hydrated and fueled. Forty-one miles and you have only managed to go from 282 feet below sea level to five feet above sea level at Stove Pipe Wells.

Leaving Stove Pipe Wells, at my slow pace, you must not only face the hottest part of the day, you also have the dry hot winds that pick up off of the Panamint Mountain Range, and the climb up to Townes Pass. The climb is a seventeen-mile uphill battle of varying degrees of steepness. It starts out at about six percent grade for the first five to six miles, turns up to eight percent about six miles later then goes up to about a 10 percent upgrade (feels vertical) for the last four or five miles to the summit at Townes Pass. Just for fun, this year Caltrans added a two-mile stretch of fresh black oil to really hold the heat. I found myself shielding my face with my hands, as the reflective heat was unbearable.

I took two five-minute breaks going up to Townes Pass. These were the first times I got to sit down on a chair. My crew worked on my old tired legs by massaging the sore spots. The reward was waiting for me at the summit of Townes Pass where I laid down for about 50 minutes. Sleep was not possible because I was shivering-cold (it was about 83F degrees which felt like freezing compared to the daytime temperature) and the in and out traffic at this pit stop was non-stop. I did manage to rest and rejuvenate enough to be able to run down towards Panamint Springs, the third official time station. I arrived at Panamint Springs over an hour and a half ahead of my last year’s pace so I took advantage of the time and laid down for an hour.

By luck, Chris Kostman, RD, was vacating his room and was most gracious to allow me to take over his room for an hour. Being the diplomat that he is, he also made the room available to any other runner who wanted to shower or rest for a while. With other runners coming into the room, my rest was very broken up. So I left after an hour. This rest stop did not provide the rest I needed and sleep deprivation hit me hard at about 3:30 AM. I had trouble continuing up the steep grade to the Father Crowley Lookout Point. It was here that I asked my crew to set up a cot by the road and allow the truck to block the wind. It was windy and cold (85F degrees) at this time of the morning. I slept for 30 minutes and woke up feeling better and able to continue up towards Father Crowley and the summit of the second mountain range.

It was during this climb that I had to respond to the call of nature. I was so tired that I simply wanted to go home (not “quit” as quitting is not allowed in an ultrarunner’s vocabulary). I told my crew that if I was lucky, perhaps a rattle snake would bite me during my excursion into the bushes or a vehicle would hit me and merely break a leg while I crossed the road and I would have to involuntarily terminate my current death march. It was not to be.

Besides, I had a real motivator and reason to suck-it-up: I had dedicated my race to a very close friend and co-worker who, four weeks before the race, discovered she had cancer. She is doing very well now, thank God, but I wanted to show my support for her and drew strength from her. I thought of Laqueta often and knew I could not quit as I know she is a true winner. Her attitude and positive karma carried and motivated me and I knew I would never quit as long as I was able to move forward.

I reached the Father Crowley Lookout Point just after sunrise and with the sunrise came a new day. I usually feel like new after the sun comes out (second sunrise) during these races and I look forward to it and count on it to pick me up. It worked. I knew then that a successful completion was in-the-bag, just a matter of how well I would do time-wise.

The course after Father Crowley continues up for a few more miles but it is relatively flat to undulating. One could say it is very runable and actually an easy part of the course, but for being tired. The next time station is at the Darwin turn-off at about mile 90 (with just 45 miles to go to the finish). I did not compare my time to last year until I reached the 100-mile marker where I arrived a mere 21 minutes ahead of last year. It was a good sign as I did not have much support, pacer-wise, all night and most of the day before. I was pretty much on my own to set a comfortable pace and had nobody to whine to when I felt like it. So I can claim that I never did any whining.

After mile 100 we were essentially back in civilization and in cell phone service range. I managed a call home and spoke with my wife. (Coincidentally, at about this time I also received a call from one of my crewmembers from last year’s race). These calls proved to be a major uplift. None of my family was able to support me this year so any contact with family and friends was a major picker-upper, as I will explain later. After my conversation with my wife I felt uplifted and was able to run faster for quite a few miles. This allowed me to make up some time on which I had already given up.

Lone Pine is the last time station before the finish and a major milestone on this course. But before you get to Lone Pine you have to go past Keeler and around Owens Lake. Even though this part is very runable, it is also the longest, flattest, most boring part of the course. I seldom call any running surface boring but this section is as close as it gets. This is where the family thing came into play. I mentioned earlier how word from family and friends play a big psyche part. One of my sons, Kevin and his girl friend, Heidi, called me individually from Seattle. They asked how I felt. My response was that besides being totally exhausted, extremely stinky and deep-fried, I felt great. With Lone Pine and Mt. Whitney in sight, I was very motivated.

At 6:57 PM I arrived at the corner of Highways 395 and 136 – Lone Pine at last. I arrived at the time station 25 minutes ahead of last year. The beginning of the end comes as you leave Lone Pine and start up the Portals Road, the steep, switchback approach to the base of Mt. Whitney, and the finish line. It’s 13 grueling miles with about 5,000 feet of elevation gain. Yes, a climb of 5,000 feet in 13 miles. Sometimes the grade reaches 19 degrees, but it felt like 90. Last year I experienced a lot of hallucinations while going through the Alabama Hills, a beautiful part of the course. That was interesting. This year I felt very alone, as I had no apparitions to keep me company.

Throughout the last 24 hours I had experienced major heartburn with anything I ate. I relied mostly on Hammer Gel for energy and Gatorade and water for hydration. Coming out of Lone Pine my crew chief, H.E. West, a 2002 Baswater hopeful (total crew was two with Dave Molinaro, an accomplished tri-athlete) offered me a burger with lettuce, cheese, pickles and onions. I knew I would suffer the heartburn pain but the idea of eating hot food after 36 hours sounded so good that I accepted and ate more than half before my stomach realized it should burn. I managed to wolf down two-thirds before I could not stomach the rest. This food proved to be a charm as I got re-energized and “zipped” up the Portals Road to the finish in just under four hours. For you math wizards, that is approximately 18.5 minutes per mile. But I am getting ahead of myself.

Shortly out of Lone Pine the sun set on me and we only had a crescent moon (very romantic but I was alone) that soon went behind Mt. Whitney and total darkness set in. Going up this part of the course can be very scenic during the day. At night it is rather mundane until you are high enough to enjoy the “city” lights of Lone Pine. Not exactly a San Diego skyline but they do have some scattered visible lights at night. I received more calls from home and Seattle about a mile from the finish. It was great to hear from them again. I guess my family was as anxious for me to finish as I was. The difference was that I felt like burnt toast and they were toasty comfortable at home.

I continued up the Portals Road to a very welcome finish and a great surprise when I realized that my time was faster than last year. Not much, 31 minutes, which when spread over 135 miles is only seconds per mile but I am a year older too. Simply completing an event like this is considered a tremendous accomplishment, but you just had to be there.

2001 finisher

A 135-mile road race. OK, but 135 miles is longer than I had ever run. No aid stations so one would need at least a four-person crew and two vehicles. OK, I’ll get a crew. Start at 280 feet below sea level and finish at 8,340 feet including going to 5,000 feet twice for over 13,000 total feet of climb. OK, maybe I can do it. The average high temperature is 115 degrees and the low is 87 degrees. Well, now I’m scared.

For the past nine months I had thought of the Badwater 135 every day and night. I had signed up for one of the world’s toughest foot races. I bought the movie, ’Running on the Sun ’documenting the 1999 race. I had never seen such blisters, puking, and excellent runners talking incoherently. I read everything about the race and visited the race’s excellent web site at www.badwaterultra.com.

The race goes from Badwater, the lowest point in the US to the Mt. Whitney Portal through Death Valley during the hottest week of the year. Although not part of the race one can get a permit to go to the top of Mt. Whitney, at 14,494′, the highest point in the continental US.

Wow! How to do it all? The hard drive of my brain was flashing overload. The Mt. Whitney hike would take 12 to 15 hours. A difficult long day by itself but after 135 miles? I read several hiking reports and books. Mt. Whitney was considered a separate event and I packed a pack with gear just for the ascent. My pack would be ready to go at the Mt. Whitney Portal. My lottery permit was for Friday, which gave me the freedom to start as early as midnight or a practical late start of noon. With the Mt. Whitney planning out of the way I could concentrate on the Badwater 135.

Since Badwater is a road race, training was just miles of more miles. Everytime I looked at the end of my driveway there were an infinite number of roads to run but how much was enough or too much? An injury would wreck months of planning and training. Training for heat was another problem to solve. There are many ways to heat train. One method is to workout in a sauna increasing the temperature gradually to 160 degrees. Working out in a sauna to the same temperature as cooked meat didn’t sound reasonable so two weeks before the race I started wearing more clothing on my daily training runs. Starting with a black long sleeve poly top eventually I was wearing three layers of black clothing. The same gear as running at 20 degrees in the winter. The topper was the black wool stocking cap. After a few miles my brain felt like popcorn in a microwave oven. I was at my limit, if Badwater was hotter then I would be cooked.

Fluids, food, clothing, and medical gear were the main elements for race day. Clothing was easy, two sets of coolmax T shirts with black compression shorts, a few pairs of socks, one pair of NB 1220 road shoes and a Sun-Precautions desert type white hat. Exposed skin would get a coat of 30 Sunblock. The medical kit was a big bag with a variety of tapes, ointments, New Skin, needles, Band-Aids, and Succeed capsules.

We bought the food in Las Vegas. The full shopping cart had almost everything I had ever eaten at an ultra. I wasn’t sure what would taste good during the race.

Fluids were easy, ten gallons of water, two gallons of Succeed, and four liters of Coca-Cola. After adding the crew’s food and fluids we had to tie two suitcases onto the roof of the rented Ford Expedition.

By lottery I would start at 6:00 AM. Other starts were 8:00 and 10:00 AM. 6:00 AM was the coolest start but the 10:00 AM start had the advantage of knowing all the other runners’ checkpoint times.

At 6:00 AM it was 90 degrees, the sun hadn’t cleared the mountains yet to start baking Death Valley. The early miles were fun. I met a few people and played a game of leapfrog with runners and pace cars. My son, Aaron and daughter, Lorraine were crewing me for the first ten hour shift. My wife, Lorraine, son-in-law John Kulas and daughter-in-law Allison and grandsons Austin, Jordan, and Carter were back at Furnace Creek Ranch, the seventeen mile check point to cheer me on. The checkpoint was just a person with a clipboard. No stopping just a verbal acknowledgement as I ran by.

By now the race was getting a rhythm. The crew knew when I needed fluids and the temperature was rising. The next checkpoint was Stovepipe Wells at mile 42. At 118 degrees leaving Stovepipe Wells valley was slow and hot. I knew there were two runners ahead of me but couldn’t see their pace vehicles. There was no one close behind me. I was alone on the road with my pace vehicle and the heat. I won’t see another runner until dark near the Panamint Springs checkpoint.

Townes Pass summit at 4,965 feet marked the end of the long hot walk out of Stovepipe Wells. Ahead of me was six miles of steep downhill. The sun had slipped behind the West Mountains and it felt almost cool although it was 102 degrees. It was time to run. The grade was almost too steep but it felt good to be pounding down the road. My knees got a little sore so I eased up because I had only completed the easy half of the race.

Several hours ago I came up with my race plan. This race was so different with checkpoints about 25 miles apart and few major landmarks other than road signs. I was used to running from aid station to aid station four to ten miles apart. Sometimes my crew vehicle was stopping every quarter mile. The Vermont Trail 100 race popped into my mind. I had run this race in 1994 and 1995 and it was hot with miles of road running. My time averaged 21 hours for 100 miles. My plan was to complete the first 100 miles in 21 hours. I knew that the last 13 miles were all up hill and almost everyone walked to the finish line. My only problem was the 22 miles after the first 100 miles. But at least I had a goal although 100 miles was still a long way away.

As I neared Panamint Lake I could finally see the taillights of a pace car miles ahead. Supper was a seven-minute break next to Panamint Lake. The sun shining across the dry sand lakebed surrounded by pink and purple mountains was beautiful. My eyes were enjoying the beauty but the rest of my body was tired and sore. Still 100 plus degrees.

I passed Rudy Afanador a mile before Panamint Springs Resort. He was at the side of the road dressed in full whites, head down not looking good. In a few minutes he passed me just ahead of the check in but headed back to the crew vehicle after saying no one was ahead of us. A short time later wearing shorts and a singlet he repassed me in the dark speedwalking that long up hill to 5,050 feet. I would see the taillights of his crew vehicle moving further away the rest of the night. He would be the only runner I would see until the race ended.

The Darwin checkpoint at 5,050 feet was just a guy under a canopy. Easy to see if you are the only person on a dark road but my crew vehicle never saw the checkpoint. From Darwin it was a gradual 17 miles downhill. Good running. A million stars in the sky and 70 degrees. It felt almost cold, as it was a 50-degree temperature change on my body. My crew cheered me on as I hit the 100-mile mark at 21:35 hours. Not bad, only 35 minutes off my goal. The new goal was Lone Pine. The next 9 miles were gradual down hills but now my legs and back were sore. My stomach was upset, I was retching beside the road, and I could feel two blisters on my left foot. I hadn’t sat down in three hours. I told Aaron and Allison I needed a 15-minute nap but not to let me oversleep as I crawled into the back seat with my Mt. Whitney gear as a pillow. Leg pains woke me every five minutes. Aaron drained and taped my blisters. His first experience at blister repair. He reminded me later that my feet weren’t too sweet after 23 hours in the same socks. It was now dawn, I had fresh socks, taped blisters, and my stomach felt good. I was running down the road again but now I faced 11 miles of flats and the sun was heating the road up again. My body was extra sensitive to the heat and it seemed like it took forever to make any progress. Just run to the next road sign. Just run to the next road sign. My new goal. Easy to say but so hard to do when one can see a sign for miles. There were many walk breaks. Finally I arrived at the intersection that I thought was Lone Pine. When Allison said it was two more miles to the Dow Villa check point and the Whitney Portal road in Lone Pine I thought it was a cruel joke. It was a long two miles surrounded by truck traffic.

Finally I saw the turnoff to Mt. Whitney Portal road. 13 miles uphill and it was hot, over 100 degrees again. When asked how I felt I didn’t say hot anymore. Toast was my new word. I felt like I was in a toaster. I was hydrated but felt awful. I was only trudging up that long road because it was the quickest way to the finish line. It felt like the sun was baking my back and legs. Toast, just like toast in a toaster. Going through the Alabama Hills was pretty. 300 plus movies were made there. I hoped to hallucinate a few cowboys and Indians from those movies as I could have used the entertainment. We estimated it would take another 3 to 4 hours to get to the finish line. It seemed so far away but the only thing to do was to keep walking. The second crew vehicle arrived a few miles from the finish. Seeing the whole family boosted my energy. Daughter Lorraine would pace me to the finish. I joked about which was harder, running the race or taking care of three little boys. We passed a race sign that said one more mile. I was going so slowly that it felt like three miles. Eventually I could hear people clapping and ran the last 50 yards to the finish line. Chris Kostman, RD, took a few photos of my crew while I sat in a chair drinking water. 31:16:24 hours, earning a fifth place. Riding back down the mountain I yelled encouragement to a few runners but soon fell asleep, my legs would jump every few minutes reminding me of this long run. At the motel I headed for the shower and Aaron delivered a cold beer as requested days ago. I drank half a beer then flopped into bed for a short nap.

Later that night we walked across the street for beer and pizza. We ordered too much food. Before bed I double-checked my pack for the trip up Mt. Whitney. The alarm rang at 2:45 AM and we were driving to the trailhead by 3:30 AM.

We started up the trail at 4:22 AM. There were at least twenty other hikers around us. I didn’t feel bad just a little stiff and a cup of hot coffee had cleared my head. I was ready to begin another full day. I was in the middle between John and Aaron but after a while I took the rear. I was too slow. We made treeline around sunrise as planned. It was spectacular. Aaron and John had never been on a big mountain and didn’t know what to expect but now they were all smiles. Later at 13,000 feet the dull headaches would start. We summited at 11:50 AM and took all the obligatory photos. It was beautiful. The trail down was long and slow. I didn’t feel bad I just couldn’t move very fast nor accurately and there weren’t any good places to fall. We did run the last mile, as it was a wide section finishing at 5:23 PM. Just over 13 hours. I had gone from the lowest point to the highest point of the continental US in 53:50 hours. After all the months of planning and worry my race was concluded. The next day driving back along the course there wasn’t a trace of the seventy-one runners, their crews, or vehicles. Looking at the empty road I felt like it was all a desert dream.

Originally published in the Tyler (Texas) Morning Telegraph

It’s called “Running on the Sun” and I have the blisters to prove it. Actually, there was no running on my part, since I was a crew member for my friend, Paul Stone, who took on the Badwater UltraMarathon, a 135-mile race through Death Valley, Calif.

Why anyone would want to take on this challenge is unbeknownst to me. However, 71 brave souls took on the challenge of racing through one of the most unforgiving deserts in the world. As I stood at the starting line in Badwater — the lowest point in the Western Hemisphere at 282 feet below sea level — and the temperature was hovering at 108 degrees at 10 a.m., I was asking myself why am I here? Well, Stone had asked me to crew for him back in December and he said we would be stopping in Las Vegas. It’s hard to turn down a trip to Vegas. Plus, he was raising money for a charity, Living Alternatives, an organization that reaches out to young girls who are experiencing unplanned pregnancy.

Death Valley may be close in distance to the Strip, but in reality it’s light years away. A crew member’s responsibility is to take care of the runner, whether it’s giving him or her food, water, salt pills, keeping their spirits up, etc. Our crew chief was Stone’s wife, Abby, who was prepared for everything. President Bush needs her to run the country while he’s on vacation. Joining Abby and I were a delightful couple, George and Erlinda Biondic from near Toronto. It was a team effort, but the runners take on the heat and the altitude.

As Dr. Ben Jones, three-time Badwater finisher and anointed mayor of Badwater, says, “I don’t think there’s anything about it that’s good for the body.” And his wife, Denise Jones, the first lady of Badwater, told crew members to expect extreme heat, extreme exhaustion, extreme frustration at times, extreme confusion and extreme joy — when’s it’s over. How right she was.

After the start at Badwater, the racers go about 41 miles past Furnace Creek and the sand dunes to Stovepipe Wells. Then it’s uphill — about 18 miles and 5,000-feet — to Townes Pass. In the middle of the night at Towne Pass, eight or so crews gathered, much as troops who had battled that day and were preparing for the next assault. That’s followed by 31 miles downhill to Panamint Springs Resort, back up 3,400 feet to Father Crowley’s Point — a dangerous narrow path — and back down again toward Lone Pine, Calif., a quaint resort area at the foot of the Sierra Nevada Mountains. The race then concludes with 13 miles up to 8,400 feet on Mount Whitney.

I’m tired again just writing about it.

Through the heat, dust storms, bats, laughs and cries, our runner finished. Stone finished the run in 37 hours, 51 minutes and 21 seconds. He received the Most Improved Award by finishing some 15 hours better than his 2000 finish (53:21.20). Taking first place was Michael Trevino of San Diego in 28:18.12. The top female finisher was Anne Langstaff, a 40-year-old personal trainer and exotic dancer from El Cajon, Calif. She finished in 40:13.21.

It’s a unique race in that the length is more than five marathons and there’s three ascensions on the route as you begin below sea level and end up a little over halfway up Mount Whitney at 8,400 feet. As we baked under the 121-degree heat, I asked Stone why couldn’t he at least pick a run in Alaska or Hawaii? It’s ironic you can feel so close to God in that environment, which has such sites as Dante’s View, the Devil’s Golf Course and the Devil’s Cornfield.

Night is the most breathtaking of all. The stars are big and bright deep in the heart of Texas, but no where have I felt like I could reach up and grab the Big Dipper. And I’ve never seen so many shooting stars. Abby and I counted 23 and I made a wish each time. As we neared the finish line, a crew member of Mark Henderson’s squad, a fellow Texan from Houston, told us a bear was ahead. Mount Whitney is known for its bear activity. We had come 134 miles and I told Stone either I was running over the bear (I wouldn’t have done it animal lovers) or he could just run around or over it, because we had come too far to stop now. Luckily, the bear disappeared and Stone crossed the finish line as the temperature gauge read 61.

It was quite an achievement. Of the 71 runners who began, 55 finished. Why people do this run, I still don’t understand completely, but I do understand trying to meet the challenge. There’s people like Chris Moon, a former British soldier who lost an arm and leg when he was volunteering with an organization to defuse land mines around the world. Moon used a prosthetic arm and leg and finished at 53:47.07. He met the challenge. Or someone like Rick Nawrocki of Torrance, Calif., who, despite battling cancer and having a recent stem cell transplant, finished in 51:51.08. He met the challenge. The competition is testing oneself and your limits and not against each other. The encouragement you hear is very inspiring. Quite an experience.

2002 finisher 

Click here for Angela’s training advice.

Click here for the National Public Radio coverage of Angela’s experience. 

2001 Finisher

My Account of Badwater starts 2 weeks before the race. I had a hard time sleeping I hate tapering! So I started reading the book to the Edge by Kirk Johnson I thought it was an awesome tribute to ultra running, a friend bought it for me. I didn’t want to read to the Edge (the book) or see Running on the Sun (the movie) before running Badwater, I thought that it might make me too nervous. But after reading Kirk’s writings it had a calming effect on me. I thought of Kirk running Badwater not me, which worked out great.

23 July Monday

Barb drove me to Enterprise Rental car to pick up our Van; Enterprise buffed us up by giving us a big discount (thanks). We were suppose to get a mini Van but they had a large number of 1 ton Chevy white Vans on their lot, just what we needed. I drove the mega Van home and Mark McKinney met me at our house to take out the Van seats and put the ice chests in. Barb, Mark and I went to Albertson’s and did the last minute shopping.

That evening Barb cut up fruit and I baked potatoes, I used a syringe with a big gauge needle to inject Soy sauce into the potatoes (a trick that Barbara Elia taught me). We finally got to bed about 10:00pm.

24 July Tuesday

4:00am our morning started, Barb and I loaded the remaining food into the ice chests and waited for Mark, Elaina and Chris to arrive. We left about 6:00am and dropped the Explorer over Mitch’s. The plan was for Mitch to drive the Explorer to Panamint Springs Wednesday after work so we could have a backup vehicle at Badwater. We had Breakfast at Denny’s (a BIG breakfast) and left Ridgecrest with big bellies, I remained silently nervous.

We arrived Death Valley about 9:00am, we parked the Van under a large tree and stenciled my name and race number on all 4 sides. We checked into our room about noon and unloaded the necessities. We had lunch and I had my first Portabella Mushroom Sandwich, maybe it helped me during the run maybe not. Barb, Chris, Elaina and I attended the 2:00pm meeting, we saw all the runners (I was silently bubbling over). Chris and I went to the pool while Barb and Elaina attended the blister care/prevention class given by Denise Jones. They started performing their magical taping act on my feet as soon as they got back to the room. Barb, Chris and I decided to get a bite to eat so we headed to the restaurant and had a Lemon Meringue pie. After the snack we picked up some ice to top off the ice chests for the days ahead. Barb and Elaina cut fruit for the run and videotaped the fun. We finally went to bed at 9:30pm, I slept well just had to pee every hour (hydrated to the max). Barb got up at 4:00am the rest of the crew followed, I slept in as long as I could.

25-27 July Wednesday-Friday

We left for the start of Badwater at 5:00am, there were really bright stars in the dark sky. I felt that the stars were eyes of my family and friends watching my progress, it was a weird nervous time for me.

When we arrived the air was warm and felt humid, the temperature was about 96 degrees. My Crew and I walked down to the Badwater lakebed and looked up at the mountain wall. Elaina asked what was on the side of the wall? I told her a sign that said sea level, we all said “WOW”. After a long series of pictures the race started. I fast hiked the first 2 to 3 miles and got my head together for the task at hand. I started relaxing and got into my game plan, simply “be smooth, steady, efficient and methodical”. I saw Ben Jones about mile 3; the Mayor of Badwater was clapping for me and said I was smart for starting out slow, I felt good.

The mountains opened up and I was in the sun for the first of many miles, Mark joined me in the sun about mile 8. We ran to Stovepipe Wells together through the toughest part of the course. I ate really good throughout the Valley which consisted of Strawberries, Kiwi, Bananas, Water Melon, Honey Dew Melon, Cantaloupe, Slimfast (Creamy Chocolate), Grilled Chicken with Swiss Cheese wrapped around it, Spinach Tortillas with Macaroni & Cheese and Tuna (my secret weapon). The Valley was starting to heat up a bit; I started catching up to some of the runners who had started faster than me. One of my fellow runners that I caught up to at mile 30 was Chris Moon, an extremely tough guy. He’s a double amputee from England and you can read his bio at http://www.badwaterultra.com/.

I arrived at Stovepipe Wells about 4:30pm and changed into Teva running sandals. Elaina took over from Mark and we headed up Townes Pass. My Back started to feel a little stressed from the Tevas so I ditched them and put my original New Balance back on. I started feeling a little nauseous, so I ate 3 Rolaids and wolfed down a zip lock baggie of Mac & Cheese while hiking up to the Pass. Elaina said we had passed Marshall Ulrich, he’s a Badwater legend doing the first quad crossing. He had already ran from Badwater to the top of Whitney and back to Badwater. He started his second trip with me and would be going up and back again. Read his bio at http://www.badwaterultra.com/.

I didn’t see him so in my mind he was still in front of me (I’ll explain later). We had fun watching the sun set, I looked at my thermometer it was 118 degrees. Three quarters of the way up the pass 2 friends from Ridgecrest showed up, Tom Miller and Phil Martin. It was great to see them, I thanked them for coming out. We got to the top about 11:00pm, at the top I had a bowl of Chicken Noodle Soup and did a Blair Witch imitation as well as a Slimfast commercial for the video camera.

Mister Chris Rios took over as pacer and we were off. We told ghost stories and looked at the Milky Way. The downhill was steep so we fast walked or should I say fall forward. We met a fellow runner who had bad blisters and a sleepy crew (I don’t think he finished). We arrived at Panamint Springs about 2:30am 72 miles, I used the facilities and Eric the Master Kajiwara and I were off. Eric, Jo and Mitch were with me now as part of the new crew.

The second mountain range was hard going but I had some fun at about 4:30am. I saw what I thought was a cement road divider in the middle of the road. I asked Eric if there was a road on the other side of the road divider and he kind of looked over to where I was talking about and said “no” then I said, “you didn’t even look”. I went to the middle of the road put my hands on the road divider to look over it and almost fell on my face as the road divider was a hallucination and it just melted into the road. At mile 80, 5:30am I sat down for the first time and took care of blisters on my toes. I cut a small hole to drain them and put Liquid Bandage on them, I woke up fast (it’s more like liquid hornet). At the same time my feet were being doctored up a couple of photographers drove by from New Times a LA weekly paper. They took pictures of my feet, my crew, and my Tattoo on my ankle. Most ultra runners experience renewed vigor as the sun comes up I didn’t, I couldn’t keep my eye’s opened. I asked for a 5-minute nap and was told that I should try ice instead, it didn’t work but the sleepiness wore off down the road. On the second morning the sun was hot so I put the sun suit back on, it was a little crunchy from the day before. Eric and I were running and walking strong, when all of a sudden a giant flying bug from hell arrived. Eric tried to swat the beast but it stayed just ahead of his deadly blows. Finally he made contact, we heard a thump on the ground but didn’t see the monster. We both agreed that Eric kicked the crap out of him and he wouldn’t return after such an ass whooping. WRONG the monster returned and attacked with such ferocity that Eric had to whip out all his ninja skills. He hit the beast on the first blow with his hat, the giant flying bug was now knocking at heavens door as Eric threw the final deadly blow. The giant flying bug was gone, but the fun of watching Eric battle the beast was spectacular. However as the battle between Eric and the bug was in progress the Crew in the Van got an eye full of what they thought was going on. They thought Eric was trying to motivate me to go on by beating me with his hat, they couldn’t believe their eyes.

At mile 90 Barb took over as pacer. Barb and I had a great time talking, we ran downhill until my feet started to tell me something was wrong. Both my legs ached to the bone, I hadn’t complained to any of the crew and I didn’t want to start with my sweetheart. I did complain and she said that she’d ice my feet at the next stop which was 100 miles, I said GREAT. I stopped at mile 100 with a time of 29:52 (better than Angeles Crest 100), Barb iced my feet and I pulled the tape I had been wearing for the last 100 miles back to expose the blister. I had a deep blister on the ball of my right foot. It was difficult to cut a hole in it so I had to stick a needle in it, lift and then cut. Mitch helped me drain it, then my favorite wake up call was added “Liquid Bandage”.

Mitch and I started out walking, my feet and legs felt great after taking care of the blister. We saw the switchbacks going to the Portals, it looked awesome 35 miles away so we started to run. Mitch and I had fun calculating out miles per hour and estimating how long it would take us to get to Keeler. I liked every step I took because I was in unknown territory, anything over a 100 miles was new ground and it felt good to run.

Jo and I started out mile 110, Jo was so careful to make sure a car wouldn’t hit me. She had her hand at the ready to push me out of harms way (all the pacers insured that I wouldn’t get hit, Jo was just a little more assertive). John Anderson showed up about 2 or 3 miles from 395 with his son Mike and 2 pots of Casa Java coffee. He said he would get me a hamburger in Lone Pine. Jo and I left the Van and I was looking forward to getting into Lone Pine, I had to use the facilities. As we were moving along I noticed a coin on the road; I pointed at it (I couldn’t verbalize). Jo picked it up and we found out it was an Italian coin (nice snag), I’ll place it with all my Badwater memorabilia.

We got to Highway 395 and Elaina and I started out, I reminded her that I needed to use the facilities. We stopped at the Alabama Hills Hotel and asked the Clerk where the bathroom was located, he said around the corner. I looked around the corner and there was no bathroom, I thought maybe he got a whiff of my two day old body odor and decided he’d not tell me the exact location. Anyway while I was looking for the facilities Elaina saw a guy with a 5K T-shirt on and said you’re a runner, aren’t you? He said “yes” and then she said do you have a room here? And he said “yes” again, then she asked if he would help out a fellow runner by letting me use his bathroom. And he said “sure”, I entered his room and there were 2 other guys in the room unpacking their clothes (they had just arrived). The 5K guy explained to his friends what was going on as I used the facilities, I apologized and thanked all as I exited.

Now I was totally happy entering into Lone Pine, I could see the last check point the Dow Villa. As I got closer I saw the silhouette of a Boxer dog; I asked Elaina if she saw a Boxer dog and she said yes. I knew I wasn’t hallucinating, it was my dog Murphy. My daughter Mandie along with her husband Jacob, my granddaughters Katie and Hope Joy and Jakie my grandson had come to see me finish. I didn’t know they’d be there, it was a really big happy moment. I checked into the Dow Villa and hugged my family and greeted Lisa and Glen Bennett from the track club.

Elaina and I headed for the Portals Road and a long pit stop. I wanted to check my feet, eat a burger and talk with friends and family. My stay was cut short; I didn’t feel good so I decided to leave. 2 miles down the road, 11 miles from the finish I started to shake, I felt like I had a fever, nausea, headache and body aches, I didn’t think I was going to finish. I held Barb and told her I needed to lie down she threw a blanket on the side of the road and I laid down for about 10 minutes. My shakes stopped so I stretched my legs and said, “let’s go”.

Eric and I headed out; I forgot my water bottle so Chris Rios sprinted from the Van to us. I must have felt better because I was laughing at how fast Chris was running. Now remember way back at Townes Pass I said that I didn’t see Marshall Ulrich when Elaina said we passed him, well I still thought he was in front of me and I was so inspired by his tenacity that I started to feel stronger every step I took. I knew I was going to finish! My crew decided that they were going to switch out pacers every 2 miles so they could enjoy the last couple of miles with me. 2 miles from the finish I opened a can of Whoop Ass, it’s a beverage to boost your energy. I took a sip; it tasted like crap to me (Barb drank it down).

1 mile to go, Barb was with me. Eric, Jo, Chris, Mitch, Elaina and Mark walked down to join me on the final journey. I finished in 43:36:20, 1:36am Friday morning and fell on the ribbon holding girl Elisabeth.

Originally I decided to do the race to challenge my body and mind. This is better than that; my Grandchildren will pass this on forever.

I want to thank my lovely wife and best friend Barb, she supported me throughout the whole enchilada. My Crew Elaina McMahon, Eric and Jo Kajiwara, Chris Rios, Andrew Mitchell and Mark McKinney, I couldn’t have done it without you guys “THANKS!” I also want to thank Ben and Denise Jones, 2 very special people, and Chris Kostman the Race Director for putting on such a top shelf event.