Journey Through Hell
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Every year I have a tough bout early going up to Townes Pass (59 miles) and don't know why. I down some chocolate puddings and a couple of Starbuck's frapuccinos (my secret weapon). After my kidneys start to finally kick in, I begin to feel better. During the next ten miles, I hunker down and trudge up what seems to be this never-ending grade. As it gets dark, this trek up Townes Pass appears to be the stairway to heaven. It's as if I am literally walking into and amongst the billions of stars which are splashed across the sky. It is extremely exhilarating. I would have come here just for these few sacred miles. Near the top, we hear from other crews that the Russian runners have had dinner and a beer at Panamint Springs Resort. I get going and am able to run the entire 13 miles to Panamint Springs with the thoughts of scrambled eggs and a couple of beers dancing around in my head. Upon arriving it is no surprise to learn that the lodge is now closed. Darn. Oh well ,the hospitality room should offer a nice respite. After slicing open two large blisters covering both my heels, the diarrhea, which will bother me for the next twenty miles, begins. That's it. I have had trouble in this hospitality room every year and next time will not be stopping here again.
The monumental struggle and crawl up the eight-mile pass to the top at Farther Crowley's Point (80 miles), is next. Usually, I don't feel this fatigued until the Mt. Whitney climb some 42 miles from here. Not a good sign. I generate some energy by looking back across the Panamint Valley and toward Townes Pass at what appears to be a meandering string of white Christmas tree lights. These belong to all the other runners and their crews who are also grinding it out across this course. Spectacular. Yet another reason for coming here.
I am startled and frightened by the appearance of a gigantic and evil looking alien spaceship now hovering over the valley. Great! Now we are all doomed and no one is going to finish this race. My crew attempts to assure me that it is only a sliver of the moon just now cresting the mountains. It is night in the desert when all the demons start crawling out from the dark crevices of the mind and begins to rattle around in our head. Last year, almost in this same location, a large white menacing figure was hunched along the road getting ready for the kill but I was able to get by just in time. My crew said it was only a large white rock, but what do they know.
While lying on the ground making a fruitless attempt at a bit of sleep at Father Crowley's, Clive Saffery, who is looking fairly strong, jogs by. Good. Someone to run with. What's that old expression, "misery loves company." The extreme beauty in the desert this morning is enhanced by the arrival of Dana Prieto and Chris Kostman. Out on body count patrol, they will have to listen to me whine for a few minutes. Next time they will probably drive right on by.
Near the Death Valley boundary sign (95 miles), CHP Sergeant Randy Bierly, the unofficial Badwater grapevine specialist, stops for a few words. Kudos to this fine man for his updated race reports, giving aid, and support to those runners in need, and for citing those attempting to set new land speed records.
As the day begins to heat up, I dog Clive for over 20 miles, but then all my wheels start to come off. I begin having spatial problems and my mind is now out of sync with my body. My legs feel like rubber bands and there are periods of time when I don't know where I am because of all the cortisone flowing through my system. These symptoms will plague me for the next several days. The trek through the Darwin Flats and the Saline Valley turnoff is but a hot blur. By the Darwin checkpoint, walking becomes difficult, yet I am still able to survival shuffle along and the diarrhea is finally gone. I am at least moving forward. I wonder if the large white grave-site cross at mile 96 belongs to a former runner who crawled across the road and just gave up. Makes perfect sense to me.
High up in the pass at the 100-mile mark, where one can view the great stretch of the Owens Valley, I realize that all the down hills will have to be run in order to buckle. Two miles later I re-injure my left hamstring and pull up lame. The next half-mile takes30 minutes. Things are looking very grim. I test out several different pairs of shoes, inserts and sock combinations. I find some relief with a hand full of painkillers and a healthy application of DMSO (horse liniment). While gritting my teeth, I am now able to run the six miles to Keeler (110 miles) (should be renamed Killer).
The next seven miles are the most treacherous. I begin to choke on the smoke and ash from the forest fires and the sand, which is trapped in the super heated winds blowing across the Owens Valley. Then everyone is treated to ten miles of freshly laid 200-degree asphalt that penetrates the entire body like a red-hot skewer. Maybe this is a plot by the race director to make this thing even tougher. Next year we probably will have to run barefooted over ten miles of broken glass. The heat is atrocious and it begins to overwhelm my body. On top of everything else, I am red-lining heat exhaustion, or worse, and have to be packed and draped in ice several times. I am totally blitzed and have never felt this bad anywhere. They may eventually have to scrape me off the course, but I will not willingly drop out so close to my goal. I have been running long enough to know that these bad moments have a way of passing. Besides, what would the kids that I run for, at the Valley of the Moon Children's Home and Crisis Center in Santa Rosa, think? Many of these abused and abandoned children have to face even deeper pain almost everyday. There will be no quitting today. It is good to see Clive Saffery, who had red-flagged temporarily off the course, because of an Achilles problem return to the course. His tireless crew, Roberto de Vito and his adorable wife, Mizue Nagai, from Hong Kong, will help this hardworking warrior finish in a respectful 39 hours. Once cooled off and forcing myself to load up on lots of carbohydrates and juices, I begin to feel better. After a few baby steps, some momentum is generated and I am actually able to run six fairly decent miles into Lone Pine (122 miles), where I catch up with Lisa Smith and Jay Batchen, who are having their own problems. We commiserate for a mile as we walk towards the Whitney Portal Road.
