2000 finisher

L’AVANT COURSE

Vendredi 21: Départ de Roissy CDG 2 vers 17h avec 1h00 de retard (surbooking oblige), nous avons évité le transit par Montreal moyennant une ristourne de 1 000 F. Le seul problème était qu’il n’y avait pas de correspondance avec Boston pour Las Vegas.

Arrivée à Boston à 18h(HL). Départ vers Las Vegas à 21h. Cette fois ci 1h30 de retard à cause des embouteillages au décollage. Après 6h30 de vol, arrivée à Las Vegas (HL: 23h30). Une récupération rapide des bagages, nous sommes déjà entourés de multiples machines à sous. Un transfert en shuttle vers la station de location du véhicule. Prise en main du Blazer 6 places, V6 climatisé qui nous sera précieux tout au long de ce périple. Maryse après quelques essais tâtonne de la boîte automatique.

Précision concernant mon équipe d’assistance(j’y reviendrai):

Mon épouse, Isabelle, Maryse et Pascal. Ils seront tous un atout précieux dans la réussite de ma course.
Samedi 22: Arrivée au Motel 6 à deux pas de l’aéroport. Il est 0h00, quelques 30° et Las Vegas nous présente ses casinos. 8h00 avec Pascal, jogging de décrassage dans L.V, impressionnant, les casinos sont ouverts. Quelques joggers matinaux, mais surtout des joueurs en pleine action. On ne différencie pas les attardés de la nuit des lève-tôt. La journée se poursuivra par un premier contact avec L.V et les emplettes nécessaires au déroulement de la course (vivres, glacière, parasol, boissons, etc…). Une première soirée au Luxor nous permettra de gagner quelques dollars.

Dimanche 23: Après un rapide mais frugal petit-déjeuner à l’américaine nous prenons la route vers le Grand Canyon. Quelques 500 km à une allure de tortue (vitesse limitée oblige). Nous passons par le Lake Mead, le barrage Hoover Dam au pied du Colorado, un détour par la mythique Route 66 et halte le soir dans un motel de l’Arizona à Flagstaff. Quelques bières au saloon, ambiance très Ouest américain, une forte transition avec Las Vegas.

Lundi 24 : Visite du Grand Canyon et des réserves indiennes Navajos (très touristique, mais les paysages sont grandioses). Après le déjeuner, retour vers L.V, nos femmes sont pressées de se mesurer aux machines dévoreuses de Quarters (pièces de 14 de Dollar). Une panne d’essence évitée de très peu a failli perturber notre retour à Las Vegas. Il faut savoir qu’aux USA l’essence coûte 3 F le litre (vendue au Gallon soit 3,8 L) mais que les stations sont espacées de 150 km (il faut donc être très prudent). Le soir prise de possession de nos chambres au motel La Quinta Inn en plein centre de L.V, coincé entre le New York et le Monte Carlo. Un rapide bain à la piscine du motel (l’eau est à même température que l’extérieur) et transit vers le casino de l’Excalibur.

Mardi 25_: Changement de décor, en route pour la Death Valley « Vallée de la Mort », les choses sérieuses vont débuter, il va falloir dès à présent rentrer dans la « logique et l’état d’esprit de la course à venir » !
Après une transition monotone de 4h via la Highway 95 et un premier contact avec la Vallée de la Mort, nous arrivons à Furnace Creek. Nous trouvons le seul îlot de verdure au milieu du désert. Le Ranch nous accueille avec son golf (le plus bas du monde:18 trous équipé d’un gazon à l’anglaise à moins 50 m sous le niveau de la mer), son saloon, sa poste, son «supermarket», sa piscine et ses chambres climatisées 4 étoiles. Compte-tenu de ces conditions très balnéaires, il est difficile d’imaginer que dans 36 h va débuter l’une des épreuves d’ultra distance la plus difficile qu’il existe à ce jour. L’après-midi se déroulera par une première revue du matériel de course avec Pascal, une soirée avec Gégé Verdenet, ce vieux dinosaure et compagnon d’aventures (Maroc, Népal, Colorado, Mauritanie Spartathlon, etc…..). Nos routes se sont également croisées à des dates différentes dans d’autres épreuves (Marathon des sables, Guyane, Réunion, New York). Nos routes seront encore parallèles en Novembre prochain en Jordanie et peut-être en 2001 au Japon.

Mercredi 26: Après un solide petit déjeuner, matinée détente au golf. Pascal et Maryse y excellent (ils sont classés). Isa conduit le véhicule (elle n’a pas son permis et vient de quitter Europcar: cherchez l’erreur???). Après-midi: Briefing avec l’ensemble des coureurs. C’est long et en américain. Rien de plus que sur le road-book, si ce n’est la rencontre des autres coureurs (dont certains rencontrés au cours de mes différents raids).

Les 5 français: Yves Pallardy (Guyane 1999 et Mauritanie 1999), Thierry Poupard (Spartathlon 1998), Gégé Verdenet cité plus haut, Jean-Paul Mazaud, un expatrié qui habite aux USA depuis 22 ans et moi-même. Perception des dossards, casquette, tee-shirt et de 24 bouteilles de Gatorade qui seront très précieuses et appréciées durant la course. Photo avec tout les coureurs et retour à l’hôtel pour les derniers préparatifs (il faut badger le véhicule: nom et numéro de dossard du coureur et bien sur logo des sponsors) et moments de détente: Piscine et solide soirée « pâtes ». La nuit, comme la précédente, me permet de faire le plein de sommeil. Mon habitude des raids me permet de ne plus avoir la pression et le stress connus de beaucoup.

LA COURSE

Jeudi 27 : Réveil:5h00. Pascal est déjà à pied d’ oeuvre: véhicule chargé avec une précision d’horloger, pas un centimètre de perdu dans l’espace du véhicule (ma couchette est même prête). Un maximum de bagages sur le toit pour dégager l’intérieur. Ils me serviront d’ailleurs de point de repère pendant la course pour reconnaître au loin mon véhicule. Petit déjeuner rapide, quelques photos au petit jour avant le trajet vers la ligne de départ distante de 30 km. Mon équipe, avec le tee-shirt aux logos de mes sponsors, est prête sous le regard d’un magnifique corbeau à Furnace Creek (ruisseau de la fournaise): joli présage!

L’équipe d’assistance:
Chaque coureur, règlement oblige, se doit d’avoir au minimum une équipe d’assistance de 2 personnes et d’un véhicule d’accompagnement.

Raisons: L’organisation ne met pas d’assistance et de postes de ravitaillement sur le parcours. Compte tenu des conditions dans la Vallée de la Mort (T°,distance), une bourgade tous les 50 km (une pompe à essence, saloon, mini market), partir seul serait un suicide.

M’accompagnent:
Isabelle, mon épouse: ce sera sa première expérience dans ce domaine d’assistance longue durée (elle connaît néanmoins La Réunion et New York). Elle sera l’appui logistique (scripte, interprète, photos, etc…). Maryse et Pascal: des amis rencontrés en 1994 lors du super marathon du Colorado. Ils sont habitués des raids (Colorado, Grand raid de la Réunion et deux marathons des sables pour Pascal). Ils connaissent donc les divers aléas et contraintes physique et morale que rencontrent un ultra runner. Ils se relaieront au volant pendant 48h et assureront l’intendance (ravitaillement en liquide, nourriture, arrosage, soins). Tous trois par ailleurs assureront mon soutien moral et galoperons souvent à mes côtés. Une équipe soudée et rodée est une des clés de la réussite de cette course. Je recommande donc aux futurs Badwatermen et women de bien choisir leur équipe qui ne doit pas défaillir. Une assistance de trois personnes est le bon choix (capacité d’un seul véhicule) et toujours 2 personnes sur le pont (la troisième peut se reposer, courir ou avoir une défaillance: par exemple, coup de chaleur pour Isabelle la première journée). Mon équipe sera à mes côtés du premier au dernier km. Quel plaisir de faire un raid sans avoir à gérer ces problèmes d’intendance et de pouvoir se consacrer à sa seule course et à l’écoute de son corps qui sera durement sollicité.

Badwater: 7h00. Nous arrivons au départ de la course. Altitude:-80 m sous le niveau de la mer, c’est le point le plus bas des USA. Je pars avec la vague de 8h. Sur 80 coureurs sélectionnés, 70 prennent le départ en 3 vagues (6h/8h/10h). La raison de ces départs échelonnés: 80 coureurs avec véhicules d’assistance et organisation pourrait créer un embouteillage monstre dans la Death Valley. Les partants de 6h que nous avons croisé sont légèrement avantagés (ils courent deux heures de plus au frais) quand je prend le départ il fait déjà 42°. M’accompagnent dans cette vague les autres concurrents français sauf Yves partant à 10h. 5 français parmi 50 américains et 15 autres européens ou asiatiques. En 1999, 2 français ont participé pour la première fois à cette épreuve. Bien que sélectionné pour cette précédente édition, j’ai du laissé ma place à l’un d’eux (cause: budget non-alloué). Je ne regrette pas ce report car il a pu me faire bénéficier de l’expérience trans-mauritanienne en Décembre dernier: La course la plus longue connue à ce jour, 323 km non stop dans le désert où je finirai 4è en 61h30.

8h00: Après les derniers préparatifs et photos, départ au côté de Gégé Verdenet. Nous courons l’un devant l’autre. Courir côte à côte n’est pas autorisé, idem pour les accompagnants. Cherchez la raison? Je pars rapidement ce qui est contraire à mes habitudes. Au bout de quelques km aux environ de Mushroom Rock(Rocher champignon) Pascal me rappelle à l’ordre et me conseille de ralentir ce que je fais, mais je paierai rapidement cet écart. A 10h, coup de pompe, Gégé s’éloigne, j’avance avec difficulté. Je vois au loin Furnace Creek au 30è km et premier point de contrôle. J’y arrive à 11h15 et suis contraint à un arrêt de 45mn pour me refaire. Je laisse filer Gégé qui a mieux géré ce départ.

12h00: Il fait maintenant 49°, nous sommes toujours sur la première portion plate du parcours. Je marche rapidement comme à mon habitude (7 km/h). Pascal a lui aussi pris le rythme de me ravitailler et de m’arroser régulièrement. Le véhicule d’assistance a pris le rythme du yoyo avec le coureur.

15h00: Je rejoins Gégé aux environ de Devil’s cornfield (champs de blé du diable).Il fait une halte, refuse toute nourriture et commence à souffrir de crampes. Je connais bien cette vieille carcasse qui saura surmonter ce passage à vide. Je repars à la même allure. Il fait maintenant 53°,à ma droite d’immenses dunes de sable qui rappellent mes précédentes courses en Afrique. Après Salt Creek (ruisseau de sel) pas une goutte d’eau ,mon prochain but est Stove Pipe (tuyau de poêle), 2è contrôle au 60è km. J’y arrive à 18h00. J’ai décidé d’une halte de 1h pour reconstituer les réserves avant d’attaquer la première nuit que j’espère fraîche et la première ascension de 1 500 m sur 25 km. Après soupe, pâtes, salade de fruits et café je repars à 19h00; Gégé arrive, il souffre toujours de crampes (il sera contraint à un arrêt de 2h00 et reprendra la route au top, il a su à son habitude gérer ce mauvais passage) .

21h40: au terme du deuxième marathon, la T° est redescendue à 39°, je m’arrête 2h dont 1h de sommeil. Quelques km d’ascension et j’entame la longue descente qui me mènera au petit jour à Panamint Springs: troisième point de contrôle au 115è km. Cette longue nuit me permettra d’avoir en alternance Pascal et Maryse à mes côtés. Ce qui n’empêchera pas mon équipe de me perdre quelques temps (je les ai doublé en pleine discussion, ils ne m’ont pas vu passer et surpris, un peu affolés, s’inquiétèrent de mon absence. Ils me rejoignent rapidement craignant pour moi un manque d’eau, heureusement c’est la nuit et il ne fait plus que 26°)

Vendredi 28
6h00: Panamint, arrêt de 50 mn pour un solide petit déjeuner et un peu de repos, les muscles commencent à être douloureux mais ni ampoules ni tendinites. Je viens de doubler JP Mazaud qui prenait un peu de repos. T Poupard, quant à lui a 5h d’avance sur moi qu’il conservera jusqu’à l’arrivée. Bravo, j’avais fini devant lui en Grèce.

7h00: J’entame la deuxième difficulté de cette épreuve:30 km de montée (1 500 m) cette fois ci sous le soleil. Au passage des 24h00 j’aurai parcouru 128 km, il en reste 90. Très longue montée jusqu’à la côte 5 000 pieds quasiment seul, les autres concurrents sont épars, seule mon équipe est là et les encouragements des quelques véhicules croisés. Après quelques arrêts de _ h toute les 2 h sous le parasol, je fais une halte de 1 h vers midi à Darwin lieu du 4è contrôle pour recharger les batteries en sucres lents (merci les lyophilisés). Je repars alors pour une longue route de 50 km vers Lone Pine (200è km). Longue après midi monotone sous un ciel assombri par les violents incendies qui sévissent derrière la chaîne montagneuse de la Sierra Nevada. Ils auront l’avantage de tempérer la chaleur (Maximum ce deuxième jour: 40°). Vers 19h00 aux environs de Keeler longeant l’Owens Lake (asséché), j’avance comme un zombie dormant debout. Je décide d’un arrêt de 1 h dont 15mn de sommeil en demandant à Pascal de me remettre en forme en 60 mn. Soin des pieds (juste 2 ampoules), mais de fortes douleurs vertébrales dues à l’agressivité du bitume à 70°. Soupe, sommeil, café et je repars très frais pour cette dernière portion. Pascal l’accomplira à mes côtés: quelle reprise! Il vient de signer avec Maryse sa prochaine participation au raid de la Réunion en 2001, je n’arrive pas à le convaincre pour la Jordanie en Novembre. Il aura je pense parcouru quelques 100 km à mes côtés, Maryse à peu près 25 et Isa son premier galop dans la Death Valley. Je dépasse de nouveau JP Mazaud que je ne reverrai plus.

A 23h00, j’arrive à Lone Pine, dernier contrôle. Depuis le départ de Keeler, j’ai dépassé le «seuil de la douleur». J’ai déjà connu cette sensation en Mauritanie, en Grèce et à la Réunion après de nombreuses heures de course. Je n’ai pas encore trouvé l’ explication (mental, physique). Le corps humain a des ressources formidables dès l’instant où le mental prend le dessus. Après 15mn d’arrêt, j’attaque la dernière montée de 1 500 m sous une température idéale (27°), nous finirons au sommet par 18°. Maryse commence l’ascension à mes côtés. Pascal prend le relais et n’ accepte pas de voir quelques coureurs à mes côtés et surtout devant moi. Nous allons enchaîner cette ascension à une allure d’enfer (3h25’ pour faire 20 km), oubliant douleurs, ampoules éclatées qui ont rendu l’âme. Avec ce forçing, je gagne 5 places au général. Faisant fi des recommandations de prudence de nos femmes nous accélérons le rythme. Pascal et moi sommes euphoriques, est-ce l’attrait de la niche? Plutôt notre mental!

Samedi 28 : 2h10: Maryse nous annonce 2 miles de l’arrivée (soit 3,2km). Je passerai donc sous mon objectif des 48h00 (temps pour être buckler; les moins de 60h sont finisher). Je finirai cette montée et cette course à 2h40 en 42h40, 14è et 2è français. Mon ami Gégé, contraint à une halte prolongée à Lone Pine indépendante de sa volonté, finira au matin en 50h30 suivi de peu par Yves à 30mn, Mazaud intercalé en 44h17 et Poupard devant moi en 35h43 à la 8è place, les 5 frenchies ont terminé cette épreuve: Rien à envier au 11 tricolores !!! La bière fraîche à l’arrivée et la médaille (seule récompense) m’attendent. Je prendrai une deuxième Budweiser.

3h00: descente vers Lone Pine, recherche d’un motel pour finir cette nuit ou commencer cette journée. Après quelques heures de repos et un petit déjeuner, nous décidons de remonter à l’arrivée aux portes du Mont Whitney. Cette montée nous donne l’occasion de voir les coureurs suivants dans cette dernière ascension. Je suis heureux de l’avoir faite de nuit sans ce sommet en point de mire. Nous croisons Gégé qui redescend, il est en forme. Yves finit cette ascension au train en compagnie de son épouse. Je ne reverrai pas JP Mazaud ni T Poupard après la course. Une après midi à la piscine de l’hôtel pour reposer l’organisme principalement musculaire, un repos au soleil pour l’équipe qui doit récupérer également, quelques bières au saloon local, une réunion de quelques coureurs à 18h00 et la course est déjà oubliée. Place à la prochaine course (Jordan Cup en Novembre) mais surtout aux casinos de Las Vegas qui nous attendent pour l’après course.

Remerciements à mes différents partenaires qui m’ont soutenu pour cette épreuve.

L’APRES COURSE

Dimanche30:
Après un dernier breakfast avec l’équipe d’organisation et quelques coureurs encore présents à Lone Pine, nous verrons à cette occasion arriver à ces 20 km de l’arrivée la dernière concurrente qui bouclera en77h05 hors classement, mais félicitations pour ce courage.
Nous repartons pour Las Vegas. Ce retour nous donnera l’occasion de faire le parcours en sens inverse. C’est lors de ce trajet inverse que j’ai pris conscience des véritables difficultés de cette épreuve. Hormis la chaleur, car nous avons cette fois-ci la clim, et la rudesse du bitume (nous avons les amortisseurs), les longues lignes droites, les montées interminables représentent véritablement les particularités de cette course. Je ne conseille pas aux futurs coureurs de faire un repérage avant l’épreuve. Un déjeuner au typique et sympathique saloon de Shoshone (très bonne adresse;en fait une des seules de la Death Valley, on vous y sert directement dans la poêle et l’excellent vin de Californie se boit dans des pots de confiture…). Notre retour vers Las Vegas s’effectue en fin d’après midi, nous retrouvons La Quinta Inn et sa piscine accueillante. Nous passerons la soirée en compagnie de Gégé et de son équipe au New York au milieu des machines à sous et du club de jazz ou règne une ambiance d’enfer.

Lundi 31 juillet et ,Mardi 1er août:
Ces deux derniers jours nous verront arpenter Las Vegas et ses casinos, claudiquer serait le terme à employer car j’ai d’énormes difficultés à suivre mon équipe qui elle a parfaitement récupéré. Est-ce l’appât du gain? Ils sont aimantés aux machines à sous (surtout nos épouses!). En fait nous jouerons longtemps sans perdre , voire revenir avec quelques dollars qui seront investis jusqu’aux portes d’embarquement. Notre retour sur un Los Angeles-Paris direct en 11H par le nouveau service Air France nous donnera l’occasion de récupérer en partie. Quant à moi ma récupération sera plus longue:

• Musculairement:RAS
• Ligaments, tendons:RAS

Par contre toujours ces douleurs vertébrales qui nécessiteront quelques séances chez mon ostéopathe: cervicales et dorsales déplacées et lombaires légèrement tassées. Donc repos intégral pendant un mois (sauf un écart parapente le 15 août), reprise par du VTT, mais plus envie de courir pour l’instant (cela me le fait après chaque raid). Réserves énergétiques à zéro. Comme d’habitude j’ai besoin de reconstituer ce que j’ai perdu en course. Cette fois-ci 3 kg contre 2 habituellement. Sommeil:une durée de 10 heures par nuit ne me fait pas peur.

Deux mois avant la Jordanie ne seront pas de trop. Cette prochaine course sera à gérer différemment: 170 km non stop dans le désert pour une arrivée à Petra. Autosuffisance (sauf contrôle et point d’eau chaque 20 km). Soit portage d’un sac de 3kg (vivres de course, matériel de survie, pharmacie, couchage), plus l’eau.

Cette épreuve ne me fait pas peur compte tenu de ces dernières expériences. J’aurai l’occasion d’y retrouver pour le plaisir mes vieux compagnons de raid. Cette épreuve se situera plus vers une préparation des saisons à venir (si sponsors présents), à savoir:

2001
Japon : La course des Cerisiers (220 km non stop)
Norvège : Le Raid des Trolls (raid à étapes)
Réunion : La Diagonale des Fous (125 km non stop-4è participation)

2002
Un seul projet majeur. «Une 555» – Alain Gestin, qui m’a appelé à mon retour de la Badwater, confirme mettre en place une course réservée aux «élite runners» comme il les surnomme: Pourquoi? Désert de Mauritanie, non stop, balise et GPS obligatoires, autosuffisance pendant 555 km et recherche des points d’eau. J’espère pour lui et pour nous que son projet aboutira.

2000 Badwater Ultramarathon Official Finisher

During the post race ceremonies, Errol Jones was gracious enough to call on me to say a few words about the race. Since it was on the spur of the moment. I hadn’t had time to reflect and say what I thought. Like how I learned where Errol got the nickname “Rocket.” I knew Errol from the 1996 Badwater race as well as other races and his many ultrarunning accomplishments. The saga begins at sun up on the second day coming down from Townes Pass a couple of miles from the midway point in the race, 67 miles, near the Panamint Valley floor. Earlier that night, Errol’s crew had stopped by me and asked if I had seen him so I knew he was in the vicinity. Just then, I turned around and he came running up behind me. He opened the conversation by saying that he was having a bad day. He was somewhat incoherent and that, in my best calculations, was it possible to finish the race in under 48 hours since we would be at the half way point in over 24 hours. He knew that he could finish the race in the allotted time but was concerned that he would be subjecting himself to needless suffering if he didn’t make the 48 hours. Well, I said I’ve had a bad day, also, but that we would probably have to get to Owens Valley to get a better idea. That comment met with a moment of silence. At that point, we changed the subject and continued on. Nearing the half way point, I ran over to my support vehicle and took a drink of something awful, turned around, and Errol was gone … like a rocket. I looked down the road and saw a tiny figure off in the distance. Then, one of Errol’s crew ran up next to me and we chatted momentarily. But, he said, I got to go and catch that guy and stop him or he’ll kill himself. With that, he took off and as far as I could see, Errol out paced him and beat him to Panamint Springs. I stopped briefly at Panamint where Errol had decided to take a break. Then continued on thinking, hoping that Errol would be catching up with me. At the Darwin turn off, I looked back over my shoulder and didn’t see him … nor a sign of his support vehicle. At the start of Owens Valley, where we were to recalculate our pace, I looked over my shoulder one more time, this time with a tear in my eye thinking, knowing that the Demons must have gotten him. If they didn’t, he surely would be hear by now. My thoughts changed abruptly when a vehicle stopped in front of me and out jumped Denise Jones. She came running over to me saying “you devil you … I knew I would see you running again,” and at that, gave me a big hug of encouragement. With that, I told my son who was crewing at the time … “throw away the Tylenol … I won’t need it anymore … the end is in sight”. On the way down from the finish line, there was Errol on his way up. I immediately stopped and offered what words of encouragement I could. It was a time of real joy. Like seeing someone come back to life. Like I really knew deep down that he would never quit. My congratulations to all who participated in the race.

A very special congratulation goes out to Erika Gerhardt. I had the pleasure of getting acquainted with her this past spring when Denise put he in touch with me because we live “next door” to each other … like Wisconsin and Minnesota and I might be able to offer her some tips on hot weather training in a cold climate. We also had an opportunity to do a 50-mile and 100-mile trail race together. In the months that followed, we spent much time e-mailing and brainstorming the Badwater race. I was very saddened the second night of the race when she stepped out of her vehicle and said that she was no longer in the race. The energy she gave me then surely helped me make it to the finish. The following day, I learned from Denise that she had encouraged Erika to go back out and finish the race. It was her attitude that the race is not over until it’s over that kept her going. After the post-race meeting, I went out and joined her on the course for about 5 miles. She had plenty of support and seemed to be having a grand old time. Early the next morning, I met her again briefly in Lone Pine, but had to leave not knowing the outcome. Later to find out that, with the support of Lisa Smith’s crew, she had made a photo finish … which I knew she would.

“Life is Either an Adventure of Nothing at All”

My story of Badwater started with you, Ben and Denise, and listening to you tell everyone that it was very beneficial to attend the training clinics in May and July. I went to this first clinic knowing that in every one of my 100 mile races that my downfall and slower times during the races would be in the heat of the day, not to mention that I do not like desert or sand. During these clinics, I ran just as I planned on running during the race, with the utmost respect for the first day from Badwater to Stovepipe Wells. These clinics, by the end of the second one, had changed my life and attitude toward all three: the heat, the desert, and the sand. At the July clinic, on the second day from Stovepipe to Panamint Springs, I took time to look around me. I had a very spiritual moment and fell completely in love with the surroundings around me … the colors in the mountain, the cool breeze, and a moment with God.

I came to Badwater on the day before the race, well trained, mind set to have a good race with a good crew, loving husband, lots of faith in my abilities, and left the rest in God’s hands. My crew was great. I only have one thing to add: I would suggest that a person has a couple of people on his/her crew who are not runners, who can set their minds on some photo-taking in addition to keeping the crew vehicle well organized. My crew became very tired because they had never been to Badwater and did not want to take the scheduled rest breaks that I had put into my plan for them. They just didn’t want to miss a moment of the event and didn’t realize that those rest breaks of 3-4 hours were very much needed—to make them more alert and to take care of my needs during the last stage of the race. They stayed with me all the way and were very tired. I’m sure short they were short of patience with each other at the end. I never had any difficulty until going off Townes Pass early Friday morning. Then I lost it completely at both ends (vomiting and diarrhea). I was forced to stop and change clothes completely on the side of the road in the dark.

(I’m sure glad that no one came along—that would have been quite a picture for the Internet). From this point on I had to regroup my stomach, which I did, by switching to Slim-Fast and solid food and lots of water, into Panamint Springs.

At 60 miles I had changed shoes four times (one half-size at a time) thus ending up in a men’s size 10 shoe at this point. One big mistake on my part was that I had not told any of my crew that if I went into this last pair of shoes that they would need to take my Spenco Inserts out of my size 9.5 men’s shoes and put them into these shoes. So I ran from 60 miles on with no inserts or padding in my shoes, thus causing extreme soreness in my feet for days after the race. I might mention at this point that I had absolutely NO SORENESS of muscles after the race nor have I had any muscle soreness since. My only soreness was in my feet.

Out of Panamint Springs, one of our crew vehicles broke down, had to be towed into Lone Pine, fixed and returned 3 hours later, HERE IS ANOTHER RULE OF CHRIS’ THAT WAS GREAT: “YOU MUST HAVE AT LEAST TWO CREW VEHICLES.” Boy, did we realize the value of this rule. My crew had to cram as much as they could into the one vehicle at this point. And this is where the FAMILY OF BADWATER came into effect for us. There were other crews whose runners had dropped out, who came along to see how I was doing and immediately volunteered to take things from our broken down vehicle up to us to help us out. Robert Thurber’s crew was great. The Highway Patrol officer took our people into Lone Pine and back and checked on me off and on all through the race. He also brought us water, ice, supplies, etc., from our broken down vehicle. Karen Hamilton came along to check on me and brought my cot up to me at the top of Panamint Springs so that I could take my much needed 40-minute nap (which was only time that I really rested during the whole race).

I was running (actually running) along through Keeler, and for the first time I realized that I could make the 48-hour time frame for the buckle. My plans got a little screwed up after this point going into Lone Pine, thus causing me to have a very full stomach and unable to take in anything from Lone Pine to the top except water. On the way up Whitney Portal Road we took a wrong turn and ended up into a campground and had to turn around and go back to main road. At this time I was fighting terrible pain in my leg and back caused from a slipped disc that I found out I had in February, but I was determined that it would not change my plans for this year. This caused me not to pay that much attention to the fact that we had taking a wrong turn in the road. (My pacer at this point had never been up Whitney Portal Road. She felt terrible about this. As I was waiting for her to check this out, she came back running toward me along the campground road. When I saw her light, I tried to go to her, and this is where it got really spooky, THERE WERE A FLOCK OF LONG-NECKED BIRDS in my path, that wouldn’t let me go to her, until she got right up to me. Now this was a real hallucination. But let’s talk about hallucinations. I had read about these in previous Badwater races. I was with Jim Hamilton last year when he had a few but never really believed in them, but, for me they came true. As I started up Whitney Portal Road, the road was covered with the most beautiful design of GRAY ELEPHANTS, BROWN & WHITE RABBITS, GRAY MICE, all interwoven with pink candy cane. Whenever the flash light showed these figures, they persisted clear to the top of Whitney Portal Road and into the finish line. I can still see this pattern in my mind and would so much like for someone else to have seen it besides me, as it would make a beautiful design for a child’s room. It also helped with my pain to the finish. I will end with that, thanks to everyone involved, from Ben and Denise (wrapping feet before the race), to Chris and Dana’s excellent organization of this race (it being their first year—what a great job), and the love and care all of these four people gave to all of us, to my sponsors Brooks and Kool ‘N Fit, and to my crew, and to all of the many people who helped us when our vehicle broke down, I say THANK YOU—my race was a success. This was truly a great adventure, and as I said in the beginning, TO ME, LIFE IS EITHER AN ADVENTURE OR NOTHING AT ALL. Be it a trial given to me to accept and overcome or an event like Badwater, my life is better for every one of them that has come my way.

Here’s my thoughts “from the waaay back”, behind even Frank MacMillan back. The last person back. I relate to Frank in that you have the amazing ability to “elasticize” the parameters of “what is normal,” just for this for event, and out of love for the people in this event. In my case, “My crew MUST hate me” (which wasn’t true), you assured me even THAT “was normal” . . . . I dropped out of the race at mile 77, just after Panamint. I ran out of total calories and protein. It was my birthday, and like the song, I cried: I just wanted (A), my husband, (B) my dog, and © a birthday cake. My dad said, I don’t have any of those, but let’s just go another mile. And he, a non runner who signed on to crew his first ever, and this baddest of ultramarathons two days before the event, stretched that mile for five miles. I told him I wanted to drop and it was my dad that made sure I put the marker in. My dad also ensured when he checked in at Lone Pine Friday night, not to count me as a DNF “yet”.

Saturday morning, after a hearty sleep and some heartier food, Denise gave me a pep talk to return to the course as an unofficial finisher. I just wanted to be able to WEAR my Badwater T-shirt, even if I didn’t count. My crew and I continued on, getting into Lone Pine at 5:30 Sunday morning. My crew gave their all, even Don (Meyer) pacing me for almost 40 miles. The crew got 17 more unofficial hours than they “signed up” for and they held up remarkably: Don Meyer, Anna Boldon, Glenn Gerhardt, Greg Gerhardt, you rock!

Denise, thank you for stepping in to assist with decisions in Lone Pine when we were all too exhausted to comprehend, except to know on some primordial level that I could taste the finish. To then reassure the crew and to organize willing volunteers, Bob and Dave (Matti Ace) from Lisa Smith’s crew. Additional thanks to Bob and Dave (the self-proclaimed “Good Cop/Bad Cop” tag team) for guiding me the last 13. I think Dave and I spent five miles determining which TV show was better: “Old” Star Trek or “Star Trek: Next Generation.” I hope we can continue the discussion in ’01. And I don’t think I did ever answer some of Bob’s probing questions. Next year, too. I feel so grateful that you helped my crew and me to finish, Denise. Not “better” or “different” just infinitely more humbled. When I finished at 77 hours, I couldn’t fathom that what you did, was as you would do—and did do—and do any year, for any one of us Badwater participants. To comprehend the depth of that unconditional fortitude, just intensifies my respect for you, First Lady.

I truly desire that you and Ben take from that 77 hour Portal finish: my finish is my gift to you. I hope that after all these months of support and nurturing via email, then the camp, that is ok with you. That it is worthy payment? I remember Denise, before the training camp, you told me that “you don’t play favorites,” but please know, because of YOUR efforts, I float that “asterisk” of being an unofficial finisher like an orbit around my head, like an extra chakra or six inches to my height. I’ll even decorate it (*) with tinsel and ornaments at Christmas time.

I understand now the need in these days following to try to integrate this experience back into my (real?) life and to share it with others who participated. I feel like I have been in a car crash and can’t remember the moments up to the wreck. The moments are hazy, as if they happened to someone else. My old self maybe? But the feeling throughout of knowing that you and Ben were there, remains constant in that clutter I struggle to process.

Please tell Chris to reserve bib number 69 for me. I learned too much, am too humbled, and too grateful for everyone’s support in 2000 to not return in ’01.

From the last person in 2000, #69, Erika Gerhardt.

Official finisher

Monday 7-24-2000
Just left the Oncologist’s office & was given the thumbs up to run the race. Levels are going up and things are looking good. Five weeks ago I had experimental liquid radiation & three weeks before that 3.6 million stem cells harvested & frozen for a possible bone marrow transplant in the future. But all I can think of is Death Valley. Non-Hodgkins & B-Cell Lymphoma have to ride in the back seat for this one. Chris Kreyer is coming in from San Diego. We’ll pick up the Ford Expedition, load in the two big coolers & get a couple hundred pounds of ice then swing by the airport and pickup our 2nd crew person Joe Steltenkamp from Wisconsin & make final plans.

Tuesday 7-25-2000
Lionel Gruen & Francisco Davis just arrived from the West Side, so now the whole crew is here. We’ll pack up the SUV and head out for our adventure. Enjoyed the drive through the desert. I took them to Lone Pine and we drove the course in reverse so they could see what we would be doing in the days ahead. Checked in at Furnace Creek & took a swim.

Wed. 7-26-2000
Got up had breakfast, hung around the pool and waited for the race meeting. Was wonderful to see many faces from last year & meet some new one’s. Ben Jones totally caught me off guard (at the pre-race meeting) when he asked me to stand & told of my fight with Cancer & my determination to finish the race. We were all invited up on stage for a pre-race picture. It was amazing standing up on the stage and have all the flashes popping for what seemed like a few minutes while all the pictures were being taken. Then back to the room for some foot taping & hopefully some sleep before the 3 am wake up call.

Thursday 7-27-2000
Race Day Drove to the start of the race, took photo’s and got ready to run. Adam (Bookspan) played the national anthem & we took off running. I tried to hold back because it was my plan to take it easy till Stovepipe & the first night. Just outside of Stovepipe I realized I had some blisters that would need to be looked at. Lionel, who is an EMT, has never done what us Badwater racers need as far as cutting, draining, re-taping & getting us back running in quick order … so my prayer was, “God, if you could have Denise Jones (aka “The Blister Queen”) around with nothing to do and her blister kit that would be Awesome, Thanks.” Well I got into Stovepipe, my crew was getting gas & ice. A man came up to me and asked if I needed any help. I said my feet need some work. Had he seen Denise anywhere??? He said she just left but sit down I’ll take care of you. He opened a large kit & started right in on my feet. About five minutes into it I asked his name, he said John Vonhof, my mouth dropped open. The guru of blister care who wrote the book “Fixing Your Feet.” I bought the book right after I started Ultra Running. This was a sign, this was going to be a Good Race. Continued up the 5,000 ft. climb to Town Pass & down to Panamint. Other than the car load of midgets, we saw things were going smoothly. Turned out to be our crew but Chris & I swore it was a car load of extra small midgets with a little bitty car.

Friday 7-28-2000
Went straight to the hospitality room provided by Panamint this year. Normally Ben Jones rents it for the racers out of his pocket. Went in, laid on a bed & let Lionel go to work while the rest of my crew got supplies & my breakfast. Ate scrambled eggs & hash browns while my feet were being worked on. Then Joe said I need to take at least a 20 minute rest. I laid down, closed my eyes and to my surprise got a little nap. Looked at my watch, was right about 20 minutes so jumped up (not really, got up slowly) and walked outside. They were just coming to get me. Now it was another climb to 5,300 ft. past Father Crowley’s. This was the most cambered road I ever ran/walked on. Constantly angled to the left, then the right. This is were I came up upon Chris Moon. It was awesome, meeting one of the people I have great respect for.

I myself was running this race for AHA (Athletes Helping Athletes) the Challenged Athletes Foundation. The money I would be raising is a way of helping athletes with a disability gain independence & live a healthy and active lifestyle. Then an extra treat with jet’s (Tomcats out of Lemoore Air Force Base) screaming around Owen’s dry lake bed. Now down towards the 4th check point and Darwin. The smoke from the forest fires was really starting to get bad. Got to the check point in the late afternoon and my crew went off to get fuel & more ice. Joe stayed with me and kept me in R.F.M. (Relentless Forward Movement) things were still going good & I was having a blast. Around 3 AM is when things started to unravel. My crew pulled together & opened the doors on the crew vehicle & Francisco started the jams. They all were jumping around getting me pumped up in 1/2 mile intervals. This is where my crew really pulled me thru. By sunrise they were getting tired & I was getting my third or forth wind.

Saturday 7-29-2000
We got into Lone Pine and Shannon (Farar-Griefer), Kari (Marchant), Denise & Ben were all there to meet me. These are all some special kind of people. Denise offered to look at my feet, while my crew got me breakfast again. Here I am, beautiful women working on my feet, eating breakfast, 120 miles into the run & Ben nudges me and says, “Isn’t this GREAT?” We smiled. Then if it coulden’t get any better than that Denise & I made eye contact a few times that said it all. She had helped me so much in the prior year deal with my cancer and I considered her my “Prayer Captain,” God really speaks thru her to me like no one on this planet. We both new how important this goal was & how tuff of a road it was to get here, but thru Faith & Hard work I was living my Ultimate Dream … Our eyes welled up with tears of joy …. and I was off up the Portal Road. It was a tuff 13 miles but I didn’t want it to end. My crew worked in unison to keep me moving along. Now I could see the Finish and I started running to finish with a good stride. I DID IT !!! 135 MILES a PR….55:04:18 but that wasn’t it. My goal was to take the extra time & not buckle because for me I wanted the Summit.

I got to summit with my Coach (Scott Weber) & his wife Theresa last year & wanted that for myself. For me I needed to go from Lowest to Highest, not just the 135. Now back to Lone Pine for a Filet Mignon dinner, get some things ready for the mountain, and hopefully some rest, before a 3 AM wake up call. Sunday 7-30-2000 Chris, Lionel & I left at 4 AM for the Summit. Joe drove us. He was going to check us out of the hotel & get the vehicle ready for our trip back to Torrance. Francisco was picked up after the race by his wife Cathy because he had to be at work on Sunday. Lionel made it as far as Trail Crest before the altitude really got to him, a valiant attempt on his part, but decided to go back to Trail Camp & wait for us. He knew I needed to keep going to achieve my goal. Chris decided to stay with me, which was nice, since I was getting pretty spacy due to lack of food and water … a real friend & trooper … future Ultra Runner … I think. Chris & I got to the Summit @ 1:52 PM, 79:52 after leaving Badwater.

I would like to thank all the people who helped near the top & at the summit, especially Barbara Elia & her crew. I bonked badly about an hour before the summit, and all the way down due to lack of food. I learned never pack after 135 mile race with no sleep, for an important summit attempt. Figure how many calories & how much water you need from the last lake or run off you can purify from. I definitely learned a lot for next year & Thank God for getting us down safely. Basking in the light of my accomplishment, Rick Nawrocki.

I have to say that at Badwater everyone is a hero. Runner or crew you are heroes. Getting to the starting line is a journey in itself. But this year so many new ones were born!! Scott Weber, who has inspired me and has coached me for several races, went out and did a double. This was a last minute choice. I don’t know how many of us could just decide to go out and do it again the next day!!! Chris Moon, you ROCK!! Never have I met anyone like you. Adam Bookspan, what a great thing you did!! Art Webb, I will be back to chase you down. You are such a delight!! Rick (Nawrocki)!!! What can we say, but God has his ways and you showed him your way, right to the finish line! You will forever be my inspiration. Steve (Silver), next time things will be different. So many of you have touched my life in so many ways. I feel blessed to have all of you.

I looked at the resumes of all the women in the race this year. What a beautiful group we had along with a lot of talent. So many of the women have done so many ultras. This Badwater was my 14th ultra. I realized that I have a lot to learn and a lot of miles to cover. Congratulations to all of you. So many people told Jay (Batchen) and me that this race could not be done together. With the new rules and having separate crews we thought this would be difficult. We were never more than five feet apart and we got to the finish line. This race is hard enough to do on your own, but we found it is even more difficult to do with someone you love. We worried about each other, but the energy we gained from each other was awesome. I had stomach problems for the first 70 miles. We spent the first half of our race pulled over on the side of the road going to the bathroom. What a test of patience. Just when I thought I was ready to start running without pit stops, the ash (from forest fires) started flying through the air. Then my asthma kicked in. We were slowed down to a crawling pace. In the end, we were all going to the same destination with or without troubles. Finishing this race became a job for me and I did the job. Jay and I set aside personal desires when needed and raced together representing a team effort. Team Happy Feet.

We watched each other suffer. We shared compassion and support, but we didn’t carry each other. This would have robbed us of our strength and self-respect. The race was a series of small steps, taken one at a time, to reach our goal. And the goal kept changing. We learned about patience and trust and have the highest respect for each other. We became true equals and we motivated each other. We did not compete against each other. Every journey begins with a single step, but you also have to take a second and a third, and as many as needed to reach your destination. Together we focused on the same journey. Every worthwhile goal demands effort, risk and sacrifice.The desert brings a mystical vision to ones eyes and soul. Jay and I shared

this experience along with our amazing crews in away that was very new to me. When Jay felt bad I felt great. When I felt bad, Jay felt great, and this was most of the time. The heat was perfect this year. This is what we prayed for, the hotter the better!! The only bad part was the newly tarred road. This section was almost intolerable for me. My feet never recovered from the burning feeling, and I was very over-heated. One of our crew- members made me a bet during this section. I won the bet! Our enthusiasm set the pace, but persistence got us to the finish line. The

treasure isn’t only at the end of the journey. The process itself is its own reward. I kept telling myself to embrace the moments, put one foot in front of the other and handle what’s in front of me. Don’t let your mind slip or your body will follow. Some runner’s claim that those of us in the front went out way to fast. For us, it was the slowest I had ever gotten to Stovepipe in five years. I feel we ran a smart race. You have to make a plan and go with it and keep adjusting it. We all know in this race that anything can change at any time and you must run your own race. The positives of running together are endless. We developed a lot more faith in each other. Faith is one of the greatest leaps you can take, even more so as a couple. You always hear,”take the leap of faith.” Well, all we had to go on was faith. We saw every difficulty as a test. We saw many lessons to be learned and opportunities in every challenge. We were so blessed with the people on our crews. We picked them very carefully and the result was that they had a blast together. Jay and I learned so much about working together as one, not two runners, but one runner. Our connection became so deep that only one being was there, not two. This was a magical experience. You have to be able to surrender yourself with open arms. This involves getting out of your own way and being there for each other. We never felt any pressure. Our goals changed several times, but this race brings lots of surprises. Running a perfect race is hard to do, you can only plan and hope for the best. More than ever, I learned that you have to adjust to situations. You have to feel your heart and listen to your higher self. Then you know what to do. This also gives you courage built around love. This keeps you moving. I saw no negatives running together. We both came out better people. We could have gone faster as individuals, but this was not even a thought. We were there this year to do this together, to learn and to grow. This was not about us. This was for all the starving children who suffer everyday. The least we could do to help raise money for these kids. We are all fortunate. We are so thankful that we have raised thousands of dollars. Next time Jay and I will run separate races. He needs to burn up the course. Yes, I have plans for this course.

Next month I become a master’s runner. This brings with it a new spirit for so many things to do! . I’m a very ordinary women but I expect extraordinary things from myself. This makes the world infinitely sweeter, more intense, beautiful, humorous, and peaceful. Badwater is beyond the extraordinary. This race brings peace to the soul and gives one a real sense of purpose. Badwater also helps all of us reach higher levels and helps bring goodness to others. This is what its all about!! This and spending one hour at the bottom of the Portal Road eating pizza with our crews. They said it could not be done. We not only did it, we found grace together and we found true peace. Our souls developed wisdom together and our hearts shared the same spirit. With Jay and our crews, I felt that even when the sky was dark and full of ash, the sun was still shining because we were surrounded by love.

2000 finisher

I started the 2000 edition of Badwater as a nervous first-time runner. I trained as best I could, running many hours in multiple layers of clothing in Seattle’s tepid summer climate or pacing in the sauna. I covered as many miles as possible, on terrain similar to that in Death Valley. I compulsively planned for every contingency, surfing the Web and driving my car to buy and to test the right equipment and supplies. I made lists and wrote out directions and annoyed my crew reviewing the details. I adjusted my training and planning after the Memorial Day training clinic in Death Valley. I should have felt confident, but I had never actually run 135 miles in Very High Temperatures (VHTs) and had no way of knowing whether I would be sick or faint or hallucinate or collapse of exhaustion as I had heard that so many had. As it turned out, I didn’t do any of those things. With the help of my crew and the encouragement of Race Director Chris Kostman, Dana Prieto Tanaka and Denise and Ben Jones, as well as Denise Jones’ blister advice, I finished with some new-to-me blisters and a few funny stories in a better-than-anticipated time with my crew still speaking to me.

My crew members were my daughters Lauren and Alexis, Lauren’s friend Alana, and my husband David. We lost two other crew members just before the race. Lauren, Alana and Alexis are all marathoners; David has completed several ultras. My family is experienced in crewing and pacing me at ultras, including Western States and a handful of 24-hour runs. The plan was for them to take turns pacing me. Our major problem was that neither of my daughters has a driver’s license, leaving us with two cars and, with the loss of the two crew members, just two drivers. We had worked out a scheme for shuttling the car forward so that Alana and David could do some pacing while the others crewed me from the van, but we weren’t altogether confident that the scheme would work.

I was also worried about my decision to start at 8:00 am. All the Badwater veterans had requested the 6:00 am start, but I knew from previous experience that no part of my body below the neck believes that it is morning, or breakfast time, at 3:00 or 4:00 am. So I decided to get up at my normal time, hit the buffet at the Furnace Creek Ranch and head out to the start feeling comfortable. I still worried.

The start of the race was like the start of any race: I was nervous before and relieved after. The trip from Badwater to Stovepipe Wells passed uneventfully for me, although unbeknownst to me, my crew was having some problems with the VHTs. For the first part, I had the company of other runners. I enjoyed the scenery. I got a fresh desert hat and Keep-Cool bandana soaked in ice water every couple of miles. That, with insulated bottles of my icy sports drink mix, seemed to help me deal with the VHTs. An ice cream bar at Furnace Creek went down easily. A can of Ensure didn’t feel so good. At supper time, I reached Stovepipe Wells, washed down a turkey sandwich and granola bars with a very cold Mountain Dew and felt fine. I was tired, but happy to have reached that point and looking forward to nightfall. We headed up toward Townes Pass. The sunset, filtered through the smoke from the forest fires, was beautiful.

After about 25 miles, my crew had things organized enough that they could start taking turns pacing me. It was nice to have the company, but the VHTs took their toll on both of my daughters. While Lauren recovered fairly quickly, Alexis continued to feel quite ill. Sometime after dark, Alana had to shuttle her up to the pass where David was trying to sleep in the car, so that Alexis could rest undisturbed while I climbed.

The climb to Townes Pass is one of my favorite memories of the race. Once it was dark, the sky was incredibly star-filled. I have never seen the Milky Way so distinctly. Looking up took my breath away. I looked down once and saw a scorpion scuttling along on the white line at my feet as if he too were in a race. Lauren and Alana took turns pacing, and although I can’t remember what we talked about, in all it was a pleasant night.

I arrived at the Pass to chicken noodle soup, heated on the camp stove we’d worried over before the race, and crackers. Despite pre-taping my feet and compulsive sock and shoe changes, my usual heel blisters were starting up, so I got to recline on the back seat of the van while Lauren and Alana collaborated on applying Second Skin and re-taping my feet. Scott McQueeney came by at this point to say “hi” on his way to a nap. David drove Alexis to Panamint Springs so she could sleep some more, with instructions to Alana to come pick him up as soon as I started running again.

I put on the bigger shoes I’d brought to wear on the downhill and took off. As usual, I ran pretty fast downhill, so the time between crew stops was too short for Alana to drive to Panamint Springs and back to retrieve David for nearly an hour. Lauren was trailing me down the hill and decided to take a break after about 6 miles. Around that point I started to notice that my right big toe was rubbing on my shoe, but I thought that the hill was nearly done and didn’t worry about it. Three miles later, the hill finally ended, but my toe was sore and I was in a foul mood by the time I spotted David heading toward me from the van. I was able to run and walk across Panamint Valley, my toe felt better, and eventually my mood improved.

The break at Panamint Springs was a little hard. It was 3:00 am. Lauren and Alexis were asleep. Other runners were coming in and heading to their rooms or to the hospitality suite while I sat in the van getting cheese and crackers down. I knew I should head out, but kept worrying that I was doing something wrong because no one else was starting up the Panamint Grade. Finally, I put on fresh bigger shoes without looking at my toe, and David and I started the long walk up the next hill with Alana in attendance.

Again, the climb was pleasant. Walking is a break, even uphill, or at least that’s what I tell myself. David and I gabbed the rest of the night away. Gradually the sky lit up again, and we could see the impressive view across the valley behind us and a few runners starting up the grade. I don’t remember going on alone, but at some point David and Alana went back to Panamint Springs to pick up Lauren, Alexis and the car. Alana finally got to sleep for awhile. Lauren took up the pacing duties as we were approaching Father Crowley’s Point.

I have several nice memories of this part of the race. Chris and Dana stopped to say “hi” and to tell me that I was doing well. One of Ruben Cantu’s crew members yelled to me that I was making Seattle-ites proud; I recognized him as Mike Devlin whom I’d met at Western States training camp last year. The encouragement really helped. Nicest of all, a little past Father Crowley’s point I was able to start running the flats and downhills, just as Denise Jones had predicted.

Fortunately I felt good as I pulled over to change back into my desert suit shortly after sunrise, because this time it was the sight of my right big toe that took my breath away. The blister under the toenail was nearly as impressive as the scenery. My crew and I gawked for a few seconds. Then I decided that if I’d been running on it 5 minutes ago, I’d be able to run on it now. I put on my shoe and sock and headed down the road to the Darwin turnoff.

This section of the course went slowly. I was sure that every sign I saw was the second 5000’ elevation sign, only to be disappointed as I got close enough to read the sign. My toe started to bother me, and I told Lauren that I would just have to walk the rest of the way to the Darwin turnoff. She replied that it might be more efficient to fix my toe right away, so that I could run. I had been looking forward to a long walking break, but consented to have the necessary toe surgery. The toe-fix accomplished, I took a few hobbling strides and was able to run comfortably— well, as comfortably as could be expected—again.

The Death Valley National Park boundary went by, and finally we arrived at the Darwin turnoff around 9:30 in the morning. I sat down in the shade of the van to breakfast on a turkey sandwich. I tried David’s jalapeño potato chips, but they were too much even for my cast-iron gut. I had to settle for tortilla chips. I made the mistake of asking the timekeeper about my position in the race; he told me that I was the third woman, 45 minutes behind Lisa Smith. As I ran out of the time station, I was mad at myself: Knowing that I might overtake the woman in front of me meant that I would have to keep running.

I remember the trek through Owens Valley as long and hot and intermittently grouchy. The VHTs were more annoying to me than they had been the day before. It was hazy. The scenery didn’t interest me. There was too much traffic, and the cars were going too fast. I was sure they were going to run over my crew, and following my brother-in-law’s command to his dog, frequently yelled “Over!” to get a crew member off the road. My eyes started to sting before I realized that I had neglected to clean my contact lenses, so I ran without corrective lenses, hoping that I could at least see the approaching cars. Every time that I stood still for more than a few seconds, I could feel my feet swelling in my shoes. I had no intention of quitting, but I wasn’t happy. Luckily I still had little trouble wolfing down the Cheetos and strawberries and cookies, so even my bad mood could be energetic.

Finally, my right toes were rubbing together painfully, but I had no larger shoes. I tried Alexis’ one-size-larger shoes; they were too small. We talked about sending David into Lone Pine to buy some bigger shoes, but I was afraid that whatever size he bought would still be too small. Finally, I suggested that David loan me his “sneakers”, a pair of old running shoes that he’d been wearing to knock around in for maybe 10 years. I think my crew was trying to humor me, but they helped me lace up David’s size 11 shoes. I couldn’t run very well in my “clown” shoes, but they felt so good that, for a short while at least, my pacers and I shuffled along singing camp songs and commercial jingles.

Unfortunately, I still had a long way to go through Owens Valley. The newly spread asphalt was still hot, but at least broke the monotony. I was relieved that the work crew had gone home so that my crew would be able to stop for me along the 4-mile stretch of road construction. After awhile I could see where the road turned to head into Lone Pine, but we never seemed to get any closer. A few faster runners who had stopped to take breaks passed me. Keeler seemed a much more extensive town on foot than it had by car. I became convinced that I would not be able to break 48 hours. Fortunately Alexis was feeling better and back on duty. She finally made me understand that I must have read my watch wrong. Even so, it became more and more difficult to keep telling myself “All you have to do is get to Lone Pine.” Mt. Whitney loomed, and I was having trouble not worrying about it.

Rapid mood changes were the theme through Owens Valley and past Lone Pine. We finally reached the “traffic light in Lone Pine” just before 8 pm. I passed Lisa Smith, and although I knew that she was really 2 hours behind me at this point, passing her made me feel more confident. David was pacing me. Somehow we had missed the rest of my crew and the hamburger they had promised when we came through Lone Pine. David headed back to find them, and 30 seconds later my spirits started to flag. My pace slowed to a crawl. Lisa and Jay Batchen and their pacers passed me back. David couldn’t figure out what was going on when he returned a few minutes later with the rest of my crew and the grub. As I sat on a rock munching my hamburger, I just lost it. It was all I could do to get moving again, but not long after I did, everything started feeling ok again.

It grew dark as Alana paced me up the Whitney Portals Road. Alana is new to our family, so we had plenty to talk about. The time passed quickly, but the miles did not. I knew that all I had to do was to keep moving, but the distance to the finish line never seemed to get any shorter. I’ve never felt so tired. Every so often I would feel my head and shoulders droop, and I would stop talking. I believed that I was quiet for long periods of time; Alana told me later that I hardly ever stopped talking for more than a few minutes.

For most of the race, I had felt fairly isolated. Once past Panamint Springs, we had only occasional contact with other runners or crews. On the Whitney Portals Road, it seemed that we caught up with a crowd. I passed or was passed by several runners. Crew vehicles were everywhere. Chris and Dana reappeared to say “hi”, and Chris walked with me a bit. I told him about David’s shoes as if he wouldn’t have noticed what I was wearing. Shortly after David took over as my pacer, Maria Biel, a journalist writing a story for Playboy Germany, recognized me from an earlier meeting at home in Seattle. She walked with me for perhaps a mile, asking questions, and to be sociable, I answered. That mile went by quickly.

The “crowds” seemed to thin out in the last couple of miles. David and I chatted as we walked. We still had a minor crisis and a half to face before the finish. In one half-mile stretch the batteries in both of our flashlights and our backup flashlight went dead. David had the presence of mind to turn his dead flashlight off, so when the backup died we continued on the weakly rejuvenated batteries. Finally we found ourselves completely in the dark with no idea of how far we were from the van. I couldn’t believe how dark it was. We took a few slow steps before we saw van lights flash just ahead, and with what seemed like incredible luck we were saved. I stopped at the van to get a rock out of my (i.e., David’s) shoe. There was no rock, just a wrinkle in the shredded insole and a blister on the ball of my foot. David traded me his left running shoe for his left sneaker. The blister still hurt, but it was the last half-crisis. The end was in sight.

The rest of my crew joined us at the parking lot just before the finish line. The five of us crossed the line together. After a bit there was an awards mini-ceremony at which Chris awarded Art Webb and me our finisher’s medals. I was pleasantly surprised at my time, 41:14:57.

People took pictures. Someone took a picture of me with my crew. In it, David and Alana look half-asleep. Lauren is trying to keep warm by wrapping a towel around her shoulders. Alexis actually looks sort of photogenic in serious runner’s clothes. My hair is matted down. I’m wearing my Sun Precautions long-sleeved shirt with race number still in place and long pants. Around my ankles are reflective strips, nicely setting off two different men’s size 11 running shoes. Everyone is smiling.

Smilin’ Man (of Badwater), 1998 and 1999 Badwater finisher, current racewalker record holder

Greetings to my fellow Ultra/Extreme/Crazy People!

Most of the time, we all keep connected through competing or by direct communication, or by relay e-mail (we all should thank the specialist in this field: Badwater Mayor Ben Jones!). Usually we relay adventure/race stories, but I wanted to send something more on a personal note. This past year has been such an amazing year for me, adventuring, racing, climbing…. the works. At the same time, this past year has seen the complete collapse of my personal life. Without going into specifics, I did want to pass along something that has become very important in my life: a way of seeing more clearly through hazy and confusing times. Don’t worry! This is not anything religious, cult-related or New Age. It works for me, so I thought that I would pass it along.

Personally, I do long distance (real long) in my training and competing. When I need to sort some things out and try to “see” my way through the haze, I go for a run. I do not go out to train and I leave my watch at home (VERY difficult for me). I push through that first wave of pain and get seriously into the endorphins. After a while, I get past the endorphins and the pain; then I enter a very special place. It’s when the miles and the hours seem to fly. By the time I’m in that state (a demented smile plastered on my face), my brain has completely shut down. That’s the time when I can truly listen to my heart and gut feelings. When I am completely honest with myself and listen carefully, I have always found my answers. For what it’s worth, I have found that our heart and guts should LEAD our lives and our brains are there to work-out the details and logistics. Most people don’t/can’t/won’t do what we all love to do. Since we are such a small group, I thought some of you might find this helpful. Because of what we do, our lives are always interesting and on the edge; this doesn’t mean it’s always easy. I wish all of you All the Best in your pursuits and your lives. Enjoy the Journey!

1999 finisher

Have now completed Badwater 7 times the following are my best hallucinations, during the night-time, when feeling dog-tired.

1. Near Keeler I saw a space-ship which had smashed into the mountain-side. Smoke was still rising from the crash. Around the space-ship were these tiny aliens. I saw this from a distance of seven miles, but as I neared the crash it turned out to be a large overhanging rock and the aliens were small trees!!!

2. Leaving Father Crowley’s viewpoint, I was followed by the devil himself. He was all red, had horns, fork-tail,and carried a three-pronged tripod. It was quite funny as we both made it like a game. Every time I turned around to look for him, he would dodge behind a tree or rock, just showing his face, so we just both kept laughing at each other.

3. 1994 was strange also. On the return leg of my Death-Valley 300 (out-and-back) nearing Furnace-Creek, a black open-top touring car with people wearing old fashioned clothes kept level with me for quite along time. They just stared straight ahead. A little after that, a plane went taxiing slowly past me. At the plane windows the lights were on and the passengers were watching me!

1999 finisher

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

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

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

As for Badwater…

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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