Badwater Race Report: Part 2

No sooner than I hauled myself out of what could have been memorialized as the "Jeep of DNF" and proclaimed that The Badwater 135 Ultra-marathon was in fact not a manufacturing facility of sleep products, I started the steep climb up Father Crowley.  For good measure my body decided to check in and make it clear that it still wasn't happy. Here's a nut shot for you, buddy- have fun.

Sometimes it is my stubborn nature that can be my biggest ally in an ultra and this was one of those occasions. I'm sure my buddy and pacer Brian laughed a little as I yelled "Fuck this!" and took off running up a grade that I probably should have been walking even if I felt fresh and light. In a pretty cool video taken by Brian you can see me stop running long enough to heave along the road and quickly take off running up the hill.

I felt like a man alive again. I felt absolutely no different physically than I did before I climbed into the crew car in pain- but now I was pissed. Energized by the steep terrain and the fact that I should have been walking, I just put my head down and ran. After a few miles I caught a glimpse of some other runners up ahead. Their lights still blinking in the morning light was just another reminder that we had all been going for two days and now and served as a beacon. I picked up the pace and we passed one group, then another, and another. The game was afoot.

With the help of the day crew, meaning my buddies Brian, Nico and Scott,  I made it up Father Crowley and to the summit or "Vista Point" I wasnt feeling much better but I was moving aggressively and that was good enough. At the summit of the climb I stopped for a while to chat with Marshall Ullrich who is probably as good of a person as you will ever meet. I was still hurting, and Marshall said he was glad to see I was moving again. We had spent some time on the course together over the last 25 hours and were leap frogging for many miles. He was grabbing a bite to eat before heading out again and I was in need of a quick gear change and some calories as well.  He gave me some advice and encouragement and then went on his way. My crew switched shifts again and that meant I got to see Emily which was cool with me. Jimmy and Carmella were also a welcomed site and I told them that I wanted to get to the 100 mile marker as soon as possible and put the longest part in my rearview. I felt like 35 miles wouldn't seem so far if it meant the finish line was in sight... Yeah right.

Carmella, Jimmy and Emily all took turns pacing behind me, changing my socks, feeding me what I could eat and just being amazing all the time. I had started a pattern that was working pretty well- run to one road marker, then walk for little to let my abdominal fireworks subside, then run to the next marker. We repeated this ritual for hours and hours on end. At some point I saw Marshall up the road about a mile or two ahead strolling like he was out for a fun walk in the mall (only his fun walk is done at about 5mph it seems) I really wanted to talk to him for a while if for no other reason than to just escape my brain, so I decided to try to catch up with him. It gave me a boost of energy, or at least a new found commitment to suffer a little more for a perceived reward. So I put my head down and ran hard for what seemed like an eternity. I finally caught up to the man I admire most in the ultra world, not just for his accomplishment but because he seems to just be the genuine deal. You don't have to worry about who Marshall Ullrich is- he is always authentic. We chatted for a while as we walked. It was probably just another of many random moments for him, but it was special to me and something I will always remember. Eventually we parted ways only to agree that we would see each other soon.
As I ran, more mile markers came and went (on their own schedule it seemed more than mine) and eventually the miracle of constant forward motion delivered me to the 100 mile mark of the Badwater 135. The time was 29 hours and 30 minutes into the race. Even though I would have been done with almost any other 100 mile race over 9-10 hours earlier, I took a certain amount of consolation that as horrible as I felt- I would have made the cutoff in Leadville... Really I was searching for any piece of leverage I could find to keep myself moving forward as fast as my body would allow. I didn't want to let the math creep too far into to my world because it said I probably had 12-15 hours more go...

At this point my crew was waiting for me on the side of the road- Emily and Jimmy ran over to me and handed me the American flag that I had brought to carry over the finish line. The winds were whipping around fiercely as I took the flag from my crew manager Jimmy. I turned my back to the wind and held the flag above my head and I was pleased to see it cascade out in front of me. I instantly froze in place- as I saw the flag billowing up and down I could see the mountains way off in the horizon. Mt Whitney came in and out of view from under the flying flag. "Don't move!" Someone said- Emily and Jimmy both scrambled for cameras and caught the moment that will last forever in my mind.

 

From the 100 mile point of the race there is a mind numbing section of long road that stretches out for what seems to be forever. To make matters worse, it actually appears as if you are moving away from Mt Whitney (off to the right) and are heading farther and farther from the promised land of Lone Pine. I did my best to not think in terms of how much time I had left, but instead tried to look around and take in the moments that the day offered. I was trying to create as vivid a picture as possible for future recollection. The sound of the wind, the heat from the road, the sound of my shoes... 

My beloved crew seemed to adopt a serious yet relaxed type of attitude. They knew it was crunch time and it was getting hot again. I continued running as best as I could, stopping only when needed to walk fast and let the stomach cramps settle down a notch or two. After 10 miles or so I was starting to experience some real foot pain for the first time in the race. The sick part of me was glad to have pain from a new epicenter and it was with detached curiosity that I stopped to take off my shoes and socks... I wondered what I would see under the socks. What we saw were some pretty standard blisters, nothing to be too concerned about. Just deal with it dude- "This ain't no pillow... yeah, I get it. After some serious shoe modifications (cutting apart a new $170 pair of shoes so my toes could be out in the open) we were off again.

 

I did some of my best running in the next section of the course. At about the 110 mile point I made a strange deal with myself. Tired of making such slow progress, I committed to running 1 hour without any stopping or walking at all- screw it. "Whats the worst thing that could happen I thought? So I ran- and ran hard. I clicked off a couple 10 minute miles (which seemed world class fast at this stage of the game) And I found that my new "all out assault" on running re-energized my crew as well. In retrospect I can say that I ran the first of those painful 5 or 6 miles for myself, and the remainder of the miles for my crew. They were so excited and enthusiastic that I just simply couldn't let them down. They knew nothing of the mental games and bargaining I was doing- they only saw me running and running hard. My body was screaming for me to stop or slow down. My gut was twisting in knots. My feet were on fire from blisters. But each time I passed the crew car and waived off support, my friends cheered and honked the horn in support- "Its worth it" I thought. So I kept running for them as they had been doing for me for 2 days now. 

 I had fleeting thoughts of running all the way into Lone Pine and up Whitney without stopping, but that proved to be a bit ambitious to say the least. Eventually after 6 miles or so the pace took its toll on my body. I was broken down to the previous run/walk strategy only now my body was really pissed off. I spent the next 3 miles in a crawl that including gagging, retching, power walking and fighting off sleep. 

"Are you OK?" I heard from somewhere that seemed at least 1000 miles away... It seemed I was running and I was asleep-what a strange combination. "Yes, sir. I'm good" I fired back, taking a mental note to try not to weave into oncoming traffic in the miles to come. We were now 120 miles from the Badwater Basin and the starting line. More importantly, we were approaching the city of Lone Pine. And we were finally getting close enough for the first thoughts of actually finishing this beast of a race to surface in my head. Those who have paced me know that I am somewhat superstitious in races and wont even talk about being done until I am within arms reach of the finish line. Even so, my veteran pacer Nico told me he had no doubt that I was going to make it up Whitney. I was having nothing to do with it... "Don't even think it, dude" I said with a smile on my face.

 It was great to see the entire crew all together just outside of Lone Pine and I think we could all taste the finish in the air, but no one was talking about it now. Nico and I made the right turn to head into Lone Pine and ran the 2 miles to the checkpoint. From the checkpoint we were just a 13 mile climb up the Whitney Portal Road and to the end of this grand adventure. Strangely the 5,000 feet of switch back climbs ahead were not too concerning for me. I knew I had done this literally hundreds of times before. However, the fact that the climb included a long slow 7-8 mile grade at 9% before the steep climbing started was playing tricks on my sleep deprived brain. A quick scan of the math said it could take 5-6 hours or so to make it to the top and that seemed overwhelming. Oh well, this was no time to be in my my head- it was time to work. I was very glad that Emily said she was going to climb all the way to the top with me. I knew that I would work even harder with her by my side.

The crew car, with Jimmy and Carmella, were waiting just a mile or so up the Portal road and they were there to give me what I needed before the climb got too steep to allow for crew access. After a quick pit stop and a can of coke, I shrugged my shoulders, looked straight ahead into the road, and started to climb as fast as I could manage to hold. We were not going real fast to speak of, but we were steady, and I wasn't about to slow down. 

By now I had been stripped down of every layer of my outside persona. Just the real me was present. No thoughts of the future. No thoughts of emails, charity projects, deadlines, expectations or even of finishing this race. Every mental and physical resource available to me was singly focused to the task at hand- moving up this damn hill. I felt insane. As if reality was just another mile marker I passed on the road hours or days before. I no longer trusted any of my senses to tell me the truth. I wasn't sure if any of this was real. Maybe this was all a dream, or a drug induced flashback. I kept thinking "Don't slow down" and I kept climbing.

 I asked Emily if this was real "Am I still here?" I said. "Yes, baby. You are here" she said. 

I thought I saw giant praying hands sticking out of the rocks. I was drifting in and out of sleep without any perceivable change of state. When I "woke up" I simply took inventory of my pace. Was I still moving as fast as I could? OK- good,  keep going. I felt eerily alive. I felt like my heartbeat was connected to everything around me- every blade of grass, every rock on the ground and every star in the sky was calibrated to my heartbeat. I told Emily again that I was going crazy and I busted up laughing. "This shit is really pretty out there, huh?" I said. She smiled and told me I was doing awesome. "Keep going, baby. were are getting there" 

 The steep switchbacks had started some time ago, and I knew we must be getting close. I could start to feel the draw of the finish line like it had a weight and mass.  It was as if I was no longer pushing up hill- I was was being pulled by a force greater than me. I couldn't hold off the emotions anymore... "I did it" I allowed my self to croak in a weak voice. Emily started to cry. I looked up the road to see a strange shape taking form ahead of us. I could see the outline of a man. A giant light behind him made the flag he was holding appear almost ghostly. His arms were stretched out to display the flag in all of its glory. I knew it must be Brian. Emily started to cry even harder. I lost control of my emotions completely and tried to let out a yell of victory. What came out instead was a cacophony of tears, sobbing and sheer exhaustion. I could hear Scott's voice now as well "You did it, man!!" he shouted. And like that I was blanketed in the flag. Brain's arms were wrapped around me and I could feel his body shaking as he cried and told how proud he was. We were are all there now. Jimmy and Carmella, Scott and Brian, Emily and I all embracing. Nico's body may have been miles away in a car driving to the airport, but at that instant but we could all feel his presence on Mt Whitney with us. "Lets finish this thing" some one said. I looked up and I could see the actual finish line only a few hundred yards ahead. We ran. Together as one team- one heart- one purpose and one hundred and thirty fives miles of pure will later. "I'm Free" I thought as I grabbed the banner, lifted it to my face and kissed it.

With an amazing final push we crossed the line just 4 hours after starting the Whitney climb.

Badwater: Race Report Part 1

Death Valley, July 15th, 2013

"This ain't no pillow factory" I said as I finished retching and heaving on the side of the road. I was in Death Valley, and I felt like it. The temperature was 102 degrees but strangely it felt almost cool. Well... cool compared to the 124 degrees I was running in a few hours earlier. No sooner than I finished my strange road side dance of regurgitation I was running again. The sun was coming up and I had been going for almost 19 hours already, but I had been here before. I had completed 5 races of exactly 100 miles in length, but usually I could see the finish line by now. But on this day I was only beginning- I was at mile 75 and I still had 60 miles to go...

Some things just speak to us. We don't know why, and rarely can we explain to others in a meaningful way what we see when our souls are moved to act. The first time I heard of the Badwater 135 I was speechless. The race puts runners on a 135 mile run across Death Valley on the hottest day of the year- and if that's not enough, to get to the finish runners must climb three mountain ranges including Mt Whitney to get to the finish line. As I watched a documentary about the event called "Running On The Sun" I felt a combination of disbelief, confusion and anxiety. I think the disbelief came from the simple observation that people could actually do something like this without dying. The confusion perhaps came from wondering why I was so moved by witnessing it, and the anxiety was still harder to define. Maybe its was a precognition of sorts, a vision that I may find myself out there in that very desert one day with the ultimate question ringing in my ears "Can I make it to Mt Whitney?"

After a couple years of learning about and running ultra marathons my resume was peppered with what seemed, at least to me, like a lifetime of experience. I had the thrill of winning a small local ultra and almost setting the course record, I had AG wins in a few races and placed top 10 in a couple bigger events. And of course I had been tempered by the pain of a DNF (Did Not Finish) or two. I had run 24 hours on a treadmill for charity and I even ran an ultra (50k) everyday for 11 days carrying me all the way across the state of Colorado. I was certainly no Marshall Ulrich but I was no longer the fat guy with the drinking and drug problem either. I was at Starbucks having coffee with some friends after a Saturday morning run when my life changed forever. My phone vibrated and I opened it up to receive the most thrilling and sobering email of my life... "Congratulations, you have been invited to compete in the 2013 Badwater 135..." 

Later that morning driving home from Starbucks I started to cry. Most people know my story as one of redemption and second chances and to be sure they are right. But many might be surprised to learn of my lifelong inner struggle to know if I am better than the sum total of the rocky childhood I rarely share. You see my inner demons go beyond those of food and substance abuse and are in fact rooted in a much deeper place. A place that causes me to doubt my very worth, and push myself to places that seem cruel and masochistic to some, but to me simply serve as a temporary answer to a rhetorical question;  

 "Am I just a white trash kid who grew up in the back of truck, or do I have something special inside?" 

It seems I was going to receive the ultimate gift- a chance to see for myself if I could accomplish something truly unique in my mind. Could I become one of  the only 566 people to EVER complete what National Geographic calls "The Toughest Race in The World" If I could do that- maybe I could put to bed the some of the doubts once and for all...

 I started Badwater training within a few days of my acceptance email. I knew there were a thousand things that could come up and bite me in the ass during the race, but I was going to do my best to make sure it wasn't going to be something obvious like lack of preparation. I did the work. I put in the hours in the sauna. I ate well. I ran the miles and I did everything I could think of to be the best and strongest version of me I could muster. The months ticked off the calendar in a whirlwind of 50 mile races, gluten free/ vegan meals and hours and hours of solitude in the sauna. And then it was July- just like that... and the race was here. 

Pre Race Check In:

To be at Furnace Creek the day before Badwater is to be welcomed into a family. And you cant help but be taken in by the extreme nature of the people that you are surrounded with. Everyone with their own unique reason to make the pilgrimage to death valley on the hottest day of the year. Addicts, amputees, soldiers, yogis and seekers of their own personal truth. Each with unique lives and experiences, yet all the same inside- willing to expose themselves to the toughest of conditions to connect the dots of their own picture. And whether you are runner or crew member, we all had the same thing on our minds-  to get the team safely from the Badwater Basin at 283 feet below sea level, 135 miles down the road to Lone Pine and to the Whitney Portal at the base of the highest peak in the contiguous US.

As I walked into the check in room at the Furnace Creek Inn I was taking it all in like a kid on Christmas morning. Only the gifts I was receiving weren't of the "toy train" variety but instead came in the form of all the faces I had come to know from magazines, ultra movies and being a fan of the history of this race. As I made eye contact with those veteran runners around me I could see they recognized me, just as I knew them. It seems Facebook has made even the rookies such as myself famous and that was on display here at runner check in. To say I was made welcome would be a horrible understatement.  I felt like I was returning home from a long trip away. I could see Marshall Ulrich, Dean Karnases, Charlie Engle, David Goggins, Cheryl Zarkowski, Lisa Batchen- Smith... and the list goes on and on- all here with their crews to once again complete this the ultimate trek. Even the crews had big names in them; Rich Roll and Ferge Hawke just to name two champions who were here not to run the race themselves, but to work for their runner as pacers. 

My crew comprised not of wily Badwater veterans (save for my crew manager and his lovely partner) but was an assembly of people I knew I could trust. People that I respected, loved and people I knew I could never let down. I knew that even if I wanted to quit, I simply couldn't do so in the presence of these souls. 

My Crew:

Emily Booth. My love, my friend, my fiance and quite simply the person who knows me better than anyone. She is brave and tough yet has a tenderness that is overwhelming to me at times. She has done multiple Ironman triathlons, 100 milers, marathons and cycling events. She is a rock, and I knew that if I needed her to she would take every single step of the course with me. Emily has carried me to some of my greatest ultra performances including my first ever win and two separate 100 mile PR's.

Nico Brooks. The face of selflessness. Nico has been there for me for everything I have ever done of note. From my first ultra, to my 24 hour treadmill run, all (save 2) of my 100 milers, my run across Colorado... you get the picture. He always seems to say or do the exact right thing when you need it. He is a very experienced, and very accomplished trail runner. I look forward to the day that I get to return the favor and work for him as he has done for me.  

Scott Miller. We call him "Big Miles" but we really should call him "Big Heart" He is the kind of friend that would drop everything and come to your rescue no matter the time. He has done several marathons, and a couple of his own ultra adventures. He has paced for me before and he brought me home to the finish in Leadville. In my best Ken Chlouber I would say "He is stronger than he thinks he is, and he can do more than he thinks he can..."

Brian Remington. Tough. Sober. Determined. Brian is no stranger to the demons of addiction and near death experience and he is fearless because of it. I have seen him become a great runner in a short period of time and I knew he would turn himself inside out to get me home. Brain has run over 50 half marathons and 2 ultras including a 50k and a marathon on back to back days, and he has only just started...

Carmella House- As smart as they come, a Naval Academy Grad and an  ultra runner on her own right. I met Carmella for the first time the day before runner check in but I could tell right away she was good people. We shared much time together on the course at Badwater and she will always be considered by me to be a dear friend. You really get to know someone well when you blindly trust them to take care of you and they don't let you down.

Jimmy Gabany- Jimmy and I were Facebook friends before we ever met in person (which happened only a week before the race) Jimmy did everything I could ask a crew manager to do. He paced, he drove, he planned, he logged my nutrition and he got me to the finish. He supplied his own vehicle to the cause, he stayed awake for days on end and he fricking held an umbrella over my head at the pre-race meeting for Godsakes! Seriously, to do so much for someone you have never met says a lot about the character of a human being.

Race Day One:

 There are three waves for the start of The Badwater 135 and I was put in the 8am wave. As I stood at the starting line I was strangely calm. I wont say I was feeling confident because that wouldn't have been exactly accurate- it was more of a peace or mild curiosity that in the hours to come I was going to learn more about myself than I had ever known. I hoped that meant I was going to make it all the way to the finish that lay so far ahead of me, but I wasn't feeling the need for any false bravado or temporary motivational speak to psyche me up. I was ready. And the only fear I felt was an understanding of the level of commitment I had made to myself before getting here. I knew that for me to quit, I was going to have to experience a level of pain that I couldn't imagine. In the hotel room the night before I told myself that I was moving forward on this course until I finished or ran out of time. If that meant I had to get on my hands and crawl an inch at a time towards Lone Pine- so be it.

As the national anthem played I closed my eyes and gave silent thanks to the brave men and women who serve our great nation. I was thankful for them, thankful to be born here, and thankful that I didn't kill myself with drugs and alcohol before I made it to this special place. The next thing I knew Chris Kostman, the race director, was counting down "3... 2... 1..." and just like that I was officially a runner in The Badwater 135.

The athletes must run the first 17 miles of the race without a pacer but the crew is allowed on the course to ensure that proper hydration and nutrition are available to the runner. I started out with a very conservative approach to first section of the race. Due to the heat the first 50 miles of the race is where most people get into trouble, and with my training taking place in Colorado I  had no idea how my body was going to respond to the extreme weather. I put in the time in the sauna, but there is simply no replacement for actual running in the heat, and this was to be my first time running in anything over 100 degrees. I made it through the first 17 miles and into the Furnace Creek check point on schedule. I was on top of my nutrition and hydration and even as the temperature was skyrocketing I felt good. Emily was my fist pacer and it was amazing to have her out there with me. We just looked at each other and smiled "Badwater" we said at the same time. Then we just did what we do... we ran. 

The miles were ticking away and I was getting a new pacer about every 3 miles or so, which kept everything new and exciting. In Badwater the pacer cannot be next to or in front of the runner to shield the wind or sun, so my pacer was almost never in my sight, but I felt their presence none the less. Jokes and politically incorrect speak were in abundance. The crew car would leap frog me about a mile up the road at a time to check in and see how I was fairing in the hostile environment. I was reminded about the intensity of the heat one time when I stopped to get sprayed down with cold water and have ice put in my bandana- the water from the sprayer had actually turned hot in the 10 minutes that went by since my last spritz. I was greeted to a nice blast of hot water in the face... welcome to Death Valley. And the heat radiating off the pavement felt like I was standing over a campfire... where are the marshmallows?

I heard after the race that Dean Karnazes said the thermometer hit 130 at Stove Pipe Wells, that seemed about right. As I came into the 42 mile check point at Stove Pipe I was still feeling pretty good and that was comforting. In all my race planning I assumed that if I were going to get my ass kicked it would come in the most intense heat of the race... I was wrong. Up to about the 45 mile mark of the race the terrain is mostly flat and as we put that section behind us I was looking forward to some climbing. We started a 17 mile climb up Townes Pass which goes up to 4936 feet in elevation before dropping back down to sea level. As we started the climb the temperature started to drop and the wind started to roar. Before I had time to even know what was happening I was leaning forward into a 25mph headwind and just trying to keep from getting blown off the shoulder of the road- so much for running this hill hard as was the plan... Something else also started to make it presence known in my conscious thoughts- my abdominal muscles were hurting. When did that start I wondered? I didn't feel sick or nauseous. I felt more like I had been doing situps. I really didn't pay too much attention to it until it started to intensify over the next hour or so. All the sudden it was all I could do to keep moving forward while my stomach muscles wrested and clinched almost in synch with the unyielding wind.

I thought I had experienced almost all there is to experience in an ultra but this was new. I thought about how much distance I still had to cover as the mile markers slowly approached me. It was as if I we're standing still and the ground was moving towards me on its own slow schedule. The most troubling thing was not the pain itself, but more that I couldn't figure out how to "fix" my body. Usually no matter how bad I feel late in a race- I am flying soon enough.

The dark thoughts began to creep in. 

I didn't think about quitting, but for the first time I had a lingering doubt as to whether I could make it 80 miles more like this. I quickly put the negative to rest. As a former addict I am no stranger to battling my demons and I made quick work of these for now. I decided to do the best I could to get over the pass and into the next check point at Panamint Valley (72 miles) There I could see if a quick rest might allow my system to reset. It was becoming apparent that my body was in shock. I crawled into the the check point around 4am and into the back of the crew Jeep in a state of confusion and concern. I was afraid of stopping, and even more afraid of sleeping, as this was all new territory for me and I didn't know how I would feel after a rest. But I was willing to try anything to stop the assault on my mid section. I laid in the back of the SUV with the rear gate open. I could hear people coming over to the truck to ask how I was doing. I heard Emily and other crew telling the story of the last 20 miles, I could hear the gas pump clicking on and off at the only gas station for miles, and I heard the voices in my own head- and those were getting loud.

After about 15 minutes I couldn't take it anymore- I had to get back out on the course. Only now I had a new commitment to myself... Run as hard as you can, because it ain't gonna get any better. "This ain't no pillow factory" I said as I jumped out of the truck. 

"Is your stomach better?" someone asked.

"No" I replied, but let's get up this hill anyway.

We were at the base of the next big climb- a 15 mile trek up a 7% grade to Father Crowley Vista Point and I was anxious to get to work. It looked like the sun was going to rise while we were climbing- and it seemed appropriate. I felt a renewed energy. My stomach was still dancing as the gravel started to crunch under my shoes, but I didn't care anymore. As I started to run, I started to retch... I kept running anyway- day one was in the books.