"My name's Forrest Gump. People call me Forrest Gump."

"Everybody's talking at me,
I don't hear a word they're saying.
Only the echoes of my mind.

People stopping staring,
I can't see their faces.
Only the shadows of their eyes.

I'm going where the sun keeps shining
Through the pouring rain.
Going where the weather suits my clothes.
Banking off of the North East wind,
Sailing on summer breeze…"
- Harry Nilsson



One of my favorite movies is Forrest Gump, not just for the long run he makes, but the story it tells of a man. Forrest was special - not too bright, but he understood life. He held onto the things he cared about and let go of all the rest. Life took him on a grand journey, a journey of great joy and success, grief and failure. Through it all, he held onto what he knew - that "life was like a box of chocolates. You never know what you're gunna get." 

Life is an adventure, a journey, an undiscovered territory just begging to be explored. Sometimes the journey is of your making. Sometimes you are just there for the ride. As Forrest said, "I don't know if we each have a destiny, or if we're all just floating around accidental-like on a breeze, but I, I think maybe it's both. Maybe both is happening at the same time."

Forrest's long run was certainly a favorite of ultra runners, myself included. Saddened by Jenny leaving once again, Forrest needed something. So, one day, he just got up and ran. He ran to the end of the drive, the end of the town, the end of the state, finally to the end of the continent. He was not done, so he ran back. It was just him and the road. As he said afterward, "When I got tired, I slept. When I got hungry, I ate. When I had to go, you know, I went."

I want some of that.

In the summer of 2010, I witnessed what was a real Forrest Gump like run. Danny Westergaard did not one, not two, but an incredible six crossings of Death Valley to the Summit of Mt. Whitney. Having recently lost his beloved father, Danny started with the race and just kept going, and going, and going. With only the support of his most generous cousin, Danny slept when he was tired, ate all the time, and went, well, you know. His achievement helped motivate me as I made my attempt at a double crossing not long after Danny finally stopped.

Bill and Danny Westergaard 2010

Last summer (2011), Lisa Bliss showed us another most incredible thing. She became the first woman, and second person only, to cross Death Valley from Badwater to the summit of Mt. Whitney completely self supported - no help from anyone anytime all the while pushing and pulling everything she needed in a cart. Lisa asked herself the question - "What would you do if you thought you were very likely to fail but stood just a chance in hell that you wouldn't?" Her answer - take the chance. The payoff was huge. I was on the course to see her achieve this fantastic journey, and I could not help but be powerfully inspired. 

Lisa Bliss 2011

But, such a journey was more than this man's aging and broken body could manage. 

Really?

The thought of such a journey for myself did not leave me. Maybe it was because of the question Lisa had asked herself. When I asked it of myself, the answer scared me - take the chance. I had learned a hard lesson in Death Valley in 2011. I did not finish my quest for a second crossing. Not through any fault of my own. It was what can happen to anyone when they go looking for limits. Sometimes your body and mind just say, "No more." 

I also have the very real issue of a bad back. I will not let it hold me down or keep me back. But, I have learned that it can slow me and make my training very erratic.  This is reality. If all goes well, and I never inflame my back during my Death Valley training, then there is little I cannot do out there. But, it has never given me three months, much less six, of uninterrupted training. Accepting the challenge of a fully unsupported crossing just feels like a step too far at this point. After all, only two people, two very capable people, have done it.

But….

I took a step back and asked myself, "Why does such an adventure appeal to me so much? Why is the risk of failure so worth the attempt?"

It comes back to Forrest, Forrest Gump.

In my last post, I mentioned that a significant part of my life has been kept in a mental box, never to be opened or recalled - until now. That part of my life just happened to me. I was a passenger on a train that was not in my control. The ride was miserable and frightening. Everything that happened to me could easily have ruined everything that followed. But, as Forrest so clearly reminds us, you cannot sit and wait for life to happen to you and grab at the good things as they go by. You have to make the good things happen. You have to do it for yourself, and by yourself if so necessary.

Last summer, as I was heading into the sunset, my crew was doing everything for me. Every mile they were there for me. Yet, even with all that support, I got sick. They worked their hearts out for me, and there was nothing they could do. Not really. And, in spite of having the best support anyone could ever ask for - true friends giving fully - I still just wanted to be alone. The solitude in the desert I so craved was being lost in the shuffle of supporting me. I was feeling a bit selfish for a time. But also, I felt just the opposite, too. Here are these people in the heat of summer in Death Valley suffering and working so that I could live a dream. That is how it must be done, so I will ask them again, and hope they find as much joy in what they do for me as I get in the receiving.

But….

The fact remains, I love Death Valley. I love being in it, working hard there, and doing something special there. Do I need to do something extraordinary to find what I am looking for there? Is there something I can do that, while still hard, somewhat risky, and a unique solo challenge, will give me the thing that I want. 

Yes! Yes, indeed, there is....

And, so that is what I will do. 

It is called a self-supported solo crossing. For those not familiar with the route through Death Valley, please see the maps here. There are several "oases" between Badwater Basin and Mt. Whitney -- Furnace Creek, Stovepipe Wells, Panamint Springs, and finally, Lone Pine. I will take with me only enough water, food, ice, TP, that I need to get me between oases. I will resupply, rest as needed, and continue - alone. At the most, this will be about 70 pounds in a somewhat modified baby jogger. 

To be sure, I will not be totally alone. I will have a couple of "watchers" who will see that I am safe. While likely not totally necessary, I have had enough trouble in the valley to know that anything can happen, and it is better to be safe than that other thing. Besides, I am not in this life alone, and I do not want those people to worry any more than necessary.

If you are sitting there and asking, "Why?" then you likely still need to understand the entirety of the experience in a way that I cannot explain. If you have read the other parts of this site and about my other attempts at crossings and remain perplexed, then you are not alone. That group includes me. 

But, I know what I want, and right now I want this. Freedom. Freedom to be who I am, to challenge myself, to take myself beyond. I have taken my life into my own hands, and I will use it. Through this solo test, I will again come to know a person I have been trying to know something about for 55 years - myself.


"The shortest answer is doing the thing." - Hemingway


Onward.

"Badwater" Bill
Tujunga, CA

Opening the Box

This is the first installment for the Death Valley Express III. It is also the first installment of what will become the story of my life - my memoirs, you might say. 

Two writers whom I respect a great deal have encouraged me to produce such a work, thinking perhaps that I have some interesting things to say. After a long hesitation, I decided to take their advice and started work in November 2010. I started the process with a general reflection on my life, and began breaking it down into digestible segments. For good reason, I have not thought about my life from about age five through high school and a bit beyond - well, really, ever. 

But, if I was going to do this thing, I would have to look into that box. 

You know what they say about leaving sleeping dogs lay, and similarly about closed boxes. Well, it had to be done. The box creaked open as I wrestled with the rusted hinges. The wave of painful emotion associated with a stolen youth, nasty experiences, and genuinely bad things broke over me and held me down like a riptide dragging me out to sea.

This was not going to work. Within two months of starting, I found myself so depressed that I was having trouble working, and having trouble training for Death Valley Express II. Running is good for the blues. But, I was not blue. I was in a dark, smokey cave of ill defined grief and sadness. I closed the box, opened the windows of my mind and cleared the air as best I could. And, I got on with life.

By all typical measures, I have been successful as an adult (except financially, perhaps). But that came at a cost, and was driven by a need to be something very different from what I was, and what I might have otherwise have been. The one constant, the one thing I always did since high school, the thing I most happily identify myself with is running. I have always been a runner, and I always will be a runner.

Not long after my abbreviated Death Valley Express II, I spoke with one of those writer friends. Not wanting to leave things as they were, I told him what happened. He was clearly empathetic at some real level. His suggestion was to break it up into small parts. Basically, open the box, grab something, and close it again right away. Eventually, the box will be empty, and it will all be out there for everyone to see, including myself. And it, and I, will be OK.

So, here I be -- starting that process. 

In my next post, which will follow very soon after this one, I will only really just refer to that box as I tell you about my Death Valley quest planned for this summer, August 2012.

Onward.

"Badwater" Bill

Tujunga, CA

The Golden Hour

For Joe, who taught me that an hour is all you need.

There is an ongoing phenomenon currently happening on Facebook. In the past, it would not be unusual to see motivational quotes posted there. The ones I see are mostly those of runners. A little something to help them, and maybe others, get out the door. I admit to the occasional posting of a quote or two. But now, an almost universal and different type of posting has become very popular – the posting of images or pictures with a joke, or, more often, something deeper or motivational. Personally, I find this interesting, but not really why I go to Facebook. I had started writing this post and had decided to set it aside. Then I noticed one of those images. It said, “It is not about not having time. It is about making time.” That is the message I was working toward when I started writing this, but I did not like how it turned out. So, I was motivated to rewrite it.

This piece might inspire a few, and agitate some others. If it does at least those things, then I am happy to have written it.

What is an hour? It is one twenty-forth of the time it takes for the Earth to rotate once upon its axis. It is about three or four times longer than a typical shower. It is about one eighth of the time we sleep at night and work each day. Most of us will live, on average, about 657,000 hours before time no longer matters. If you are waiting and bored, an hour seems like a long time. If you are having fun or focused on a task, an hour seems much too short. An hour is a unit of the measurement of the passing of time. It is a creation of Man to give time meaning and duration.

An hour is golden - for in an hour, you can do something you have always wanted to do, you can take the path less traveled, you can change the course of your life, you can change the course of someone else’s life. An hour can make you happy for the rest of your life, or it can crush you. An hour is long enough to do significant things, but not so long as to make it a burden to use one for something you wish for each day. It is your Golden Hour. It is a key to happiness and a guard against regret.

An hour could have been something very different – a very different duration, or name, because it is the people of Earth who made it up. For those who have enjoyed watching Star Trek over the years, it likely is a surprise each time there is a new alien encounter, time will invariably still be measured in hours, minutes, and seconds as if there is a Universal Master Clock that measures time for all the same as we chose to do on Earth. Maybe. Maybe the Universal translator input, goes to an atomic clock and converts units to species output, so one hour comes out as 2.5679 Vulcanian tuts, or something. But, that just does not seem likely to me, especially since the translator did not come into play until the later series.

For all that an hour can be, in today’s world we seem to have too few of them in a given day to do all the things we claim we must do. The average human is, very simply, not very good at time management. But, each hour is precious, golden. Each hour we let go is an hour gone forever. The arithmetic is easy. You only have so many before there are no more. For some that end will come now, later today, tomorrow. For most it will be later, maybe thousands of hours later. Later will come. It will happen to each and every one of us. It is the way it is supposed to be.

So why do so many people say they do not have time to do something they love to do, or put off things they dream of doing? The average human is a creature of habit, routine, and excuses. We do not even know when we are doing it. I cannot tell you how many times I have heard someone say they do not have time to exercise or run, that they do not know how I fit it into their busy days. There are two things that might be happening here, maybe both. First, it might be a lack of understanding or fear of change in routine. How to make that time in your day? The other is making an excuse out of fear, ignorance, or simply a wish to not explain their choices. Those folks cannot say, for some reason, I do not want to exercise (or whatever). I want to do something else.

Find something you really want to do, that stretches your mind, or your body, or your imagination, or your spirit. That is your choice. Enjoy whatever you do. Maybe you really do not have the time. But, if you want something, it becomes about making the time. Don’t live an excuse. Accept your choices.

Making the commitment to change something is the hard part. It might be the most difficult part of the challenge to achieve something you want. Excuses just let the hours slip away, used for something else.

My wife tells me that this topic comes up again and again in publications oriented toward professional women. There are rarely answers. The challenge for many is real. But, I have to believe, based on my observations, that it can be overcome. Yes, something else might have to give way, maybe something important.

How can it be done? I am the last one to give advice on making time to an overbooked mother, a single father, or a twenty-four hour per day CEO. However, I will tell you I have seen and known each one of these type people and others find a way to make time to do something they really want. They count those hours. They do not put off. They do.

I use running as the example here. Most of my readers are runners. It is also something many people dream of doing – running a marathon. It is something that cannot be put off forever, though age is not really a limitation, it does not help.

Most people think running takes lots and lots of time. As an ultra distance runner, I will not deny that it can take up huge chunks of time. But, that is a choice I have made. It does not have to be that way for just about everyone else.

The key is the Golden Hour. That is all it takes. One hour per day. Not every day, but most days. That includes changing, putting on your shoes, and finding your keys. It does not include the shower afterward. You will do that anyway. At least I hope so.

One hour.

Think about your day that you believe is packed so full. Maybe it is very full, but I will bet you can find an hour. What is it that makes your day so full? If you want to find an hour, you will find an hour. Maybe you need to use the hour that nominally belongs to something else. I could suggest many, but I will also get arguments why those are not up for trade. I am not here to make that kind of controversy.

I am here to talk about hours. They do not grow on trees. They cannot be harvested for future use. They come, you live them, and they are gone. Forever gone. Think about that for just a moment. It will be a moment well spent.

One of the beauties of running for exercise is that it takes so little time to prepare to do, and it can be done just about anywhere. I have known dedicated marathon runners who are also “soccer moms.” They would take their kids to the game and watch while running around the field. One hour – done. Nothing to it and the kids had fun, too. That is what I mean about taking an hour that might belong to something else and using it for you, too.

Of course, there will be days when things do not seem to go anything as planned, and your hour for running somehow gets lost. Some people like to run just after getting up to make sure nothing gets in the way. I am not like that. Mornings are evil. But, when I have had to, I will run in the morning. Maybe that will be the only time you can fit it in that day. Or, it is OK to say it is not going to happen on this day. I will find time tomorrow. That is fine. Running/exercising should be fun, not added stress. If anything, it is a stress reliever when kept in perspective. Sometimes maybe you just do not want to use your hour for exercise or running. Sometimes I sit in my backyard for that hour and smoke a cigar, or watch the hummingbirds feed, or just enjoy the sun.

Sometimes in my hour of doing whatever I want to do, I think about why so many people put off doing something they dream of doing. Why, when we have so few hours in our lives do so many waste theirs doing little or nothing but dreaming of what they will do. I know the truth of this statement: waiting will end in tears for far too many. Live life now. Do not wait. Get ready for something big, and then go do it. For most, that will take little more than an hour most days.

Those of you who have followed my writings know that I have little patience for delay of dreams, and for those who suggest they think dreams are a waste of time. Time is all we have. It is like currency that we cannot earn, only spend. We can spend it on happiness, or we can spend it without thought until it is gone. Those who do not cherish their time will find only regret in the end. And regret is a high price to pay for anything.

Do not waste time. Use every minute of it for something you want, or you feel good about doing. There is no better feeling to have for the rest of your time than knowing that you have used your time well. Then your clock can run down, and you will have a smile on your face.

One hour. One Golden Hour.

It is my hour. It is your hour. Make it matter.

Onward.

“Badwater” Bill

Tujunga, CA

The Giants

Ain't no chain strong enough to hold me.

Ain't no breeze big enough to slow me.

Never have seen a river that's too wide.

-- Clarence `Gatemouth' Brown 

What makes a champion? What makes a certain person an inspiration or motivator for running and for life? Everyone will have a different answer to these and related questions. I would like to share with you thoughts about those runners who have inspired me, taught me about true championship, and have motivated me in running and in life.

The winners --

There, of course, are the winners. Those who set a goal, worked hard, planned well, and achieved greatly. We are all inspired by the winners. Those that stand out for me include:

Joan Benoit Samuelson, "Little Joanie" - In 1984 I watched as she and other great marathon women circled the track at Santa Monica College, a track I had run many, many times. Joan had won the US Olympic Trials Marathon just weeks after knee surgery. On that day in August, she and the other women were finally running the first Olympic Women's Marathon, an historic event. Joan turned that into one of the greatest runs by a marathoner, man or woman, as she committed to taking the solo lead early and stayed there. A marathon is hard on any day, but doing one alone, in the lead, with no one to push you except yourself, to me is something that makes a true champion.

Then there was the man who simply would not lose, Edwin Moses. Over the course of 9 years, 9 months, and 9 days, he was undefeated in 122 races. He broke his own world record 4 times. 

The icon Steve Prefontaine. Jackie Joyner Kersee. Bill Rodgers. Too many more than can be cited here. 

These are the winners. The greats. The ones who made it happen. But, there are others for whom the winds of victory did not blow on the day. Those who gave it all and came up short. The ones whose attitude in not making the dream happen, made others dream and motivated beyond anything their position on the podium that the day could have predicted. Those are the ones that matter in the end. The ones that teach us that there is no failure in trying. There is championship in coming in 2nd or last, if on that day, you gave more than you had and did not stop. These are the ones that remain in my memory as true greats.

The ones that gave it all, and then gave more --

My first memory of someone who lived the word champion was from my high school years. Curtis Beck was my cross country and track team mate at Santa Monica High School in the early '70s. He, however, was in a different league from me, indeed a league of his own. His smooth running style, his grace in action, and his unbelievable speed always turned everyone's head when he was on the track. As a junior (16 years old) he ran from the front, with no pacers or other support, a mile in 4:04 during a meet at the Los Angeles Colosseum. That same year he ran an 8:48 two mile, also alone in the lead. These are times few have exceeded even as seniors, and those that have done so rank with the greatest ever -- Jim Ryan, Steve Prefontaine, Gerry Lindgren. He did this on high quality 25 mile weeks. It seemed Curtis would go on to track greatness. In his senior year, the team expected to have only the 4th sub-four minute high school miler. When I once asked him when he might try, he told me he would not, that he would be staying with the two mile that year. I thought that strange. His two mile times did not exceed those as a junior. Craig Virgin was the 1973 two mile star with an 8:40 best time. Curtis trained hard, smiled all the time. It was always good to be around him, and his brother Steve. Curtis never suggested there might be a problem. Years later, while wondering what became of Curtis and his promising career, I learned that he was dealing with very difficult physical issues that he never let on, or complained about. During his senior year, he was plagued with bronchitis and an increasingly painful back. At UCLA, this apparently congenital back problem prevented him from upping his training to the collegiate level. Ultimately, it forced him to stop running. 

Curtis taught me that his personal misfortune did not need to be shared or used as an excuse. He continued to give his best for himself and his team. He never complained. He just ran. Curtis, I do not know what has become of you, but thank you for being a true example of sportsmanship and grace that I have held on to for the many years since we parted ways.

The same year that Curtis was running his best, was the Munich Olympic Games. The tragedy that befell those games was imprinted on my young, still idealistic mind and will never be erased. But, what came after, in the resumed games would leave a different kind of imprint, one of greatness in the effort -- striving for a goal and never giving in to anything else. A still inexperienced Steve Prefontaine would have nothing to do with strategy. He ran from the front to win. He would accept nothing less of himself. And so was the case until the final laps of the Olympic 5000m race. With three laps to go, Lasse Viren pulled up to Pre's shoulder and Pre picked up the pace to push him back. At two laps to go the more experienced racers began to up the pace. Pre was pushed back to 4th. Unaccepting of that position, even for a moment, Pre opened up and within 50m he resumed the lead. By now the leading five runners were at full gallop. There could be no more. As the lead three crossed the line into the bell lap, Viren and Gammoudi, working off Pre, resumed the one/two position. Again, Pre came back. But, Gammoudi fought him and took the lead from Viren, keeping Pre in 2nd. After leading every lap, giving it up, and fighting back at speeds beyond his limits, Pre gave his all. As they entered the final turn, Pre's stride broke and his speed fell -- briefly. Viren attacked and Pre attacked one last time with him. But, for Pre the finish line was just 100m too far ahead. His body quit steps from the line and he fell to 4th. There would be no medal of any color for Steve Prefontaine. He ran the only way he knew how, the only way he could accept. On that day, I saw that there could be no failure in trying. And try he did, like no one else could. Steve Prefontaine would not see the next Olympics, but his lessons of how to run and how to live with passion continue on.

In 1982, twenty three year old Julie Moss was leading the Hawai'i Ironman Triathlon. As night fell on Kailua-Kona, Julie was clearly exhausted as she neared the finish line. She was in trouble and her legs simply gave out beneath her. She rose to her feet, only to fall again, presenting the strange image of a marionette with its strings suddenly cut. A few hundred yards left to complete her 140 mile journey, she rose again and walked. Soon she ran. Then, again, her body went limp and she was down. No longer having control of her simplest bodily functions, Julie Moss literally battled to regain her feet. With her legs now covered with feces, she rejected support from bystanders and moved forward again. Wobbly and weak, she went down again. Now urgently refusing assistance, she was surrounded by helping hands, hands that could bring her a disqualification. Just yards from the finish, Catherine McCarthy strode by to assume the lead and the win. She knew nothing of the drama she had just passed. Her victory gone, her body completely drained, there was nothing left for Julie to do but to quit at that point. No! That is not what she did. In perhaps the most dramatic moments in the history of ABC's Wide World of Sports, we witnessed the meaning of true championship. With a tears steaming down a multitude of faces staring astonished and moved at our television sets, we watched as Julie Moss literally crawled on all fours to cross the finish line, reaching one hand out to do so before collapsing totally. It does not matter how, or even if, one makes it to the finish line. It is the quality of the effort that matters most. Julie Moss helped me to find the finish line, no matter how hard, no matter how far, and taught me that there is dignity in effort. 

Every weekend all over the world there are stories like these being played out. They are The Unknowns, those that strive to be the best that they can be, to go where they did not think they could go, and go beyond. If you want to be inspired, go to a local race and watch. Go to the last mile of a marathon and see the people who will not quit. They are your neighbors, your friends. They achieve for no one but themselves. You will see Steve Prefontaine-like attempts to meet a time. You will see Julie Moss-like efforts to finish. If you have never done it, find a race and be there for those people, like they have been for you. You will be amazed. You will be motivated. You will be inspired. You will see things there that will surprise you. You very likely will see yourself, and you will like what you see.

For me, the greatest inspiration has not just come from the way someone ran a race, but also how they have lived their lives. Running can be a powerful metaphor of life. A run can kick you, drag you down, hurt you, and it can make you great. Life can do the same. In 1982, I read a report on the Boston Marathon. We did not get the coverage at the time in Los Angeles. Known as the "Duel in the Sun" this race is considered by many to be the greatest marathon race ever run. Dick Beardsley was a kid from Minnesota who had been having some success at the marathon. His times had made him world class. But, in this race he would be running against the best and most experienced in the world, including the likes of "Boston Billy" Rodgers and the world record holder Alberto Salazar. Dick Beardsley could not win this race. He was in over his head. Everyone knew that. No knock to Dick. His time might come later. The only person who did not know that fact was Dick Beardsley. The story of the race is the stuff of legend. I will not recount it here. The essence comes in the last half mile. After battling with Alberto Salazar for the lead in the hot sun, Dick had started to trail by a few steps. At this point, Alberto's speed would leave Dick behind and the race would be over. But, in spite of a cramp and confusion with a police motorcycle, Dick fought back. Dick and Alberto had raced away everything they had. Alberto just had a little more speed than Dick. Both could not take another step, but they had to -- Alberto had to keep the lead, Dick had to take it. Never, not once, in 26 miles, 385 yards did Dick Beardsley not try to win that race. Even after Alberto had crossed the line, Dick pushed through it as hard as he could just two seconds behind. Two seconds. A battle for the ages ended with a separation of two seconds. Dick did not lose that race. He just did not cross the line first. Alberto knew this. He brought Dick onto the awards platform with him and raised his arm in a shared victory. 

Neither man raced as well again. Both had given that one run everything they had. Alberto was taken to the emergency room and given 6 liters of fluid intravenously because he had not drunk during the race. He had some further success, but it was limited. Dick had injuries and raced only a little until tragedy would strike. Dick's leg was nearly torn off in a farming accident. His recovery was just short of miraculous, when other accidents took their toll. Dick was, to put it mildly, a mess. While endowed with great genetics for running, he was not so lucky when it came to addiction. Pain was an inevitable result of the trauma placed on Dick's body. He found himself addicted to narcotic pain killers, and not in a small way. The crisis came to a head when Dick was arrested for forging prescriptions.

If this were any other man, this story would be a tragedy from beginning to end. But, not Dick Beardsley. His local fame helped keep him out of jail, but he still had to face recovery. There is no one who can tell his story better than Dick himself, so please read his book. I will only say that that day in Boston could not have been a better metaphor of how Dick would live his life afterward. He never gave up. He was going to win that race, no matter what. Now "winner" did not mean coming in first, it meant survival. It meant everything. He could not fail, or he would be lost. When he had to, he would crawl on all fours to his meetings. It was the hardest thing to do. And he did it.

Today Dick is still with us. Still achieving. Still running. His body has been broken and put back together more than anyone's I know. His leg does not track just right. His back has more fusions than not. He has two artificial knees. In spite of all of that, he still gets up each morning and runs. It is what he does. He also still dreams and has goals for his running. His goals have perspective and are attainable, but just hard enough to keep things interesting.

I have known Dick Beardsley for about ten years now. There is no man who inspires me more. He is why I am still trying my best. Because I have a bad back, I cannot run long and fast without risking great pain and further injury. But, I can move forward. Without that inspiration and knowledge that I could do something, I would not be living my dreams in Death Valley. 

I do not know if Dick is a hero. Hero is a word that means many things to many people. Dick is just a man. He is a unique and valuable man, but flawed like the rest of us. That is one of the things I like about him best. He and I are the same age, and I thought I acted young. When I am around Dick, I feel much older, because he is the real kid in the room. 

More than anything else I have said here means more to me than these simple words -- Dick Beardsley is my friend, and he always will be.

Next week I get to share some time with him at the Dick Beardsley Marathon Running Camp. I can't wait!


Onward,

"Badwater" Bill
Tujunga, CA

Making Plans

I have recovered well from my recent effort in Death Valley. There is still a bit of grieving for the early end of my adventure. The words from Jim Croce's "Operator" come into my head from time to time:

"I've overcome the blow.
Learned to take it well.
Only wish my words could convince myself,
that it just wasn't real.
But, that's not the way it feels."

The reality is I am doing fine. I think there was just too much baggage on my shoulders this year, so it is going to take a bit of time to remember always that I did my best and that I continue to live a dream when it comes to just being able to get out and try to do the Death Valley crossings.

So, as I always say, Onward! It is time to plan some events and activities for the coming year.

Here is what I have been thinking about. First step is that you might notice subtle, but important changes to this blog. It is now the "Continuing adventures of Badwater Bill...." Sort of like Star Trek after it went well beyond its planned "Five year voyage." This blog is becoming something unplanned, too.

I do not race trail ultra marathons anymore. That is just too hard on my back. While the surface is good, the twisting and constant strain is just to much for it. So, I stick to the roads in general. In my current state, I also find myself chasing cutoffs. For me, that takes away from the experience and the whole reason I do these things. These and other factors are inputs into my planning.

Aside from what I list below, I will also do a few marathons. I find them a great way to get long training efforts in and have some fun with other people. I have been able to let go of being the 3:15 runner I once was in favor of just having some fun.

* October will be a solo, just me and a small pack, trip from home to Santa Barbara, CA - about 104 miles.

* I am registered for Across the Years, a timed ultra that goes over the New Year. I am registered for the 48 hour event that starts on 30 December. I enjoy timed runs. "Go as you please" as these events are sometimes called. My goal is 150 miles.

* A double Napa Valley Marathon. I did this a few years ago, before my back problem slowed me. It rained and could have been miserable, but I was having too much fun to be miserable. Lots of good stories came out of that run.

* Maybe home to San Diego in April. This one is about 140 miles.

* The Nanny Goat 24 Hour is in late May. It is a small, very fun race run in Riverside, CA on a horse stabling facility.

* Death Valley Express III is currently planned to be a full double crossing including a summit of Mt. Whitney. I have to be flexible with this plan. How things go in the spring will tell me if I should make the attempt. More on this as it approaches.

There will be more, but these are the events I want to be the ones that dictate my training and getting ready for more fun in Death Valley. If you have any thoughts, I would like to hear them.

Onward.

"Badwater" Bill
Tujunga, CA

Two Reluctant Farewells

Ariel

Little Spanish Ariel was named from Shakespeare’s “The Tempest” because he was found under a bush, starving, covered with oil, and near death. This tiny young cat had been abandoned and was not making it. Cats have a way of knowing humans whom they might trust. He called to Deborah. His fear still took hold and Deborah’s initial reward for gathering him up to help him were bites and scratches. She nursed him back to health and a true friendship was born. When Deborah brought him home from Spain, he met his forced siblings, Kira and Merlin. A fast friendship in the new family was not exactly what happened, but tolerance and some comfort in each other's company finally came to pass. 

I first met Ariel not long after. He was a bit nervous about new people, but he could see in me someone that was not a worry. Deborah told me he did not like being picked up. That is the wrong thing to say to me. I moved carefully toward him, introducing myself. He was happy with that, so up he came into my arms. My first real greeting with this fine, loving cat was to have him throw his paws around my neck and put his head under my chin, purring happily. And so, another new friendship was born. 

Ariel was a heat seeker. He loved his heated bed, but he loved the lesser in temperature human warmth more. He would, usually, politely check to see if we would accept his nuzzling. Sometimes, he would just assume and take his place next to us in bed. Like all strong friendships, there were ups and downs. He could be annoying at times, and he could get grumpy if we did not do just want he wanted on occasion. But, forgiveness would immediately follow, as if we really could do no wrong. In full health, Ariel, I called him Rurr Rurr, walked like a tiny bulldog. His countenance was regal. He loved us and when not sleeping, he would show us every chance he got.

Deborah worried a bit that Ariel’s traumatic youth might take him from us early. Perhaps she was right. At 14 years old, Ariel’s kidneys started to fail. With care and the right food, it looked like he might have years. Such would not be the case. Cats instinctually hide how they are feeling when they are sick. Ariel was a pro at that. When Deborah and I left for Death Valley for my training session in July, he appeared well and we were content to leave him in the capable hands of our long time cat sitter. He likely stayed in his bed the times she visited, so she had no reason to worry, either. When we returned five days later, an Ariel made up of little more than skin and bones greeted us. His kidney function had declined drastically. We knew the end would come much sooner than we wanted. We would make his last months or weeks good ones. We finished preparations for Death Valley and we left believing we would find Ariel greeting us as always, if not the muscled kitty he once had been.

The call came Monday evening, as I headed toward Stovepipe Wells. Somehow Deborah had cellular connectively where we had never seen it before. The call was weak. She did not want to tell me what the call was about, but I read it on her face. While we were somewhere on the road to Stovepipe Wells, Ariel with dignity and compassion would be sent to cross the Rainbow Bridge. His time had come. I headed into the setting sun with a heavy heart, and determination in my eyes. The hot breeze quickly dried the tears.

“You will never leave me.

nor shall anything part us

You are my cat and

I am your human –

Now and onwards

Into the fullness of peace”

        -- Hilaire Belloc

Ariel in his beloved heated bed the day before we left for the Death Valley Express II

Done too soon

It was a grand day in the desert. The air was clear and hot. The start at Badwater Basin was shaded by the adjacent hills. The rising sun was brilliant and the distant mountains shown in glorious purple. While my crew did what they needed to get ready, I wandered out onto the salt flat feeling joy and wonder that I had once again made it to the start of a wondrous adventure. I was happy and comfortable. I was ready.

The start of a solo adventure is very much different than the nervous, almost chaotic rushing around of a race. There is no one there to tell you where to be and when. There was the usual discussion about where the start is exactly, as if a few feet really matter, but I told them where it was so that the cameras would be in place. When I was ready, I quietly walked to the start line and began.

And on we go ....

I felt fabulous!

Everything was working. The concern over my blood pressure dropping too low was soon found to not be a problem. I was staying hydrated. There was little doubt I would make it to Stovepipe Wells if I continued to be careful and stayed within myself. It got hot – about 118 degrees F near the Beatty turnoff. My urine darkened too much at one point and I stopped until I went again a much lighter color. For a period of time I was “third spacing” fluid and bloating, but that would decrease, too. It appeared the only issue was I had triggered a quick gag reflex with my very first intake of electrolyte capsules. They went in, and rapidly reappeared with that tell tale noise. My newest crewmember reacted and the others and I said, “Better get used to that!” I got them down with a Coke. That issue continued for some reason. Once it started, it did not stop and I had to take all the supplements with a Coke. At one point when climbing the hill to Sea Level at about 40 miles, my throat dried a bit and I coughed. That set me off and I left a gallon of good fluid and food on the side of the road. It did not worry me too much, but I did take a few minutes to replenish. My legs, my feet, my attitude were all great. 

Then I learned about Rurr Rurr.

Though I was sad and I felt a bit guilty Deborah and I had not been there for him, I was not going to let that stop me. I just needed to work it out in my head and keep my feet moving. I did that. It is what I had to do.

Because I had been extra careful to take care of watching my blood pressure and hydration, I was a little later getting into Stovepipe Wells than I had planned, but that was OK. I was looking forward to heading up Towne Pass in the night. I love Death Valley in the dark. The night would start with a waxing gibbous moon, giving way around midnight to full darkness, dominated by the Milky Way. That was going to be fantastic.

Near the Dunes I started to feel sick. Initially, I believed the nausea was a continuation of my sensitive gag reflex. I would rest at Stovepipe Wells and get some food, and things would settle down.

That is not what happened.

As the Sun set behind the hills, my brother-in-law joined us with his car. The crewmember that was rotating off was having too much fun and followed along, too. There was also Deborah in the Jeep, and the prime crew vehicle. In the darkness it looked like a caravan ahead of me. It was not what I wanted. The peace was broken. I was annoyed, but they all were there for me, and I did not want to say anything, so I did not. I would be alone again soon enough. I now expect the annoyance was not so much for the broken peace, but that I was feeling really sick. I threw up in the desert, but forgot to say anything in the confusion of the moment. I was starting to feel weak from not using the calories I had taken. I did not want to eat. I would wait until Stovepipe Wells. The spiral had begun.

I was happy when I got to Stovepipe. A major goal met strongly and well done. I sat at the bench outside the store as Deborah checked over my feet – good. Just a couple of little, easily handled blisters. Another major goal met. Food of all sorts was laid out for me. But, all I could get down was some Coke. It settled my stomach a bit, and it does have some calories, not the kind I needed, but something. The nausea only worsened. The idea of any other food just set me off. I went to a room for a couple hours of rest in hopes that would help.

In the room were two crewmembers getting rest for their time on later. I had a cot. It appeared like a scene out of the Keystone Cops as I watched everyone try to make room and get the cot set up. It did not happen, and I ended up in a bed while the others shared the other bed.

It took more than a couple hours, but I was headed up Towne Pass at about 3:30 am. It was beautiful. Perfect. It was a dream scene and I loved it. But, I was weak and still not eating well. Then started the diarrhea. Rich Benyo wrote of having the same during his double crossing. He had fun with it by using the parts that hang down as gun sights and shooting at small bushes.  I amused myself by doing the same and looking forward to telling him about it. OK, I know what you are thinking. But, you do what you can with what you have out there. Amusement aside, I was now losing it in both directions.

I was barely moving forward at this point.

Another mile, and all that careful intake of food and liquid – pudding, Gatorade, Pedialyte, Cytomax, water – all found its way to the roadside again. Just the thought of bringing my bottle up to my mouth for a drink was now enough to set me off.

I had to stop again. We recorded to location and staked out. I hoped a few more hours might help, but I was ready for the alternative too. It had to get better, or I was done. I was in major energy depletion mode. Forward motion was becoming more than difficult.

After 1.5 hours, I was awakened. I looked at the food next to me, and the Gatorade, and headed for the bathroom. It was not happening. A couple hours later I was not as violently ill, so I took a shower. No help. I waited for Deborah to come from Furnace Creek. I needed her. I needed to talk with her. I was going to drop, and I needed support, someone to lean on. The crew was doing everything in their power. There just was nothing they could do.

When Deborah arrived I was outside the gift shop. I saw her and I cried. I wanted to go on. I could not. I missed our cat. I would never see him again.

We had a team meeting and discussed options. I was hoping to not spew right then and there. The options were limited. I confessed that the biggest barrier at that point was that some six miles up the road, I had mentally dropped.

And so the Death Valley Express II came to an end as it started, quietly.

We had all had lunch together in the Badwater Saloon. My sister and brother-in-law joined us. A bit before, not fully understanding the situation, my sister hoped I could go again. She said she would not be here next year. I told her that I knew that. With tears in her eyes she said, “I do not want you to do it again for me.” I said, “Then I won’t do it for you.”

I hate cancer. I hate it so much.

My brother and sister-in-law showed up in the Saloon, having expected to find me somewhere close to Panament Springs by that point. With all the tact of a bulldozer accidentally driving over your car, he said, “So, you quit.” I thanked him for using that word, and headed off to lie down for a few minutes. He apologized later. If he had not, I would have forgiven him anyway. But, it was none-the-less like a spike to my heart.

This much I know – I did not quit. You cannot know without being in my body and mind, so you have to trust me – I gave it my best try. I know these things are true. That is all that matters. I know that there is no failure in that.

“There is peace in the desert, if you have it inside.” – Lisa Bliss told me that. I have it inside. I have it because I am proud of a good 50 miles in very severe conditions. We saw problems and we fixed them. My training was good, and I had fun.

My only sadness comes from the part of the adventure missed. For that I am very sad. It is like losing something loved – the three climbs, the long road through Owens Valley, pausing at Fr. Crowley Point would all have to wait for another time. As Deborah and I drove up Towne Pass, we stopped to pick up the stake. I hesitated. Then I grabbed it with certainty.

As I type this, I feel very proud. I feel pride for having done one good and difficult crossing last year. I feel pride for getting past a difficult period with my bad back this year and completing the training for another attempt. I feel pride for not giving up then. I feel pride for not giving up when giving up would have been easy. I feel pride for my crew, who gave everything they could. Michael told me that they came prepared for 135 miles, but they also came prepared for a lot less if that was what was to be. But, really, how can I, someone who should not even be doing this thing, not feel pride in just making it to the starting line, much less get past it by 50 miles.

To my crew, Bernhard, Nancy, Yi, Michael, I thank you. You helped make the event fun and successful. You gave generously, and I knew it every step.

Jenny, thank you for so well capturing in words so well what was happening. I read them with real emotion. Your contribution is lasting.

To Deborah, there are no words. You reluctantly took on the duties as crew chief last year, even though you where not fully on board with the idea of what I wanted to do. Then you did it again this year. Your organization and your care were obvious. I cherish you and everything you do. I look forward to the rest of our lives together.

To my MD, Jeff Denham, I thank you for all that you have done. I would not be out there if it were not for your expert and generous care.

To Lisa, Danny, Willy, Tim, Meredith, Kristen, Dave, Ian, Marshall and so many more, thank you for your inspiration, support, and kind words.

To Dick, Rich, and Rhonda, thank you for your years of inspiration and support. You gave me Death Valley to do with as I wished. Thank you for that.

The countdown clock at the right side of this page says emphatically what my plans are for next summer.

I will be back!!  I will be back once again, “To strive, to seek, to find, and not to yield.” – Tennyson

I can't wait!

Dreams do come true.

Onward.

“Badwater” Bill

Tujunga, CA

Journey's End ... for now

Knowing when to stop often takes more courage than toughing it out and continuing when all signs are telling you to stop.

Bill is courageous.

Together, he and his crew decided to stop after a brief trek out of Stovepipe Wells. Bill was having serious stomach issues, and without being able to eat solid food, his continuing was not only an unwise, but also an unsafe decision. One of the toughest parts of being a crew member is having to make difficult decisions. But runner safety is always top priority, and his crew served him well to advise him to stop.

We cannot presume to know or understand how Bill is feeling, but If you have ever come up short on reaching a goal, then you know a little of what Bill is experiencing. It's not the event, but your reaction to the event, that determines the quality of your life. There are no words to console…time is the only consolation.

Death Valley isn't going anywhere…if Bill decides that he is ready to go back…sometime in the future, we will all be there with him again. It's what we do. The human spirit is strong and courageous. I have a feeling that we all will be back.

Stovepipe to Towne Passe

Bill made it to Stovepipe Wells last night around 11:00. Mission accomplished - it was Bill's goal to get to Stovepipe Wells in the first day. He made steady progress from Furnace Creek to Stovepipe, dealing with temperatures in the 115-117 degree range for most of the day. He did not suffer with significant dehydration, and, fortunately, his feet are in much better shape than last year at this point.

Deborah was able to send me some photos, so here are some pix from the first leg of the journey.

Start to Finish: Badwater to Mt. Whitney

We hear Death Valley, and the first thing most of us think is "hot!" However, it is actually more than just "hot." It's obviously super hot in the summer months, but other aspects of the desert make this journey especially difficult.

Bill's goal is to cover 135 miles from Death Valley to Mt. Whitney, California, in the most demanding and extreme running/walking conditions "offered" anywhere on the planet. Badwater is the lowest elevation in the Western Hemisphere at 280 feet below sea level. Mt. Whitney Portal, where he plans to finish, is at ~ 8300 feet. Bill's trek will cover three mountain ranges for a total of ~ 13,000 feet of total vertical ascent and ~ 4,700 feet of cumulative descent.

As you can imagine, anything can happen along the way. Just getting to the starting line of this undertaking requires a mental fortitude that few possess. Add to that the desolation of the desert and the ability to see for miles and miles of what is ahead ... and you can maybe begin to comprehend the tremendous focus it takes to just keep going.

As you read this from the air-conditioned comfort of your home or office (and as I write this from my air-conditioned room), Bill is out there in the extreme heat pursuing a dream. That we are with him in "spirit" does actually help. So, let's continue to think of him and send him our positive energy as he makes his way across the desert.

In and out of Furnace Creek

This just in: Bill made it into Furnace Creek (~17.4 miles) in good shape and good spirits. The temp is only 112 degrees, so he hasn't reached the hottest part of the day yet. The goal is to make it to Stovepipe Wells (~41.9 miles) sometime tonight.

Badwater Bill is on the Move

Hello to all Badwater Bill's friends, family, and followers. I will be reporting the details of Bill's journey as I receive updates from Deborah and the crew. We talked last night before they were going to bed  - their hope was to "try" to get some rest before the adventure began. The predominant mood was "Let's get this thing started." Mentally, Bill and the crew were upbeat and ready to go.

6:15 a.m. - Today Badwater Bill began his second crossing of Death Valley to Mt. Whitney. Temperatures were expected to start in the upper 80's or low 90's. Expected high today ~118 degrees. As you can see, his feet are all taped up - no problems to begin with - just a preventive measure.

As Bill undertakes the arduous trek across Death Valley, I'm sure he'd love to hear your thoughts, comments, and other words of encouragement. And, when I talk with Deborah (whenever she can give me updates), I'll be sure to relay to her your comments to help keep Bill focused on his goal.