“The World’s Toughest Foot Race”
Covering 135 miles (217km) non-stop from Death Valley to Mt. Whitney, CA, the Badwater® 135 is the most demanding and extreme running race offered anywhere on the planet, as well as the 135-Mile World Championship. The start line is at Badwater Basin, Death Valley, which marks the lowest elevation in North America at 280’ (85m) below sea level. The race finishes at Whitney Portal at 8,300’ (2530m), which is the trailhead to the Mt. Whitney summit, the highest point in the contiguous United States. The Badwater 135 course covers three mountain ranges for a total of 14,600’ (4450m) of cumulative vertical ascent and 6,100’ (1859m) of cumulative descent. Competitors travel through places or landmarks with names like Mushroom Rock, Furnace Creek, Salt Creek, Devil’s Cornfield, Devil’s Golf Course, Stovepipe Wells, Panamint Springs, Darwin, Keeler, Lone Pine, Alabama Hills, and the Sierra Nevada.
Imagine being in a place where the air dries out your nose instantly, the wind blows sand that feels like it is piercing your skin and the sun sears your skin. There is no escape from the heat created by the sun and wind and night time is still a blistering 115° . The ground can literally fry an egg and a wet tshirt is dried within seconds. You step outside and you feel like you have crawled inside your oven while cookies are baking.
Now. Go for a run. A long run.
That is Badwater 135. A 135 mile endurance run that takes place in Death Valley, California every July. The race takes place on the Monday of the monthly full moon. And only 100 people are invited each year to participate.
The start line is the Badwater Basin, 282 ft below sea level. The lowest point in the US. From there, you traverse the desert through Death Valley National Park, and onward towards Mt Whitney, the highest point in the lower 48 states, standing at 14,505 ft. The finish line sits nestled in the treeline, at the portal on the Whitney trail. The air temperature is regularly 120° or higher during the event. Even the night hours hover above 110°. You have 48 hours to run 135 miles; with 14,600 ft of elevation gain; traversing 3 mountain ranges; before finish with a brutal 13 mile ascent to the finish line on Mt Whitney.
This has been on my radar since I ventured from marathons to ultramarathons. I first heard about the race from Dean Karnazas, in one of his books. Instantly, I thought no way...thats insane! But the more I learned, the more the yearning to try it grew. I have spent 4 years at Badwater, as a crew chief and pacer. The race has no aid stations, no water stops, nothing. You are required to have a crew with you, and they're job is to keep your alive! They follow you the entire course, pulling over to provide hydration, fuel and clean socks.
There are several requirements you must fulfill before you can apply . I have spent multiple years, making sure I had the required distances and particular races needed to even try and get in. After years of racing and subsequent injuries, this past January, I finally got to submit my application for 2022 Badwater 135. With my friends surrounding me, in the back room of a Mexican restaurant, we waited to hear names of this year's field. To my utter shock...my name was called!! Let the insanity begin!!
Training began instantly. Road miles. Hills. Speed work. Strength training. Heat acclimation. It takes months to be ready for this race. Hours spent in a dry sauna. Miles and miles of running. Testing gear and nutrition and hydration.
Two weeks prior to the start of the race, my husband (who is my crew chief) and I flew out to Pahrump, Nevada (sitting an hour outside of Vegas, at the gateway to Death Valley). I spent hours each days driving into the park to run and walk. I spent the rest of my day, sitting outside in the heat, contemplating my life decisions! Coolers and food and a hundred other miscellaneous supplies filled our cabin. The amount of gear needed to take this on is crazy!
Days before the race, my crew arrived. Kris Vance and Cynthia Heady, my dearest friends who agreed to crew and pace. They were in for an eye opening experience! One short run in the desert and I'm certain they were rethinking agreeing to this! We spent the days leading up to the race organizing the gear and crew van, going over pacing and contingency pacing plans, race meeting and photo ops. Truly, that was more exhausting than the race itself.
Monday. July 11, 2022. 8pm. I am on the start line of the Badwater 135. The temperature is hovering around 124°, as the sun is beginning to set. The air is still and filled with anticipation and fear. I make jokes to the others around me, as we do the final photos. My way of handling nerves, bad jokes. The anthem is sung and seconds later, we are running up the concrete ramp, leading us out of the start area and on to the road. It was going to be a long night.
I felt good. Great actually! The heat wasn't suffocating and I had several bottles of ice cold water to hold me over until I saw my crew a few miles up the road. I chatted and ran. Getting to know the runners around me. All my nerves were gone and I was filled with excitement!
The sun finally sets and the moon is high, casting a warm, white glow around me. With a few hours under my belt, I'm just cruising along. My nutrition and hydration have been perfectly executed so far, with my crew refreshing everything every 2 miles. I try to keep my pace conservative, knowing that the first big climb of the race will be when the sun has come back up. No need to burn through my legs yet.
The night goes well and I am approaching the 42 mile check in just past sunrise. Here, I will pick up a pacer for the first time. Just in time to climb Towne Pass. It is a long 17 mile climb, leading us up to 5000ft. It also holds the first and toughest cut off. 50.8 miles. I had 14 hours to get to it and made it with plenty of time to spare. Cynthia and Kris took turns pacing. Each using their own skill sets to help me.
The heat of the day is blazing. Hot air is suffocating and the sun is baking me. Run, walk, power walk faster, run. It only takes a mile before my ice filled water bottles are like warm bath water in my hand. It's hard to drink it. The ice in bandanas tied around my next are nearly dry each time I reach the crew. I don't even sweat...well, I don't feel the sweat, it evaporates instantly. My feet are hot in my shoes. Up and up and up some more. The climb is relentless. But finally, we reach the point of descent. It's not a relief. What i just climbed in 17 miles, I have to descend in 9...straight into a hot, valley floor.
I tried to power walk down, but it is too steep. Gravity pushes me into a slow run. I'm trying to save my quads, knowing I can't trash my legs this early. Each mile down, the temperature rises. Finally reaching the Panamint Valley, I feel the full force of Badwater. Nestled between two mountain ranges, the valley floor, with its punishing cross wind, full sun and stifling heat...to me, this is Badwater in all its glory.
Walk, hydrate, walk, hydrate. Shuffle here and there. It takes forever to cross the valley. But a small oasis sits at the other end. Panamint Springs Resort. Now, it doesn't seem like much...almost like a tiny shanty town, run down from the elements. But to the runners, it is glorious! My crew orders food and buys more ice, while I attempt to clean off the salt and ick from the day. I can't eat. I want to. But I haven't been able to eat for hours. I need to eat, but I know that my stomach just won't hold on to anything more than a tiny bite or two. I lay down in the van and take a small nap, 10 maybe 15 mins. I know I have a long night coming.
I pop up from my nap (amazing what a couple mins sleep will do!), grab my bottles and head up the second of my three big climbs. Father Crowly, similar to the previous climb as far as elevation but totally different in layout. Towne Pass was a straight forward climb, straight up and over. Father Crowly though, is undulating...short steep ascents with even shorter descents. Up and down, then up again.
The full moon rising over my shoulder, Cynthia and Kris still taking turns sharing miles with me. By the time the sun has fully set and I am surrounded by darkness again, and those little monsters in my ear start to talk. You know them, self doubt, fear, and all their friends. I beg my crew to let me run alone for awhile. To clear my head and get back on track. The night has a way of messing with your mind during ultras, but this was the second night for me...so I was starting to come a little unglued.
I spent the next miles running and walking. Watching for the marker I knew was hiding on the side of a cliff. A culvert. Just an old culvert running over the side of a rock wall. The 100 mile mark. It was hard to see in the dark but I finally caught a glint of it. There were no cheers. No fanfare. No inflatable arch. Just me and the moon. And the desert mice dancing around my feet. 100 miles through the desert. And still more to go.
In the distance I can see the faint outline of a mountain range. I know that is where I am headed. But it is daunting...so far away.
As the second night gave way to the sunrise, my emotions finally take over. I begin to cry as I shuffle towards Kris and Cynthia who are waiting with fresh drinks and rags. Immediately they surround me as I cry, proclaiming how impossible this is. For the first time, I doubt if I can make it. They'll have none of it, letting me cry, they keep me moving forward, wiping my tears and speaking encouragement. I shuffle on.
Sleep. I am so sleepy. It consumes me. I close my eyes for seconds as I walk. My husband gets on the road, shuffling behind me. Pulling me back onto the road as I stumble. I beg for a nap. Finally, I am placed in the van...my eyes close instantly. But I hear my crew talking...heat exhaustion? Heat stroke? What do we do? Can she keep going? Hearing them, my mind reels...no way am I stopping! I'm not dead, so I'm not quitting. I pop up and tell my husband "I ain't done yet!!". Ready to jump out of the van and go before they can stop me....he touches my arm and tells me to nap; we will reassess. I let my eyes close and immediately fall asleep. 20 minutes pass and I wake with a start. Time to move!
No more tears or doubt. I see Whitney in the distance and know that I have to get to the 122 mile check point soon, or else I can't climb. I move. Cynthia by my side, we run. I feel like I am sprinting. We aren't. But it feels fast! We keep moving. Drink, run, walk, sip. Repeat. Repeat.
We make a turn. The check point is just up the road. I know exactly where without thinking. And I have plenty of time now. I run. Hard. My legs turn over and my only thought is, don't trip.
I get to the check in. Smiles and cheers all around! Only 13 miles left. 13 of the hardest miles. Straight up a mountain. Kris has fresh bottles for me, as we head to cross the road and turn up Whitney Portal Road. The sun is still cooking me as we begin the arduous climb. This will be the slowest half marathon of my life.
Slowly the hot air begins to fade. I can see the road as it zig-zags up the mountain. I count the turns. As we climb out of the heat, the air gets thinner. Now instead of suffocating from the hot dry air, it's the thin air now stealing my breath. Hands on knees, climb. Take a second to catch my breath. Climb again. Two turns left. My crew brings me a clean shirt. I excitedly pull it over my head, the soft fabric feeling smooth against my hot skin. I wipe my face. Blood. A nose bleed. Wonderful! I tell Kris her job is to make sure I don't have blood on my face at the finish line. We laugh and talk and complain. Climbing more. One last turn. It doesn't feel real. I've made this climb many times before, with other runners. But this time...its my turn. I don't know what I'm feeling.
As the road gets steeper, I see my husband in the distance. We hike faster. Cynthia joins him, as Ed Ettinghouse gives us an American flag to carry across the line. He tells me we don't have to run, but I hear none of it. We are running to that line! There is a finish line tape stretched across the road, surrounded by tall trees and a few people. Race staff, a couple runners and random hikers. Small cheers as we cross the line. I am flooded with emotion...but all that I can do is laugh and cry!!
It is a strange feeling, completing something you have spent years planning. But here I stood, an official finisher of the notorious world's toughest footrace, the Badwater 135. Photos and the presentation of my finisher buckle followed quickly. And then, suddenly...it was over! All of it. Done.
I sit at home now, having done something I have dreamed of for years. And all I can think is....when can I do it again??