A Recap...
Well, Monday morning after the race, and things are returning to normal.
The important part: I finished.
As you all know, I had originally intended to go all the way to the top of Mt. Whitney, but because my ankle ended up being so bad, that would have been unsafe for both me and my friends who would have been climbing with me.
Before I forget: my crew is the reason I made it. They were: my Mom and Dad (Sue and Lewin), Mark and Patty Giebel, Steve Matsuda, Diana Rush, John Olsen, and Ken and Jeanne Berry. Except for my parents, all ultrarunners with whom I've spent many hours on the trails. Also some of my best friends.
When we arrived, Sunday before the race, temps were very low, around 105f at the Furnace Creek visitor center. That's absolutely balmy for Death Valley, and people were split...some were saying that it was too bad we weren't going on that day, while others were saying it would have been marked with an unofficial asterisk if you finished in such a 'cool' year.
In any event, we went back to the hotel, packed up the van, and chilled out. I made a mistake that night, eating a questionable green salad right before I went to sleep. The next morning, on the way out, I was fighting some stomach cramps. Also, for some reason, I was really down at the start, and I just couldn't get my enthusiasm up. After pictures, we lined up, and the race director started us out by saying "bang" (a tradition) and I surged into the lead for about 2 seconds...the first and last time I've ever lead the race. :)
Running with Ian Parker, 4-time finisher
I ran very easy and comfortably for the first 18 miles, with no heat problems, as it was still quite cool (somewhere in the 90s, I was told). When we got to Furnace Creek (mile 18) it was somewhere around 105f. I went inside the store to cool off in the A/C, changed socks, then headed back out at a brisk walk.
I always walk the section from 18-42, as it's the hottest area on the course, and the one that's given me the most troubles. That day, it was going fine. I'd made it to 35, past the dry lake bed where the hot winds gather and cut across your path, and turned for the last 7 or so miles into Stovepipe Wells. I saw some of my crew again, who were moving forward to the next hotel, then hit a wall.
The purple band...
I remember pumping my fist when I'd made it past the dry lake bed. Death Valley doesn't like pride! The heat jumped on my back like a two-ton monster, and I had to climb into the van to try to cool off. I laid back on the bench, and my crew covered me in ice water-laden towels, and sponged me off. They replaced my salts with a salty fluid and pedialyte (yep, the kids' stuff) but I kept struggling. I'd go half a mile and have to climb back in to cool off. Finally, after fits and starts, I made it into Stovepipe Wells (mile 42).
My crew took me over to the medical station just to check. I'd lost 6 lbs., (which concerned them more than me, as I regularly would lose 10 on training runs), but that was only 3% of my bodyweight. Not bad for these types of events. However, my urine was quite concentrated, the highest they'd seen, and they advised me to do what I tell people to do every week: drink.
So I went over, jumped in the pool, and cooled off a bit. We hung in the room for a while, then I changed, ate some more chicken broth (a great sodium source) and got ready to go back out. I picked up a new crew and started up Towne's Pass, an 18 mile climb at 5% grade that gets you out of Death Valley proper.
I soon realized I was still warmer than I wanted to be (internally). We pushed up the hill a bit, but I had to pull over several times to cool off. At one point, I had to send my pacer ahead to get the crew to come back; in the interim, I laid down on the side of the road, tilting my flashlight up the road so cars didn't mistakenly pull over on top of me.
Within a couple minutes, a french team approached; they picked me up and got me into their a/c cooled van until my team returned. That's one great thing about this race...you don't even need language to communicate the basic needs, and everyone is happy to take care of everyone else.
At some point in there, I had my first hallucination: a stack of steel blue blocks, maybe two feet square, tunneled through, and maybe 40 feet high. That was looking out of the van to the side of the road. My crew member, Diana, was funny, telling me to "stop that, right now!" when I let my mind wander.
Walking up Towne's Pass
My crew returned, and the rest of the climb up was a struggle. We kept pounding liquids, and by 3 or 4am, I was starting to finally respond. You judge (partially) how well you're doing by your body's ability to process water. I'd finally started going again, and things were looking good.
About mile 58 or so, I felt something in my ankle pop. I knew that wasn't going to be good, but I kept on and we got to the top of Towne's Pass (mile 59) somehwere around 5am. Towne's Pass marks one's exit from Death Valley proper.
Coming down the other side of Towne's Pass, you enter Panamint Valley, just as barren and almost as hot as it's big brother. I managed to jog down parts of the 8 mile descent, but the ankle was already bothering me. We rigged an ice pack out of baggies and duct tape, which seemed to help, and had a crew shift on the way down the hill. Across the valley floor and into Panamint Springs (mile 72), no problems. I decided to take a 15 minute nap at around 9:30am. There's a room that they keep for runners with couch, beds, etc., and I zonked out immediately, after asking for some hash browns & eggs. When I got up, breakfast was there. I pounded that, then got up and got ready to go again...hard after my body thought it was going to crash for the night!
Day 2
Coming out of Panamint Springs, you have another climb up to a spot called Father Crowley's (mile 80). That was uneventful. The next 10 miles, too, were rather calm, getting to Darwin (mile 90) and checkpoint #3. I got there right around 6pm, so I'd made 90 miles in around 36 hours. Not bad, not great.
We did a crew shift, and I managed to get running again, but only for brief periods. My ankle was bothering me too much. I couldn't flex my foot up (put your foot flat on the floor, then lift the front of your foot to know which tendons were sore). So I was pretty much reduced to a walk at that point.
Somewhere in that stretch I started hallucinating again, pretty common for the second night. This time, a group of tractors on the side of the road (no tractors). A little while later, the mosaic of stone and concrete on the highway was turning into a pattern of Egyptian hieroglyphics which spread out on the pavement as I moved ahead. "Don't look down," my crew member Steve told me. "Look out ahead, instead." That seemed to work, but we also dosed me with 1/2 a caffeine pill, and that seemed to lift me.
But I had to...at one point, we saw a true Sidewinder rattlesnake moving off the side of the road (I was fascinated, my pacer Diana doesn't like snakes).
Around 10 or 11, three of my TNT friends showed up: Red Figueroa, Theresa Carrico, and Chris LaCava. It was great to see some of these folks out, as TNT was the main motivator for me to do this race a third time. They jumped right in, taking turns pacing, and joining our 3am - daylight crew for the rest of the night.
In that stretch, roles were reversed. Where I had taken care of them at their races, it was now their turn to see their coach struggling, leaning on them for balance, and asking them to remind him to drink. In spite of sagging spirits, swarming bats (yep, those kind) and funny desert noises in the dark, they all got me through.
As daylight of the third day broke, we approached Highway 395 (120). My ankle was excruciating by this point. But I kept pushing past the support van, wanting to make it to the highway. Finally, we did. In my mind, mile 120 marks one's escape from the desert.
Now there was just the final climb.
Day 3
I sat down and we looked at the ankle. It was really swollen, and there was a nasty bump along the front. We taped the tendons as well as we could, then wrapped a compression bandage around it. It helped a bit, but was awkward. We went down 395 for another mile or so, then stopped to retape. This time we tried a figure-8 pattern, which worked a little better, and reinforced it with some athletic tape. We worked it so I could at least walk without too much effort lifting my foot.
It was definitely step-drag step-drag at this point. At mile 122, we passed the final checkpoint in Lone Pine, then turned up the Mt. Whitney Portal Road. That's a killer. When I feel fresh, it's a four-hour climb. Thirteen miles with 4,000 feet of elevation gain.
I'd really wanted to get to the climb in the dark, to avoid a third day of the sun on me, but it wasn't to be. I think this is the spot where my previous experience paid off. I knew I had roughly 10 hours to get 13 miles done. Sounds funny, now, but at the time, you're allowing for the possibility of having to stop, retape, sleep, cool down, etc., and the time seems not so great.
Sponging down
Again, my crew did great. They'd let me stop briefly, but only long enough to get me cool and refilled. As I approached the final mile, my crew came out, a nice tradition. As you get closer and closer to the finish, the air changes, cools, and you begin to hear an Alpine wind and the sound of the creek running down the canyon. It is, as I've said to many, my impression of what it must be like to enter heaven...a welcome, cool, green embrace after days and miles of pitiless heat.
Crossing the finish line this time was great. I had my TNT shirt on, in honor of those for whom I was running. I think the picture above says it all.
My crew (l to r): Ken Berry, Chris LaCava (rear), Steve Matsuda (front), Theresa Carrico, Jeanne Berry, Mark & Patty Giebel, John Olsen (f), Sue & Lewin Minter, Diana Rush (f) and Red Figueroa (f).
What I Learned
- Three times is enough. I don't think I'll be going back to run again. You do things like this through some inner compulsion, and I think I've learned that I can dig deeper pretty much whenever I need to. 3x puts me in a nice exclusive group even for this race.
- Can't get anywhere without your friends. But I guess I knew that already. :)
- Goals can change and you can still win. Even though I didn't get to climb the last portion because of my bum ankle, it wasn't something that hurt me. We took our permits over to the Ranger Station that morning, and there were people waiting, hoping to get to climb, who were ready to go, so they were happy. That made me happy. Mt. Whitney will be there for a long time, it's safe to guess, and I'll have another adventure going back just for that climb.
- Do things because you love to do them. There's no other reason, and this is one that encompasses all the others you might come up with.
Thanks again to everybody who followed along and donated to my cause. It made the experience truly meaningful to me, and I'll have these memories until the day I die!
The important part: I finished.
As you all know, I had originally intended to go all the way to the top of Mt. Whitney, but because my ankle ended up being so bad, that would have been unsafe for both me and my friends who would have been climbing with me.
Before I forget: my crew is the reason I made it. They were: my Mom and Dad (Sue and Lewin), Mark and Patty Giebel, Steve Matsuda, Diana Rush, John Olsen, and Ken and Jeanne Berry. Except for my parents, all ultrarunners with whom I've spent many hours on the trails. Also some of my best friends.
When we arrived, Sunday before the race, temps were very low, around 105f at the Furnace Creek visitor center. That's absolutely balmy for Death Valley, and people were split...some were saying that it was too bad we weren't going on that day, while others were saying it would have been marked with an unofficial asterisk if you finished in such a 'cool' year.
In any event, we went back to the hotel, packed up the van, and chilled out. I made a mistake that night, eating a questionable green salad right before I went to sleep. The next morning, on the way out, I was fighting some stomach cramps. Also, for some reason, I was really down at the start, and I just couldn't get my enthusiasm up. After pictures, we lined up, and the race director started us out by saying "bang" (a tradition) and I surged into the lead for about 2 seconds...the first and last time I've ever lead the race. :)
I ran very easy and comfortably for the first 18 miles, with no heat problems, as it was still quite cool (somewhere in the 90s, I was told). When we got to Furnace Creek (mile 18) it was somewhere around 105f. I went inside the store to cool off in the A/C, changed socks, then headed back out at a brisk walk.
I always walk the section from 18-42, as it's the hottest area on the course, and the one that's given me the most troubles. That day, it was going fine. I'd made it to 35, past the dry lake bed where the hot winds gather and cut across your path, and turned for the last 7 or so miles into Stovepipe Wells. I saw some of my crew again, who were moving forward to the next hotel, then hit a wall.
I remember pumping my fist when I'd made it past the dry lake bed. Death Valley doesn't like pride! The heat jumped on my back like a two-ton monster, and I had to climb into the van to try to cool off. I laid back on the bench, and my crew covered me in ice water-laden towels, and sponged me off. They replaced my salts with a salty fluid and pedialyte (yep, the kids' stuff) but I kept struggling. I'd go half a mile and have to climb back in to cool off. Finally, after fits and starts, I made it into Stovepipe Wells (mile 42).
My crew took me over to the medical station just to check. I'd lost 6 lbs., (which concerned them more than me, as I regularly would lose 10 on training runs), but that was only 3% of my bodyweight. Not bad for these types of events. However, my urine was quite concentrated, the highest they'd seen, and they advised me to do what I tell people to do every week: drink.
So I went over, jumped in the pool, and cooled off a bit. We hung in the room for a while, then I changed, ate some more chicken broth (a great sodium source) and got ready to go back out. I picked up a new crew and started up Towne's Pass, an 18 mile climb at 5% grade that gets you out of Death Valley proper.
I soon realized I was still warmer than I wanted to be (internally). We pushed up the hill a bit, but I had to pull over several times to cool off. At one point, I had to send my pacer ahead to get the crew to come back; in the interim, I laid down on the side of the road, tilting my flashlight up the road so cars didn't mistakenly pull over on top of me.
Within a couple minutes, a french team approached; they picked me up and got me into their a/c cooled van until my team returned. That's one great thing about this race...you don't even need language to communicate the basic needs, and everyone is happy to take care of everyone else.
At some point in there, I had my first hallucination: a stack of steel blue blocks, maybe two feet square, tunneled through, and maybe 40 feet high. That was looking out of the van to the side of the road. My crew member, Diana, was funny, telling me to "stop that, right now!" when I let my mind wander.
My crew returned, and the rest of the climb up was a struggle. We kept pounding liquids, and by 3 or 4am, I was starting to finally respond. You judge (partially) how well you're doing by your body's ability to process water. I'd finally started going again, and things were looking good.
About mile 58 or so, I felt something in my ankle pop. I knew that wasn't going to be good, but I kept on and we got to the top of Towne's Pass (mile 59) somehwere around 5am. Towne's Pass marks one's exit from Death Valley proper.
Coming down the other side of Towne's Pass, you enter Panamint Valley, just as barren and almost as hot as it's big brother. I managed to jog down parts of the 8 mile descent, but the ankle was already bothering me. We rigged an ice pack out of baggies and duct tape, which seemed to help, and had a crew shift on the way down the hill. Across the valley floor and into Panamint Springs (mile 72), no problems. I decided to take a 15 minute nap at around 9:30am. There's a room that they keep for runners with couch, beds, etc., and I zonked out immediately, after asking for some hash browns & eggs. When I got up, breakfast was there. I pounded that, then got up and got ready to go again...hard after my body thought it was going to crash for the night!
Day 2
Coming out of Panamint Springs, you have another climb up to a spot called Father Crowley's (mile 80). That was uneventful. The next 10 miles, too, were rather calm, getting to Darwin (mile 90) and checkpoint #3. I got there right around 6pm, so I'd made 90 miles in around 36 hours. Not bad, not great.
We did a crew shift, and I managed to get running again, but only for brief periods. My ankle was bothering me too much. I couldn't flex my foot up (put your foot flat on the floor, then lift the front of your foot to know which tendons were sore). So I was pretty much reduced to a walk at that point.
Somewhere in that stretch I started hallucinating again, pretty common for the second night. This time, a group of tractors on the side of the road (no tractors). A little while later, the mosaic of stone and concrete on the highway was turning into a pattern of Egyptian hieroglyphics which spread out on the pavement as I moved ahead. "Don't look down," my crew member Steve told me. "Look out ahead, instead." That seemed to work, but we also dosed me with 1/2 a caffeine pill, and that seemed to lift me.
But I had to...at one point, we saw a true Sidewinder rattlesnake moving off the side of the road (I was fascinated, my pacer Diana doesn't like snakes).
Around 10 or 11, three of my TNT friends showed up: Red Figueroa, Theresa Carrico, and Chris LaCava. It was great to see some of these folks out, as TNT was the main motivator for me to do this race a third time. They jumped right in, taking turns pacing, and joining our 3am - daylight crew for the rest of the night.
In that stretch, roles were reversed. Where I had taken care of them at their races, it was now their turn to see their coach struggling, leaning on them for balance, and asking them to remind him to drink. In spite of sagging spirits, swarming bats (yep, those kind) and funny desert noises in the dark, they all got me through.
As daylight of the third day broke, we approached Highway 395 (120). My ankle was excruciating by this point. But I kept pushing past the support van, wanting to make it to the highway. Finally, we did. In my mind, mile 120 marks one's escape from the desert.
Now there was just the final climb.
Day 3
I sat down and we looked at the ankle. It was really swollen, and there was a nasty bump along the front. We taped the tendons as well as we could, then wrapped a compression bandage around it. It helped a bit, but was awkward. We went down 395 for another mile or so, then stopped to retape. This time we tried a figure-8 pattern, which worked a little better, and reinforced it with some athletic tape. We worked it so I could at least walk without too much effort lifting my foot.
It was definitely step-drag step-drag at this point. At mile 122, we passed the final checkpoint in Lone Pine, then turned up the Mt. Whitney Portal Road. That's a killer. When I feel fresh, it's a four-hour climb. Thirteen miles with 4,000 feet of elevation gain.
I'd really wanted to get to the climb in the dark, to avoid a third day of the sun on me, but it wasn't to be. I think this is the spot where my previous experience paid off. I knew I had roughly 10 hours to get 13 miles done. Sounds funny, now, but at the time, you're allowing for the possibility of having to stop, retape, sleep, cool down, etc., and the time seems not so great.
Again, my crew did great. They'd let me stop briefly, but only long enough to get me cool and refilled. As I approached the final mile, my crew came out, a nice tradition. As you get closer and closer to the finish, the air changes, cools, and you begin to hear an Alpine wind and the sound of the creek running down the canyon. It is, as I've said to many, my impression of what it must be like to enter heaven...a welcome, cool, green embrace after days and miles of pitiless heat.
Crossing the finish line this time was great. I had my TNT shirt on, in honor of those for whom I was running. I think the picture above says it all.
What I Learned
- Three times is enough. I don't think I'll be going back to run again. You do things like this through some inner compulsion, and I think I've learned that I can dig deeper pretty much whenever I need to. 3x puts me in a nice exclusive group even for this race.
- Can't get anywhere without your friends. But I guess I knew that already. :)
- Goals can change and you can still win. Even though I didn't get to climb the last portion because of my bum ankle, it wasn't something that hurt me. We took our permits over to the Ranger Station that morning, and there were people waiting, hoping to get to climb, who were ready to go, so they were happy. That made me happy. Mt. Whitney will be there for a long time, it's safe to guess, and I'll have another adventure going back just for that climb.
- Do things because you love to do them. There's no other reason, and this is one that encompasses all the others you might come up with.
Thanks again to everybody who followed along and donated to my cause. It made the experience truly meaningful to me, and I'll have these memories until the day I die!
posted by Greg Minter at 9:44 AM
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