Badwater- Installment 2

What makes a strong runner?

I pondered this as I climbed the relentless upward trajectory that was the final push out of Lone Pine and into the Whitney Portal. I had risen at 7 am in my hostel like hotel room in Lone Pine. The place looked straight out of a hokey western, and I later learned that was on purpose as many of those old westerns were filmed in the hills just north of our location. We ended up there as we carted Dale toward the race end in search of somewhere for him to relax and recover. Also we all wanted to finish out the full Badwater experience, so we searched for somewhere to stay in Lone Pine, the final town stop and place of the post-race awards and hang. 

After checking in, our crew team ventured out into the hills above Lone pine to do some running in the movie famous hills while Dale took a much needed nap then headed over to Jake’s Saloon. Here the walls are lined with Sharpie’d signatures from some of the world’s most elite runners. The all wood dive bar has a map of the race course on the ceiling, but other than that, nothing signifies the importance this place holds to the Badwater experience. As tradition, all the runners and crews meet here after the award ceremony to enjoy cold beer and fellowship after a hot and hard race.

But now, the sun was just rising and I donned my running gear, pack and tied a handkerchief around my head. I stopped by the restaurant across from the hotel to say good morning to Dale who was up, looking slightly better and enjoying some coffee with the race staff. From our hotel to the Whitney Portal and race finish line was 13.4 miles of up. It was the final push for the remaining Badwater contenders and I wanted to charge up those hills and see what my legs were made of. The sun shone over the distant slopes and as we were in a higher elevation, the air felt still warm, but crisp on my skin after days in the dense heat of the desert. 

The roads started flat and provided a nice warm up for my anxious legs. The weeks leading up to the race, I had been preparing to pace but instead ended up more rummaging through the van for supplies, getting in and out of the crew vehicle and then simply standing and hanging around, waiting. It felt good to work my muscles and sweat from exertion and not just heat. As I moved forward, the climb got more and more intense. There was no undulation, only up. There were no breaks from the climbing. I ran with a flat stride and breathed with labored and full lungs to maintain my heart rate. There was also intermittent power hiking with a charged and long stride to keep my momentum going. 

As I climbed, my thoughts ran through the last 30 hours. The start of the race, Dale’s labored breathing, when his stomach turned and when he had to drop. My heart ached for his DNF, but also ticked happy because if he had not been pulled, would he be suffering in a much more dangerous way right now?

We were so close to the time station, though.

What if he didn’t pull a caffeinated electrolyte tab so early?

What if he had spaced out his energy gels?

What if we had caught him earlier through Furnace Creek?

What if this and what if that over every detail during and leading up to the race.

The “what ifs” plagued me, but the more I climbed the more I thought of the journey. We pushed our runner and our runner pushed himself and the crew pushed each other. We saw rain in Death Valley, sunsets and sun rises over a gorgeous desertscape, laughed and danced in 115 degree heat, and we ran. We ran in Las Vegas, through the lowest elevation in the U.S., atop Father Crowley, and now I ran on the final stretch of the world’s toughest footrace, for fun.

As my mind started to twist into the more positive and radiant pieces, I began to see runners on the road ahead. They were Badwater runners who were still in the race, making their way up the road, all around 30 hours into each of their respective races. 

I passed runners who looked strong and had a quick and impressive cadence. I cheered as we moved past one another. I passed runners who were death marching, but they were moving. The crews were equally varied in their own states. A Brazilian team leaned against a highly decorated truck holding water bottles, all in tired silence. As I trudged past the Scandinavian team’s plain looking Suburu, they cheered me on in slight confusion, laughing. Two runners were ahead of me at one point as I twisted up a hairpin bend. I struggled to decipher which was the runner and which the pacer. They both had labored movements and neither spoke. It felt wrong to break their penitent silence so I picked up my stride and muttered a quick “good job” under my breath while passing. As I did, I noticed the taller man look up. His eyes were gaunt and skin dry and burned. He smiled. His companion remained silent and oblivious to my presence. I later learned the smile came from an exhausted pacer, who was happy to see someone enjoying the unforgiving climb. 

While passing the final time station, I was waved in by a race staff member. He asked where my pacer was before realizing I was not wearing a bib. He looked like Charlie Daniels with a wider smile and wished me luck on my run. It felt silly to be out there on my own, but also bold and empowering to be mistaken for a Badwater contender. I moved forward with a wave and a smile.

The road was now even steeper hairpins. At the peak of each easternmost turn you could move to the side and look out over the entirety of the Badwater course from Stovepipe Wells forward. It was beautiful to see that much land over so many different terrain shifts. It was humbling to know I was surrounded by racers and crew who had and were currently defeating that terrain on foot. It was invigorating to feel determined to come back and try this myself one day. 

As I moved away from this view and continued upward I heard shouting. 

“Hell yea!!”

“Hell fucking yeah!”

And “Fuuuuccckkkkkkkk yea!!!”

I passed an exuberant runner who was shouting positive reinforcements into the hills. She was moving with determined speed and her affirmations echoed back at her. I joined in. 

“Hell yea! You go this!”

I smiled and as I moved away from her, heard another familiar yell.

“Yabadabadoo!!!! Woooooo!!!!” And of course, “Fireball!!!!!”

It was Dale and the crew in the van, shouting as they drove past me and pulled over. We were about 3 miles from the top and Jen wanted to join me for the final push. They refilled my water bottles, which I was in desperate need of, we all enjoyed a beautiful scenic view together, and I continued forward, now with Jen in tow. 

We hiked and talked of Dale’s current condition, shared notes on the other runners making their way up the steep climb and both reflected on our own desires to run the race. We also just climbed in silence, taking in the beauty as our surroundings quickly shifted from desert climbing to tall pines and cool mountain passes. We heard a rushing creek around a corner and passed another crew, complete with inflatable T-Rex outfit. It was good to know other crews were still having fun. The energy on the course shifted. Runners were now less than a 5k away from a Badwater completion, and you could feel the excitement all down the roadway.

We passed a female runner who was moving with purpose, but obviously a lot of pain as well. I heard her mutter to her pacer in an angry tone, “Who the fuck is that???” As we passed. 

“Not racers!! Just runners on the road!!” Not wanting her to think she was being passed by a racer in the final mile after holding her spot for so long. 

My legs were weak but I refused to break pace. The hairpins became more arduous as I tired and wanted so badly to see the final incline to the finish. When the Badwater banners finally peaked from around a stretch of pines after one last short but steep upward twisting turn, I finally broke my stride and relaxed into a walk. 

I had just run from Lone Pine to Whitney Portal up 4600 feet of elevation over about 14 miles. I passed and cheered on several elite runners as they finished the World’s Toughest Footrace and I pondered and mulled over so many thoughts while I did it.

What makes a strong runner? 

Is it completing an epic race like Badwater or any hundred miler? Perhaps consistency of training or speed? Does the key lie in strength of character and spirit throughout? I found my answer at the Whitney Portal when I watched Dale take his sore, beaten body and plop it down into the icy stream flowing just above where Chris Kostman was handing out finisher buckles and shirts to runners as they ascended with crew through the last emotional stretch. Dale smiled and cackled and asked for someone to take pictures as he rolled around in the water. He did his famous Yeti Yells and we all laughed.

Heart. Heart makes a strong runner, and though Dale didn’t finish, he didn’t lose heart. We didn’t crew 135 miles worth of desert and climbs and heat and exhaustion, but as we sat at the portal top and shared beers and stories, we all shared heart.

_____

After a couple hours of watching runners finish and sharing fries, beer and my last small bottle of Fireball, I took my runners heart and donned my runners shoes and ran down the Whitney Portal to our second hotel just a mile outside town. I ran down those hills with speed and spirit and passed and cheered for even more runners as I did. I smiled from my heart and enjoyed every step, feeling like a strong runner.

That night, we went to the award ceremony and then back to Jake’s Saloon. I met some of the runners I passed in the climb to the portal and they all greeted me warmly. I took pictures with finishers and they each appreciated the fandom and praise. We shared stories and laughs with famous runners and elite athletes and by the end of the night ended up outside a different hotel drinking more Fireball from a bottle with several runners and crew members, who were now friends.

When I returned to our hotel, I slept and I smiled. There would still be deliberation and what ifs and lots of thinking about why Dale suffered so much in the first 50 miles, but everyone who was a part of this Badwater experience walked away with adventures, stories, and valuable lessons. Dale Cougot had a DNF, but he and his crew all left the desert as strong runners with strong hearts.