Вы находитесь на странице: 1из 5

JIM BENIKE’S BADWATER 2001 STORY

“My Time in the Desert, the Badwater 135”


 

      It’s a 135-mile road race. 


Okay, but 135
miles is longer than I had ever run.  There are no aid stations so one would
need at least a four-person crew and two vehicles.  Okay, I’ll get a
crew.  We
started at 280 feet below sea level and finished at 8,340 feet including going
to 5,000 feet twice for over 13,000 total feet of climb.  Okay, maybe I can
do
it.  The average high temperature is 115 degrees and the low is 87
degrees. 
Well, now I’m scared. For the past nine months I had thought of the Badwater 135
every day and night.  I had signed up for one of the world’s toughest foot
races.  I bought the movie, “Running on the Sun” documenting the 1999
race.  I
had never seen such blisters, puking, and excellent runners talking
incoherently.  I read everything about the race and visited the race’s
excellent
web site: at:

http://www.badwaterultra.com
 
    
The race goes from Badwater, the lowest point in the Western Hemisphere, through
Death Valley during the hottest week of the year, to Mt. Whitney Portals.
Although not part of the race, one can get a permit to go to the top of Mt.
Whitney, at 14,497 ft., the highest point in the Continental US. Wow!  How to
do
it all?  The hard-drive of my brain was flashing overload.  The Mt.
Whitney hike
would take 12 to 15 hours.  It would be a difficult long day by itself … but
after 135 miles?  I read several hiking reports and books.  The Mt.
Whitney hike
was considered a separate event. I packed for the ascent.  My pack would be
ready to go at Whitney Portals. My lottery permit was for Friday, which gave me
the freedom to start as early as midnight or a practical late start of noon. 
With the Mt. Whitney planning out of the way I could concentrate on the Badwater
135.
 
     Since Badwater is a road race, training
was just miles and more miles. 
Every time I looked at the end of my driveway there were an infinite number of
roads to run, but how much was enough or too much?  An injury would wreck
months
of planning and training.  Training for heat was another problem to
solve. 
There are many ways to heat train.  One method is to work out in a sauna
increasing the temperature gradually to 160 degrees.  Working out in a sauna
to
the same temperature as cooked meat didn’t sound reasonable. Two weeks before
the race I started wearing more clothing on my daily training runs.  Starting
with a black, long-sleeve, poly top I was eventually wearing three layers of
black clothing.  The same gear as running at 20 degrees in the winter. 
The
topper was the black wool stocking cap.  After a few miles my brain felt like
popcorn in a microwave oven.  I was at my limit. If Badwater were hotter,
then I
would be cooked. Fluids, food, clothing, and medical gear were the main elements
for race day.  Clothing was easy: two sets of CoolMax T-shirts with black
compression shorts, a few pairs of socks, one pair of NB 1220 road shoes and a
Sun-Precautions desert type white hat.  Exposed skin would get a coat of 30
Sun
Block.  The medical kit was a big bag with a variety of tapes, ointments,
New-Skin, needles, Band-Aids, and Succeed capsules. We bought the food in Las
Vegas.  The full shopping cart had almost everything I had ever eaten at an
ultra.  I wasn’t sure what would taste good during the race. Fluids were
easy:
ten gallons of water, two gallons of Succeed, and four liters of Coca-Cola. 
After adding the crew’s food and fluids we had to tie two suitcases onto the
roof of the rented Ford Expedition. By lottery I would start at 6:00 AM. 
Other
starts were 8:00 and 10:00 AM.  The 6:00 AM was the coolest start but the
10:00
AM start had the advantage of knowing all the other runners’ checkpoint times.
At 6:00 AM it was 90 degrees. The sun hadn’t cleared the mountains yet to start
baking Death Valley.  The early miles were fun.  I met a few people and
played a
game of leapfrog with runners and pace cars.  My son, Aaron, and daughter,
Lorraine, were crewing me for the first ten-hour shift.  My wife, Lorraine,
son-in-law, John Kulas, and daughter-in-law, Allison, and grandsons, Austin,
Jordan, and Carter, were back at Furnace Creek Ranch. This was the seventeen
mile check point where they cheered me on.  The checkpoint was just a person
with a clipboard.  No stopping, just a verbal acknowledgement as I ran by.
By now the race was getting a rhythm.  The crew knew when I
needed fluids. The
temperature was rising.  The next checkpoint was Stovepipe Wells at mile 41.
At
118 degrees leaving Stovepipe Wells, the valley was slow and hot.  I knew
there
were two runners ahead of me but I couldn’t see their pace vehicles.  There
was
no one close behind me.  I was alone on the road with my pace vehicle and the
heat.  I won’t see another runner until dark near the Panamint Springs
checkpoint.
 
     Townes Pass summit at 4,965 feet marked
the end of the long hot walk out of
Stovepipe Wells. Ahead of me was six miles of steep downhill.  The sun had
slipped behind the West Mountains and it felt almost cool although it was 102
degrees.  It was time to run.  The grade was almost too steep but it
felt good
to be pounding down the road.  My knees got a little sore so I eased up
because
I had only completed the easy half of the race.
 
     Several hours ago I came up with my race
plan.  This race was so different
with checkpoints about 25 miles apart and few major landmarks other than road
signs.  I was used to running from aid station to aid station four to ten
miles
apart.  Sometimes my crew vehicle was stopping every quarter mile.  The
Vermont
Trail 100 race popped into my mind.  I had run this race in 1994 and 1995 and
it
was hot with miles of road running.  My time averaged 21 hours for 100
miles. 
My plan was to complete the first 100 miles in 21 hours.  I knew that the
last
13 miles were all up hill and almost everyone walked to the finish line.  My
only problem was the 22 miles after the first 100 miles.  But at least I had
a
goal although 100 miles was still a long way away.
 
     As I neared Panamint Dry Lake I could
finally see the taillights of a pace
car miles ahead.  Supper was a seven-minute break in Panamint Valley. The sun
shining across the dry sand lakebed surrounded by pink-purple mountains was
beautiful.  My eyes were enjoying the beauty but the rest of my body was
tired
and sore.  Still it was 100 plus degrees. I passed Rudy Afanador a mile
before
Panamint Springs Resort.  He was at the side of the road dressed in full
whites
with his head down and not looking good.  In a few minutes he passed me just
ahead of the checkpoint. He headed back to the crew vehicle after saying no one
was ahead of us.  A short time later, wearing shorts and a singlet, he passed
me
again in the dark speed-walking that long uphill to 5,050 feet.  I would see
the
taillights of his crew vehicle moving further away the rest of the night.  He
would be the only runner I would see until the race ended.
 
     The Darwin checkpoint at 5,050 feet was
just a guy under a canopy. It was
easy to see if you are the only person on a dark road but my crew vehicle never
saw the checkpoint.  From Darwin it was a gradual 17 miles downhill. Good
running. There ware a million stars in the sky. It was 70 degrees.  It felt
almost cold, as it was a 50-degree temperature change on my body.  My crew
cheered me on as I hit the 100-mile mark at 21:35 hours.  Not bad. Only 35
minutes off my goal.
 
     The new goal was Lone Pine.  The
next 9 miles were gradually downhill but
now my legs and back were sore.  My stomach was upset. I was retching beside
the
road and I could feel two blisters on my left foot. I hadn’t sat down in three
hours. I told Aaron and Allison I needed a 15-minute nap but not to let me
oversleep as I crawled into the back seat with my Mt. Whitney gear as a
pillow. 
Leg pains woke me every five minutes.  Aaron drained and taped my blisters.
This
was his first experience at blister repair.  He reminded me later that my
feet
weren’t too sweet after 23 hours in the same socks.  It was now dawn. I had
fresh socks, taped blisters, and my stomach felt good. I was running down the
road again but now I faced 11 miles of flats. The sun was heating the road up
again. My body was extra sensitive to the heat and it seemed like it took
forever to make any progress. I would just run to the next road sign.  This
was
my new goal. It is easy to say but so hard to do when one cannot see a sign for
miles.  There were many walk breaks.  Finally I arrived at the
intersection that
I thought was Lone Pine. 
 
     When Allison said it was two more miles
to the Dow Villa check-point and
Whitney Portal road in Lone Pine, I thought it was a cruel joke.  It was a
long
two miles accentuated by load truck traffic.
Finally, I saw the turnoff to Mt. Whitney Portals. It was to be
thirteen miles
uphill. It was hot …. over 100 degrees again.  When asked how I felt I didn’t
say hot anymore. “Toast” was my new word.  I felt like I was in a
toaster.  I
was hydrated but felt awful.  I was only trudging up that long road because
it
was the quickest way to the finish line.  It felt like the sun was baking my
back and legs.  “Toast,” just like toast in a toaster. Going through the
Alabama
Hills was pretty.  Three hundred plus movies have been made there.  I
hoped to
hallucinate a few cowboys and Indians from those movies as I could have used the
entertainment.  We estimated it would take another 3 ½ to 4 ½ hours to get to
the finish line. It seemed so far away but the only thing to do was to keep
walking. The second crew vehicle arrived a few miles from the finish. Seeing the
whole family boosted my energy. My daughter, Lorraine, would pace me to the
finish. I joked about which was harder, running the race or taking care of three
little boys.  We passed a race sign that said one more mile. I was going so
slowly that it felt like three miles. Eventually I could hear people clapping
and ran the last 50 yards to the finish line. Chris Kostman, Race Director, took
a few photos of my crew while I sat in a chair drinking water. It was 31:16:24
hours, earning a fifth place.
 

     Riding back down the mountain I yelled


encouragement to a few runners but soon fell asleep. My legs would jump every
few minutes reminding me of this long run.  At the motel I headed for the
shower
and Aaron delivered a cold beer as requested days ago.  I drank half a beer
then
flopped into bed for a short nap.
 
     Later that night we
walked across the street for beer and pizza.  We ordered too much food. 
Before
bed I double-checked my pack for the trip up Mt. Whitney.  The alarm rang at
2:45 AM and we were driving to the trailhead by 3:30 AM. We started up the trail
at 4:22 AM.  There were
at least twenty other hikers around us.  I didn’t feel bad just a little
stiff
and a cup of hot coffee had cleared my head.  I was ready to begin another
full
day.  I was in the middle between John and Aaron but after a while I took the
rear.  I was too slow.  We made tree-line around sunrise as
planned.  It was
spectacular.  Aaron and John had never been on a big mountain and didn’t know
what to expect but now they were all smiles.  Later at 13,000 feet the dull
headaches would start.  We summited at 11:50 AM and took all the obligatory
photos.  It was beautiful.  The trail down was long and slow.  I
didn’t feel
bad. I just couldn’t move very fast or accurately and there weren’t any good
places to fall.  We did run the last mile, as it was a wide section finishing
at
5:23 PM.  It was just over 13 hours on the trail. I had gone from the lowest
point to the highest point of the Continental US in 53:50 hours. After all the
months of planning and worry, my race was concluded.  The next day driving
back
along the course there wasn’t a trace of the seventy runners who started, their
crews, or vehicles.  Looking at the empty road I felt like it was all a
desert
dream.
 
Jim Benike

08-13-2000

Вам также может понравиться