Running on Empty

by Marshall Ulrich

  With the mast fixed, Mace, Adrian, Mo, and I paddled from island to island. On one, we ascended up the belly of a hollow mountain, fires burning brightly on the floor of the cave. Ghostly shadows played across the walls as other men climbed hundred-foot rattan ladders to harvest swallows’ nests for their aphrodisiac soup. Up we went, above them, into the bat caves. Gawd, what a stench! Later, we climbed up hills and over jagged, knife-edged cliffs and then, as morning broke, rappelled down a three-hundred-foot cliff into the thick jungle. I’d inadvertently left my water bottle behind, so Mace shared his water with me until it was gone. A couple of hours later, Mace was in the worst condition I’d ever seen him in; he’d sacrificed his water and his well-being to help me continue. Reluctantly, he finally handed over his pack to the rest of the team so that he could continue, and we all staggered back to the outriggers, thoroughly exhausted. We thought we were really through this time.

  But we encountered yet another team that had just withdrawn from the race. Word had gotten out that we’d lost much of our mandatory equipment, not just the map, when we’d capsized, so they generously provided us with everything we needed to finish, including water. Lucky for us, the race officials never heard any of this, or we would have been out of the race the minute the boat had capsized.

  After just one more day, we did finish, and so did Charlie’s group, not much behind us. We’d come back from all our travails to take twelfth place—thanks, in no small measure, to Charlie’s good sportsmanship and the cooperation of his teammates.

  This camaraderie and shared code of conduct is one reason I love these extreme sporting events so much. We help one another out with everything from blisters to heat exhaustion, share supplies, and cheer one another on, even as we do our best to take our friends down in competition. I arrived at the Pikes Peak Marathon one year without running shorts, at Everest without a climbing harness, and at many other events or checkpoints without some crucial piece of gear, and just by asking around, got what I needed to participate. Crews, too, check on each other, make sure everyone has what they need to support their racers and climbers. Heather has remarked that she’s never met a more welcoming bunch of people. Occasionally, some completely self-centered prick will come along, but someone like this tends to be short-lived in the world of extreme sports. If you don’t help others, it can be awfully lonely out there when you’re the one who needs help.

  Sure, we play mind games, indulge in some trash talking. That’s all part of it. I can’t tell you how many times I’ve heard that so-and-so, who’s in front of me during an ultradistance race, is doing great and is many miles ahead, when the poor runner actually is puking or ready to pass out and within my striking distance. As a competitor, you learn to take all reports about other runners with a grain of salt, and to implement your own disinformation campaigns. (The first time I got sucked in by the “looking great, miles ahead” routine, at 120 miles into my first Badwater race in 1990, it most certainly slowed me down: if I’d known he was only two miles in front of me, I would have poured it on.) Everyone knows that there’s plenty of bullshit being tossed around during these events, and it’s all part fun, part strategy. Before our transcon, I’d teased Charlie, “Better put on your dust mask,” and we’d thought it would be funny if we kept up the taunting, made it a friendly battle with verbal jabs like they have in Big Time Wrestling. We loved the banter, and we kept it going, right up until that strange roadside confrontation about my laundry, after which all the friendliness seemed to disappear.

  Generally, ultrarunning is a sport where people do more than just play fair; we encourage one another to excel, because it pushes the envelope of human endurance. We also hold one another accountable, sometimes through ribbing. I gave Charlie a hard time about being boastful (making big mileage claims) and about me being the “invisible man,” which he’d laugh off, nervously. Sometimes I can be a real hard-ass about accountability, something my kids were never too fond of, and something that I’ve pushed too far once or twice with a fellow ultrarunner. But in the sport, we all know what’s what: Although we’re competitive, there’s a mutual respect for one another and the suffering we all go through. A team must act as one, with a common goal in mind, and all teams are respected equally as a credit to them for taking on an almost insurmountable task.

  This is why, when it came to Charlie’s tomfoolery—everything from the pre-event business with the sponsors and the media, when he never bothered to mention my name, down to that stupid horn—even though I’d felt like an old dog annoyed by a young pup at times, I never expected him to stoop as low as he did.

  Everything came to a head on October 21, day thirty-nine of the run, after I settled down in the RV for my marathon nap. Where was Heather? Odd, I’d seen her just six miles ago in Watseka, where Dr. Paul was finally available to treat my back, which had been bothering me since the night before. Heather had answered my questions about what was upcoming for the rest of the day. She’d shown me a state map, brought me a chocolate milk shake, helped Kira and Jenny restock the van, and said she was scheduled to crew that afternoon. It didn’t make sense that she wasn’t where she’d said she’d be; the only other time she’d missed my marathon nap was back on day thirty-seven, when she’d attended that all-hands crew meeting. So far, this had been a good morning, running a couple of miles with my friend Jim Simone and some boys from his drug treatment program, which he operates south of Chicago. These were fifteen young men who’d earned the chance to come out with us for their good behavior, and the time we spent together was moving: To connect with each of them and hear about their troubles and their intention to make a better life for themselves was so raw, so honest, and it was fun, too. Later on, I’d picked up the pace with Robert from VQ OrthoCare (gotta love Robert, as he likes to run with me, seems to know a little bit about everything, and has a dry sense of humor). Once I was in the RV and had started to doze off, alone, I heard the RV door open, tentatively, and then caught the sound of Heather sniffling, carefully walking around and putting a few things into a shopping bag, trying not to disturb my rest.

  I sat up. “Hey, what are you doing?”

  Obviously shaken and upset, she told me that she’d been pulled from crewing permanently, that she wouldn’t be allowed on the road or in the RV anymore, either, and she just needed to gather up a few items before going to a hotel, where she’d been told to spend the rest of the day.

  Oh, for Pete’s sake. This was insane! When I followed Heather out of the RV and asked Kate what the hell was going on, she told me that Dave and Brian would be crewing for me that day, and that Heather would be waiting for me at the hotel.

  Go on, now, run thataway.

  Heather was sitting on the bumper of Kate’s van, crying. Things had spun way, way out of control, and I felt completely confused. Since when does someone else get to decide when I see my wife?

  Oh, this is not going to work.

  Running this course was already something like torture. Watching Heather get into that van and ride away in tears took the whole thing right over the top. Was this what Charlie had been reduced to? Picking away at my support system, since he could no longer compete with me directly?

  Yes, I blamed Charlie, Mr. Atomic, the detonator. There was no other explanation. Even though Heather hadn’t filled me in on the details, I knew what he was doing. Before this race, I’d had dealings with him where he’d lost his temper and turned nasty. And just in the last month, I’d heard about how he’d yelled at people, tearing them down and then manipulating them into compliance. I suspected he’d poisoned the well against Roger, run a campaign fueled by gossip to send him home. And now he wanted to take out my wife? The minute he’d tried to pin that dumb laundry bit on Heather, I’d seen right through it. The man didn’t have enough to do, his competitive drive had gone sideways, and he was messing in my business; he was losing control and he wanted it back—but now he’d done something incredibly stupid. No one was going to separate me from Heather.
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  As I ran forward, my stomach was in knots. I grew more and more angry, wanting to give it all up. I have no business being out here anymore—it’s all gone completely wrong. But the minute these thoughts entered my head, I beat them back, realizing this could mean my complete defeat.

  Instead, all I could think about from then on was getting to the hotel, and I ran faster and faster, wanting to reach Heather as quickly as possible. Around sunset, I crossed into Indiana, we stopped to snap a photo at the state line, and then I took off again. The whole evening and early morning was like an impulsive sprint to get to her and to the bottom of it all. After I finished my sixty miles, I finally stopped running.

  Welcome to Indiana!

  “The Hoosier State”

  Arrival date: 10/21/08 (Day 39)

  Arrival time: 6:47 p.m.

  Miles covered: 2,246.6

  Miles to go: 816.6

  Around one-thirty in the morning, I put my key in the lock, opened the door to our hotel room in Remington, and closed it behind me. Heather and I were alone at last. She was calm now, having spent the better part of the day arranging her solution to our problem: She’d rented a car and would see me on the half-mile marks, she promised. The crew would take care of my physical needs every mile, and she’d be there to take care of my emotional needs between their stops.

  But I wanted to know more about what was really going on. Why was this happening at all? Finally, Heather revealed more of the story: how Charlie had berated her during that meeting in his RV; how he’d scolded her for insisting that my crew attend to certain details, that they crew me in a certain way; how he’d clearly bent Kate’s ear and convinced her that Heather was a troublemaker; how there’d been an argument about laundry, who should do it and how often (ah, now I understood why he’d brought it up with me); how they’d accused her of not getting along with other crew members. And on and on it went, petty complaint after petty complaint. Heather was completely befuddled—she’d never had this kind of trouble before although she’d crewed for me many times in the past. She wondered, was she losing her mind? All of it had been so crazy-making: Was she really so hard to work with? Was she such a horrible person? If it truly came down to that, she assured me, she could make herself scarce and I’d be the only person who’d interact with her.

  In her frustration, Heather had told Kate that she quit but that she refused to be separated from me: She’d follow her plan with the rental car from there forward. They’d succeeded in breaking her spirit, demoralizing her, and getting her to question her sanity, she said, but there was no way she was going to leave me out there alone with that lot.

  Turning Heather into a shadow crew was an option, but I wasn’t having any of it. This had clearly gotten out of hand. Everyone had been out there on the road for more than a month, and was tired and probably homesick, but that was no excuse for this juvenile behavior, all the backbiting, complaining, blaming, and scapegoating. We were all professionals of one stripe or another and should have been focused on a common goal. Everyone knew a lot was resting on my shoulders—I wanted and needed to finish the run, not just for me, but for the sponsors and for the documentary, and I needed Heather to do it. What kind of shoddy production would this be if I didn’t continue? Were they going to release a film called Running America that featured some guy on a bike who’d bullied an old dude’s wife and forced him out of the race? What the hell?

  It simply didn’t make sense that NEHST was really in Charlie’s camp. Maybe they didn’t realize what he was doing by slowly tearing apart my key resources on the road; maybe even he didn’t know what he was up to, and this was a purely subconscious sabotage. Maybe he just didn’t understand that we weren’t interested in being bit players in “The Charlie Show.” Maybe he didn’t expect me to fight back.

  At about 2:30 in the morning, we called Kate to meet with us, and when she arrived, I laid it on the line: The crew van was rented in our name, we hadn’t been reimbursed for it, and so, legally, it was our vehicle. Heather would continue to use it, period. She and I would enlist the help of friends to come out and crew for us; we didn’t want Charlie or anyone connected with him to assist me any further, with the exception of Brian, who’d already promised to stick with us to the finish, and who’d demonstrated his loyalty to Heather and me already. Perhaps Dave could stay, too, but we’d have to talk with him and see. It wasn’t that the rest hadn’t done a good job—they had—but we were going to extricate ourselves from any continued involvement with Charlie. I didn’t want to put anyone in the middle of my rift with him, and I also understood that their friendship with him was important to them, as it should be. In sum, we were done with Charlie’s mess, and were taking our future into our own hands. I was running to New York without any more contact with him.

  We had no beef with production. In fact, we would welcome their presence filming the rest of the run. Isn’t that why they were all here? Kate would have to talk with the powers that be in New York, she told us, but she also said that she’d like to think that they’d all stay on board with me. We could keep using the RV, too, unless word came down that it was no longer okay.

  Notably, what Kate didn’t say was, “Oh, no. Charlie’s in charge and we do what he says.”

  Nope, no mention of him, his authority, or his detonation power. She’s a smart woman, and I think she knew the score, but I wanted to be clear: This was no power play on my part; it was a decision made to ensure Heather’s and my well-being while being mindful of the sponsors’ needs—we were committed to making sure that the people and companies who’d supported us were given what they expected.

  We left it at that, and we all turned in for the night. In the morning, we’d have some answers from New York and know whether we’d be continuing with or without the film crew.

  The next day, we all acted as if nothing had occurred. Kate had asked that we hold off on notifying the crew of any changes, as she wanted to be able to give them the whole picture based on what she heard from NEHST. Two days later and to my great frustration, Kate still hadn’t informed the crew; perhaps she procrastinated because she felt caught in the middle, between me and Charlie, who had a financial interest in the film and was one of its producers and so had some authority over her. He had, at least, intimidated her. So I took the matter into my own hands. I figured I’d waited long enough, even laid off one day after only fourteen miles so that NEHST could take care of it and so I wouldn’t have to run a lie. But they didn’t take care of it. They did assure me that they supported our decision and were committed to seeing me finish the run, and on day forty-one, I decided to take action so we could all move forward.

  It was important to me to be up front with everyone, to let them know that we’d be phasing out some people—that they’d done a good job, but it was time to make a change. So I told Charlie’s crew chief, Chuck, what my plans were, and he remarked that he’d never been fired so nicely. Then, I believed, Chuck would talk with everyone else to tell them they’d continue until the new team was in place.

  Although disappointed that I’d had to take care of this administrative task myself, I was glad to have the crisis resolved. Believing that everyone was in the loop, I could set out with a clear conscience. Dave and Jenny hopped in the crew van, and we set out to continue on. Finally, I could get back to running.

  But we should have known Charlie would try to get in a few licks before it was really over. He was all manic-antics now, catching up with Dave and Jenny in the crew van and demanding they get out and abandon it idling by the side of the road, unattended, where Heather and Dr. Paul would find it later. (After that, we never got to see Dave again, so we lost our chance to ask him about staying on to crew, and I still wonder if Chuck ever told them, really, how grateful I was for how they’d performed up to that point and that the changes were because of what had happened with Charlie and nothing they’d done.) Then Charlie sought me out and brought Rick Baraff, the cameraman, to film his outburst, when he made a
point of pestering and provoking me. What was this, I wondered, some low-brow reality TV show? Too bad I’m almost bald, or we could shoot some impressive hair-pulling scenes. Not long after his first tirade finally ended, Charlie came back, riding up next to me on his bike again, now attempting to smooth things over. But when I wasn’t having any of it, he started yelling, and that’s when I finally lost my temper and gave him a verbal pounding.

  Shouting and pouting at the same time, he announced, “Let the record show that I tried to make this right and you refused!”

  I couldn’t help thinking about Frank Giannino and his running mate, and their friendship that had died on the same road nearly thirty years before. Now, way beyond my tolerance for wasting any more time with him, I waved my hand in his direction, shooing him off. Please, God, make him leave me alone to run in peace. Charlie rode away in a huff, and I continued on, finishing out that crazy day with another sixty-two miles underfoot.