An epic odyssey. A fitting title for my 2009 Badwater 135-mile Death Valley race.
I thought you might enjoy and benefit from the life lessons I learned this year while chasing that “white line from hell to heaven.” Yes, this reflection it is a little long, about the length of a chapter in one of my books, but so is running 135 miles through the desert.
I want to thank you for your support throughout the race.
If you are unaware, Badwater is the toughest race in the world according to National Geographic. It is an invitation only 135-mile footrace that starts in the Death Valley desert in July where air temperatures can exceed 130 degrees, and ground temps are 200+ degrees. It traverses 135 miles through the Mojave, over three mountain ranges and is run on blacktop pavement. The race is run in the most brutal conditions imaginable.
The start line is -282' below sea level, the lowest point in the western hemisphere (hell), and finishes nearly 8,500' above (heaven). The race is run non-stop and must be finished in less than 60 hours to avoid disqualification. There are no aid stations. Each participant must bring an entire support crew to care for them. I had Nilsa my wife, Bob my brother, Martie my sister and Kimberley, Caring House Project Foundation’s Executive Director, making up my crew (more on my all-star crew later).
On average, only 60 or so of the 90 invitees are able to finish, many who don't, end up hospitalized. Since the inception of the race in 1977, only 42 have officially finished the race 4 or more times. This year I was attempting to become the 43rd. To put it in perspective, over 1,100 people have reached the summit of Mt. Everest.
At the same time I was attempting to complete the race, we were also “suffering a little for those who are suffering a lot” by running for our Caring House Project Foundation and our “miles for meals” fundraising effort by asking donors like you to donate $1 for every mile, or $135. The result of such a donation would result in us being able to provide 1,350 meals to the desperately poor and homeless in Haiti.
If you made a donation, I want to sincerely thank you.
We arrived in Death Valley a few days before the race so we could acclimate, get organized and begin to focus on the seemingly impossible task ahead. Just because I had finished the race before, I took nothing for granted. Although my short-term memory is fortunately quite short, scanning my long-term memories of the race reminded me of how close to failure I came in past races. I had a 66% chance of finishing, which meant I had a 34% chance of not. I wanted to insure the law of averages didn’t creep closer this year.
Before I laced up my shoes on race day Nilsa had to shop for sufficient provisions, enough to get all of us through the desert over the two days we would be isolated there. This included over 25 gallons of fluids (12 alone for me), enough food and first aid items. All of this was organized with military precision between two crew vans. Why two? Because there is a chance one vehicle wouldn’t survive. Idling along in 125 degree heat at 3-4 miles per hour, up and down the mountains, can kill more than just the runner. With no crew van, my race would be done.
Oh, in case you think the crew has it easier; they must keep me moving at all times “relentless forward motion,” keep me hydrated, feed me, spray me down with cool water, keep ice in my hat, ice around my neck, cover me with sunscreen, be out on the course pacing with me to keep me from drifting into oncoming traffic, keep track of every calorie I ingest and what form they come in, how many electrolytes (magnesium, potassium, sodium) I am ingesting, how often I go to the bathroom and even what color it is (to determine if dehydration is setting in) and doing all this for two days straight without sleeping or having the a/c turned on in the van!
Yes, you could say I had an all-star crew. This was my team. Without a strong team there is mediocrity at best and most often only failure. This is true at Badwater and most certainly in life. Who makes up your all-star crew? Who would you trust to get you through your life’s Badwaters?
All preparation and training was over. It was time to get on with the challenge. We had a race plan and I was ready to follow it. While I believe in life-long learning, I don’t believe in being a life-long student. A life-long student in one who is always studying and researching, always training and practicing, always talking and dreaming but never applying. It was time to take my man-pill and step up to the starting line and see what I was made of.
Life Section #1, Mile 0-17: “Foreplay”
My gun went off at 6:00am on July 13. There I was with 89 other superior athletes from 17 countries. It was already 102 degrees. This first part reminds me of foreplay. It is necessary and can be very enjoyable, but sometimes you just want to get it over with and move to the more exciting parts. The sun was beginning to shine over the mountains, and it was time to go from shirtless to fully covered. The views are stunning. Now I understand why in the Bible so much took place in deserts. Its beauty, vastness and majesty shows how great God is. I look out over the salt pan as I run hundreds of feet below sea level, across to 14,000 foot peaks that are still covered in snow. Quite a contrast.
The start is a very important time to be sure my mental approach remains in check. It is not the time to allow thoughts of what lie ahead to seep in. Our early approach is to start slow, then slow down. We want to be sure not to allow adrenaline to take over. Conserve resources now for tapping later. I move along at a steady pace, walking the uphill’s and running the flats and downhill’s. I spend time in prayer, thanking God for the opportunity and recalling the poor we are running for. As I pass some competitors I notice a few were already starting to have trouble with hydration and the heat. I offer encouraging words. In past races we had taken a short break at the end of this section. Our 2009 race plan did include such a break, and none was taken.
Life Lesson: When undertaking a significant challenge, start slow, then slow down. Don’t let emotion spend energy that will be needed later.
Elapsed time to mile 17: 3:33:00
Life Section #2, Mile 17-42: “Highway to Hell”
This section is the one that scares me the most. How this section is traversed will dictate the outcome of the race for nearly every competitor. It is relatively flat, and if Hollywood wanted avoid the expense of filming on the moon, they should consider shooting here. There is little to no vegetation and many huge jagged salt formations sprinkled among lunar-looking pumice colored rocks dot the landscape. As the sun starts to rise, the convention effect that gives the desert its heat begins to intensify. This section is where the highest temperatures have been experienced, and where we saw 136 degrees on our car thermometer in a prior race. One German team brought out a small pan and placed it on the highway and was able to slowly fry an egg. Another team took out a meat thermometer, plunged it into the melting blacktop and took a 202 degree reading. If I asked for a avocado sandwich on soft white bread, by the time it was made and brought out to me the bread was toasted!
Even the most experienced and faster runners will throttle down to a fast walk for parts of this section. The body is exerting tremendous energy trying to stay cool while insuring its organs are functioning properly. The body reverts to a mild state of shock, where only the most vital organs are tended to. Breathing is shallow and many functions are put into hibernation. This is where I often see the ambulances racing by.
The crew also works extremely hard here, in fact we added a crew member from the race staff, Sophie Kashurba, just for this section. This would allow each crew member to come out for 30 minute shifts. They have a spray bottle, perforated baggie with ice for my hat and bandana soaked in ice water that is wrapped around ice cubes for my neck. I carry ice cubes and dump large amounts of ice water over my head, trying to avoid my shoes so as to keep my feet dry. Whatever ice is brought out melts in seconds. The evaporative effect of water being sprayed on me provides limited cooling. I wear special clothing that has fabric that replicates the coat of a desert fox. This species makes its home in this inhospitable environment and its reflective coat of fur keeps it cool. I cover my arms and legs with special white fabric sleeves that keep moisture next to my skin while retarding the heat. I have a large legionnaire’s hat with oversize bill and flaps on the back and sides to retard the sun. Whatever skin that is exposed I cover with SPF 100+. I wear socks with individual compartments for each toe to prevent blistering and my shoes have been cut at the toe box and sides to accommodate foot swelling.
Our race plan was to stop at mile 27 for our first break. It would be around 12:00 and very hot. It is rare that I would be feeling good and with sufficient energy reserves now at 6+/- hours into the race. Oddly, I had never felt better, so as we approach the 27-mile mark I pass without stopping. This causes Nilsa and the rest of the crew concern, as one of the rules of ultrarunning is to “rest before your are tired.” They were warned about the perils of this section and to be sure to slow me down. However, I wanted to take advantage of this rarity, the surprise of me feeling good. So we kept on, as the temperature continued to climb all the way to mile 42. We arrived just before 3:00 in the afternoon.
Since before the race started the Weather Channel was covering the race (air date TBD). They had asked if they could follow us and a few other teams during the race. When we arrived at mile 42 I was so overheated that I decided to take my first-ever ice bath. I was told that immersing my body, particularly below the waist, in ice water would aid my recovery and ready me for the next 30 miles to checkpoint 3. So there I was in a cowboy hat and underwear with the Weather Channel cameraman and host hovering over my ice-filled tub while I quivered uncontrollably as I tried to explain the why’s and what’s about what I was doing and how I was feeling. One thing for sure, major shrinkage.
The ice bath really worked. I felt refreshed and ready to put my space suit back on and continue. “Gotta go” I would often say, as the race clock continued to tick. I struggled to get my running socks back on over frozen feet. Today (July 13) was my daughter’s 11th birthday, so on the way back to the course we made a quick call to her from a payphone to wish her a happy birthday. I think this did more for me than her.
Life Lesson: When prudent discretion is called for in challenging or dangerous circumstances, if your efforts are exceeding your expectations you are better off to castoff caution.
Elapsed time to mile 42: 8:56:33
Life Section #3, Mile 42-72: Climbing the Ladder of Success 18 Up, 12 Down
My brother Bob and me departed mile 42 and headed directly into the setting sun. In the desert, the mercury continues to climb until 6:00 or 7:00pm. We had a brutally steep 18-mile climb ahead of us, often reaching grades of 10% or greater. Except for the few frontrunners, there is no running this section. Only a slow 6-hour climb to an elevation of over 5,000 feet above sea level. Yes, we to go from 282 below sea level to a mile above. To make for an even more tedious ascent, we were buffeted by a stiff headwind trying to blow us back down the mountain.
Kimberley, Martie and Bob continued to take turns pacing me. The combination of the heat, climb and wind had me plodding along at less than 3 miles per hour. I had to put on a Velcro back brace as my lower back was having spasms. This seemed to hold me more erect and really helped. I was also forced to wear ice on my hips, where I had small baggies filled with ice that I shove between my shorts and hips. I would use this ice set-up on and off for the rest of the race as I have frequent trouble with inflammation of the bursa in the hip. One treat we had to look forward to was the loss of 5 degrees for every 1,000 feet climbed. You would be amazed at how cool it felt at 3,000 feet and the loss of 15 degrees to a comfortable 110 degrees!
By the time we were approaching the summit of Towne Pass at 5,000 feet the sun was beginning to set and we put on our night gear. This consisted of a reflective vest, blinking lights and a headlight. Badwater is run on Highway 190. I am running against traffic, and there are many European tourists who frequent Death Valley in the summer. They seem to mistake this highway for the autobahn. Also, many car companies use Death Valley as a testing ground for new models (often shrouded in black fabric to prevent the public from seeing them prematurely). If I am not lit up like a Christmas tree I could become roadkill like the many flattened rattlesnakes we passed.
We planned to stop at the top at mile 60 to give my legs a rest from the non-stop climbing, and I was ready for the break. I wanted to go a few hundred yards downhill before doing so in order to allow a different muscle group to fire for a bit before resting all of them. And there it happened again. My legs started feeling much better when I started to descend, so I skipped the planned stop – again. My crew was puzzled and upset and blasted; “Frank, you wrote this race plan and insisted we follow it. Next time you go number 2 we are going to bring the plan out so you can use it when you are finished.”
At the time I just wanted to keep moving. Although I had asked, as part of the race plan of course, not to know the time of day and to have all of the clocks in the vans taped over, I knew my time to this point was good. How did I know? I snuck a peak at Nilsa’s watch on occasion and even peeled the tape back from the clock when I thought no one was looking.
Would this accelerated pace come back to haunt me later? How about beginning to scare the ?*@% out of me now! The downhill section is a 12-mile bone crushing decent. This is one section that I can’t really train for in Florida as we have no extended downhill’s. As I was about halfway down my quads began to boil. I had to mix running with frequent walking. Try slowing yourself down when running down a hill. It puts a great deal of stress on your knees and shins. The pavement is uneven here, so twisting an ankle was a real possibility as had happened to me in a prior race.
One God-sent and beautiful distraction found in this section are the myriad of stars that cover the night sky. I felt as if I were in a planetarium. The night sky shown more white than black with the millions of flickering hosts. It was so clear we could make out orbiting satellites. No, I was not hallucinating (not yet), and these weren’t planes, they were too far up. We experienced many shooting stars and watched the moon rise over the mountains at about midnight.
Depth perception in the desert is challenging, and is made even more so when tired. The mile 72 checkpoint is a small hotel in Panamint Springs (I strongly recommend it). The glow given off by this little beacon in the black made it seem so much closer than it was, and I knew that from prior races. Still, it never seemed to come and this began to weigh on my psyche. What should have taken 2.5 hours to descend took an hour longer. Yes, all those missed rest stops that were a part of our race plan were starting to catch up with me.
I arrived at mile 72 at 1:00am on Tuesday completely spent, having not taken a break in over 10 hours. We had a room at the hotel, so I went in an laid down for 30 minutes, changed my clothes, washed my face and prayed for strength. You see, I don’t do too well with caffeine in any form, and my usual bedtime of 9:00pm had long passed with the 72 miles I had left behind. The body also releases itself from it protective state during the hottest sections of the day, so I was excreting often. This is simply the body trying to rid itself of the toxins accumulated trying to defend itself from the conditions.
The crew also needed this time to rest as they had been working non-stop for 19 hours. They laid in or on the top of the vans. My brother even tried one of those “7 Hour Energy” drinks. After 90 minutes he was sound asleep as he accompanied me on much of the prior climb and descent. My Sister Martie and Kimberley had a constant and impressive stream of energy. Nilsa would never leave my side. She wouldn’t take a break unless I did, and she was there with me for every one of my over 200,000 footfalls across the desert. I wouldn’t have tried this race without her.
Life Lesson: Sometimes what is perceived as being an easy coast downhill is actually tougher than a slow plodding ascent to the top.
Elapsed time to mile 72: 18:56:00
Life Section #4, Mile 72-90: Going It Alone
Bob and I rolled out of mile 72 just before 2:00am. This next section is the second slowest of the race, even slower than the last, as the climb is steeper. We ascend from just above sea level to 5,000 feet again, but in 12 miles instead of 18. Kimberley and Martie were still resting back at Panamint, and Nilsa was gassing up the van. Bob took a break after pacing for a few miles and I wanted to be alone in the still of the early morning. I spent time in audible prayer and had good conversation with God, thanking him for allowing me to be here and asking him to give me the strength, patience, courage and enlightenment to continue.
I knew this section well, as I trained it just a month prior while out on a pre-race training run. I actually know this section so well that I was able to locate a doll that is referred to as Father Crowley, named after a desert monk who has a monument at mile 80. The doll is a no bigger than 6 inches tall, is dressed as a fryer in dark brown robe and has a black beard and has been in his spot for at least the five years I have been coming to the desert. He is wedged 12 feet above the road stuffed back in the rock face that straddles the road in this section. Yet, in the middle of the night with only a small beam of light from my headlamp I found him without effort. I said a little prayer to him, and proceeded on.
It was time for the me to see my second sunrise of the race. The rest of the crew had now caught up to me. Kimberley was pacing me in the pre-dawn hours when we witnessed dozens of bats apparently feasting on early morning insects. Kimberley isn’t a fan of bats, but she stayed out for her entire shift.
Approaching mile 84 the course starts to level off. The second climb was behind us. The temperature had dropped to 73 degrees as the sun broke over the peaks. I had to put a jacket on over my running clothes. What a relief that was, but it was to be short lived. I had another avocado sandwich and piece of bread with gel spread on it for breakfast. Usually I get a burst of energy when we start a new day. That was not to be the case today. As we shuffled toward mile 90, I couldn’t wait to duck into the van any lay down as my world was starting to spin out of control.
Life Lesson: Gain perspective in time alone
Elapsed time to mile 90: 26:05:00
Life Section #5, Mile 90-122: Debilitated and Deskinned but not Defeated
I am going to cut right to it. The resultant effects of deviating from a sound race plan was crushing my spirit. The day before I had run too far too fast for my abilities and now I was paying for it. The moment I crawled into the van onto a makeshift bed made out of two rafts taped together (reminded me of my first bed when I moved to Florida) and covered with a large image of SpongeBob Squarepants staring back at me from an oversized beach towel, I got a terrible case of the spins.
I tried to focus my eyes on Nilsa’s face or a point on the van’s ceiling, but couldn’t hold the image. I couldn’t hold my breakfast either. It was time for another form of excretion, this time with an awful retching sound projecting from my mouth. I know this is unpleasant, but there wasn’t much there. What I had eaten had already metabolized. Mostly just painful dry heaves for 15 minutes. I am sure you have experienced these symptoms at some point in your life, so you know how draining such an activity is, and I didn’t have much energy left to begin with. Now I had lost all salts and fluids, and basically had to start over, which I found out wasn’t a bad thing.
I know Nilsa, Bob, Martie and Kimberley were worried about me, especially Martie. Here was her big brother near the point of total exhaustion and very sick. I was at a point where my crew thought my race could be over. Yet, as I slowly emerged from the van, with hat back on and shoes tied tight, Martie came running over and gave me a big hug like only a little sister can. She said “I’m so proud of you.” That gave me the necessary strength to put one foot in front of the other again.
It was starting to heat up again, and it was time for the ice routine to start all over. I wasn’t looking forward to that. The shock associated with being hit with ice water was becoming tiring. It was necessary, but when that freezing water hit my face, the jolt seemed to drain me of a little energy each time.
I did have two things to look forward to; crossing over the 100 mile mark and seeing Laura and my Mom shortly thereafter. As we were approaching the 100 mile mark a male racer named Keith from Philadelphia passed me. Now I was passed by many runners, but this one was wearing pink shoes, pink socks, a pink shirt, and - get this – a pink tutu for running shorts! He was even carrying a little wand with a pink star on it. No, I wasn’t hallucinating, but now I have a new appreciation for those from Philly.
Crossing over the 100 mile mark is significant at Badwater, they even paint a line across the highway with “100 miles” on it. As we crossed, and the vans had pulled over to celebrate, apparently we hadn’t pulled far enough off the road. This was an infraction of the rules, and a race official interrupted our celebration with a stern lecture to my crew and an official warning indicated by taking my race number that I wore at all times and marking through it with a red “line.” While this could have been handled differently, and yes we were in the wrong, if we were observed committing any other race infraction I would be penalized with a time penalty, then disqualification. This was concerning, as an accidental or unconscious error is always a possibility this late in the race when all are very tired.
Since mile 80 I had been experiencing a hot spot on the bottom of my left foot that was growing in intensity. This could only mean one thing, a blister. We had taped my toes that I typically have trouble with, and I had a few blood blisters at the ends of my middle toes on each foot, but this was different. As the pain grew, I compensated for it by changing my biomechanics. My stride now had a noticeable limp that put additional strain on my already sore hips. It was now mile 105 and my pace was reduced to a slow walk and there was no way I could run another step. The thought of walking this slowly all the way to the finish line began to erode my confidence again.
Then, out of nowhere, Marshall Ulrich and Bob Haugh stopped by. Marshall is a living hero of mine, having finished Badwater 15 times and had just completed running across America. Marshall had to drop out of the race the day before, still suffering from the effects of running over 3,200 miles in 56 days (that’s two marathons a day every day for 56 days).
Bob Haugh is a doctor, a prior Badwater finisher and was on Marshall’s crew. They suggested that I stop and allow them to take a look at my blister. I wasn’t sure I wanted to stop and was more afraid of taking my sock off for fear my skin would come with it. What was revealed shocked even these two veterans, and the looks on their faces freaked me out a little. There were actually two blisters right on the ball of my foot, where I push off with each stride. One was the size of a silver dollar and the other, partially over the first, just smaller than a baseball, and they were filled with fluid. The skin was already beginning to tear, and Marshall and Bob debated on what to do. They decided to lance them, drain all the fluid and make a bandage large enough to cover them, then tape that bandage on so that it wouldn’t rub and cause more damage through friction.
Marshall gave me one of his socks that he wore when running across America. Just putting on this running god’s sock was enough for me. This would be like getting to hit a baseball with Babe Ruth’s bat or a golf ball with Tiger Woods’ club. I felt energized, knowing I just received the best possible care.
As I stated off again the going was slow, and I wasn’t sure the procedure would work. I still had the limp and my gate was way off. But after a few miles the pain was subsiding (or being drowned out by another ailment) and I actually could run a little. Amazing! I have Marshall and Bob to thank for literally saving my race as I wasn’t sure I could walk all the way to the finish.
By mile 110 the sun was extremely hot, and like a car battery that is almost dead, the sun was draining me much more than the day before. I had trouble keeping my eyes open, and when I did for any extended period, even the muscles that allow me to blink were too tired to do so. So my eyes were either open for too long, or shut for too long. I was stopping every few miles, bending over to put my hands on my knees. I had to visit the van at mile 107, 112 and 120. This was slowing my progress down significantly. I was totally spent.
As I approach mile 120, I actually leave the desert and intersect with a road leading to the town of Lone Pine. It was an odd sensation, crossing over a bridge with water running underneath, and entering back into civilization. It was like retuning from the moon, where the new landscape, sights and sounds were in total contrast to my desert home. It felt good to be out of the desert.
Nilsa was now walking very slow with me, holding my hand. I could not run anymore. My hips were bulging with the ice filled baggies and each step would come with a scuffing sound. It was difficult to lift my foot even a few inches off the ground. We were joined again by Marshall and his wife Heather. It must have been a sight, the four of us walking toward the 122 mile checkpoint, Nilsa on one hand and Heather holding the other while Marshall dispensed the encouragement I needed.
We arrived at Dow Villa hotel, the spot of the mile 122 checkpoint. There were many volunteers like Don Meyer, racers who had finished and even residents from this town with a population of 2,030 out to cheer me on as I slowly crept across the second to last checkpoint. It had been nearly 12 hours since we crossed mile 90.
Life Lesson: Psalm 121, verses 5 and 6: “The Lord is your guardian, the Lord is your shade; he is beside you at your right hand. The sun will not harm you by day, nor the moon by night.” A prayer I repeated often in my darkest hours.
Elapsed time to mile 122: 37:48:00
Life Section #6, Mile 122-131: “I’m on fire!”
Looks pretty short, right? Only 9 miles. But this section is the toughest in ultrarunning. A slow death march up a road with extremely rough pavement with grades that exceed 15% in places. Imagine how that might feel on feet that were nearly unrecognizable due to the swelling and blistering. It would soon feel like my feet were being raked across a cheese grader.
We had gone into our hotel room for a short break before we attempted the climb. My condition had deteriorated to a point where I was concerned it would take me 20 hours to go the remaining miles. In races past I had drawn upon an adrenaline reserve. I didn’t have any, and it seemed to be replaced with acute self-doubt. This is where my crew really took over my mental state and convinced me that we had come this far and that I could do it, no matter how long it took.
We began our climb around 9:00pm. The sun was setting, so we were done with the intense heat. And we would climb from 3,000 feet to 8,500, so we would continue to lose temperature. Bob started with me, and the rest would roll slowly behind. We heard the sound of cascading water and leaves blowing in the warm breeze. There is a stream that runs next to the course, and this soothing sound was more present that I could ever remember. I continued to focus on the sound of the water and just making slow progress. I thought if I could make the first 3 miles without incident, then I could begin to build my confidence back up knowing we would have less than 10 miles to go. Heck, I could crawl in from here, right?
Just as I began to feel the belief in me returning, in the distance we could hear the screaming of police sirens. And they were coming toward us. Oh no, I thought, what did we do wrong this time? Was I going to be penalized, or worse, disqualified? Then, one after the other, police cars raced past us at 80+ miles per hour. Something was terribly wrong up ahead. Not only were police cars whizzing by, but EMT vehicles, ambulances and fire trucks. For a town with a population just over 2,000 I couldn’t imagine where all these vehicles were coming form.
My thoughts turned to another racer. Perhaps a heart attack, or they may have fallen off the side of the steep embankment where the road narrows toward the finish. Whatever the cause, it was serious. My prayers went out as all I could see was a line of flashing lights snaking up the switchbacks.
Then we caught a glimpse of it. A faint glow up on the mountain, and this glow seemed to be dancing. It wasn’t a collection of tail lights, or runner’s blinking vests, it was a full blown raging forest fire. And it was right near the finish line! Now, police cars were racing back down the hill with campers and park employees who were being evacuated. Every so often one would stop, roll down their window and yell out “turn around and immediately head down the hill, the road is closed due to fire.”
Was I hearing this right? I had come this far, nearly 130 miles and someone with a badge was telling me to “turn around!” You guessed it, I ignored them. Until I was instructed by a race official I was headed toward the finish line, dodging fleeing tourists and police the entire time.
Then, at mile 130 it happened. A race official drove up as we were still moving toward the finish and told us that, at the finish line at mile 135, they were forced to leave everything behind; laptops, video cameras, chairs, tables, etc., and drop down to the mile 131 checkpoint. The fire was so intense that it could be seen for miles as beautiful tree after tree was engulfed in the inferno. The official said these 100+ foot trees looked like candles, as the flames jumped from tree to tree. They said that the finish had been altered for the race to end at mile 131. That the time to earn the belt buckle had been cut to 46 hours and time to finish cut to 58 hours.
I couldn’t believe it. I took the handful of chips I was eating and dashed them to the ground. Mother nature had cut the race short and we had to accept it. We sent the crew vans up to the new finish line at mile 131 and called my Mom and daughter Laura so they could race out to see us finish.
But shortly thereafter I realized something was missing for me…
This wasn’t the Badwater 131, it was the Badwater 135. So I approached Chris Kostman, the race director, and asked him “what if they open the road, would you allow me to finish?”
Chris said that it was unlikely that would happen anytime soon, but if they did he saw no problem with allowing me to finish the remaining 4 miles. He said that the race clock never stops, and that although I had earned my buckle, my time would reflect a higher time due to the time lost because of the fire.
What should I do? Better yet, what would Mother nature and my body allow me to do?
Life Lesson: Trust in your initial gut feeling, that intuitive sensation that existed before all thought, contemplation and research
Finish time to mile 131: 42:18:55
Life Section #7, Mile 131-135: Personal Integrity
After an extended celebration at the finish line we drove back down to mile 122, and the Dow Villa hotel where we had our rooms. It was 2:00am and as you can gather, everyone was exhausted. My Mom and Laura were rousted from their sleep to see us finish and the crew was totally spent. But my mind could not rest. Although I had the belt buckle and had officially finished per the race rules, it just didn’t feel right. I took a shower and laid down for the first time in over two days. The bursa’s in my hips were screaming at me, but not as loud as the fact that I had unfinished business.
After 4 painful hours of rest I just had to get up. Now, my muscles had pretty much seized up after stopping their constant use over the prior two days, but I just had to learn if it would be possible for me to finish the last 4 miles. So I had my Mom drive me in my running gear to the finish line to see if they would allow me to finish. I found Chris and he told me, yes, I could, but my new time would be much higher.
I didn’t care. Yes, I had the buckle, and that couldn’t be taken away, but I would gladly have given it back in order to complete the full 135 miles. My Mom then drove me back to mile 131. I put on my hat and sunscreen, grabbed two bottles of water and with the sun now fully risen for the third time in my race, I set off.
My crew was back at the hotel, not sure what the race director would allow me to do. So there I was, all alone climbing again. Sure my feet were bad and muscles nearly immobile with stiffness, but I have to say that this was the proudest moment of my race. I enjoyed the views over the valley, looking back over the three mountain ranges I had crossed in the two days prior. I took in the sights, the sounds of the wind blowing through the pines, even the mixed smells of cool pine-filled air with burst sap. I was grateful to God for allowing to be there in that right moment.
We had assumed I would be moving at a snail’s pace and that it would take me 90 minutes to climb the last 4 miles. My Mom went back to the hotel to gather the rest of the crew so they could all finish (again) with me. Apparently I was moving faster than we all thought. As I approached the finish line a volunteer known as “CHP Scott,” who is a California Highway Patrolman asked if I wanted a motorcycle police escort across the finish line. I couldn’t resist.
Now I was done…
Life Lesson: No rationalization can take the place for your personal integrity.
Elapsed time to mile 135: 53.29:58 (lost 11 hours due to the fire) Finished in 46th place out of 86 racers.
Post Race Reflection:
Not many racers who were affected by the fire chose to do what I did, come back and finish the final 4 miles. This single instinctual act taught me a lot about myself. The entire race is a microcosm for life condensed into two days. I have never felt more alive when being so close to defeat.
My sister asked me to remember how I was feeling at mile 120 so she could ask me after the race why I go through all of this. When she asked, I told her that we should not be governed by our short term memories of sadness, fear or heartbreak. I used the example of childbirth. What woman would have a second child if all they could remember is the pain and agony they endured during the birth of their first miracle. My approach to Badwater is similar. I enjoy recalling the challenge of being a part of something that has taken me places and taught me more about myself than any other life experience. I guess I suppress all those debilitating and low moments in exchange for the extreme experience.
Knowing that I was running for those who continue to suffer everyday in Haiti got me though some of those low moments. Life’s undertakings, no matter how personal in nature, must take on the responsibility of a calling higher than just self. Running for our Caring House Project Foundation and raising money for our “miles for meals” program is part of that initiative, and I found it very rewarding.
I want to thank my superstar crew; Bob my brother and best friend, Martie my sister, Kimberley CHPF's Executive Director, Sophie for those 42 miles, and most important, Nilsa my wife. Without her, all my life's undertakings would be insignificant or impossible.
If you got this far and would like to make a donation, please do so:
2) Call Anne at (561) 722.3950 with your credit card information.
3) Mail a check to: Caring House Project, P.O. Box 388, Boynton Beach, FL 33425.
I know this Epic Odyssey was long, and I thank you for reading this far. Now, use it and the life lessons referenced throughout to overcome your own “Badwaters.” Remember, relentless forward motion will get you to your life’s goals sooner than you can ever imagine, and remember to take every step with those less fortunate at the forefront of your mind.
Until next year,
Frank
P.S. We will be creating a video of this year’s race experience and will let you know in the future how you can have the opportunity to view it with me.
