I don't even know how to begin, as I am still struggling with my disappointment. I am disappointed with my body, my performance and my behavior. Compared to last year...yeah, shouldn't do that I suppose.
I know, I know. What do I have to complain about, right? I was invited back for a second time and I managed to make it the finish line in 44:19. How many people ever get the chance to start this thing, let alone get to choose which Badwater belt buckle they want to wear? I'm a very fortunate person.
But really, this year, I did not achieve my Badwater goal. I said to Team High Voltage that I didn't really care how long it took to get to the finish line, as long as we had as much fun this year as last year, that was all that mattered. I anticipated that my time would be slower as my fitness wasn't as good and I still had a nagging achilles issue. And, the forecast was for "Hot" this year, unlike the mild 113 degrees of last year. Not to make excuses, but the goal was get to the finish and have a good time doing it. And I got so surly and cranky and tired that I don't know if I had much fun towards the end (and in the middle...more on why in a bit).
Now that I write this, I feel like a big baby. Which is, in part, why I am disappointed with myself. My crew, Crew Chief & Elixir Enforcer John Pearch, Picture Taker & Road Side Dancer Nick Harvey, Problem Solver & Salt Pusher Kris Ryding, Always Ready & Lone Pine Pacer Cyndie Merten, Rookie, Nick's B*%$# & Spiritual Advisor Patrick Ackley and Energizer Bunny & Exorcist Linda, worked their arses off to get us to the finish line. They suffered through the heat (125 degrees this year) as much as I did, they kept me spot on with my water and electrolytes and calories. Most importantly, they kept me cool. Seriously, as hot as it was, I never really felt it. I mean, I never really felt too hot, or so hot that I was too hot. I mean, yeah, I was hot, but my crew kept it all very manageable. They rocked. And now, here I whine about "fun". I really need to get over myself.
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| Crew Care. I love my crew. Nick Harvey Photo |
The start was great.
I was in the 10 a.m. wave (which was scary) and for the first 10 miles or so a few of us were racing to see who could be DFL in the 10 a.m. wave moving into Furnace Creek (mile 17). Unfortunately, it was not me, but I did run a conservative 3:25 to get there. I was really happy with that as it was 20 minutes slower than last year and I thought that made up for it being hotter and my fitness being not as good. Crew 1 (Nick, Pat & Linda) were awesome as they immediately started changing out my ice bandannas, got me drinking my elixir and eating some fresh fruits (this year: blueberries and whole apples. Yum.).
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| Looking good so far! And look at that coordinated ensemble! AdventureCorps photo |
We passed Furnace Creek quickly and I took my phone to call my daughter as I knew that would be the last time I would hear her sweet voice until the road into Lone Pine. She made me smile. I felt good and I was having fun but talking was a bit hard.
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| Linda, Cyndie & Kris at Furnace Creek. Quick Stop and on the go! John's photo |
Getting to Stovepipe Wells.
I was really looking forward to the stretch into Stovepipe Wells (mile 17 to 42) because there are some nice flatish runnable sections but some nice climbs that are just best if someone like me power hikes them. It was hot though, and I know that it was because the crew kept changing my towels and bandanna every stop, maybe every 1/2 mile? I kept eating and drinking and taking my salt, things were going o.k.
But it was lonely. Being at the back of the 10 a.m. wave and not so fast I was going to catch a bunch of people in front of me made it more difficult to keep pushing and have those fun conversations with other runners or get cheered on by other crews. Eventually I caught up to Amy Costa from Florida and we played back and forth a little bit. Her crew sprayed me down and my crew took care of her too. It was a good time. (She passed me at Stovepipe Wells and I never saw her again. She finished well ahead of me in a very nice time.)
I think I had Linda running with me and she told me stories about her trip to Ireland. Pat (desert virgin that he was) looked hot and I worried about him. Nick was running around in his flip flops like it was a day at the beach.
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| With Linda, I think this was day 2. Pat's photo |
But really, while everything was going smoothly, something was falling apart. Inside of me. And I had no idea.
A couple of miles before Stovepipe Wells the winds started. Now, the head wind going up Townes Pass is to be expected at Badwater. But this year, it started several miles earlier than it normally does. And this year, the whole bloody wind was HOT. Yeah, I know desert hot wind; I like it. I was disappointed that the 30 mph sustained head wind of 2012 was so mild (as in, not at all hot). I felt like the desert was playing mild with me. This year, it started earlier and it embraced me like an old friend. It didn't scare me or surprise me but it did, alas, wear me out.
9:40 from the start I made it to Stovepipe Wells. I stopped for a bit to rinse the sand off of my feet and change my socks (the wind had blown the sand into my shoes). Pat sacrificed and gave me a quick foot rub. In hindsight, I wasn't exactly feeling good.
And then, we started to climb up Towne's Pass.
This year was brutal. The wind, the heat, my slow forward progress all conspired to beat up my psyche and make me feel like crap about myself. And whatever it was inside me that was falling apart, reared its ugly head in all of its glory and I would not be able to tame it until, well, I haven't yet.
There really isn't much more to tell. The crew took care of everything related to me and they took care of themselves. But still, I got queasy and dizzy (and cranky and surly) and it became very difficult to move forward or to eat. The sun went down and I started peeing every 15 minutes or so (which I expected to happen because that is how my body rolls). Kris was pacing me up Townes Pass and we were trying to figure out what was wrong. I sat and ate some soup and I felt better for about 15 minutes, then the queasy/dizzy started again and it was all I could do to keep moving.
At some point, we made it to the top of Townes Pass, I'm not even sure who was crewing me then but I remember Cyndie came out with me for a bit during the crew transition. I felt so out of the race because I was so in my misery. I could not escape it. I ran, I walked, I stopped, I drank, I ate protein, I ate fat, I ate sugar, I took more salt, I took less salt, I drank less. It didn't matter. The queasy/dizzy would not go away and it was in it's own way, debilitating.
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| Pat telling me about chakras, or something. Nick Harvey Photo |
More of the same & trying to find a solution.
Even the "fun" downhill going into Panamint Springs was a slog. Nick ran with me and we hit a couple of 10 min/miles on his watch (for a brief time, not sustained I'm sure) but then I would just have to put my hands on my knees until the dizziness passed.
It took me 11:15 to go 30 miles. Granted, over 1/2 of that was climbing Townes Pass into a desert hot, sustained 30 mph, morale sucking headwind but still I might have dropped if I would have been at all aware of my slow progress at the time. All I knew was that the sun had come up as we were heading into the Panamint Valley. Which meant I got to do the Panamint climb in the daylight this year (last year, I did in the late night).
Usually for me, when the sun comes up in a run, I stop peeing as often. It's my bodies natural cycle: don't pee much during the day, pee A LOT at night. And the first day and night at Badwater predictably followed this schedule. However, this year the sun came up and I kept on peeing. I mean REALLY peeing-every 10 to 20 minutes, a copious amount and it was clear. It definitely concerned me but the crew and other people kept telling me it was a good sign as it meant I was well hydrated. But it wasn't right. This, along with the queasy/dizzy, told me that something wasn't right. But other than that stuff, I felt great so I tried to keep moving forward.
Kris got me up most of this climb but the story was the same. More queasy/dizzy. More surly and grumpy. More peeing. I stopped at Father Crowley to check on a blister (every little physical discomfort became huge because I could at least "fix" that, unlike whatever was going on with the queasy/dizzy stuff). As we were leaving I tried to cry. I really did. I felt so weak for letting something so small like a little queasiness get to me in such a big way. I told Kris "It's so frustrating because if if weren't for the fact that I feel like shit, I actually feel really good." And then I hiked.
I did manage to catch some folks from earlier starting waves. I played back and forth with Chris Frost for many many miles. He kept asking what wave I was in so I had to give him a hard time about that. Every time I was with another runner I would forget about how I felt and be positive and upbeat and try to pull them along. That was good for me and I hope for them.
Kris kept suggesting that I make myself vomit to "hit the reset button" but I really felt like that wasn't my issue. My gut felt fine. It felt great, actually. I was just queasy and dizzy. In retrospect, the feeling was very much like when I was pregnant. I was queasy all of the time but I never got physically ill. The only thing that made me feel better was eating...all the time. Needless to say, I gained 50 pounds when I was pregnant.
At some point before Darwin (mile 90) it hit me that maybe I needed to sit down and eat and let my body process the food; that maybe my problem was with food. I was eating still, and feeling better for a bit, but those icky feelings kept coming back.
I spent at least 30 minutes on the side of the road eating and drinking mostly complex carbs and fats & proteins. Then I waited. John and Kris used the roller on me, Kris rubbed my back. It was very productive. And as good as it felt, I wanted to keep moving. I didn't want to quit. I didn't want to be stopped on the side of the road. I knew that many people's race had already ended and I had no real excuse for not moving on. So I did.
And, it worked! I felt a lot better. Not 100% but a lot better.
I was low on energy. I was low on positive feelings. But I was moving forward. The crew was doing an awesome job. They kept me eating, they walked and ran with me, they advised me spiritually, they let me do what I said I needed to do. I don't think they knew what was going on in my head though; how negative I felt about myself, about my body and about how I was acting. I wanted to embrace the moment, live the dream, "be here, now", be high voltage-but I just didn't have it in me at this point.
Road to Lone Pine and the Portal Road.
On the positive side, my pace picked up a bit as I was running a bit more. I also was running "with" more people too which was motivating. I was sitting on the side of the road, eating blueberries and spinning my possessed head (think The Exorcist) around when Chris Frost hiked by and asked if everything was OK. I said "I'm just tired." His response was spot on: "Yeah." As if to say, "And? So? Duh." I felt like a baby and his voice stayed in my head the rest of the race.
Time for confession. I wasn't a very nice runner this year. Yeah, I know there were reasons or excuses but I really hope that Badwater didn't bring out the 'real me'. I accused Linda of lying to me about the car. The sun had just set on the second night and I thought the car had not gone passed by us although we had been hiking for quite awhile (I thought).
- Me: "Where's the car? Why hasn't it passed?"
- Linda: "I don't know. I think they were going to arrange it a bit."
- Me (said with a snide voice): "Why would they do that?"
- Linda: "I don't know. It is getting disorganized."
- Me: "Well that doesn't make sense."
- Linda (exasperated): "I don't know Heidi. They wanted to clean up the coolers."
- Me: "You're lying to me. Are you lying to me? The car battery went dead (again) and you aren't telling me."
- Linda (more exasperated): "No Heidi, I'm not lying. The car is fine. I don't know where they are."
- Me: "You better not be lying to me to protect me. I want to hear...wait. They did pass us a little bit ago. They dropped you off with me. I remember seeing Nick in the car as they drove by. I think."
- Linda (extra exasperated and confused): "I don't know Heidi. Yes, maybe, I can't remember."
By this time I was tired from being up and moving for so long (30+ hours), dealing with two days worth of desert heat (125 degrees day one, 103 degrees day two), covering over 100 miles, fighting my failing body, dealing with my weak psyche.
I did get to talk to my mom and daughter on the road into Lone Pine. When I got my phone out of the car I noticed that the screen was dirty, so without a thought, I licked it clean. The crew was happy I got a few extra calories and some salt.
After talking to Elena, I cried. I didn't want to quit. I just wanted to be done. As in, at the finish line done.
The crew became worried that I might not make the 48 hour cut off at the pace I was moving. I tried to figure it out myself but I realized I was trying to be to "in charge" and I was in no state to make any sort of decision. Their worries put the fear of a DNF into me and I got moving a bit more. They played music, they danced, I tried to smile. Their efforts were phenomenal and I wanted to respond but it was so hard.
Eventually, with some very patient pacing by Cyndie during the 2nd night, I made it into Lone Pine. I used the restroom in at the Dow Villa check point and I got to wash my hands with soap. SOAP!! Oh, glorious soap!
Kris then kicked my butt up the portal road. As in, she kept kicking my butt to get me to move. It was very clear though after 20 or so minutes of solid hiking my pace would slow dramatically. We got into the habit of moving strong when I could, then sitting and resting for 5 minutes in the car. This seemed to help my overall pace. The crew would talk about me thinking I couldn't hear them, but I could. They conspired on ways to get me to eat and drink, Kris told John "She has to drink the elixir. You can't let her say no." I felt so bad for John. He knew I was suffering and he didn't want to force anything on me. For him, I took that elixir without argument. Until I said "This is my last one. Just Mt. Dew after this."
Crew 2 was with me up the portal road and I was so worried about Crew 1 not making it in time for the finish. I really wanted everyone there and I found myself getting upset that they weren't there yet I didn't have the guts to vocalize what I wanted. Instead I just got more frustrated and worried. It wasn't a happy climb for me. But, Kris stuck with me. She reminded me to drink, she kept me moving.
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| The final slog with Kris, trying to get over being angry and angry that I am angry. Nick Harvey Photo. |
After Crew 1 joined us I was angry. I had mentally worked myself up about them not making it to the finish, about my slow ass not moving fast enough and about how now I felt like a jerk for ever doubting them and for how I had been behaving. I had to finish. I had to move. I had to run. So, on about the the steepest grade of that climb I ran. I got on my toes and I ran. My lungs burned but my legs felt good, the pain in back went away. I felt punishment and relief and that was what I needed.
I passed Karla and felt like a jerk again. Because we were in different starting waves we weren't racing. I didn't want her to think that I needed to be in front of her. I just need to run. As I passed her I explained this to her. She understood and said to go. So I did. For a few more strides. And when I stopped I felt better. Not good, but better. Amazing what running can do for you!
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| John, Kris, me, Nick, Cyndie, Linda, Pat Nick Harvey photo |
Finally, after not drinking or eating for I don't know how long, all the crew joined me and I knew we were almost there. As soon as that finish line came into view, I ran. I just wanted to be done. I was so tired. And I just wanted to be done. Unfortunately, I lost my crew in that final sprint. We got spread out and so we did not cross the finish at one time. I had a vague awareness that not everyone could keep up but I just couldn't stop because I had to stop. I felt like a jerk (again) but we did all make it.
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| What a complainy face. Gheesh. Adventurcorps photo |
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| And still they support me. Check out that whiny face. Adventurecorps Photo |
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| Adventurecorps Photo |
I can't say what my crew meant to me this year. I treated them worse than last year but I needed them more this year. They were High Voltage and I was just hanging on for the ride.
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| Cyndie, Kris, John, me, Nick, Linda, Patrick AdventureCorps photo by Chris Kostman |
And now, what was falling apart?
To make a long story short for now, I do believe my adrenals were failing at Badwater. I have seen two medical practitioners, blood work results are pending but all the symptoms and the causes fit. It was not Badwater that did this to me; this has been progressing for a couple of years (or more?) and I see that now.
I believe that Badwater 2012 was meant to be my race. I peaked and I had the time of my life. I also believe that Badwater 2013 was meant to be my race. It was the smoke alarm finally going off, forcing me to find out what has been wrong with my body for sometime now.
Soon I will find out just how much damage has been done, just how much recovery I need and how soon I can get back out there. But for now I rest and heal and try to accept that this was my race this year; it was exactly what I needed.
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| I really love my crew. Pat, Linda, Kris, me, John, Nick, Cyndie |
