BLOGS

• Thu, 03/26/2009 - 18:14 | Comments

  part 1

  Monday morning, 14th July 2008 6 a.m. local time. In the dawn light, 80 invited athletes from 12 countries, including 6 from Germany, have gathered at the start of the hardest ultramarathon in the world. Every single one of them has completed an intensive preparation phase – absolutely essential for them to be able to com-plete the strength and will-sapping slog through the inferno of the Californian desert. In addition to the need for physical and mental fitness – acquired in daily training and preparatory runs – the organizational backup has to be sound. The event organizer specifies that each entrant must be accompanied by at least two personal supporters – in my case, these were my wife and daughter. The supporters have a key part to play, because there is no direct support from the organizer during the run and medical posts are available only for excep-tional situations. The supporters’ responsibilities include continuous provisioning of the runners with all the necessities –...

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• Thu, 03/26/2009 - 18:13 | Comments

  part 2

  At the start in Badwater, the lowest point in the western hemisphere at 86 m below sea level, the participants are faced with a run of 135 miles and having to overcome an altitude difference of almost 4,000 m. At 6 a.m., the temperature is already 39°C, and tension and concentration are mounting. I keep going over the critical questions: have I done everything right in the preparation, have I forgotten or overlooked anything, how will my body react to this incredible challenge posed by Death Valley, one of the hottest places on earth. The starting pistol goes off and all these thoughts vanish. We’re all looking forward along the black asphalt of Highway 190, snaking endlessly through the Mojave Desert. We start the long run through Death Valley.

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• Thu, 03/26/2009 - 18:12 | Comments

  part 3

  A little shade is provided by the rugged slopes of the Black Mountains at the start, but after a few miles all the runners are soon exposed to the merciless heat of the desert. The temperatures rise to more than 50°C in the course of the day and make even mere breathing into a super-human act. It is now important to maintain an optimum running rhythm and, after each short provision stop, in which my supporters cool me with iced water, quickly pick up the pace again to get through this hell as quickly as possible. But the hell is never-ending. Around every corner, over every rise in the road, the horizon, shimmering in the heat, extends into a seem-ingly infinite distance. Running, breathing, drinking, cooling, running. Mile after mile, I glide over the up to 80°C hot asphalt. Space and time seem to blend into one and it is only my heartbeat that determines the rhythm. Yet even in this phase, the naked beauty of this landscape has an immensely powerful quality. A beauty I had looked...

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• Thu, 03/26/2009 - 18:09 | Comments

  part 4

  On the 20 km long, steep climb to Townes Pass, my stomach rebels, my blood pressure rises and my pulse rate starts racing. I slow as by strides become laboured, until I’m forced to stop and rest to recuperate. Shallow, calm breathing, relaxation in the folding chair brought along by my backup team. Night has fallen with a clear, starry, breathtaking firmament, and the sensitive discussion with my family calms the situation. To stabilize my body physically, I take in carbohydrates and additional vitamins, trace elements and sodium. Gradually my will starts returning – the urge to reach the magic line at Whitney Portal. It takes a huge effort just to stand up. My initial strides are really stiff, before I start to loosen up. As the muscles begin to relax with each stride, the confidence in my own capability rises. Returning dynamism stimulates my coordination and galvanizes me for the next 20 km strength-sapping climb to the Panamint Pass, now putting on a red-brown colour show in...

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• Thu, 03/26/2009 - 16:07 | Comments

  part 5

  Wednesday morning, 16th July 2008, 3:24 a.m. local time. The finish tape of the 31st Badwater Ultramarathon brushes my chest. With my wife and daughter in my arms, we cross the magic line together. The tape flaps about in the wind. Silence. No trumpets, no fanfares, no cheering crowds. Peace, quiet. We are moved by the light rushing of the wind in the pines and the cool of the night. We are happy. After 45 hours and 24 minutes – almost double the time taken by the winner, Jorge Pacheco, who ran a best time of 23 hours 30 minutes, and 18 hours behind Jamie Donaldson, who became the fastest woman in the history of Badwater at 26 hours 51 minutes. But happiness makes no distinction. Even the best and hardest ultramarathon runners, runners of the world, are silent and happy. We have all survived the extreme limit, and have run up to our Paradise, to the world elite of extreme endurance sport. We are proud.
  Seen from outside, this may all seem somewhat mad. 500 years ago, the...

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