Ultramarathoner tests his limits

DEATH VALLEY, Calif. -- An upset stomach took its toll on Tim Kjenstad, forcing the 49-year-old to bend over and rest his hands on his knees, sweat dripping off his face onto the blazing asphalt of a Death Valley highway.

"I'm not feeling so good," the Clark County firefighter said.

But if last year is any measure, he'll face far worse problems tonight: hallucinations, sleep-walking, considerable pain.

Such is the punishment for entering what many regard as the world's toughest footrace, a grueling 135-mile trek from Death Valley to Mount Whitney.

The Badwater Ultramarathon has tested Kjenstad's body since he began it Monday morning, but the next 24 hours will test his mind and the mettle of his five-member crew.

With only 35 miles to go in last year's race, Kjenstad's mind started playing tricks on him, twisting the images of bushes and rocks into animals and dinosaurs.

"I came across a real-life road kill -- a coyote -- and I asked my crew if it was real," he said.

It was.

Badwater, as it's known by runners, is about as brutal and demanding as a running race can be.

It starts at the lowest place in the Western Hemisphere, in Death Valley, and ends, more than 8,600 feet later, on Inyo National Forest's Mount Whitney.

The route, which runs along the state highways in California, features a vicious 5,000-foot climb over 18 miles the first day.

Temperatures in Death Valley can approach or exceed 130 degrees, but temperatures on the black asphalt highways can get even hotter.

"Sometimes they complain of the rubber and plastic in their shoes melting," a race paramedic said of the runners.

On Monday, the weather was overcast with the occasional raindrop, a "godsend," Kjenstad said, for it was much cooler than in past races.

It's his third time in the race, and Kjenstad hopes to complete it in 48 hours. That will include running and walking through the night and taking few rest stops.

Four and a half hours and about 20 miles into the race on Monday, Kjenstad's upset stomach sparked concern in his "pacer," 42-year-old Henderson firefighter Scott Dakus.

"Drink that bottle," Dakus urged him as he ran alongside Kjenstad. "I want that empty in 10 minutes, OK?"

The runners have a crew of usually five or six support staff who monitor their well-being.

They do everything from maintaining the runner's pace to keeping the runner hydrated and fed every 30 minutes or so.

They're the runner's first line of medical and emotional support, and they drive around in minivans or SUVs stocked with food, water, first-aid supplies, vitamin supplements and foot-care products.

Watching a runner check in with support staff is like watching a race car in a pit stop.

As Kjenstad stopped for a break late in the morning, Dakus led him around the side of the vehicle to urinate in a plastic canteen.

Meanwhile, Dakus instructed two of Kjenstad's family members to pour the weary runner a cup of V8 juice and add supplements to his water bottle.

Minutes later, Kjenstad was on the road again.

"You just have to keep him moving," Dakus said.

The experience is also trying for the runner's support staff, which is usually made up of family and friends.

"The mental part is kind of tough," said Kjenstad's brother-in-law, Jeff Hibbs. "You hate to see someone so drained."

Race officials said they've never had anybody die during the 30-year history of the race, but they do see a host of serious medical problems.

Kenten Wang, a physician from Sacramento, Calif., serving as a paramedic, said some of the most dangerous illnesses officials encounter are heat stroke, heat exhaustion, dehydration and hypernutremia.

Hypernutremia, the result of overhydration and low sodium levels, can be particularly dangerous because it can sneak up on runners.

But in a day, Wang said, he'll treat about a dozen or more contestants.

James Moore, a 63-year-old Maryland resident, said he trained his body to cope with Death Valley's heat by spending time in a 130-degree sauna.

Moore also would bundle up and go jogging during the summer, wearing multiple shirts, a jacket and long winter pants.

"The heat is the only thing I'm worried about," Moore said before the race, which attracted 84 contestants -- 67 men and 17 women -- ranging in age from 24 to 70.

Kjenstad might be better acclimated to the Death Valley heat because he lives in Southern Nevada.

He's also become somewhat famous in the Badwater scene for photos of his training regimen, dragging a tire tied to his waist along the tarmac at McCarran International Airport.

But most of Badwater is a mental game, one that he can boil down to a simple solution:

"You just learn to keep running -- just put one foot in front of the other."