LYNNE WERNER: BADWATER 2000 STORY

 The Relatively Uneventful Badwater 2000

     I started the 2000
edition of Badwater as a nervous first time runner. I trained as best I
could, running many hours in multiple layers of clothing in Seattle's
tepid summer climate or pacing in the sauna. I covered as many miles as
possible on terrain similar to that in Death Valley. I compulsively planned
for every contingency, surfing the Web and driving my car to buy and to test
the right equipment and supplies. I made lists and wrote out directions and
annoyed my crew reviewing the details. I adjusted my training and planning
after the Memorial Day training clinic in Death Valley.  I should have
felt
confident, but I had never actually run 135 miles in Very High Temperatures
(VHTs) and had no way of knowing whether I would be sick or faint or
hallucinate or collapse of exhaustion as I had heard that so many had. As it
turned out, I did not do any of those things. With the help of my crew and
the encouragement of Race Director Chris Kostman, Dana Prieto Tanaka, and
Denise and Ben Jones, as well as Denise Jones
blister advice, I finished with some new to me blisters and a few funny
stories in a better than anticipated time with my crew still speaking to me.
My crew members were my daughters Lauren and Alexis, Lauren's
friend Alana, and my husband David. We lost two other crew members just
before the race. Lauren, Alana and Alexis are all marathoners; David has
completed several ultras. My family is experienced in crewing and pacing me
at ultras, including Western States and a handful of 24 hour runs. The plan
was for them to take turns pacing me. Our major problem was that neither of
my daughters has a driver's
license, leaving us with two cars and, with the loss of the two crew
members, just two drivers. We had worked out a scheme for shuttling the car
forward so that Alana and David could do some pacing while the others crewed
me from the van, but we were not altogether confident
that the scheme would work. I was also worried about my decision to start at
8:00 AM. All the Badwater veterans had requested the 6:00 AM start, but I
knew from previous experience that no part of my body below the neck
believes that it is morning, or breakfast time, at 3:00 or 4:00 AM. So I
decided to get up at my normal time, hit the buffet at the Furnace Creek
Ranch and head out to the start feeling comfortable. I still worried. The
start of the race was like the start of any race. I was nervous before and
relieved after. The trip from Badwater to Stovepipe Wells (41 miles) passed
uneventfully for me, although unbeknownst to me, my crew was having some
problems with the VHT's. For the first part, I had the company of other
runners. I enjoyed the scenery. I got a fresh desert hat and Keep Cool
bandana soaked in ice water every couple of miles. That, with insulated
bottles of my icy sports drink mix, seemed to help me deal with the VHT's.
An
ice cream bar at Furnace Creek (17 miles) went down easily. A can of Ensure
did not  feel so good. At supper time, I reached Stovepipe Wells (41
miles),
washed down a turkey sandwich and granola bars with a very cold Mountain Dew
and felt fine. I was tired but happy to have reached that point and looking
forward to nightfall. We headed up toward Towne=s
Pass (59 miles). The sunset, filtered through the smoke from the forest
fires, was beautiful. After about 25 miles, my crew had things organized
enough that they could start taking turns pacing me. It was nice to have the
company, but the VHT's took their toll on both of my daughters. While Lauren
recovered fairly quickly, Alexis continued to feel quite ill. Sometime after
 dark, Alana had to shuttle her up to the Pass where David was trying to
sleep in the car, so that Alexis could rest undisturbed while I climbed. The
climb to Towne's
Pass is one of my favorite memories of the race. Once it was dark, the sky
was incredibly star filled. I have never seen the Milky Way so distinctly.
Looking up took my breath away. I looked down once and saw a scorpion
scuttling along on the white line at my feet as if he too were in a race.
Lauren and Alana took turns pacing, and although I cannot
remember what we talked about, in all it was a pleasant night. I arrived at
the Pass to chicken noodle soup, heated on the camp stove we'd worried over
before the race, and crackers. Despite pre taping my feet and compulsive
sock and shoe changes, my usual heel blisters were starting up, so I got to
recline on the back seat of the van while Lauren and Alana collaborated on
applying Second Skin and re taping my feet. Scott McQueeney came by at this
point to say "hi" on his way to a nap. David drove Alexis to
Panamint
Springs (72 miles) so she could sleep some more with instructions to Alana
to come pick him up as soon as I started running again. I put on the bigger
shoes I had brought to wear on the downhill and took off. As usual, I ran
pretty fast downhill, so the time between crew stops was too short for Alana
to drive to Panamint Springs and back to retrieve David for nearly an hour.
Lauren was trailing me down the hill and decided to take a break after about
six miles. Around that point I started to notice that my right big toe was
rubbing on my shoe, but I thought that the hill was nearly done and did not
worry about it. Three miles later, the hill finally ended, but my toe was
sore and I was in a foul mood by the time I spotted David heading toward me
from the van. I was able to run and walk across Panamint Valley. My toe felt
better. Eventually my mood improved. The break at Panamint Springs was a
little hard. It was 3:00 AM.. Lauren and Alexis were asleep. Other runners
were coming in and heading to their rooms or to the hospitality suite while
I sat in the van getting cheese and crackers down. I knew I should head out,
but kept worrying that I was doing something wrong because no one else was
starting up the Panamint Grade. Finally, I put on fresh, bigger shoes
without looking at my toe. David and I started the long walk up the next
hill with Alana in attendance. Again, the climb was pleasant. Walking is a
break, even uphill, or at least that is what I tell myself. David and I
gabbed the rest of the night away. Gradually the sky lit up again and we
could see the impressive view across the valley behind us and a few runners
starting up the grade. I do not
remember going on alone, but, at some point, David and Alana went back to
Panamint Springs to pick up Lauren, Alexis and the car. Alana finally got to
sleep for awhile. Lauren took up the pacing duties as we were approaching
Father Crowley's
Point (80 miles). I have several nice memories of this part of the race.
Chris and Dana stopped to say "hi" and to tell me that I was doing
well. One
of Ruben Cantu's
crew members yelled to me that I was making Seattle ites proud; I recognized
him as Mike Devlin whom I had met at Western States training camp last year.
The encouragement really helped. Nicest of all, a little past Father
Crowley's
point, I was able to start running the flats and down hills just as Denise
Jones had predicted. Fortunately, I felt good as I pulled over to change
back into my desert suit shortly after sunrise, because this time it was the
sight of my right big toe that took my breath away. The blister under the
toenail was nearly as impressive as the scenery. My crew and I gawked for a
few seconds. Then I decided that if I had been running on it five minutes
ago, I would be able to run on it now. I put on my shoe and sock and headed
 down the road to the Darwin turnoff (90 miles). This section of the course
went slowly. I was sure that every sign I saw was the second 5000 ft.
elevation sign, only to be disappointed as I got close enough to read the
sign. My toe started to bother me, and I told Lauren that I would just have
to walk the rest of the way to the Darwin turnoff. She
replied that it might be more efficient to fix my toe right away, so that I
could run. I had been looking forward to a long walking break, but consented to
have the necessary toe surgery. With the toe fix accomplished, I took a few
hobbling strides and was able to run comfortably (well, as comfortably as could
be expected) again. The Death Valley National Park boundary went by, and finally
we arrived at the Darwin turnoff around 9:30 in the morning. I sat down in the
shade of the van to breakfast on a turkey sandwich. I tried David's
jalapeño potato chips, but they were too much even for my cast iron gut. I had
to settle for tortilla chips. I made the mistake of asking the timekeeper about
my position in the race; he told me that I was the third woman, 45 minutes
behind Lisa Smith. As I ran out of the time station, I was mad at myself knowing
that I might overtake the woman in front of me. That meant that I would have to
keep running. I remember the trek through Owens Valley as being long and hot and
I was intermittently grouchy. The VHTs were more annoying to me than they had
been the day before. It was hazy. The scenery did not interest me. There was too
much traffic and the cars were going too fast. I was sure they were going to run
over my crew. I followed my brother in law's
command to his dog and frequently yelled "Over!" to get a crew member
off the
road. My eyes started to sting. I realized that I had neglected to clean my
contact lenses, so I ran without corrective lenses, hoping that I could at least
see the approaching cars. Every time that I stood still for more than a few
seconds, I could feel my feet swelling in my shoes.  I had no intention of
quitting, but I was not happy. Luckily, I still had little trouble wolfing down
the Cheetos and strawberries and cookies, so even my bad mood could be
energetic. Finally, my right toes were rubbing together painfully, but I had no
larger shoes. I tried Alexis'
one size larger shoes, but they were too small. We talked about sending David
into Lone Pine (122 miles) to buy some bigger shoes, but I was afraid that
whatever size he bought would still be too small. Finally, I suggested that
David loan me his "sneakers," a pair of old running shoes that he had
been
wearing to knock around in for maybe ten more years. I think my crew was trying
to humor me, but they helped me lace up David's
size 11 shoes. I could not run very well in my "clown" shoes, but they
felt so
good that, for a short while at least, my pacers and I shuffled along singing
camp songs and commercial jingles. Unfortunately, I still had a long way to go
through Owens Valley. The newly spread asphalt was still hot, but at least broke
the monotony. I was relieved that the work crew had gone home so that my crew
would be able to stop for me along the four mile stretch of road construction.
After awhile I could see where the road turned to head into Lone Pine, but we
never seemed to get any closer. A few faster runners who had stopped to take
breaks passed me. Keeler (108 miles) seemed a much more extensive town on foot
than it had by car. I became convinced that I would not be able to break 48
hours. Fortunately Alexis was feeling better and back on duty. She finally made
me understand that I must have read my watch wrong. Even so, it became more and
more difficult to keep telling myself, "All you have to do is get to Lone
Pine."
Mt. Whitney loomed and I was having trouble not worrying about it. Rapid mood
changes were the theme through Owens Valley and past Lone Pine. We finally
reached the "traffic light in Lone Pine" just before 8 PM. I passed Lisa
Smith,
and, although I knew that she was really two hours behind me at this point,
passing her made me feel more confident. David was pacing me. Somehow we had
missed the rest of my crew and the hamburger they had promised when we came
through Lone Pine. David headed back to find them and 30 seconds later my
spirits started to flag. My pace slowed to a crawl. Lisa and Jay Batchen and
their pacers passed me back. David could not figure out what was going on when
he returned a few minutes later with the rest of my crew and the grub. As I sat
on a rock munching my hamburger, I just lost it. It was all I could do to get
moving again, but not long after I did, everything started feeling okay again.
It grew dark as Alana paced me up the Whitney Portal Road. Alana is new to our
family, so we had plenty to talk about. The time passed quickly, but the miles
did not. I knew that all I had to do was to keep moving, but the distance to the
finish line never seemed to get any shorter. I have never felt so tired. Every
so often I would feel my head and shoulders droop and I would stop talking. I
believed that I was quiet for long periods of time. Alana told me later that I
hardly ever stopped talking for more than a few minutes. For most of the race, I
had felt fairly isolated. Once past Panamint Springs, we had only occasional
contact with other runners or crews. On the Whitney Portal Road, it seemed that
we caught up with a crowd. I passed or was passed by several runners. Crew
vehicles were everywhere. Chris and Dana reappeared to say "hi," and
Chris
walked with me a bit. I told him about David's
shoes as if he would not have noticed what I was wearing. Shortly after David
took over as my pacer, Maria Biel, a journalist writing a story for Playboy
Germany, recognized me from an earlier meeting at home in Seattle. She walked
with me for perhaps a mile, asking questions, and to be sociable, I answered.
That mile went by quickly. The "crowds" seemed to thin out in the last
couple of
miles. David and I chatted as we walked. We still had a minor crisis and a half
to face before the finish. In one half mile stretch the batteries in both of our
flashlights and our backup flashlight went dead. David had the presence of mind
to turn his dead flashlight off, so when the backup died we continued on the
weakly rejuvenated batteries. Finally we found ourselves completely in the dark
with no idea of how far we were from the van. I could not believe how dark it
was. We took a few slow steps before we saw van lights flash just ahead and,
with what seemed like incredible luck, we were saved. I stopped at the van to
get a rock out of my (i.e., Davidos)
shoe. There was no rock, but just a wrinkle in the shredded insole and a blister
on the ball of my foot. David traded me his left running shoe for his left
sneaker. The blister still hurt, but it was the last half crisis. The end was in
sight. The rest of my crew joined us at the parking lot just before the finish
line. The five of us crossed the line together. After a bit there was an awards
mini ceremony at which Chris awarded Art Webb and me our finisheros
medals. I was pleasantly surprised at my time: 41:14:57. People took pictures.
Someone took a picture of me  with my crew. In it, David and Alana look
half asleep. Lauren is trying to keep warm by wrapping a towel around her
shoulders. Alexis actually looks sort of photogenic in serious runner's
clothes. My hair is matted down. I'm
wearing my Sun Precautions long sleeved shirt with race number still in place and
long pants.
Around my ankles are reflective strips, nicely setting off two different men's
size 11 running shoes. Everyone is smiling.
Lynne Werner