Badwater Q & A

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Badwater Q & A

Interested in Badwater? Between May 22 and July 7th, I invite your questions about Badwater whether you are running the race, doing a solo, or just intrigued by the adventure of Badwater. While I cannot offer specific coaching advice unless you are a client, I can tell you what my personal experience has been and what I have learned since my first Badwater run in 1994. Each day I will answer a question or two and publish them here. Additionally, if you have a question for my crew chief and all-forgiving wife, Laura Weber, send it over and I'll have her answer ... she's crewed me 8 times at Badwater so there are few more experienced than her. Email your questions to: Coach Weber

01. How's your Badwater training for 2008 going?

With 8 weeks to go until the race, my training for Badwater 2008 is starting to come together. I am gaining confidence. I usually set a total training volume goal on January 1st. My goal this year was to do 400 hours of training in the period from January 1 to July 14 - similar to 2006 and 2007. This 400 hours includes all endurance, strength, flexibility and active recovery activities. A couple of injuries have caused me to adjust that total down to a goal of 300 hours before I go to the start line on July 14th. I made the decision to not try to make up those lost hours in the final 15 weeks leading to the race (a classic mistake an overly motivated athlete can make following an injury). You can check out the day-by-day training on my training log page.

With 7 weeks to go until the race, I am going through my pre-Badwater blues period. My wife has pointed out this pattern to me. About this time every year, I have my doubts about doing the race. I begin to question myself both physically, emotionally and financially. Physically, I wonder if my body can take the beating. Emotionally, I wonder if I'm really in to it anymore. Financially, I question whether the multi-thousand dollar cost of doing the event is doable; and, if doable, should I really be doing it. Years ago it was easier. Physically I was stronger. Emotionally ... well ... no comment. Financially, it did not seem so burdensome ... it probably was, I just didn't care. Now, I wonder whether my money would be better spent on a motorized scooter to get around the mall better or perhaps dentures.

With 6 weeks to go until the race, I have made the decisions on race logistics and have finalized travel arrangements. I calculated the 2008 race will cost $44.50 per mile for each of the 146 miles from Badwater to the summit of Mt. Whitney (not including lost income). With that out of the way, I must now focus on 4 more good grunt endurance weeks to include heat training. I hate heat training. It is nothing but in-your-face suffering. I find nothing pleasant about it. I do the majority of my heat training on a stationary bike. I start with full length neoprene kayaking pants and a sweatshirt and keep adding layers each week. Just before Badwater, I have usually built my tolerance to the point where I can wear the neoprene pants, a heavy weight fleece top, a rain jacket (to hold in more heat) with hood, hat and gloves ... and do it outside in the full sun in the full heat of the day ... for an hour. Absolute misery. I can't stand the sauna and am hard pressed to stay in a standard temperature one for longer than 7 minutes. The best training is heading out to Badwater a couple weeks before the race and doing a solo. My best race in 2001 was preceded by over 200 miles on the Badwater course in July done in a failed Quad attempt (my one person crew bailed at mile 122), followed immediately by a uncrewed solo attempt starting back at Badwater ... pushing a cart. On that attempt my back gave out at mile 90. I went home destroyed. Two weeks later, I was at the start line of race and rocked ... 44 hours and change ... largely due to be deeply heat trained. Nothing beats the actual conditions of Death Valley to get ready for Death Valley.

With 5 weeks to go until the race, I will do my biggest volume training week of the year - 24.5 hours of training. This is 200% of my average weekly training volume for the year. 50% of the training for this week needs to be done on the roads. I am also emphasizing more downhill training as a way to toughen up the legs. I will begin to mix in some more active heat training. I prefer active heat training (running or cycling in the heat of the day with additional clothing to add a heat load) versus passive heat training (sitting in the sauna). Some folks swear by the sauna. Me, I cannot stand it and have never used it extensively in any of my Badwater training.

With 4 weeks to go until the race, I will take a recovery week. I will dial the volume back to 100% of the year's average weekly volume. I have decided to add a 3rd, and possibly 4th, crew person for Badwater. The race rules require that one has a minimum of 2 crew people per vehicle, which means, if you want a pacer, you need to bring 3 people to the race. Additionally, that third person is necessary if one of the other crew people gets ill (the rules require you have 2 crew people with you at all times). I have done the race with just 2 people on my Badwater Team, and, ran my fastest race doing so. For me, I've learned more is not always better at Badwater. I'd rather have 2 or 3 bombproof die-hard, totally in to it, 'going every step of the way' crew members, than a greater number who are less experienced or are not totally ready for the adventure or who have an agenda that conflicts with the task at hand. Frankly, it is difficult to find the right people to come to Badwater. I have learned personally that crewing is tough and requires a special knack for getting along in close quarters and difficult conditions. Even the nicest of people can have their 'moments' during a multi-day event. Understanding that, and knowing that everyone, including me, will have a rough patch or two or three during the race, helps. Being able to see it coming, avoid it, or, if it happens, apologize/forgive/forget, laugh about it, move on, refocus ... is essential.

With 3 weeks to go until the race, it is time for another push. I will dial up to 20 hours or 160% of 2008's average weekly volume. I will include one 8-hour training session as well as two 4-hour training sessions. It is also time to begin two solid weeks of heat training prior to leaving for Death Valley.

More discussions will be had of how to organize the race vehicle and crew. One of the major problems at Badwater is 'too much stuff'. Some of that stuff is necessary; much of it isn't. The problem with too much stuff is that the necessary stuff gets lost, or is inaccessible, in the mix. As the race proceeds, and the crew tires, there is additional disorganization which makes the problem worse. One of the major sources of 'too much stuff' is personal gear. Some of my crew people have arrived at Badwater like the travelers in the movie The Darjeeling Limited who embark on their spiritual quest with eleven large designer suitcases, a personal assistant, a laminating machine and a printer. While it is difficult to limit gear to one standard carry-on bag for a week's journey, that is what is necessary. The good news about Badwater is that one can easily wash out gear while on the move ... and, of course, it dries quickly.

With 2 weeks to go until the race, it is time to rest. I will keep the training volume to just 75% of the year's average weekly volume. No long workouts. I will return to more forgiving surfaces to heal up any lingering leg pain. As Badwater is a long race, I will do all these final workouts at a leisurely pace. Will blend in some heat training. More important than the physical training is getting my head in the right place for the event. With Badwater, it is all too easy to get caught up in other people's dramas (real dramas are fine, but the self-serving manufactured ones I can do without), agendas, stories, sponsorship & marketing plans; and, it is all too easy to get caught up in my own as well I suppose. Badwater 2008 is Badwater 2008. Badwater 2008 is not simply a multi-day venue to tell old war stories (my own or those of others) ... or worse, to recreate or relive those old war stories. My goal is to stay in the now, experience the adventure moment-by-moment, deal with the up and downs with presence and skill, and to leave with a brand new, fresh experience of the 146 mile journey from Badwater to the Summit. I also hope to do a better job of interacting with my team at Badwater. The better I communicate my present needs (without expressing that in failures/triumphs of the past or with unnecessary emotional overlay) and keep the experience as close to the present moment as possible (so that we actually can experience *this* race), the better Badwater 2008 will be for everyone.

With 1 week to go until the race, it is time to check and recheck the details. Make sure everything is in order and is packed and ready to go. On Friday, I will head out to Vegas where I will meet up with my crew and proceed to the race site. Saturday and Sunday will be spent organizing the crew vehicle. And, finally, on Monday the 14th ... time to make it happen.

02. How do you pace yourself at Badwater?

Part One: Badwater to Stovepipe Wells. Miles 0 through 42.

Through training and racing, one develops a sense of what is sustainable for a particular distance and conditions. For me, I know that I can walk very comfortably at 3.5 miles per hour for upwards of 12 hours non-stop. In normal conditions, this might result in a heart rate of around 100 bpm. At Badwater, the same walking pace under a heat load of 115 degrees might result in a heart rate of 120 or more. For me 120 bpm is working it as I do not wish to exceed 125 bpm when going super-long. So, under the sun during day one of Badwater, I keep to a walking pace. Furnace Creek, the first major landmark and checkpoint of the race, is at 17.5 miles. At 3.5 mph, I should get there in 5 hours even. I know that Furnace Creek, while being 13% of the total distance of the event, should be done in 10% of the total time of the event. Hitting 5 hours flat at Furnace Creek predicts a probable finish time of 50 hours flat for the event. Most years, I am closer to 55 hours, so hitting Furnace in 5 hours flat is even a bit fast. I could slow down to 5 hours and 30 minutes and be right on pace for a 55 hour finish. Bottom line, I step off that starting line at Badwater very respectful of the challenge ahead and pace myself accordingly. No whooping and hollering from me ... that energy is too precious.

With a projected split of 5 hours at Furnace Creek, I fully expect to be dead last or real close to it. That's okay because: 1) I can handle being dead last at a race like Badwater where every athlete is an experienced 100 mile runner ; and 2) the race ain't over at Furnace ... there's that next pesky 117.5 miles looming ahead (plus another 22 miles should one decide to ice the cake with a summit of Mt. Whitney post-race). I've learned that for me, at Badwater, being very conservative during the daylight hours of day one is the only way to go. That said, being very conservative does not mean there will be no problems on the 42 mile haul to Stovepipe Springs. In fact I can not remember one instance where I have not felt pretty worked-over by mile 30; and, there have been several occasions where I have been in extreme difficulty by mile 35. No matter how slow I go (and one does not have an infinite amount of time to do the event so there is a limit) the conditions are so extreme that just moving along slowly is extremely taxing for me. If I do run during the first 12 hours of the event, it is limited to a 40/20 pattern. This means, I run at an easy pace for 40 counted deep exhales, then walk for 20 counted deep exhales. This is a very relaxed pattern that I practice which keeps my heart rate at a reasonable average and is sometimes more comfortable than just walking (the foot strike and resultant pressure points when running are different than those of walking ... thus, the 40/20 run/walk pattern can feel good to the muscles from top to bottom). The 40/20 counting of exhales to pattern my run/walk cycles is also very centering ... it quiets my mind and eliminates much of the 'self-talk' that is usually either useless (has nothing to do with the current situation) or negative (usually focused on some future hypothetical 'bad' outcome that may or may not happen ... thus, a waste of time when one has a whole lot of 'now' to deal with), especially when accompanied by exhaustion or pain. Keeping focused on 'now', the next step and the next step only, is the least draining and most efficient way to get through the tough spots.

Stovepipe Wells is 42 miles into the event and is 31% of the 135 mile distance. It is the second major landmark and the second time-station. I find that it takes about 25% of the total event time to get there. A person running a 48 hour pace should get to Stovepipe in 12 hours. For me, working a 55 hour pace, means I can arrive in 13 hours and 45 minutes and be right on pace. A 15 hour split to Stovepipe projects a 60 hour finish ... that's the 'drop dead split' at Stovepipe in my opinion. If it takes longer than 15 hours to get in to Stovepipe, the writing is on the wall and it reads 'DNF.'

Part Two: Stovepipe to Panamint Springs. Miles 42 to 72.

Rolling into Stovepipe Wells at mile 42 brings mixed emotions on race day. On one hand, I am relieved to have survived the heat of the Valley floor; on the other hand, Townes Pass looms large ... a 5000 foot climb in just under 17 miles. The heat is not over either for the day ... even with the setting sun, temperatures can be at 100 degrees. Whatever relief is given by the lower temperatures is taken back by the difficulty and length of the Townes Pass ascent.

Generally, I attempt to minimize my stay at Stovepipe Wells. If at all possible, I know that simply checking in at Time Station #2 and moving on is the best thing. Stovepipe Wells can be way too comfortable. There is the wonderful, cool, swimming pool and poolside recliners. There are the air-conditioned hotel rooms with comfy beds. Hours can be lost at Stovepipe if one is not careful. In some years, that comfort has been a race-saver. I've gone into Stovepipe as close to death as I'd like to be on a couple of occasions and the amenities at Stovepipe not only kept me in the race, but kept me from an exciting helicopter ride on the 'Flight for Life'. I can always tell when I am in serious trouble when my wife Laura, an emergency room physician, changes her demeanor from 'crew chief' to 'ER doctor'. I can see it in her eyes

One way or another I have always gotten out of Stovepipe Wells and begun the ascent. It is always a slow walk. I remind myself that I have never failed to summit Townes in any of my 14 Badwater Ultramarathon race starts (or any of my solos for that matter). Many times I have my crew go only one-half mile up the road at a time. To go a mile up the road makes the crew seem impossibly far away ... the rear red lights of the vehicle disappear and one is all alone. At times, I have simply sat down on the road waiting to be 'rescued'. The rescue does not come. The road gets hot. The water bottle goes dry ... nothing else to do but get up and make it to the crew vehicle however far up the road.

Half way up the Townes Pass climb, just before the Wildrose turnoff, at about mile 50, is the Emigrant Rest Area. It has a single picnic table. That picnic table compares with any luxury hotel bed I have ever slept on. I always look forward to my first good snooze of the race there. I climb atop that table, lay on my back, legs propped up over a rolled up sleeping bag, maybe even take my shoes off and socks off ... oh my ... that's one beautiful sleep. I may take up to an hour there, but no more. There is still 9 miles to the summit of Townes Pass and another 2500 feet to climb.

Once on the move from Emigrant, I find myself focusing on one grunt endurance and step after another ... every half-mile my crew awaits, less for my needing actual aid, more for me needing something to aim for ... the summit is hidden in the hills and only becomes apparent when one is within a couple 100 yards of it. In recent years, I have summited Townes Pass at dawn approaching the 24 hour mark of the event. I know I cannot take longer than 24 hours to reach that summit if I am to finish the event within the 60 hour cut-off.

Cresting the Townes Pass Summit at 4956 feet and 58.7 miles is another example of the 'good news/bad news' theme of Badwater. The good news is that you are leaving Death Valley behind; the bad news is you are heading into the equally hot and visually intimidating Panamint Valley ... which for a 50 to 60 hour runner means another mega-dose of heat. To get to the Panamint Valley floor from the summit of Townes Pass is a 3500 foot drop in 10 miles. For the light and fast runner, this is a delight. For the less sleek, the descent is tortuous. It can be 3 hours of foot-shredding, knee-jarring, back-battering downhill walking with temperatures rising and the light of day illuminating the valley below, and across the valley, the next climb. I make an attempt to run and walk this downhill, but it never goes well. I much prefer climbing to descending. My crew returns to a mile-at-a-time interval on the way down to the Panamint Valley floor. My demons await there.

While I have 11 official finishes of the Badwater Ultramarathon, I also have 3 DNF's. Two have occurred at mile 68.1 in Panamint Valley ... at the exact same spot ... the eastern edge of the Panamint Lake Bed. From 1994 through 2001, I had the confidence of 8 consecutive official race finishes - still a record for the race - I knew that if I could get to the start line, I always finished. That was very empowering. In 2002, I was having severe back problems which allowed me to go, at best, one mile at a time before I would need to sit down, or lay down, to roll out my back to loosen the back muscles hoping to relieve the numbness running down my left leg ... the tool? ... a basketball. Making it to mile 68.1 in 2002 only to DNF there was enormously painful and disappointing. I rationalized as I made that on-course decision to stop that I would not be able to make the 60 hour cut-off and that there was no reason to put my crew and myself through another 30+ hours only to miss the finish line cut-off.

Within a couple weeks of that DNF, I had back surgery for spondololysthesis. Within a couple more weeks I set my sights on Badwater 2003. In 2003, I was back on the race course with much less pain and was able to push at mile 68.1, break through that psychological barrier, and once more be in the zone of 'I've always finished once I've past this point'. I bring this up as it is very much on my mind when pacing myself at Badwater. I tell myself that no matter how bad it gets, I've always finished if I get past this certain barrier. On course, I remind myself I have never failed to make it through the heat of the Death Valley floor ... and so I will today no matter how impossible it seems. I remind myself I have never failed to make it to the summit of Townes Pass ... and so I will today no matter how impossible it seems. That thought, that 'I have always done it', is a calming one and allows me to break out of a downward thought spiral where the mind and body build a powerful case for not taking one more step. Yes, there are times for me at Badwater where 'taking one more step' is the total focus. When I get to that point of not wanting to take one more step, I challenge myself with the question: "Is THIS your last step? Are you going to quit right HERE ... this exact spot ? Or, can you take ONE more step ... perhaps you can take a few more steps and can quit UP THERE ... just a little ways up the road? And so it goes ... one more step. The panic subsides; the race goes on ... with me still in it.

The Panamint Lake Bed is only a mile across. Beyond it is another 3 miles, climbing slightly, to Panamint Springs, the third time station of the Badwater Ultramarathon and mile 72. With a mile to go, I send my crew forward to the Panamint Springs oasis. Arriving at Panamint, I check in and proceed to the 'Race Hospitality Suite'. This suite is a hotel room with a large sitting area, a room with bunk beds, another room w/ a large bed, and a bathroom with a shower. I've never been in a 'crack den', but I imagine it looks something like this place on Badwater race day. Walking into the room you'll find wasted, musky smelling, restlessly sleeping, semi-nude runners of several nationalities laying on the sofa, the floor, the bed. Those who are awake are picking at wounds on their feet. I fit right in and am welcomed by this band of brothers. Scattered about are half-eaten plates of food with flies attacking the complimentary fruit plate that was fresh for the front runners ... for those of us a half-day behind, the smorgasbord is not so appetizing.

I always go to directly to the shower. What an amazing feeling to strip off the salt-caked whites, get naked and stand in the hot shower. There is a particular ammonia smell I associate with horse stalls ... I realize that ammonia smell is coming from me ... it takes a while for that to be washed away. After my shower, I head to the bed if it is empty. Laying down on sheets that have been used by as many as 20 runners is still a pleasure. I go quickly to sleep. Within a few minutes my crew returns having refueled the vehicle, refreshed the ice coolers, and grabbed some food from the restaurant. I know it is time to get moving. I know any more than a hour at Panamint is wasted time. I spend a few minutes repairing my feet, putting on fresh clothes and head out the door. It is maybe 50 yards across a gravel parking area to the pavement. Once there, I turn left and begin the climb to Father Crowley's viewpoint.

Part Three: Panamint Springs to Darwin. Miles 72 to 90.

Getting to Panamint (mile 72 of 135 miles or 53.3% of the total distance) typically takes one-half of my total race time. For instance, if I get there in 27 hours (at about the same time the 'Big Boys and Girls' are reaching the finish line of the event), I can project a finish of 54 hours. Thus, stepping back out onto the road, after my rest stop at Panamint, I begin the 'second half of my race'. That second half of the race begins with an 8 mile climb gaining 2030 feet of elevation. That is only a 5% incline for 8 miles, but it seems much steeper, especially if one hits that climb at the wrong time of day. Unfortunately, for me, as I've gotten slower, I seem to time it 'just wrong' often fighting my way up in the afternoon of day 2.Make the climb in the heat of the day and that eight miles rivals anything on the course in terms of heat or devastation. That said, the climb up to Father Crowley's View Point at mile 80 is spectacular. Most of the time a large canyon is off to the right ... a place where fighter jets practice maneuvers. While I am crawling up this climb, these jets come screaming down the canyon towards the floor of Panamint Valley ... often so close that I've thought I could make out the helmet of the pilot. The sound made by the jets is unforgettable. That excitement is temporary. Once the jet is gone, which takes only seconds, my attention is drawn to the severe cant of the road which shears the bottom of my feet and any blisters or hot spots that have formed; or, to the intense searing heat that radiates off the road and canyon walls. This is one of the places where I have panicked on the Badwater course. It does not happen every year, but when it has, I have been taken over by a feeling of suffocation in the intense heat on this climb so strong that I doubted whether I could make the crew vehicle sitting just one-half mile away. Knowing this, I approach this climb with great respect, and frankly, fear.

Getting to the top of Father Crowley's Viewpoint at mile 80 is an important landmark in the Badwater race. I almost always rest there for a bit. It is a perfect place to lay down, cool down, close the eyes, and drift away if only for a few moments. Unfortunately, I always seem to begin a period of severe foot tenderness after this rest. This period is not brief ... it often lasts hours ... all the way to mile 100. I am not sure why this happens or how to avoid it. It may be an electrolyte imbalance (not surprising after fighting my way out of Panamint Valley) or simply the inevitable result of 80 miles and over 24 hours on the feet. I seem to spend a good bit of time from miles 80 to 100 fiddling with shoe inserts, changing shoes, and changing socks trying to alleviate that pain. Then, almost magically, the pain goes away and most years my feet are not an issue from mile 100 to the finish.

Even at Father Crowley's 4000 foot elevation the climb is not over. There is another 1000 subtle feet that is gained from mile 80 to mile 87 entering into the Saline Valley and the approach to Darwin at mile 90. There is a sign that marks that 5000 foot level. Beyond it, in just 3 miles, is the 4th time checkpoint of the event at 90 miles.

Part Four: Darwin to Lone Pine. Miles 90 to 122.

The 32 mile stretch from the Darwin Turnoff to Lone Pine is an intense place where I can ride waves of pain and pleasure, feel absolute desperation and loneliness as well as an absolute near-mystical clarity and lightness. At its worst, I am broken down, sitting on the road all alone, feeling sorry for myself, unable to move, far from my crew vehicle, feet unable to bear another step, feeling weak physically and emotionally. At its best, I am 'in the Zone', flying along, pain-free, feeling internally energized and radiant. Most years, I feel the pain and suffer from Darwin to just beyond mile 100 and the drop into the Owens Valley. Once into Owens Valley, I keep moving and pray that the pain and emotional despair will be replaced by that beautiful, effortless, pain-free floating that lasts only a few miles at best, but energizes me all the way to the finish - I first experienced that wonderful state one night, totally exhausted, running towards Colorado Springs during the 500 Kilometer Race Across Colorado. It might be that I continue to run Badwater for just those few beautiful miles/moments. It might be that the suffering of much of the first 100 miles of Badwater is necessary to prepare me to break free and enter that mystical place. I now only have that feeling deep into Badwater and it does not happen every year. May it grace me again at Badwater 2008.

Sometimes in the miles from 100 to 122 there is only exhaustion compounded by poor night vision - in recent years many of these miles are covered in the midnight hours. This creates tunnel vision - an unpleasant, disorienting and nauseating experience. At times this has become so bad that I have had to close my eyes and rely on putting my hand on the right shoulder of my pacer to guide me as if I were a blind man. Eventually dawn comes and the despair and exhaustion are lifted. Mount Whitney in the early morning light as I approach Lone Pine appears beautiful and attainable.

It is a remarkable experience to finally make the right turn onto California Highway 275. For so long, the miles have been counted down to that intersection at mile 120. Remember there are only 3 turns on this 135 mile course: a left turn at mile 16; a right turn at mile 120; and, a left turn at mile 122. So, when one makes that first turn at mile 16, there is a countdown of 104 miles. Each of those 104 miles ... actually each half-mile ... is marked with a highway marker. Sometimes that is a blessing; sometimes it is a curse.

Reaching Lone Pine is always uplifting. I am greeted by racers and crews who have finished as much as a day earlier. It is a feeling of mutual respect and admiration that I treasure. However fast or slow a runner does Badwater, all will have deeply challenged him-or-herself. The front runners amaze me with their talent; I suspect I amaze some of those front runners with my tenacity. In 2007, despite having surrendered my number at mile 80 due to illness and accepting a DNF for the official race and thus continuing on my own as a solo, I was accompanied by Danny Westergard from Lone Pine to the Portals. Danny had finished in 30 something hours, yet chose to return to the course to walk with me for my last 13 miles from Lone Pine to the Portals. Danny and I had only casually met before, yet he treated me like a brother. Danny's willingness to accompany me is something I will never forget and is, to me, what ultramarathoning and Badwater is all about.

Part Five: Lone Pine to Whitney Portals. Miles 122 to 135.

It may surprise some folks reading this, but the final 13 miles with 6000 feet of climb from the town of Lone Pine to Whitney Portals is one of the easier sections of the course for me. I am not saying it is not painful and exceedingly hot - I seem to always be ascending in the daylight hours - but, it is not psychologically difficult. Is it the change of focus and scenery with the mountain immediately ahead versus the endless desert? Or is it simply the surety of the finish? Regardless, the time and distance go by and each step seems to take a major chunk out of what remains. Often I am crewed by the half and even the quarter mile as the heat sometimes feels as overpowering as that of Death Valley. By the time I reach the "Z's" ... the giant switchbacks just below the finish, I more often than not feel full of strength and do some running up those impossible inclines. It is a near miraculous transformation. At the top of the Z's, I look back across Owens Valley to marvel at the expanse back to mile 100. I think, how 15 hours or so ago I was there, yet, now I am here ... almost finished; at mile 100 it required reaching deep to find hope and strength and the finish seemed impossibly distant. Once past those Z's, in the immediate mile before the finish, I always return to a walk and enjoy those final minutes on the course. That last mile is contemplative and quiet and I usually prefer to send my crew ahead. In that final mile, the effort having subsided, my sense of the surroundings reawakens. It is as if the change from desert to mountains occurred in a moment. I notice that I am now in an alpine setting surrounded by the sight and scent of the forest and the welcome sound of water. A few more switchbacks and the finish comes in sight. The finish always seems a bit 'busy' and I am unsure how I should appear or behave ... though, inside, I am full of quiet and awe of the journey.

03. Do you 'Run for a Purpose? ... For a charity?"

I suppose I 'run for a purpose' but that purpose is not a charity. My purpose for running all these years has been to enrich my life through being in Nature and to seek a better understanding and appreciation of who I am - Badwater is an ideal venue for such personal development. My running over the past 40 years has involved more the stripping away of ego, than the building of it. I think that I have been lucky in never having been very 'good' at the sport, so that I could simply do it for the personal enjoyment and reflection, versus what anyone might bestow upon me or think of me if I won something.

Put another way, I am not sure why the sport of running has become so inextricably linked with fund-raising or Running with a 'Purpose'. At first, I think it was that non-runners associated running with agony. To run, and to run long distances, was synonymous with pain (to the uninitiated) ... surely no one would run just to run. With that thought, it was easy to market the concept to these very people: "If you will donate money to this charity, I (the runner) will endure this agony ... I would not do it otherwise. In fact, let's make it so much money per mile. I will even run the **marathon** ... imagine the agony ... but, I will do it 'for the children'.'' This concept has become so pervasive, that if a bystander asks you 'What are you running for?' and you do not come up with an acceptable answer involving a charity, then they, at best, do not understand, or at worst, think of you as selfish or the activity meaningless. So, if asked by anyone " Why am I running?" or "What is the run for?", I sometimes answer: "I am running for the children without elbows." I am most often greeted with approval and praise with this facetious answer and I am allowed to pass.

That said, a remarkable amount of money continues to be raised for charities by this method of 'I'll run for $$' (though I sometimes wonder whether the amounts are accurate or are being inflated for marketing purposes.). I suppose this 'means to an end' approach is justifiable if the money does in fact get to the needy. I must say that my approach to any adult pitching the 'I am running XYZ event for the children' (and please do not let it be a stunt event or worse, the Paris Marathon), that I am more likely to contribute if they agree NOT to do the event ... contribute what they would have spent on the event to the charity ... and, instead of doing the event, agree to do something like clean toilets at an adult care facility or mow some elderly person's lawn or the like. You don't see too many 'clean toilet a-thons' do you?

So are those of us who run simply for ourselves selfish bastards? I don't think so. Everyone contributes in their own way ... most of the time quite privately and without a lot of attention or need to attach it to an athletic endeavor. As to the charity runners, I really wish they would move on ... they've hijacked the sport of running for way too long in my opinion. Let's run when we run ... and do real acts of charity when we are being charitable.

WARNING ... WARNING ... BEEP ... BEEP ... BEEP

Would YOU take advice from this lunatic?
... some of the best in the world have. The coaching must be better than my table manners :-)

August 1994. Self-portrait. Chowing down on some ramen at Whitney Portals before heading up to the summit to complete the first reverse double (Whitney Summit to Badwater to Whitney Summit) ... oh, by the way, solo self-supported pushing a stock **pink** baby-jogger 3 wheeler cart. Little did I know that the mix of stupefying endorphins and lack of meaningful employment would lead me to decide that I was having so much fun that I just HAD to continue all the way back to Badwater to complete the first triple crossing ... and, when you include the Badwater race I had done earlier in July (my first official finish), I racked up a total of 4 full crossings in the 1994 July-August window. 'Oh, to be young ...'

I encourage EVERYONE to see a doctor before altering their diet, taking a supplement and/or performing athletic, fitness or other strenuous physical activity. It is your responsibility to evaluate the accuracy, completeness and usefulness of any information, instruction, opinion or advice contained in the content of the Coach Weber website.

Scott Weber

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