I'll get right to it-I realized the other day that I've stopped doing so much of what I used to do to express myself, and I need to get back to it. Writing and running.
Running- my own sort of therapy to buffer against everyday life's injuries-is not something I find myself NOT doing. I am in a very deep hole. I'm having a difficult time organizing my thoughts, focusing and concentrating on things.
I'm not sure exactly what triggered it. Last month we had the big snowstorm that made the weather and conditions difficult for running. And then there was the Atlanta shooting, followed by the Boulder shooting, which was about the beginning of it for me. And I never bounced back.
Since March, I've been unable to function normally. My brain has been a mess of fog. I feel numb. It's been all but impossible to work full days. The work I do is very detail-oriented and requires accuracy and focus, with a lot of switching between tasks and keeping track of where you are. I'm good for about 3 hours in the morning and then it all goes to hell. I was going along, doing my thing, things were fairly smooth, and then BOOM! I was down.
Talking with my stepmom, she said it sounds like grief. I'm sure she's right.
We lost my dad six months ago, actually this coming week will be the six month anniversary of his death. I never have processed my feelings around the loss. At the time, I was trying to help my family and was worried about my stepmom, plus worried about my stepbrother who is facing a life-threatening illness, and I had recently started a new job and was busy learning how to do it. Not to mention a pandemic and everything that went with that.
Thankfully I have a supportive workplace. I'm able to take the time I need when I need it. I have taken a few first steps to get help and I'm looking for a grief support group.
There is so much to unpack here. I need some support to get my ass outside, moving forward, climbing upward, and on the trails again. I need non-judgment, someone who can move along in silence when needed and listen without inserting their own world into my angst. A therapist, basically. And no one wants to do that. I wouldn't want them to do that. I wouldn't want to do it. There is so much need for mental health services these days that I bet someone could make a good living at being a running therapist.
I've been stress eating, drinking more alcohol than I should, unable to get myself out on a regular basis to put a decent workout in, feeling my clothes get tighter by the week, spending a lot of time tuning out and obsessing about what's happening in the world, and not sleeping all that well.
I have all these plans, I'm going to Mexico in November to climb the big volcanoes. I have a whole list of 14ers and hikes I want to do this spring and summer. But right now I can't even get my ass out the door to walk sometimes on a gorgeous 70 degree spring day.
I do need someone to adventure with. That would help. It's hard to reach out or make plans when your brain is grief-addled.
One thing about my choices of outdoor recreation is that it's hard to find matches to my ability and interests. Nothing new.
When I started running ultras, there were very few women so I had to run with the guys. That worked well back then because I was faster than the average woman and it wasn't hard to keep up, the men often had to keep up with me.
But now I'm 57, I'm a little over a month past my last hard workout, a good 20 pounds overweight, and feeling like I'm doing the chasing, except there's nobody in front of me or behind me. I'm at the back of the pack- and no one is waiting to let me catch up-it seems. This might just be grief talking, but this is how I feel. I'm an aging extreme athlete.
Everyone who does the things I do is much younger, fitter, faster, and unwilling to slow their pace for this straggler, but most people my age and pace aren't interested in 14 hour summit days and carrying heavy packs full of contingency equipment for any conditions. And it's hard to find people who can go out on the weekdays like I prefer, to avoid the crowds. Colorado's backcountry is not the same as it used to be. And I'm more hesitant, maybe smarter, at my age, to go to some of these more risky and remote places by myself.
But I'm in Colorado. There must be other people like me out there. I just don't know how to wrap my head around finding them because of my sluggish brain.
So... that's where I am. I'm working on it. I really hope I can dig myself out of this hole soon and start climbing mountains. Because right now, instead of being on the summit, I feel like I'm at the bottom of the crater and about to be expelled in a giant belch of ash.
I feel comfortable now being back in my routine of running Across the Years over New Years. Phoenix is home, my dad and stepmom still live there, my brother and sister in law are there, and I have a long history of ties with this race.
Last year it was my first time back after several years away, and the course beat the hell out of me from head to toe. I was determined to have a better physical experience somehow, even if my fitness level didn’t seem to have budged despite training somewhat more intensely this past year than last. At least until September.
I’d planned to run the 48 hour this year, but my muscles were not cooperating. After being on statins for a year, I finally got frustrated with the feeling of running on bricks for legs and said to hell with these drugs and went off.* It took a while to recover any sense of feeling like my muscles were working right, though. As a result, I did very little running from the end of September at There Goes the Sun 12 Hour, until a longish run weekend of 30 miles total in December.
I flew down on Southwest on the evening of the 27th, hoping no one would give me the crud, and took an Uber to my dad and stepmom’s house in Scottsdale. My dad and stepmom had other plans this year and were in Miami at a three-day party being thrown by one of my stepmom’s cousins. I think it’s great that they have the energy to do that.
Upon arriving at the empty, quiet house, I got settled in to my usual spot in the old king bed on the south side of the house. Over the years it’s been getting softer and the mattress needs to be replaced, but this time, it totally screwed up my back. I woke up Friday morning hobbling around in pain.
I tried to loosen things up with a hot shower and stretching. After the pain didn’t ease up, I decided to ice my back and moved into the other guest bedroom on the north side of the house. At least I didn’t make things worse, but I was in pathetic condition to be running a 24 hour race.
On Friday I went out to meet my niece, brother, and sister in law at their new house in north Phoenix. They used to live in Tempe but downsized and moved when my niece graduated from college last year. My niece is going into the Peace Corps- to Togo- in May.
I spent Saturday preparing for the race. There wasn’t much to do except for shopping for a few groceries, doing my PBJ ritual, and organizing my bag of bags of cold weather clothing and race junk.
Dale texted me in a panic on Saturday and I didn’t see it until about 5 pm. Apparently, he had the Seinfeld experience at the car rental place. He took an expensive taxi to his hotel and was calling to ask me if I could pick him up in the morning and took him to the race and drop him off at the airport after.
I slept well the night before the race and woke up just before my alarm. It was time to drive across town and pick up Dale. He was at a hotel I recognized from when the race was held at Nardini Manor. I stayed there a couple of times in my 48- hour racing days.
Race morning
We arrived at Camelback Ranch with plenty of time and picked up our stuff, got a table and set up our junk. Davy Crockett had just finished his run and came over to say hi. We saw Mike Melton in the timing tent and immediately gave him a hard time about the GPS being inaccurate. Mike is the world’s greatest race timer. Plus, he’s an old friend I met at ATY long ago and he crewed for me at Keys 100. I’ve signed up for races just because Mike was timing it.
Once we got our stuff set up, along with the omnipresent enema bag for Dale, I threatened an ice water enema if I found him in the warming tent at night instead of out on the course. We milled around waiting for the race to start.
It was very cold. People were wearing a lot of layers overnight. I had plenty- I brought two bags of clothing and I was ready for anything. I looked for my Colorado runner friends. We saw the Pences- Eric, Anne, and their son Ethan. I can remember Ethan being about 9 or 10 years old and running Across the Years. Now he’s in college.
Eric donated a kidney to his sister the year before last, and he’s back to doing ultras. Eric ran the 72 hour this year, and Anne and Ethan ran the 48-hour. I missed Matt and Anne Watts- Matt had called it good after 100 or so and went back to the hotel to sleep.
Our friends Karen and Nattu were in from California. Karen was running the 72 hour, and Nattu was sick so he was at the hotel. Karen had help at the race, though. She was kicking butt.
My friends Doug and Marji Nash showed up to watch the start. They are snowbirding from Colorado in Goodyear, AZ over the winter, and Doug signed up for the 24 hour on the 31st. They came to say hi before my start, Doug wanted to run a lap with me sometime on my race day to see the course. They also brought a special person with them- Marge Adelman, who was seasoned ultrarunner before I even started ultras.
Marge and I met back in 1991 at Doc Holliday in Glenwood Springs, my first ultra. We ran much of the race together, and she greeted me when I arrived at the finish line- knowing it was my first- with hugs and congratulations. That is something I’ll always remember. She moved away to Kansas for a while when we were in Arizona, and we have both since moved back to Colorado. It was a great surprise and treat to see her.
Mike started the pre-race briefing and we got started at 9 am sharp. The morning slowly warmed up enough to shed some layers, though I never stripped down to shorts. There isn’t enough daylight for that. The sun sets late in Arizona because of its location on the west end of the time zone, so the sun rises late around 7:30 and sets around 5:30.
photo credit: Steve Finkelstein
I felt good despite my back and as long as I didn’t stop, I was fine. It hurt, but not enough to distract me or slow me down- I wasn’t running fast anyway. I ran about half of the time during the daylight. My legs and feet felt surprisingly good. I saw my old Arizona ATY running friends Steve Finkelstein, Paul Bonnett, and Steve Finkelstein. Steve took some great photos at the race. It was also great to see the regulars like John Geesler and Martina Hausman, “Here we are again.”
By late afternoon I had gotten past 50K and I decided to do a foot check before it got cold and dark, so I wouldn’t stiffen up from sitting down. I changed my socks and shook out my shoes and gaiters, wiped my feet down with alcohol and inspected them. A small blister was forming on my left heel, so I cut it to let it start draining. Other than that, getting the dust off my feet and changing socks was enough to make everything good again. Took care of the hot spots, anyway.
The one thing that really saved my feet was that the gravel section from last year was gone. That sucked, and lots of people remarked on how glad they were that the gravel had been removed.
Into the night
I was careful about overdressing too early, and that worked well- I didn’t get sweaty like I usually do. I needed gloves and a hat, but I was comfortable. They served a huge pile of food for dinner- they had sloppy joes and I asked for potatoes with it instead of a bun since I am not eating wheat. As a result, I got a giant portion of food and I scarfed it down, knowing it would take a while to digest and be able to run again, but that was fine.
At dusk
Sasquatch and Karen stalking me
I was in a state of bliss as I rounded the course, having conversations with different people followed by periods of silence and withdrawing into my music. I had everything from Dr. DRE to Cardi B to Sade to Niña Dioz to David Bowie to trance.
It wasn’t until close to 9 pm when I felt like my stomach was empty enough to start running a little. I love it when the stars are out, and we had a bright half moon along with visible constellations despite the lit-up Phoenix sky.
The Low Number
During the night I talked with several of the old timers- the late 70s-early 80s runners. I’m talking age, not the decades of the 20th century. Bill Dickey, Don Winkley, Joe Dana, some of the legendary longtime septuagenarian and octogenarian ultrarunners who show up for Across the Years. This year there was a 75 year-old woman in the race, and several women in their 70s. I love seeing that. They inspire me. We’ve had many older runners over the years, and many we’ve lost. You never know when you might not see someone again. Who would have ever thought John Hobbs, for example, would be gone now?
One thing about Across the Years is that your race number stays with you in perpetuity, and those numbers are assigned based on the order in which you first entered the race- your first time. I ran it for the first time in 1994. My race bib number is 133. I was looking at the other numbers out there and the only person I saw with a lower number than me was Mario Escobedo, number 35.
As I came up on him during a lap I started a conversation and it turned out we had a lot of ultra history to share between us. We spent several laps walking and talking together. He had been gone from the race for a long time and recently retired, now having more time to run again, he’s back. We talked about some of the old characters from Across the Years and the ultra community in general, the personalities, and the stories. Mario is only 60, so hopefully he’ll be out there for quite a long time still running.
Watching Sasquatch
I started looking out for Dale since he had told me not to let him hang out in the warming tent. I didn’t see him for a long time. He stopped to call his wife for a while and to eat- but after that I didn’t see him. I asked our friend Karen to keep an eye out for him. As it turned out, he was moving along about the same pace as me, just on the opposite end of the track so we didn’t pass each other for a lot of hours. That can happen out there. But he was moving so well. No enema necessary.
Dale had been carrying our friend John Hobbs’ number, doing laps in memory of him. We lost John this past year- he’s been a great friend in the Colorado ultra community. Dale said his goal was to run 73 miles, which was John’s age at the time of his death. Considering Dale has been getting chemo for a few months lately since his cancer relapsed, he was really doing amazing. The drug they are giving him is much easier on his body apparently, than what he had before.
I went into the race without a specific goal, but I expected to do about the same number of miles as I did last year. Since running crappy at the 12 hour in September with my statin-addled muscles, I really didn’t have any expectation of doing better. Plus, I haven’t done shit for training since then either. I didn’t do any long runs this fall until December 9th. I did one weekend of 30 miles and that was it. I have really not been running much- more yoga and boxing than anything else.
One thing I do have in mind is finishing the miles for my 1000-mile jacket. As of the beginning of this race I had about 819 miles. I figured I would just make some progress toward it, then sign up for whatever event I need in order to complete the remaining miles next year.
What was most important to me, as well as Dale, was to stay out and stay awake through the night. I kept wrapping extra layers around my back and butt to keep my low back warm so I wouldn’t get stiff. My pace slowed somewhat, and I was doing less running, but I was not falling asleep with a steady oral infusion of coffee and other caffeinated drinks since about 3 pm. I never got sleepy and never got inefficient or sloppy.
In the corner of the course, about half way on the lap there is a water-only aid station that is staffed by one person all day. At night, there’s a guy who sits in there and plays 1960s and 70s music, he reminds me of Lieutenant Dan from the Forrest Gump movie. He is always enthusiastic and smiling and cheering on the runners. It’s like getting an extra little boost on each lap.
Ann Trason was at the race this year. She was always surrounded by several runners. I wanted to introduce myself but there was never a moment when she wasn’t engaged in conversation with one of them or looking out of it- so I didn’t. It was cool to have her out there. She was wearing a purple light-bedecked hat and was draped in some kind of costume so you couldn’t miss her.
When I started running ultras in 1991, she was the up and coming ultra star, and she was up there pretty much through the 90s until injuries and life got a hold of her. After running in the same sport for several decades it’s hard to avoid running into someone from that time frame- there weren’t nearly as many of us back then! She’s one of those people I never actually met.
I began concentrating on keeping enough calories in through liquids and switched over to gummy worms- ugh- but that’s really all my stomach wants at night. I had a yogurt, but it was too cold for yogurt. I had some PBJs and those helped.
Phreezing in Phoenix at Sunrise
Coffee and gummy worms got me through the rest of the night and morning. That was my breakfast, too. It was already cold but as we approached sunrise I was freezing, even with all my 6 layers on top and 3 on the bottom. Even the Colorado people were complaining about the cold!
At one point I went to use the real bathroom- which is heated and has light, flushing toilets and running water, and took my baby wipes with me- and the baby wipes were frozen solid! They’d been in my pack next to the table. A whole pile of frost dumped off my bag when I opened it.
When I passed 100Km and realized I had a lot of time left to do more miles- I was going to be way over my original expectations. I set a goal for 70, then 75. One the lap where I reached 75 miles, Ethan was finishing his hundred miles. I walked with Eric and Ethan. Anne was chasing Matt’s mileage, so she was trying to get as much as possible in so she could chick Matt.
After Ethan and I celebrated our milestones, we kept going, I got 76, then got one more lap in and ended up with 77.685 to be exact.
Which leaves me with only about 103 miles next year to get the 1000 mile jacket.
Ethan and Eric
Sasquatch finished with 70, which is impressive given his current state of going through cancer treatment, and we hung out to watch the end of our race and the start of the next day’s 24 hour race. Doug and Marji were there, I got to talk with Marge a little more, and I saw my old Arizona running friend Debbie Leftwich.
Sasquatch and I took a load of our stuff back to the car where I realized that the automatic entry key on my dad’s car wouldn’t work because it was so cold. We momentarily panicked, and looked for Marji to take us somewhere if we needed a battery or something, but then my sleep deprived brain was playing with the key and I realized there was a manual entry key inside the little gadget! False alarm. What a relief. Imagine, your locks freezing in Phoenix!
After we got the rest of our stuff, we drove over to the showers and I waited while Sasquatch took a shower and changed before going to the airport. I sat in the car with the heater blasting. When the clean Sasquatch emerged, we drove across town to the airport, and I dropped him off, and headed back to my dad’s.
Final standings for 24 hour 30th start
I had over 24 hours to recover and clean up after my race mess before they got home from Miami. I finally got a chance to peek at my race swag bag, and as usual, they gave us some nice stuff. I left my finishers mug at my dad’s house on purpose, I have so many ATY mugs. If anyone ever wants to drink a really big beer, they can use it.
The next day my dad and stepmom arrived home and I got to visit with them until Friday the 4th, when I headed home. And now I’m back in Colorado. But before I arrived home, from the airport, I signed up for another 24 hour in Palmer Lake in April.
Race goodies
Resolution
It is true, like the proverb, that the journey of 1000 miles begins with a single step. It’s also true that the mind is an instrument. It needs to be practiced upon and finely tuned, with care and diligence and rest and appreciation for its means and end.
I’m re-learning to run with a different body than I had a few years back. I need to harness the power of my mind to make adaptations and adjustments to continue to put the miles in. I surprised myself with my ability to cover as much distance on what I used to consider an undertrained body. My goals have changed- I don’t expect speed any more, but I can achieve speed in a relative sense- doing more miles with more efficiency.
So next year, my plan is to sign up for either the 48 hour, or the 72 hour, to knock out those 103 miles or so without it being too difficult, and if I do sign up for the 72 hour, it will be with a dual purpose- to finish those miles as well as start thinking about what I’ll need for the 6 day race. I don’t want to wait too long, I’m thinking the year after next is a good possibility, if all goes well between now and then.
Next up is Stories 15 hour in Colorado Springs in 5 weeks…but I’ll be blogging about my updated philosophy of running before then. See you soon.
*disclaimer: do not take this as medical advice. If you're on any drug, don't stop it without consulting your licensed physician.
It's time to refresh and renew, I've been feeling dusty and rusty lately and the new blog look is long overdue. I might continue to make a few tweaks to the look over the next few weeks, but I like this one.
Again, I've been seriously slacking at blogging, and running too. Lots of stuff going on, and just re-adjusting and tuning the different parts of my life. I'm doing fine, just trying to figure out running in a body that isn't the same as it was ten years ago, or even five years ago. I've had to do some experimentation and as much as I hate the cliche, soul-searching.
The political climate has been a small factor, but I feel much better since the election, even though things are pretty shaky at this moment in terms of what the Orange Fuhrer is going to do next without any supervision. If we can just make it to January 3 when the new Congress is sworn in, I can stop holding my breath. It's just that this narcissist and his band of deniers have triggered just about every bad experience from my life and figuring out how to deal with it has been a real challenge.
Mostly, I just can't get myself to sit in front of the laptop and write. Maybe it's leftover burnout from writing the book, but I also do quite a bit of work in terms of gainful employment in front of the screen, and I really haven't been doing too many runs worthy of blogposts lately, so there are my excuses.
I am headed to Arizona in a few days to take part in my New Years ritual, Across the Years. I was all pumped up earlier in the year to make a partial comeback and run the 48 hour event, but after my frustrating experience with the statins (see my next post or two) and feeling like I had a body transplant, and not in a good way- I decided to drop back to the fun run version and not set any goals, and just use the time on the course to zone out and enjoy.
I do plan to write a blog post recapping the past few months before I run Across the Years, once I settle in to my dad's house in Arizona. And I also plan to write a new philosophical post soon, I've been working on it in my head, but haven't sat down to put it into words. I wrote my old one ten years ago and it's time for an update.
I'm excited about what the coming year holds in terms of running and some of the other things I've been doing. And I am not burned out on running, buy any stretch. Check out my calendar for early 2019. I'm just going to do some different things and shake it up and spend fewer days each week running, since my longtime habits of running nearly every day don't seem to be working on this aging body.
In the interest of time and needing to get to my boxing class this morning, I will stop here, but I am not going away. I'm looking forward to sharing on this blog again. Thanks for sticking with me despite my long absences. And, Merry Christmas.
I think I just fell in love with ultras again. It was my first time doing this event, which is fairly new, it wasn't around in the old days, anyway. I was amazed by the organization, the vibe, and the bang for your buck. The organizers did an amazing job. I'll be back to this one. Maybe a new favorite.
Palmer Lake is a tiny town at the base of the Rampart Range, tucked away off I-25, protected from the madness of the nearby big cities of Denver and Colorado Springs. I haven't been there in 20 years. Before we moved away to Arizona, I ran a trail race there in 1998. I remember it being beautiful and quiet.
The entire reason I love 24 hour runs is the nighttime. Especially under a clear sky with stars and meteor showers. Life doesn't get much better than that, in my opinion. If I were more of a night person in my regular life, I would do all my running at night. The cover of darkness under the moon or starlit sky is the best venue for running, for losing yourself, for therapy, for clearing your mind into a blank slate, and renewal of your spirit. That's what it does for me.
Surrounded by mountains with pine-forested slopes, a forgiving dirt trail around a quiet lake reflecting the landscape, and just the right number of people- not too crowded, but well-attended enough to provide the just the right social atmosphere, with enough of a weather challenge to keep things interesting without being miserable- I think this might be the essence of ultrarunning.
The only drawback of this event, that I found a bit annoying- was the frequency of the trains that thundered by at least once an hour- big, long coal trains along the tracks on the west side of the course. There is a railroad crossing on the north end of the lake, and the horns would go off, waking you out of whatever stupor you were in, followed by earth shattering railroad cars, followed by hundreds of screeching wheels that sound like nails on a chalkboard. Other than being subjected to this music- and conversation-obliterating nuisance on a regular basis, and one that the race organizers are powerless to change- I would say this event is one of the best ultras I've ever attended. I'd say if the noise bothers you, bring earplugs, it certainly won't stop me from coming back.
Sasquatch (a.k.a. Dale Perry) told me about this event a few months ago and the timing was perfect for me. Then I signed up for it and discovered it was a bargain. Other than Fat Ass runs, this one doesn't cost much more than those. There is, of course, no timing system, it's an honor-based system where you keep track of your own miles. They provide a tracking method where you can write down your lap count. I found that it helped me if I wrote my laps down every hour, that way I didn't have trouble keeping track of too many at a time. To help me remember, I also wrote down the time of day when I finished the last recorded lap.
I wasn't expecting much more than a Fat Ass event based on the price, but I was pleasantly surprised to find just the right number of well-stocked portapotties, a tent with a few unexpected snacks, trash cans, and chairs to chill out off your feet if needed, which was where the lap-tracking activity occurred. We switched directions every 4 hours, which was a nice distraction, and it was convenient to set up your table or crewing station right along the course without adding any extra steps.
Not only that, but they provided race goodies- a water bottle, flask, sticker, and finishers medal, much more than I'd ever expect from a race priced this low.
After being supervised by Velcro and Gypsy while packing everything under the sun due to the weather forecast of snowy, cold, wet conditions, I decided to stay overnight in Monument, about 10 minutes drive from the event. I made a reservation at the Fairfield Inn and headed south on I-25. Sasquatch also decided to drive down Friday so we met for dinner at Chili's- not too many choices besides McDonalds, fried chicken, and a few other fast food joints. Sasquatch advised me to get there early in the morning to get a good parking spot to be able to set up for crewing along the course. He said he would be there at 6. I told him I would look for him around 6:30 am, as the race start was at 8 am.
I got decent sleep, though not a full night. My room was hot. I couldn't figure out how to lower the thermostat. I woke up at 3:30 am and couldn't fall back to sleep until shortly before my alarm went off at 5:30. Six hours was okay, but not having a full night's sleep before the race adds to the fatigue in the race. What are you gonna do? Lots of caffeine.
When I woke up in the morning, I looked out my window on the parking lot. It snowed overnight and puddles were forming on the asphalt. The clouds were barely above the ground- a thick fog obscured the view. I drove slowly to the race and got a parking spot alongside the course, with enough room to set up my table next to my car and the trail. I went to the tent to check in and found Sasquatch, who got one of the primo parking spots and parked right next to Eric Pence, another ultra friend of ours from Eagle. Eric is back to ultras now, a few months after surgery to donate one of his kidneys to his sister. Eric has always been a great athlete, and he seems to be recovering extremely well.
It was already muddy on the course, and the wet snow wasn't letting up. There was also a 10 mph wind out of the north that was worth an extra layer or two of clothing. I started out with my long compression shorts and my calf compression sleeves, which together are long enough to cover my entire legs. I wore gaiters, and on top, I had 4 layers, plus a neck gaiter, hat and headband. I brought so many clothes, I knew I would be okay.
As it turned out, I was dressed perfectly, because I was completely comfortable. There was a noticeable difference between the east and west sides of the lake with the wind in our faces or at our backs, I'd rather stay warm and be a little overdressed when the wind is at my back.
Despite the gloomy and wet start, I was thankful that the wind wasn't blowing the snow sideways, and that there weren't waves crashing over the course, like NorthCoast in 2013, exactly 5 years ago to this weekend! I've run in worse, and it was actually quite pleasant here by comparison.
I started out by running a lap every hour to save my energy, and that went well for the first four hours, until the course started to get sloppy, slowing my pace down. Each lap of the course is 0.82 miles. I wasn't doing the math in my head but I knew I wanted to beat my distance from Across the Years in December, which was 61 miles. I was hoping for 70 miles but in these conditions you can't always predict. I decided to concentrate on keeping a steady but moderate walking pace, because the footing was not great on the sloppier west side of the course.
Lots of people were running steadily, and seemed to be putting in a ton of mileage. After a while it was easy to see who was in it just to run 25 or 30 or so, and then stop. The crowd started to dwindle later in the afternoon, and while the weather forecast hadn't been exactly right- the sky did start to clear a few times off and on during the afternoon, and was visibly clearer by sunset, promising a colder but dry evening.
During the race Brad Bishop from Fort Collins joined me on one of his walk breaks from running. He didn't have any particular plan but seemed to be moving well. We talked a while and then he went back to running. I had the opposite strategy- mostly walking with a few running breaks. At one point somebody remarked that I reminded them of a locomotive. I'll take it as a compliment. I was moving solid and steady, but I wasn't exactly in "Walk like you're possessed" mode. It was too slippery in the mud and puddles.
I only stopped twice for short breaks- once to eat some real food out of my cooler after about 6 hours- and another time after 10 hours I changed my socks to take a look at my feet and put on an extra layer of tights for nighttime. My feet were holding up surprisingly well. I greased a few hot spots but everything looked good.
I tried to save on my phone battery and I posted on social media a few times throughout the day, and to my surprise, my friend Josh Holer commented- I wasn't thinking and forgot he was nearby in Colorado Springs. He asked if I needed anything. I asked for Starbucks. Then I thought of Sasquatch and decided to ask if he wanted anything- maybe food or hot drinks. When I saw him on the course, he said a burger or a burrito. The burrito sounded good to me. I asked Josh if he could bring us some burritos and coffee.
I was trying to figure out how to contact Josh because it was so cold my phone wasn't charging. Fortunately the people at the car parked in front of mine were crewing another runner, and offered to text Josh for me to help him find me when he got there. They were so nice- a group of people from Boulder. Ultrarunners are always looking out for each other. Such a great crowd.
Josh came out before sunset, with his girlfriend I haven't ever met, Jeana, who was super nice, and their new puppy, Ember, a black lab. They had a vanilla latte with extra shots, and two burritos. I haven't seen Josh in a couple of years, it was such an awesome treat! He walked a few laps with me and we caught up on life. That was the best tasting vanilla latte I've ever had- and it worked well too!
The burrito place mismarked the burritos- I ordered chicken and Dale ordered beef- so I unwrapped the burrito marked chicken and bit into it- and it was Dale's. We waited for Dale to come around the lap so we could give him his food. I told him we gave him the defective one. Typical Dale response, which I won't print here.
The other thing that happened at the same time was that as I was waiting for Josh to show up, I stopped at the timing tent to record my laps, and I ran into an old running buddy from years ago- Sandee Miller. She and her husband Geoff live in Palmer Lake and I used to see them all the time back in the 90s when I used run a lot of trail races and go to Leadville. Geoff was out along the course, so Sandee and I walked a lap and found Geoff. It was so great to see them!
After all the food, coffee and socializing I felt completely recharged. I cranked up my tunes. The sunset was absolutely stunning with the light on the peaks of the Rampart Range. Sandee, Jeana and Josh took a few pictures.
The sky cleared up and there was a moon, lots of stars, and even some meteor showers. The slippery puddles that had made the footing a challenge earlier were starting to dry up. The wind persisted and switched directions out of the south, but didn't get any stronger. The trains rolled by about every hour- that was irritating because you couldn't hear the person next to you, or your music. But most of the time it was quiet. There weren't too many people left on the course after 10 pm. I didn't have to use my headlamp too much, the path is so smooth that the footing was good other than a few bigger puddles.
When I wasn't talking with someone, I got absorbed in my music. People always ask me what I think about when I'm out there. I really don't think. It's an opportunity to clear my mind. What did go through my head was watching Pete Kostelnick, who is one of the young, fresh, talented ultrarunners on the scene these days, effortlessly circling the course. I think he got about 120 miles. I was thinking about my own competitive nature, and how hard it's been at times to let go of that.
It was fun and it felt fantastic to be in such good condition, to be able to do all those miles and make it look so easy- up until just a few years ago I could do that. I know I could do it again if I put my mind to it, but it just doesn't matter to me now. It is hard to not compare yourself to what you were. As we get older, we are able to accomplish some things that we couldn't at a younger age, but physically, you do lose some of that steam- especially in the speed and smoothness departments.
I have to be accepting of my ability to cover distances- not as far as before, not as fast or easy as before, but be okay with it. Stop comparing to the younger me, and be okay with where I am now. I don't think I was okay with it until now. At Across the Years I did find myself mentally comparing myself. The challenge was to separate the need to be competitive, to have the athlete's body, to train hard and see the results in my times and distances- from being in a different mindset and body than I was a few years ago. I don't need to prove anything to myself or anyone else. I always find validation when I think of Marshall Ulrich saying, "It's not about being a badass."
A good lesson for those younger runners, especially as they start to approach their late 40s and find that the consistency of performance just isn't there. I listen to some of the conversations at night- it's so funny that the people who were flying by, effortlessly running and lapping me all day long are now dragging their beaten and tired bodies- barely moving- in that zombie walk/death march, depleted of energy and calories- feeling like giving up- and I want to impart advice to them- as they start telling me how good I look as I power past them in the dark- I'm still moving the same way I was at the beginning- but that's because I didn't wear myself out by running all day.
But it's up to them to figure it out, so I don't say anything unless asked. I have a playlist on my iPod called "night music" that ranges from headbanging to just loud and obnoxious- to keep me awake in the middle of the night at these events. I didn't have to listen to too much of it, as the coffee was keeping me plenty awake.
I went through a whole variety of music. I kept singing, the whole time. "I LOVE ROCK N' ROLL SO PUT ANOTHER DIME IN THE JUKEBOX BABY I LOVE ROCK N ROLL..." at the top of my lungs, echoing in the portapotties at 3 am.
During the night I walked with Eric Pence for a while. He told me he and Anne are getting a puppy soon- a mini black tri Aussie. Anne showed me a picture- so cute! We talked Aussies, ultras, and healthcare, and stuck together for quite a few laps.
I didn't get sleepy, just a little hungry. I kept a few calories going but didn't feel like eating too much. Just kept moving at a very steady pace. I started to do the math. Sasquatch left after 50 miles- that was enough for him. When I got to 50 miles then I started thinking about how far I wanted to go. I decided I had to do the 70 just for my own mental satisfaction. If I kept my pace up I should reach it between 6 and 7 am. Then I would reward myself with a nap in the car before driving home to Fort Collins.
The sun started to rise- the light was reflecting on the mountains and lake. I finished my 86th lap, which was 70.52 miles- at 5:42 am. I was satisfied. I didn't care about sticking around for any more miles- that was good. I broke down my table, thanked Jun who helped me find Josh, and moved my car out of the way so I could warm it up and take a little nap.
I dozed off for maybe 5 minutes when another train came blasting through- it woke me up, so I decided to get going and see if some food and coffee would revive me. When I got to south Denver I pulled off and went to a Starbucks, got a coffee and a sandwich, and felt so much better, I was ready to drive. I drove home and got there around 9 am, Dennis helped me dump my stuff out in the garage, and after being attacked by the girls, I took a shower and climbed into bed.
As of today, Monday morning, I owe the sleep bank only about 4 more hours. I have to get packed for Washington DC. I'm headed there later this week to #NursesTakeDC, a grassroots rally of nurses at the US Capitol for passing national legislation for safe nurse: patient ratios in hospitals and healthcare facilities. I am one of the speakers. I'm so excited. I will share the details on this blog after I get back.
photo credits: Josh Holer, Jeana Connaughton, Sandee Miller
I first met Bob Becker when I ran my first Badwater. We were in line together to pick up our race packets at the pre-race briefing in 2008, and he had several of my Colorado running buddies on his crew.
Bob is director of the Keys 100 ultramarathon, among several other events in South Florida. He's also a great friend, a real down-to-earth and good soul. I ran the Keys 100 in 2010 and then stayed with Bob and his wife, Suzanne, in 2011 when I ran the Lost 118 and Bob and our friend Phil Rosenstein crewed me, in support of my training for my Badwater road double in 2011.
A year ago, after Bob ran Badwater again, he asked me if I would consider crewing him if he did a double the next year. There was no way I would turn that down, the opportunity to give something back to a runner who helped me so much, and Bob especially, being Bob. I was still committed to doing medical at that point and I told him I'd be willing to crew him on the return part of the trip.
As it turned out things got busy and when I was asked to do medical this year I said no, it would be too much and I would be too tired to really help Bob, and my work was keeping me busy and in need of a working brain. A few days of sleep deprivation was one thing, but a week, no way.
This blogpost is about my experience of Bob's run. It fills in the gaps as I was there and what I witnessed. There are four more stories from the return as well as the race and Whitney portions. In all, there were 8 people involved between Bob and the crew. Eight different stories. This is my perspective, one of eight.
This year was Bob's 70th birthday and that was his motivation for getting out there to do this. No one that age has ever attempted this before and he asked if I'd lend my experience from medical, nursing, and running a double Badwater. If I didn't think too hard about it, and thought about Bob the athlete, not Bob the 70 year old, running nearly 300 miles across Death Valley in the middle of summer, I was fine.
I know what a good runner Bob is, and his ability. He's mentally tough and has plenty of ultra experience, and he's always finished Badwater a few hours faster than I have. He's certainly trained and capable. He's run Marathon des Sables, Grand to Grand, and Spartathlon. He's had plenty of heat running experience in Florida, finished Badwater twice. And he's healthier than most 70 year olds, certainly healthier and a gazillion times more fit than most people half his age. Age really wasn't a factor, except for a few minor things that nagged at the back of my mind.
Kidneys, lungs, heart, brain.
I can't help it, but I used to be an ICU nurse. No matter how fit someone is on the outside, if their organs are 70 years old, that's a consideration. Because old organs and old bodies need to be treated carefully, and they might not work or recover quite as efficiently as 35 year old organs or even 50 year old ones. And a trek across Death Valley in the middle of summer, followed by a climb up Mt. Whitney, followed by another Death valley crossing, taxes a body of any age to the limits.
Kidneys need to be working well not only before and during, but after an excursion like this one. I wanted to make sure he still had all those organs intact when he finished. I felt like that was my mission on this trip, not so much as a crew member, which I was, but as guardian of Bob's future health and well-being. And, since I know Bob's wife and kids personally, I was thinking of them, knowing they were trusting the crew with their most precious husband and dad.
Lungs and kidneys work together in regulating the body's acid and base balance. Whitney would challenge those organs, along with his GI tract, brain, and heart not getting a lot of oxygen. And I knew he'd be taking Diamox to help prevent altitude sickness, which would also dry him out even more, before he set out for the last 135 miles across the desert again.
The goal is to be safe and have fun. The runner and crew members need to finish intact, in good health. Then you worry about finishing time. Bob, being the competitor he is, was always thinking about how long it was taking, feeling like rest times were hurting him, even though he was also very aware of his need for rest and cooldown breaks. It's like having a shoulder angel and devil talking into each ear, trying to figure out which one he should listen to.
Getting There
After a year of minimal training but focusing solely on being on my feet for long periods of time in the heat, namely two long runs of 12 and 15 hours each, and a few vertical jaunts up and down Horsetooth Rock, and not much else other than walking, I was as prepared as I'd be. I drove to St. George, Utah which took 10 hours the first day. I entered the no AC zone around Parachute, Colorado, where the landscape begins to look desolate. That means you drive across the hot desert with the windows open and the hot dry air blowing in your face, until the hotel.
I spent the night chilling out, literally, in a comfortable room with killer AC overlooking the Virgin River bike path, where I went for a quick jog the next morning before the two hour drive to Las Vegas.
In Las Vegas I had reservations at the Neon Museum for a tour of the Neon Boneyard. Definitely worth checking out if you get a chance. All the old classic neon signs from the strip are there and it's a great historical summary of Las Vegas.
Then it was time for my favorite sushi place, Sushi Koma. I drove there and sat down for a relaxing leisurely outrageously awesome meal. I took a long time and the place was quiet despite being busy. People were busy eating. It's so good.
Then it was time to hit Wal-Mart. I got some PBJ supplies, a case of water bottles, and found this cool Wonder Woman skirt on the rack for $4.88. It looked like it would fit me, so I decided to get it and then surprise Bob in the middle of the night with it.
After getting a small stash from Walmart, and Felix would be proud that I only spent $20.00 there, I drove to the hotel in Spring Valley, close to shopping, the freeway, the airport, and the highway to Pahrump. I had to pick up Don Nelson, the final crew member from the Keys, near the airport in the morning, at whatever hotel he was in.
Enjoying the view of all the Vegas resorts from my window at sunset, I savored my last full night of sleep. I discovered that the Walmart skirt I bought was actually a tube top for a really big person. I figured it out when I found the shelf bra in it after I got back to my hotel room. What the hell, make it work. If nothing else I could stitch up the shelf bra and put ice in it and wear it on my head.
Thursday morning Don told me he was at Motel Six near the airport, I'm sure that was a colorful introduction to Las Vegas. I drove down there, it was easy to find, and after a quick stop to get some food for Don, we made the 4 hour drive to Lone Pine. Don got to see most of the Badwater course that way. I found Don to be easygoing and pleasant. Good vibe for crewing. He lives on one of the lower Keys. He's heavily involved in running, race directing, and the RRCA in Florida and the Keys.
Lone Pine
Along the way, we got a text from Kevin Grabowski, who was Bob's crew chief for the race portion, that Bob was getting very close to the finish. It looked like we would arrive in Lone Pine about the same time Bob might make it to the finish line. We wouldn't be able to see him finish, but that would be a cluster anyway because of driving up the Portal Road. As it turned out, Bob had just gotten back to town when we arrived in Lone Pine. We checked into the hostel where all the crew members were staying.
Kevin, Marc Drautz and Beth Stone crewed for Bob during the race, along with Roger Burruss. Roger was the only one to crew Bob both ways. Ashley Heclo had crewed another runner during the race but then joined us for the return. Marc had to head back first, then Beth the following morning.
The first thing Kevin did when I got there was forbid me to look at the van until he cleaned it out. When I finally did go to the van, it was incredible: not too dirty, organized, with a minimum of crap. You would never know that they just hauled a crew and all the runner's stuff across Death Valley in the race. No trace of the chaos remained.
Bob looked pretty rough but was in good spirits. Mostly he looked dehydrated and sleepy. After he showered and I looked at his feet, we went over to the restaurant next to the Dow Villa and ate something, and decided he would get some sleep and I'd look at his feet. They looked great and he had just a few minor blisters. The tape John Vonhof put on his feet was in great shape and I didn't want to mess with it until after he did Whitney.
We did get him on the scale and he was down to 115 pounds. He started at 122. That was really too much weight to lose, and I knew he'd be taking Diamox to prevent altitude sickness on the mountain, and that would dry him out more. He was peeing a decent amount and color, and other than being tired, he was thinking clearly, so I pushed the fluids and food and he didn't have any stomach issues. I tried not to worry too much, but I was watching him closely and making him drink even if it was annoying.
The post-race pizza party took bloody freaking forever. It was supposed to be from 7 to 9 pm, Chris didn't even start it until almost 8, and Bob and Kevin, along with several other people who wanted to summit Whitney early in the morning, were chomping at the bit to get some sleep. Since they were headed up Whitney at 4 am, and already exhausted, it was hard for them to sit through. At least it was at night and it wasn't as sweltering as it usually is in there. Still, it was pretty torturous and drawn out for people who had been up for days, as these things tend to be.
I was fresh, and I was glad for the opportunity to see so many of the people I've worked with on the Badwater staff in the past, who are always so warm, friendly, welcoming, and appreciative. "You're late!" they'd say. They all wanted to know where I'd been.
Mt. Whitney and Chillin' in the Valley
The plan was for Bob to get up and do Whitney in the morning, and Kevin and Don would accompany him, along with Marshall and a few of his crew. Kevin was very fit and strong, but had very little sleep and Don was fresh but from sea level at the Keys and I had no idea what might happen up there. I felt good knowing Marshall was there on the mountain and would at least see Bob coming up on his way down, and would let us know if there were any problems. We didn't hear anything so we assumed all was good.
While we waited for Bob, Kevin, and Don, I hung out with Beth. Bonnie Busch from Iowa, with whom I've run a couple of Cornbelt 24 hour races, wanted to take Beth and I out to dinner at the Mexican restaurant. Bonnie was on Bob's crew along with Kevin, Beth, and Bill Wenner last year, though Bill couldn't make it this year. Bonnie is an accomplished and talented ultrarunner and she was doing her 4th Badwater, and we got to meet her crew. It was great to see Bonnie again, I'm hoping I will go back to Cornbelt in the future and see her there again.
We had a fun evening hanging out with Bonnie and her crew, signing the wall at Jake's Saloon, which I had never done yet, and raising hell at the barbershop and various places along the main drag in Lone Pine. Apparently the sleep deprivation gets to some people in more creative ways than others.
This is what Bonnie's crew was up to, multitasking in addition to crewing:
Rest Day
It did take a good 22 hours for Bob to do Whitney, and afterwards he looked completely trashed. He wisely decided to take another day of rest. We fed him McDonalds cheeseburgers and fries in an attempt to plump him up. He really did look scrawny, his face was drawn. He was peeing okay, but I knew it was a deep dehydration and burning up muscle too, as he has no fat on his body whatsoever. I made him drink a liter of oral rehydration salts, and he had a great appetite.
We hung out in Lone Pine for a day before starting back on Sunday morning the 2nd. Marshall gave us some food and drinks he didn't use in his run, so we got quite a bit of extra stuff. We did a minimum of shopping, Kevin, Marc and Beth had cleaned out the van so well and there were still enough supplies that we didn't have to get much other than ice and crew member food. Ashley massaged Bob while I taped his feet. We called it Bob's spa day.
The Return
Ben Jones, Bradford Lombardi, and Scott Wall (CHP Scotty) drove up early that morning to see Bob off from the Portal. Bob was really touched by that. Having Ben's there is sort of like having the Pope's blessing.
Ashley drove Bob and Roger up the Portal road in the morning and the plan was for me to crew them out of my vehicle down the portal road so Don and Ashley could get all our stuff out of the rooms, fill the coolers with ice and get whatever remaining supplies we needed. Then we would meet at McDonalds when Bob made it to Lone Pine a few hours later.
I crewed Bob and Roger down the Portal road in my car. Actually just Bob. Unfortunately it was a mistake to not use the van, even for this short period of time, because we didn't have the right kind of Ensure. I had plenty of ice food and drinks, but I had the stuff Marshall gave us, which contained Ensure Plus. It was chocolate, but it wasn't regular Ensure and Bob wasn't happy with that. So we deal with it until we get to Lone Pine, then we'd be crewing exclusively out of the van.
I soon found Roger the best calming influence on the entire crew. Roger was self-sufficient and he knew Bob's quirks, but his feathers didn't get ruffled at all. Roger took everything Bob said in stride, and figured out the smoothest method of getting Bob's needs met.
Early that first day I had tried to figure out what Roger would need, not knowing if he wanted to be crewed on the Portal Road. I sent Ashley this message, which got butchered by spell check, two different interpretations of crewing...
After only 2 hours of crewing I remembered the learning curve. That's why I prefer to volunteer at races. I'm not big on crewing. It's like herding cats. The last time I crewed Badwater was 2003, plus the learning curve is steep, and runner and crew member personalities also dictate how things flow. I've never crewed Bob before.
I learned very quickly how to properly set Bob's water bottles up in his hand carriers. And to keep them dry. And he chose these crazy bottles with little narrow mouths that you have to really crush the ice into small pieces and shove them in the hole, hard to do when you're used to wide mouth bottles. But we got used to it.
The other thing about Bob was the paper towels. He liked to have paper towels in the little pouch of his water bottle carrier on his hand. But the towels had to be folded just so, as Roger demonstrates here.
I didn't have the special paper towels with me on the Portal Road. That was the other mistake. Then as it got hot, we started to prepare ice bandana for Bob's neck, and I asked Don to fill one. Then I watched him fill a bandana with a pile of ice as big as Bob's head, and I realized some instruction was in order. I explained how much to put in the bandana, explained about why we have to avoid getting Bob's feet wet, and assured Don that he'd be an expert by the end of the day.
Actually it wasn't too hard to crew Bob because other than being particular about a few things, it was very easy to predict and anticipate his needs. Ensures and gels, occasional chips or Cheetos, occasional 5 hour energy, which really wasn't working but if he thought it was, then we're doing it.
I tried to make Floridian jokes, like how the crew vehicle had its blinker on. I was the lone foreigner, the only non-Floridian. We had the walkie talkies, which were helpful. "Meow" was the communication we used with each other over the radios. Apparently that came from Kevin, something about Hello Kitty walkie talkies from last year, or some such thing...
When we got into Lone Pine we got McDonalds and then got out on the road for the long journey up the hill toward Darwin.
Don and Ashley with Bob.
Bob made remarkable progress that first day. Scotty came out and visited us before he took off for home, and gave us a crash history lesson on the Dolomite area.
We soon got into a rhythm of pacing and crewing. Roger took tons of photographs, and posted them on Facebook. He's a great photographer and artist with the camera. Some of the black and whites he posted were phenomenal. There were fires somewhere in California and they made the Sierras hazy but we got a colorful sunset.
The Red Baron and Wonder Woman
We got through Keeler before sunset and I picked Bob up at about the 102 mile mark on the course. We hit the 100 mile to go mark and took a picture. This is one of my favorite parts of the course at night. There was almost no traffic, and there were times when it was completely still, silent, just the silhouettes of yucca and hills under the stars. I told Bob that I might change my mind and have my ashes scattered up here instead of in the Devil's Cornfield.
Climbing up to Darwin during the night it got very cool. I remembered this from my own return trip, it got down to 70 that year but this time it felt cooler. The temperatures had to be in the 60s, and I was fine, but I was with a bunch of Floridians who were all bundled up and freezing.
I gave Bob my Solumbra jacket to wear over his shoulders until the crew dug his warm clothes out at the next exchange. Even I started to feel cool near the top. I put my Wonder Woman skirt on and that kept my legs warm. Bob and I were giggling about how he looked like Snoopy as the Red Baron on top of his dog house, with my jacket wrapped around his neck and flapping in the wind.
Swollen Hands and Snakes
I dropped Bob at the DVNP sign at 84 miles to go and Ashley took over. I drove down into Panamint to get us another room for that night and hopefully catch a shower and a few Zs before we had to check out. We hadn't used the room at all during the night, and we had canceled the second night thinking we might not need it, but as it turns out, the opposite was true.
I snagged the last room, but there was a glitch: check out and check in were 11 am and 4 pm. The check in and out times were a cluster because during the hours of 11-4 the heat of the day, there was no place to go inside other than the restaurant. And busloads of tourists arrived.
I drove back up the hill to let the crew know the plan, and I saw a huge rattlesnake on the side of the road, must have just eaten a jackrabbit. Fortunately it was on the other shoulder from where Bob and Ashley were.
I saw Roger and Don parked by side of road in the van just a mile outside Panamint. They flagged me down and said, "Bob wants to see you, one of his hands is really swollen."
I drove up less than 1/2 mile, Bob's hands were swollen, he couldn't even close them into a fist. He had only taken 2 electrolyte capsules per hour and it was blazing hot. The temperature had gone from the 60s to well over 100 within just a few hours. He was peeing okay and I assured him we were less than two miles from Panamint. I said, "We'll take you into the shade, cool you down, and get you eating some salt."
He protested, was very grumpy at first. But once he got there, he sat down in the shade, we ordered fries and a round of veggie burgers for everyone and he scarfed. We kept ice on him- his head, neck, legs, groin, and his hands got less swollen. Then we made him sleep in the van AC most of the afternoon in the campground while we waited for our room. We talked him into getting some rest because in the heat of the day he could recharge and then be ready to go when it cooled down. He didn't argue much.
Waiting in Panamint
Don was resourceful and came up with some great ideas. He set up a simple sunshield with a sheet over the van held down by water jugs to keep it from blowing away in the wind as Bob slept. Whenever Bob was being a grumpy ass and not wanting to stop or sleep, at first, trying to convince him to rest during the heat of the day was like pulling teeth until he actually sat down. Then in 5 seconds he'd be gone, nodding off in the chair or in whatever position he stopped in.
Panamint in mid-afternoon was close to 120 degrees and breezy. The gusts got stronger throughout the afternoon. I crashed on the picnic table bench while Don slept on the table on a mat. Ashley slept on another table. I don't think any of us got more than a few minutes of real sleep. Roger hung out on the porch at the resort. We were all running on fumes. Then the wind started to pick up and blow dust.
Don tried to bribe the housekeepers into finishing our room so we could check in early, but it didn't work. They got pissed and didn't let us in until 4. It was still hot and windy and pointless to get started yet. At 4:00 we woke Bob up and drove him to the room, people showered, Bob slept another hour, then at 6 he took off with Roger or Don. I can't remember.
We knew it would be pushing it for Bob and Don to make their flight on the 5th, so we decided that as soon as we were close enough to phone service, Don would call the airline to try to change the reservations for their flight back to Fort Lauderdale. Fortunately he was able to get reservations for the same flight 24 hours later. Having the pressure on Bob to finish in time to get a little rest, a shower, and drive to Vegas was a huge psychological burden.
Towne Pass
I went back into the room to get a few more hours of sleep before pacing Bob all night again, and the air conditioning in the room was like 90 degrees. Cool compared to outside, but stifling to sleep in. But I slept, waking up at 11 to tank myself up with caffeine and drive up to Townes Pass where I found the crew just before midnight. Don took off in my car to go to Stovepipe Wells, check into the room, and get some sleep.
I was worried about Ashley and Roger not getting enough rest, but they kept assuring me that they were switching off with naps in the van. I offered my car so they could drive to the hotels and shower and sleep, but they didn't want to. Ashley was the most energetic of anyone and she did a huge share of the pacing out there in the heat. She was a great asset for several reasons, including her ability to do bodywork for Bob whenever he needed it. She also taped his back to help with his posture which was a huge and noticeable improvement.
Bob was in a much better mood going down Townes Pass. I paced Bob from the top of the pass until about 9 am, a mile from Scotty's junction. We exchanged life stories, talked about all kinds of crazy stuff, and enjoyed the peace and quiet of the desert sky. Coming down Bob was using 5 hour energy to stay away. My favorite Bob quote of the whole run was "Pomegranate my ass!" after chugging a so-called little bottle of that swill.
Seinfeld Comes To Death Valley
Don had slept well in the room in Stovepipe Wells. When I was done pacing, Don took over and we kept moving. I drove into Furnace Creek to check into the room there, we hadn't checked in the day before but had our room for several nights. That was when I had my Seinfeld moment.
To check in, I had Bob's credit card but not his ID, I was brain dead, and they were giving me a hard time. The clerk at the desk got the manager, who told me that since we didn't check in or call the day before, the room came up as available. She told me, "I don't have those rooms anymore."
I told her we couldn't call since we were out in the middle of the desert. She got pissy with me so I snapped back, "Did you tell him that would happen if he didn't call?". She said, "I don't know what it says on the website. I can't refund your deposit." I told her we weren't asking for a refund, we just wanted our room. So then suddenly she was able to find us two rooms. A true Seinfeld moment.
Then I called Suzanne the minute I got into the room. I knew she was waiting anxiously to hear from us since we'd been unable to communicate for over 24 hours, once we got past Father Crowley there'd been almost no wifi or phone connections.
I assured Suzanne he was doing great and would finish sometime very late in the night, let her know about Don's change in the return flights, She knew we wouldn't be able to communicate during certain sections so she wasn't overly concerned but she was thrilled about the update. Suzanne asked me to call him Bobby. That all of his friends back home called him that. Even though I've known him for 7 years, I only know him as Bob.
They were out of frozen fruit bars at the store, dammit, but I drove back out on the course with ice, popsicles and iced coffee for the crew. They all told me to go get some sleep and that they were doing well, that we would cool Bob down when they got to Furnace Creek. It was getting quite hot and the predicted temperature was 117, but it seemed like it would be a lot hotter.
I tried taking a nap after a shower in the room but I couldn't seem to get comfortable. My mind was racing. I managed to get 2 hours of sleep but I could tell I wasn't functioning very well. I drank a bunch of coffee but that didn't help. I was fuzzy. Bob was making good progress all the way to Furnace Creek, but we brought him in to nap and cool down for a while. I got Bob a soggy kid's grilled cheese sandwich and only slightly less soggy French fries from the café.
Smelling Something
Bob was on a mission, he could smell the barn, and probably the funked-up upholstery with the sweat of more than half a dozen unshowered runners over a week's time. The plan was to get him across the bottom of the valley before it got super hot. It was super hot. The temperature had reached 122 in the valley, and there was a killer gusty crosswind of probably 30 miles an hour.
The entire crew stayed together after Furnace Creek on Bob's final 17 mile stretch. Mother Nature wanted Bob to know damn well who was boss that last night. The wind did not let up, it was so crazy windy you couldn't even open the door of the vehicle. I think the gusts were closer to 50 mph. Bob is a tough ass. He persisted down the road and as we approached sunrise we were almost there.
This is the point where it's really a matter of just toughing it out. The runner wants it to be done, the crew wants it to be done, and it doesn't get any closer. But eventually, you reach Badwater. And fortunately the road signs that say 17 miles are wrong because it's only about 16. So you think you're getting a bonus.
Bob ran into the finish just before sunrise, at 4:48 am. He thanked us, tearfully.
Then we headed back to FC, all crashed in the room and I set my alarm for 10 so we'd have an hour to get out of the room to head to Vegas. Don and I got Bob settled in his room and then we all got a few hours of sleep.
We said our goodbyes, Bob did his little dance in the parking lot. We weighed him, and he was at 120.
The crew did a great job of keeping him hydrated, plumping him back up after his shriveled up state after Mt. Whitney, and keeping him intact. Gaining 5 pounds on the return and no major cramping problems as he's had in the past indicated that he was in great shape at the end. Even his feet didn't look bad. Successful runner, successful crew. Both ways.
Then we all were off. I went to Vegas, got one last sushi fix again at Sushi Koma, drove to St. George and crashed for the night, then drove all the way home on Thursday, and here I am.
I'm done.
It doesn't take long for life to slap you in the face, no sooner did I get home than I had multiple things come up related to work, and a gazillion emails to answer, a gazillion Facebook and Twitter notifications, and so on.
But it's okay. As Bob said, maybe that's the whole point of going to Death Valley, to get away from all of it for a while, to leave everything behind. And it's true. Few places give you the opportunity to really get away. Those deserted roads, the bare stars, the Joshua trees and sand dune shadows at night, all remind you of how important it is to step out of your routine and strip everything away for a while, just a while, to remember the human being you are.
Capable of breathing the air, seeing the stars, listening to silence, without a care in the world, just moving forward, rhythmically, footfall after footfall, powered only by your own will and your own strength, because that's really all that matters.
Congratulations, Bob! Well-done!
#BeLikeBob.
photo and video credits: Roger Burruss, Don Nelson, Ashley Heclo, Beth Stone, Susan Canevello
It was fun and it felt fantastic to be in such good condition, to be able to do all those miles and make it look so easy- up until just a few years ago I could do that. I know I could do it again if I put my mind to it, but it just doesn't matter to me now. It is hard to not compare yourself to what you were. As we get older, we are able to accomplish some things that we couldn't at a younger age, but physically, you do lose some of that steam- especially in the speed and smoothness departments.
I have to be accepting of my ability to cover distances- not as far as before, not as fast or easy as before, but be okay with it. Stop comparing to the younger me, and be okay with where I am now. I don't think I was okay with it until now. At Across the Years I did find myself mentally comparing myself. The challenge was to separate the need to be competitive, to have the athlete's body, to train hard and see the results in my times and distances- from being in a different mindset and body than I was a few years ago. I don't need to prove anything to myself or anyone else. I always find validation when I think of Marshall Ulrich saying, "It's not about being a badass."
A good lesson for those younger runners, especially as they start to approach their late 40s and find that the consistency of performance just isn't there. I listen to some of the conversations at night- it's so funny that the people who were flying by, effortlessly running and lapping me all day long are now dragging their beaten and tired bodies- barely moving- in that zombie walk/death march, depleted of energy and calories- feeling like giving up- and I want to impart advice to them- as they start telling me how good I look as I power past them in the dark- I'm still moving the same way I was at the beginning- but that's because I didn't wear myself out by running all day.
