There’s always more to add and more to craft; for now, here’s the draft of the story……There’s so much in my head and in the heads of my crew to digest; I’d love to incorporate their views on the journey. Who knows, with all these adventures, maybe I'll be inspired to write a book about it, with a different slant.
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Saturday evening, cresting at the top of Townes Pass and looking into the valley below, it finally dawns on me. I’m back. Back in the same place I was last year, in the same valley, with that same smile on my face. “Team America”, as my uncles and I had jokingly called our crew, was back. Guns N’ Roses’ “Welcome To The Jungle” is playing on the car stereo as we descend the 17 miles, 5000’ ft. down in elevation to sea level at Stovepipe Wells. This truly is the jungle, a place with hidden danger and endless beauty. You’d think after running through this place the year before that this time would be radically different, but it isn’t. Even with the car stereo blaring and the wind rustling past my face while the windows are rolled down, there is an awesome silence to Death Valley. It doesn’t need an anthem, a motto or even an introduction; it simply is what it is. The temperatures rise rapidly as we descended into the Valley’s cradle. For me, it brought back images of running through it and out of it last year. For my crew, it brought an appreciation for the raw beauty and peril of God’s creation. It was an endless gourge spread out over miles and miles with little sign of life except for the pale green brush which dots the landscape. I had come here to reclaim this place that by its names is given to the devil, but by its soul is given to God. I was simply passing through, admiring the depths of the valley and the heights of its walls, the glistening salt flats, the setting sun, and the miles of empty road.
Getting in around 8:45 with my friends Nick, Kevin, Kathy, and my Uncle Jose (Mambo Jose), we got some dinner at one of the two local restaurants and headed to the rooms. My Uncle Andy, brother Daniel, and pacer Jose stayed in one room with Mambo Jose while Nick, Kev, and Kathy stayed with me in another. I knew Nick, Kev and Kathy from church and one of my pacers, Jose, I met through my website and a couple ultrarunners runs over the past year. They were all new to the Badwater experience, while my Uncle Andy and Mambo Jose were veteran crew chiefs from last year. After a viewing of “Running on The Sun” about the race, we went to bed with free time until the runner’s check-in early the next afternoon.
The day before was punctuated with meetings and introductions, but the moment that was most special was the drive after dinner at sunset out to Badwater. When we arrived, I walked ahead of Nick, Kev, Kathy and Jose onto the salt flats by myself. I would raise my hands up high, trying to take in the vastness of the landscape. I took a few minutes, staring at the salt flats, to pray to Lord for a safe journey and a peace that transcends all understanding. I quietly hummed the verses to a few hymns before turning around and heading back towards the rest the group.
Looking back at the cliffs hemming us in the valley, you feel so small staring up at the Sea Level sign. I never cease to amazed at God’s creation, a level of creativity unmatched. Each line, rock and crevas in the hillside, perfect in its “imperfection”. Before leaving, we proceeded to have an echo contest, yelling at the cliffs and listening for the echo to come back to us.
The morning of, after a light breakfast, we made our way out to Badwater. The drive out is the walk to the ring for a prizefighter. Unlike last year, where I craved silence, this year I wanted to crank up the tunes. I felt loose and comfortable, a sense of calm that didn’t exist last year. We were playing old 80’s and 90’s tunes, laughing and cracking jokes. Every once in a while, I would stare out at the landscape and smile widely. The adventure was about to engulf me and I loved every minute of it.
After the weigh-in, group photo, Chris Kostman’s opening speech and the National Anthem, the countdown begun and “the gun went off”. I wasn’t waiting around for anyone else; I wanted to be alone, in the solitude of the Valley. I took off and I never looked back. The first few miles was a “feeling out period” for the crew, still learning what to do. I didn’t care; if something was a mile too soon or a mile down the road, I knew they would get it right. The best sight over those first 17 miles was having my brother out there with me, spraying me with water as I ran by. His presence was uplifting, an opportunity to share in the experience with him bringing a smile to my face. Of course while I was dressed in running gear, he was dressed in his customary camaflouged cutoff-pants, no shirt, and camaflouged army hat.
The further I went, the more I slowed to a more comfortable pace. The clouds still obscured the sun above, but I felt great even as the temperatures approached 110 at 10 am. I was over 30 minutes ahead of the 34 hour finish schedule cruising into Furnace Creek. My crew left me at the 16 mile mark to speed off to the checkpoint and get my parents out to the road for my arrival. My parents had arrived into the Valley late the night before and had planned on being at a few of the time stations. My dad had been on the crew last year, but my mom was new to the experience of being in Death Valley. She had been afraid of the heat, but it was incredible to have her out there. I know she must’ve hated those climbs and descents into the Valley as well, so there was incentive for me to run a memorable race.
So as I turned into Furnace Creek, I saw my parents running out to the road, waving their hands while cheering. I gave them a quick fist pump and a big grin before speeding by the time station. What the moment lacked in time, it made up for in spirit. The theme of my parents life had been sacrifice, more specifically sacrifice for my brother and myself. They sacrificed to be there in time and effort, to see myself and some of the other runners, and that made a world of difference. They were a great reminder of what I was running for and what it represented. I am fueled by a desire to honor them in everything I do.
I took a few minutes to walk as Nick came on board as the first pacer. I had never intended to have a pacer until after Stovepipe Wells (mile 42) because I just assumed the Valley would be my own lonely place. But it turned out I only spent about 5-7 miles alone on the way to Stovepipe Wells. For all Nick, Kev and Kathy had trouble fully acclaimating to the heat, to share with three close friends the joy of being in the Valley by running with them was incredible. This was becoming my home and to bring them into that place with me was my way of welcoming them. I wanted them to have a greater appreciation for everything this place represented. This run was not just a joke or the invention of a madman, but a sort of spiritual journey and self-discovery that one only fully experiences by being there. Now they were here, taking turns pacing me and discovering something about themselves. Of course, Mambo Jose was there with a few wise cracks, keeping me smiling even as the temperatures went above 120 degrees. I even had a few different moments to chat with the cameramen and race officials roaming around the course. And just in case some thought it was a lot “easier” out there, anything over 120 degrees is still scorching. The ice still melts in the cap every mile and the sunscreen is still just a mild form of steak sauce for your skin. The only difference was a little higher humidity and much less of a chance of burning off the soles of your feet.
I scooted through the valley in about 7 hours and 10 minutes, although the official recorded time was 7 hours, 16 minutes (I think). I remained out in front into Stovepipe Wells, still ahead of the 6 am and 8 am starters, as well as the 10 am starters (with the stagger). I was quickly wisked away into the crew van. 5 minutes after cooling off in the van, I saw Jorge Pacheco and his pacer steam on through dressed in matching dark running. My jaw dropped; I hadn’t expected to see anyone at least until I was on the climb up Townes Pass. He looked like a man possessed, with nothing on his mind except winning. A few minutes later, I threw the ice packs off my head and from under my armpits, getting back out onto the road.
The climb up Townes Pass was really the first major climb of the race. I felt good, but allowed myself to walk for a short while to get my legs back underneath me and work out the soreness that can develop from inactivity. I would have to say the highlight (or lowlight) of the climb was puking my brains out just after mile 50. I had been feeling a bit uneasy since just before Stovepipe and finally just let it all out. In the midst of puking and the subsequent dry-heaves, I was facinated in the fact that remnants of the fruit I ate at breakfast on the way out to the start were coming up. I took a 5-7 minute break at the van, smiling as I described the contents of my “reversal” (to use the competitive eating term). I apologized for spitting at and on Uncle Andy, who took no offense to my crude behavior (hehe).
I had been employing a run/walk strategy up the pass, attempting to switch back in forth at a 1:1 ratio. I would adjust the ratio based upon the grade of the Pass at various points. After been caught up to by David Goggins, I trailed behind him for a couple miles just continuing the running when possible and walking when necessary.
After getting back out onto the road, I started slowly walking while gradually picking up the powerwalking pace. My stomach was still uneasy, but at least there wasn’t a whole lot left in my stomach to upset it. The walking helped to allow me the time and space to put in nutrients via Boost, Gatorade and some Hammer gel. After a mile, we started the run/walk for the next couple miles before I felt a twinge in my right hamstring. Uh, oh….I wasn’t keen on getting a tight hamstring, which had derailed a 30-something hour finish my first year on the way down Owen’s Valley. Memories are powerful things, both as tools for the future and cautions in the present. This was a big, yellow caution flag and I wouldn’t ignore it. So, for the final 5 miles to the top of Townes Pass, I was content with powerwalking while trying to gingerly work out the kinks by interspersing some light jogging on flatter points where feasible. I have to tell you; I absolutely hated having to power walk most of the rest of the way up. But, it was completely necessary, given last year’s history with the race and the fact that I didn’t want to reach the point of no return with my hamstring. As athletes we’ve all been to that place where our bodies just will not be the same for the rest of the event. I think Uncle Andy was pleased I was actually making a decision driven by my brain rather than my emotions J. The temperatures were cooling rapidly and the sun was finally setting overhead. Although still high, I always enjoyed be up there at elevation as a rest-bit from the energy-sapping heat.
Shortly before reaching the top, with close to 13 hours elapsed in the race, the sun had finally set and the lights were now out in force. It was at this point were I was caught from behind by Jamie Donaldson, the women’s leader until Lone Pine (mile 122) before her shin splints slowed her. I had met Jamie in line Sunday afternoon while we were waiting to officially check-in. She said, “Gundy?” Not recognizing her as someone I knew, I was a bit thrown off. She then explained how she had watched my Google Video about my 2006 race as a training/race preparation tool. We proceeded to chat for a few minutes about the race, her expectations as a first-timer, and just our general impressions of the place. I laughed when, with her husband there, she explained that while she had watched the video many times she did not want to be confused as a stalker. Overall, I just really enjoyed her enthusiasm for what she was doing and hoped that the experience would be everything she hoped for. Suprisingly, there were quite a few “Gundy?” moments with people I had never met. Oh, the power of the Internet.
Kevin was pacing me at this point and as Jamie and her crew approached from behind less than two miles from the top of the Pass, I heard someone on her crew who was talking to Uncle Andy use the word “hero”. Kevin and I kind of smiled. Let me first preface this by saying that I don’t feel like I’m anyone’s hero. I feel honored and flattered if someone is inspired by what I do and why I do it, but it still feels weird to me only because my motivation is never about glorifying me. One of the reasons why we smiled was that while Kevin, Kathy, Nick and I had been watching “Running on The Sun” on Saturday night, there’s a part where Gabriel Flores (the 1998 Badwater champion) is struggling while running up to Mt. Whitney Portal. His brother, in a moment of inspiration, calls him “my hero”. Later, when the other crew members heard about this exchange, they began saying to me “you’re my hero” as a way to both motivate me but also to make me smile and lighten my mood.
Jamie and I exchanged pleasantries and short status updates before she gradually moved ahead. It wasn’t long before the top of Townes Pass was reached and another race-within-the-race was completed. Regardless of the time I had lost so far, reaching the top of Townes Pass was a very nice feeling. Don’t ever underestimate the psychological value of reaching a defined aid station/time station/course fixture. The feeling of reaching that point overwhelmed the continued uneasiness in my stomach and the fatigue from a low energy level. Plus, I got a chance to take a five minute break. Up top, it was like a carnival. Cars stopped, runners passing by, and the lights. Oh, the lights! At one point, there was a car coming towards me as Uncle Jose and I were beginning the descent into Panamint Valley. It’s high beam lights were on, blinding us as it went by. I could only hear Uncle Andy yelling at the driver over and over to turn off the high beams, with no response from the driver as they stayed stopped on the road.
Once past the commotion, it was again a long-winding descent into nothingness. We began by walking the first and then moved to a jog about ¾ of a mile into the 13 mile journey to Panamint Springs. It was a 9 mile, 3700 ft. descent to the Valley floor before a 4 mile mildly sloped, saddle-shaped stretch to Panamint Springs Resort.
With Mambo Jose pacing, it was starting out all-Mambo, all the time. Uncle Jose, the “Mambo Man”, was our all-purpose ultility man. Need a psychological boost? Bring in Mambo. Need to get the running form back? Mambo’s there. Need a laugh? Mambo’s got the jokes. I knew Mambo wouldn’t be able to take me the whole way down, with a Marathon coming up in San Francisco the next weekend. But, he was good for 6 miles, which was plenty. In classic Mambo form, we started with a fast walk while continuing to eat and drink fluid. As the downhill slope increased, I allowed gravity to further propel me into a jogging motion.
At first I was carefully measuring my strides to keep my legs from overextending too soon in this leg. When possible, I ran in more of a seated position with my legs slightly bent in order to take stress off my knees and the back of my legs. As always on the downhill sections, I was keenly aware of the slightly pulled hamstring at mile 107 last year. Last year, we blasted down this hill, but discipline would the theme of the race from here on out. I was also still weary of my stomach and knew that as the elevation dropped, the temperatures would rise once again towards 100 degrees F.
This has always been one of my favorite moments in the race. Because I was not thinking about just getting out of Death Valley, there was plenty of time to take a look at the stars above and the night time lights of cars randomly dotting the road below. It’s like being in a planetarium. Looking out in the distance, the lights from Panamint Springs looked so close even though the road winds endlessly down the hillside.
However, the precariousness of my stomach situation was always lurking in the back of my mind. There wasn’t much talking for the first couple miles; instead, I kept my head tilted downward while listening to the sounds of my feet being carried by gravity down the pavement. “One, two, one, two, one, two….” Secretly, I hoped that by no longer looking at the road below and focusing on my feet, I could go into that semi-hypnotic state where I am no longer aware of how I feel. “One, two, one, two.” Down the hillside we went. Each mile there was a stop, refuel and go. Mambo made sure to keep asking me all the time, “Do you have enough water?” or “Eat a little of this”. Uncle Andy supplemented this by always asking, “Do you want some Boost?”
The chess game between myself and my stomach continued on till about 3 miles from Panamint Springs resort. I had been moving well on the flats in the Valley, now at the 16 hour mark of the race and over half way completed at 69 miles. That’s when the train got derailed. Tired and a bit woozy while walking, I just looked at my pacer and laid down at the only T-intersection in Panamint Valley. Right in the middle of the road, I laid with my arms and legs out, breathing deeply. After a few seconds, Jose said “I think you should get out of the intersection”. I sat up, arms on my bent legs. I sat there for a minute, staring out at the roadway. I didn’t want to move, but relented once Jose pulled me up by my outstretched arms. Once out of the intersection, I pulled over to the far left of the road to throw up. With my hands on my quads and back hunched over, all the liquids in my stomach came rushing out. After a few purges, another four rounds of dry heaves followed. I stood up, a bit dizzy and uncoordinated. The crew van was about 100 ft. ahead on the right hand side, and Mambo Jose and Uncle Andy were watching. Ooops. I quickly went across the street, to sit for a few minutes in the crew van. The reversal had left me feeling lighter on my feet, and in my head.
After an infusion of 16 oz. of water and Gatorade, I felt well enough to go the last 3 miles to Panamint Springs. “Let’s go”, I remarked. Walking back across the street to the left side of the road with Jose, the dizziness returned. After a few short strides forward, I stopped and leaned over to the left. In one foul swoop, all the liquids I had just put into me were gone. My abdominal muscles quivered violently with each dry heave, the body trying to purge every last bit of bile in my stomach. A couple minutes later it was over, but I continued to stare at the ground in anticipation of one more purge that never came. I walked back to van where Uncle Andy said, “Ok, let’s stake you.”
I was too messed up to be pissed off….
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It was quiet in the van on the ride to Panamint Springs; I don’t remember a sound being made from the usually chatty crew. I just kept to myself in the front passenger seat. When we arrived a few minutes later, the quiet was interrupted by a familiar voice. “Come on, love.” It was Mags Denness, Jack’s wife, in her familiar British accent. I smiled as she took me by the arm, leading me to the nearby cabin which the race officials had rented to allow runners and crew to rest. After a bit of rearranging in the cabin, I laid myself on side on the couch in the living room. The crew left me a couple of water bottles to sip from on the coffee table and a warm blanket to halt the chills that had suddenly come over me. I was told to take a half hour and just relax.
I didn’t know how long they would let me sleep there. I quickly took the first bottle and while on my back, downed half of it. The next thing I know, I was out. I woke up initially about half an hour later, when Uncle Andy let me know they’d give me an extra half hour. Once he left, I finished off the first bottle, leaving the second bottle of water alone. I felt more lucid than I had felt in awhile. I laid there, staring at the ceiling before dozing off. When I awoke, Uncle Andy was there saying, “Let’s go. Time to go.” With that, I was out of the room. After a quick pit stop to the restroom, I headed for the roadway. It was time to hop in the van and get back out there.
People always wonder what a man thinks about during a race like this, and the answer is not often anything significant. But in the silence of the moment, I fully embraced what had happened to me and accepted that a 32 hour finish was falling out of reach for that year. I was coming back to what I had always wanted the most, which was to bring honor to God, my family and friends. I was coming back to the one thing that I’ve always wanted to define me; perserverance. There would be other moments and other days to capture the glory of man, but I wanted something more than a number to brag about on a website. This course had kicked my a*# and it was about time that I kicked back.
Driving back to the course again, one of my crew members starting waxing poetic about the lights of the cars and the Spirit of Badwater. I just didn’t want to hear it and spouted out to shut up, because honestly, what I needed the most was to get my head screwed on straight and just like at the movie theater, “Silence is Golden”. When the crew member continued, the rest of the crew asked for silence as well. I didn’t need to hear about some ubiquitous ideal that had no personal context at that moment; I needed to be in my own space with my own thoughts, not someone elses.
Getting out of the van, it took me a moment to re-orient myself with my surroundings. 18 hours had elapsed in the race with 69 miles in the books. Now was the time to get moving again. Those three miles to Panamint Springs Resort were a grind. I was walking slowly and was only mustering up 20 min/miles. Psychologically, I was ready for the climb to Darwin to begin as soon as possible. Physically, my stomach was still in a precarious state and every time I wanted that three miles to end sooner by picking up the pace, I felt my stomach holding back and cautioning me against suddenly running again. So an hour later, we once again said hello to Panamint Springs.
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While breaking for a few minutes, I chatted briefly with Jack and Mags Denness. While Jack and my Uncles compared “must-see” funny videos on YouTube such as monkeys falling out of trees, I thanked Mags for her care and concern. “Are you feeling better after your rest?” Mags asked. With a smile on my face, I said, “Yes. Of course, I believe it was you last year who told me that I did this to myself.” We laughed. I still felt anxious to get back out there with almost 18 hours elapsed at this point, but at least I still had my sense of humor.
With that, I was off again, powerwalking to start the long 8 mile climb from 1300 ft. elevation up to 4000 ft. elevation at Father Crowley’s lookout. This section of road is always what breaks most runners. Whereas the climb up Townes Pass is long and fairly straight, the climb to Father Crowley is a collection of hairpin turns and steep upgrades that keep the runner’s eyes fixed to the ground. When the eyes aren’t fixed to the ground, their noticing the dramatic dropoffs from the road to the ground below. The one advantage a runner, especially being as beat-up as I was already, is the knowledge that I was already past the halfway mark of the race. Every step was finally bringing me closer to the finish instead of further into a black hole.
Kevin and Nick took me the first five miles, trudging briskly up the mountain. He would continue to ask me about drinking my electrolyte drinks and eating some. At first, my sense of balance seemed to be returning. I knew that if I started to add in jogging sections, I would stop thinking about my first priority which was getting hydrated. I was getting 3.5 miles/hour out of my powerwalking, and any additional benefit from jogging or running was outweighed by the energy depletion.
On the way up, we saw a couple of the runners which we crossed paths with a couple of times. For the most part though, it was rather lonely. As the miles wore on, my energy level decreased again. With two miles left till the Lookout, I took a break in the crew van, reclining in the middle row seat, when I got the news. “If you don’t get better in the next couple hours, we’re going to pull you”, threatened Uncle Andy. “Your eyes are sinking in and your dehydrated”.
What? I didn’t understand. I knew I was down weight from when I started, but this seemed extreme. Uncle Andy proceeded to direct my attention to my reflection in the rear-view mirror. What I saw shocked me. He was right. For all the contentious moments and disagreements we sometimes have, he was right. Dark brownish circles that resembled the eye black baseball players wear shaded the area below my eyes and above my cheeks. My eyes were beginning to protrude from my face rather than fit snuggly in my eye sockets. I ran my right index finger over the dark circles below my eyes, feeling the smooth bone from my eye socket with each pass. It’s one thing for a crew person to notice something, it’s a whole other level when the athlete acknowledges the same thing. The athletes are usually the last ones to admit that there’s a problem, believing that they have the strength and the courage to overcome anything. I was the most biased opinion there, always thinking that I can will myself forward and seeing the glass half-full. But this glass wasn’t half-full; it was one-quarter full.
I immediately began to methodically down water bottles and a full bottle of liquid Boost for nutrition. This was beginning to morph from a sporting event to a serious health watch. A few minutes later, Mambo Jose popped in the van and in typical Mambo fashion asked, “So, what day of the week is it?” I replied smartly, “Does it matter? I’m on vacation.” He chuckled softly, knowing that mentally, I was still all there; it was just a matter of getting the body even more hydrated to get running. I kept drinking for a few more minutes, and then it was time to go. There was no more tolerance for the fits of nausea that had drained me earlier. I could not find myself in the same predicament and expect to simply be able to pull myself out of it. If I was going to finish, and finish strong, now was the time. I could not tolerate more weight loss and more dehydration and sensibly expect that the crew would allow me to go through that.
So, the journey reignited with Kathy taking me the rest of the way to the Lookout, the sun rising in the background. She kept feeding me fluids and electrolyte drink, although I think the sight of a new day was the most helpful. It was a new day, and with that a whole new opportunity. I think the body has a positive response to sunlight, a sort of awakening that it’s time to get up and get energized. I had made it through that insane night and the warmth of the sun up there felt very comfortable. I apologized for not talking much with her, but I don’t think she minded. She kept quiet for the most part, allowing me to babble when necessary.
After a couple of false summits where I declared, “There it is”, we finally made it. 80 miles in the books with 55 left to go. After some more Boost and a quick pit stop, I was on my way to Darwin. Once a couple miles north from Father Crowley, the road turns east and finally leaves Death Valley National Park. The moderate climbs and rolling terrain provided ample opportunity for my body to relax and finally enjoy again everything around me. Sipping on liquids, my strength was beginning to return. What was most amazing to me was the body’s ability to incredibly change and recover. Just a few miles back, I was on the edge once again and now I was meandering through a valley of Joshua Trees without a care in the world.
So we rolled along, up and down the hills before hitting a pleatau at mile 87 and a long 3 mile stretch of open road to Darwin. The smell of roadkill filled the air, remenicient of the year before. We would pass random carcasses laid bare on the roadway, dead too long for even the flies to care about. A rabbit here, a bird there and another bird over there. Of course, what do you expect when you put a highway where nature runs free. I would put my shirt to my nose in an attempt to shield myself from the sometimes nauseating smell.
My stride returned as my legs felt fresh hitting the road. In spite of all that I had been through, the training I had put my muscles through and the constant stretching I took as a lesson from the year before were helping tremendously. Two miles to go, one mile to go; the miles melted away and when I made the final turn towards Darwin with 0.3 miles to go, I strode in with me head up, my arms resting comfortably and my stride like clockwork. Welcome to Darwin. We were getting closer all the time. The irony of it all? Even with that 7 hour blast-off from Badwater to Stovepipe Wells, I was in the exact same place at pretty much the same time as last year.
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The road into Owens Valley, with its gradual elevation loss, it can be physically a lot easier on the body by allowing gravity to pull you along. But the road winds like a snake slithering through the desert, punctuated by small rises which separate small sections from one another. It’s these small rises that prevent a runner from looking to far ahead, creating spaces for the mind to wonder if it will ever leave. With the temperatures starting this portion above 100 degrees F at 10 am, heat was once again becoming a factor. Each section is about 4-6 miles in length, with miles and miles of dust and random landmarks, crosses and memorials. Again, Jose paced me with Uncle Andy running the crew van. The theme was again discipline rather than risking that dreaded muscle injury that could easily add a few more hours onto a time already inflated by enough hours due to the stomach instability. Unlike last year, I would make it past Keeler without my hamstrings pulling lame on me.
Jose would randomly leave at pit stops to take care ice in his water bottles, so Kevin or Nick would join me for a half-mile before Jose. It was awkward to have my pacer leave for extended periods of time. I didn’t understand what was going on at the time, so I just went with it. While a pacer was probably not necessary, the primary driver for having one at this point was so that I could run relaxed rather than with a water bottle in my hand or a pack around my waist. I was still well-below my starting weight and making sure I drank and ate more was priority #1.
The pace was methodical and slow. I would do conservative 16 minute miles for 4-5 miles and then hop in the van for a few minutes for a break. Uncle Andy was always quick, always asking the questions about what I needed and when I needed it, and always had the van door open when I need to sit. The lack of a consistent energy source that my stomach could handle left me feeling more tired than I was used to at this stage of a race. I needed to sit and eat, and think about what I was doing. I need to step outside of the overwhelming intensity of the building heat and into a place where I could let myself go for a few brief moments before heading out to do it all again. I should have been more vocal with Jose about what I needed pacing wise, but forgive me for not being more lucid at that point.
Mile by mile, up and down we rolled. The monotony was broken by the sounds of the jukebox coming from our secondary crew vehicle led by DJs Kevin and Nick. Each mile brought with it a new sound, ranging from the timeless “Livin’ on a Prayer” to “I Feel Good” to a little Nirvana. They were my personal XM satellite station, always coming up with something I had yet to hear. Earlier in the race, the pacers would carry a walkie talkie and simulcast the tunes for my enjoyment. Eventually, out in the distance was Keeler, and the familiar T-intersection with a side road leading to Olancha, just south of Lone Pine on Highway 395. Mile 100, mile 102, mile 105. Each step brought me closer to breaking through. When I did reach Keeler, there was just the simple grin on my face, as if I had finally put one over on the course. The temperatures had peaked at a cooler 106 degrees F (according to the car thermometer) at 4 PM and were already beginning their descent.
As Jose departed to shower and prepare for the final climb, Nick, Kevin and Kathy each took turns pacing me from then on, with the instruction to keep me drinking, eating and moving. Interestingly enough, this is about the same time the vampire moths took over. I know what you’re thinking; there’s no such thing as vampire moths. Well, maybe they were horseflies. Regardless, these fat insects who were probably emboldened by the temperature slightly lower than normal, decided to meander out into the valley to fatten up on underweight and sickly-looking runners such as myself. “Ow!” I exclaimed. One by one, these insects took turns trying to bite me for one last snack before I flattened their blood-soaked carcases. Nick commented to me, “Don’t think I’m trying to pick up on you, but I’m just going to swat this thing biting you through the shorts.”
Then, at mile 114, there was Mambo. We always save the toughest sections for him. Mambo’s not as fast as Mambo used to be, but his desire to see me succeed was invaluable. At one point while Kathy was pacing me, Mambo brought out the Bible I had put in the car just so that I could be inspired by what I was truly running for. When he came on, he would play games with me, to gradually start running sections further and further by picking out other runners or vans to run to for a short powerwalking break before doing it all over again. The more places and things we made it to, the further I wanted run and the less I wanted to stop. It was poetry in motion, the definition of stretching the mind in order to stretch the body.
If there was ever any lesson from Mambo’s leg of the race, it’s this: whether pacer or crew, there is no single trait more valued than love for the runner. There’s this perception out there that the best crew or support comes from those with sage pacing advice or specialized medical training or even ultramarathoning experience. But I didn’t need someone to tell me that they’ve been there before or had a scientific explanation for why my lunch and dinner were spewed on the pavement in Townes Pass or Panamint Valley. What I needed was for someone to say I believe in you and what you stand for. I needed to know that in spite of my failures and shortcomings, someone was standing for me even when I couldn’t stand for myself.
Have you ever seen someone’s heart? Have you ever looked at someone and known by their mere presence that you were loved? I looked deeply at the crew that was there, staring intently in their hearts and the only thing I saw was love. They wanted me to succeed as much as I did, and their presence and support at that moment said it all. There were no impassioned pleas, fancy sayings or “win one for the gipper” speeches. They simply did it all. In spite of the very personal journey I was going through, I never once felt alone; they were hands of men guided by the hand of God.
Freedom from doubt is a powerful thing. Uncle Andy, Kevin and Kathy would all remark later that in one moment, ten miles from the Lone Pine time station, something clicked and I looked like a man possessed. The harder the wind blew at me, the greater my resolve became. I dug into the pavement with each stride, head facing down and arms moving briskly. It was the course’s final resistance; Custer’s last stand to keep me from the top. The final climb no longer mattered because in my mind and my heart, I was already so far beyond it.
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Landmark after landmark, point after point, I was moving faster and going further. The routine was the same every time; drink, run, walk, drink, run, walk, drink, run, and so forth. The end was near and I was reeling in the finish as I turned onto Hwy 395 with a little over 2 miles left on this leg.
Finally we finished at the 37 hour, 45 minute mark of my journey. Coming into Lone Pine, it was nice to be back around civilization. The bright signs and neon lights are a bit shocking at first, but at least it was a hint that the journey was almost over. Once again, I saw my parents as I parked it across the street from the Dow Villa. I took 5 minutes to make a small change of shoes to my Brooks Cascadias to get a better grip on the ascent, let Mambo Jose stretch my hamstrings out, and took off. There was nothing to wax poetic about, except for the finish now within my grasp. Race officials and crews at the aid station wished me well as I turned onto Whitney Portal Rd. towards Mt. Whitney. The final 12.1 mile climb up to Whitney Portal is always the most exciting. All of the crew, except for my Uncle Andy climbed into the van. My parents and Uncle would drive to the finish area to await my arrival. Part of me was really disappointed in my time considering how well I did in the first 40% of the race, but another part of me was just so excited to share this finish with my parents, my uncles and the rest of the crew. At that moment, it didn’t matter how sick to my stomach I had been or what toll it had taken on me. Mordor awaited and nothing would get in my way of reaching “the ring”. Most of the crew would take turns pacing me, with Kathy taking me the final 3 miles. Jose paced me the first 3.5 miles, which started with a mile somewhat flat and a gradually increasing grade. I covered the first 3.3 miles in an hour, after which I gradually increased the ratio of power walking to jogging. Nick came on for the next 3 mile segment while Jose went back into the van. My sugar level was fading, but he kept pumping myself full of clif shot bloks, Sport Beans and Gatorade Endurance. My mind was starting to drift and I needed a couple of sitting 5 minute breaks. It was at the 6 mile mark that my body began to drift on the roadway. Every few minutes, I would drift to left and my pacer would have to bump me back onto the roadway to prevent me from going towards the ledge. Each time I would apologize and each time, Nick, Kev and Kathy would remind me of just how far I had already come and that there was no need to feel sorry. Nick was awesome with his encouragements and constantly feeding me with fuel. I had told Nick and Kev that the key to the finish is just pumping me with fuel and encouragements and they were great.
We passed the final time station 3.3 miles from the end and shortly thereafter, Kathy came on board, her infectious smile keeping things loose out there. I kept telling her she’s was doing great and kept trying to tell her stay away from the edge, when really it was her that was keeping me sane. Every time she offered drink, I drank it. Every time I drifted to the edge, she was there to push me back to the road. Every time I asked her if she was alright, it was me who needed to be reassured. I stopped talking after awhile, choosing instead to just focus on my feet hitting the pavement and quads digging in with every step. I kept thinking that any light must be the finish, but each time, I would simply have to pound the pavement further. Finally, after so many different lights in the finish, I was there…..the rest of the crew came out 50 ft. from the finish to cross the line with me. With my parents and Uncle ahead watching, I sprinted forwarded before crossing the finish line in 42 hours, 8 minutes. I turned around before being enveloped in the embrace of a few of my crew members. It was over…..and while the start is filled with hope, the finish is the fulfillment of that hope. My body had taken me part of the way, and God’s spirit took me the rest. After the medal presentation at the finish and taking a seat for 10 minutes, I was wisked away in the team van back the hotel and off to bed. Of course, who needs dreams when reality is so much sweeter?
The next morning? I woke up and my legs were fine. My hamstrings are loose, my quads easy-going, and my I could’ve run another 50 miles, although my low energy level wouldn’t allow me the pleasure J. It was unbelievable, a true convergence of friends, family and fantasy all in one place. Will I do it again? Of course. Having befriended the race staff and getting to know most of them so much better, I can’t imagine not being back in the Valley of Death. I love the adventure, I love competing, and I love being at a race that always causes me to dig deeper than at any other single competition. There’s something unique about going that extra 35 miles that mentally and physically drains you. There is no other race where I feel so not in control and so limited in my physical being, yet so like God is with me.
I have only been running ultramarathons for 2 years now, and feel so close to getting the stomach acid stuff right. I feel so good with how I finished, and how I felt so free and loose and strong for the first 50 miles of the race. I didn’t ask for a stomach bug, but hey, it’s all good. After visiting the doctor this past week, he’s put me on a regiment that he’s confident will “fix the glitch”. I feel like the stress of the distance is no longer a problem for my legs (I'd do it if it was a 175 mile race), it’s just that dastardly stomach acid….hehe. Someday I will go under 30 hours…..someday.
My longer term 100 miler goals over the next year is to move closer to that sub-20 race. For now? Mario Lucerda, head of the Brazilian contingent and head of the Brazil 135, offered my uncle and I a place to stay if we come down to the Brazil 135. He had already found the website, seen the videos on youtube and google video, and even knew my uncle by his nickname “Mambo Jose” from the videos. He also knew that I was raising money for a children’s charity in Africa. It was a nice moment which highlighted the power of the Internet. All my uncle and I have to do is get there. At the end of January, I will do the Brazil 135 on the Path of Faith in Sao Paolo.
Thank you again for all your support; you’re all great and I hope I represented you, my family, my friends, my charity and my God well.
