A Glimpse into the Life of Elite Ultrarunner Lisa Smith-Batchen

I recently had the opportunity to live for two weeks with Lisa Smith-Batchen, her wonderful husband, Jay, and their two adopted daughters, Anabella and Gabriella, and their dog, Skip. I witnessed her family and professional life as she prepared for the grueling Badwater Ultramarathon. The following are my observations of this time period.

“Do you feel like an elite athlete?”

“No.” It was quiet for a moment as Lisa Smith-Batchen thought out her next words. “I feel like a busy mom,” she said.

She resumed packing her kids’ lunches, a ham and cheese sandwich, pretzels, an apple, a bag of orange slices, and a bag of baby carrots. We were standing in the kitchen of her home in Alta. The sun was just peaking over the horizon, casting a warm glow on the Tetons.

“It’s going to be a beautiful day,” she said, looking out the window. Lisa had been awake since five o’clock. She had taken the dog out for a walk, showered, and dressed for work. Her husband, Jay, was already at their store in Driggs. In a few minutes, the girls would need to wake up. Right next their lunch boxes on the kitchen counter, stood a big jar of money – mostly pennies – that Lisa found on her training runs. Pennies from Heaven she liked to call them. They were all to be donated to AIDS Orphans Rising, a charity very dear to Lisa’s heart and the focus of her life’s work.

“You can feed a child in some countries for six pennies. Just six cents can save someone’s life,” she told me. I wondered if perhaps she thought about her daughters when she talked about orphans. Did the love she feels for her own children fuel her zeal for helping the less fortunate, those children in the world without food, shelter, or loved ones to care for them?

When Gabby and Annie woke up, it was a mad rush to the door. Lisa was already running late to her morning class at Dreamchasers. She put Skip in his kennel in the back of the van, along with food, water, and his leash. As soon as they arrived at the store on Main Street, Lisa hopped out, helped her kids out of their car seats, and dashed into the doors. She glowed with energy.

“Hey everybody,” she called out. “Let’s get moving!”

Music blared from the speakers. She picked up the medicine ball and began her cardio core instruction.

“Get those knees up,” she yelled. “Move it! Keep those abs tight!” By the end of the session her students were drenched in sweat, their breaths coming in short, fast bursts. Everyone seemed content with their morning workout. But, Lisa didn’t stick around to chat. She got the girls together and drove to the Sports Club at Teton Springs, where she would work until closing time.

“When do you find time to train,” I asked her on the ride to the Club. “I don’t have time for that,” she replied.

It was true. In all the time I spent with her, she only did a handful of training sessions. Badwater was fast approaching. This was Lisa’s tenth and final go at the 135-mile run in Death Valley, dubbed “the toughest footrace on the planet.” The race is the final part of her Running Hope to America mission, her way of raising money for and awareness of orphaned children around the world who have lost their parents to AIDS.

Even with Badwater around the corner, Lisa didn’t get in any distance longer than twelve miles prior to the race. There was always too much going on. Kids. Work. Coaching. When she finally got home at night, she would sit with Jay in their living room and they would talk about their day. Sometimes they would just sit silent and be together, loving partners supporting each other through the hectic hubbub of everyday life.

After the girls went to bed, Lisa would get on her computer and sort through hundreds of e-mails, letters from students around the world who sought advice from their coach. Late into the night she worked, sometimes staying up until midnight.

Lisa is many things to many people – a mother, wife, sister, and friend. She is an inspiration and a teacher. She brings hope to many people with her charitable acts of kindness. Her seemingly inexhaustible amount of energy is astonishing to behold. If she spreads herself too thin sometimes, it is because her very nature is selfless.

Even though she didn’t get in what might be considered optimal training for an event like Badwater, her will power alone, her passion for running for charity - running for a purpose, she calls it - will undoubtedly carry her through to a glorious finish, whatever that finish may be.

By the time you read this article, the race will be finished. While I can’t say for sure whether or not she will make it to the finish since nothing is certain in a race like Badwater, I can promise you that Lisa will have given it her all. She will not give up her fight to help the children. Never.

As she shut down her computer for the night, she looked at me and said, “Be ready to wake up early tomorrow, kiddo. We’re going walking before work to look for pennies to put in the jar.” With that, she went to bed.

The Pilgrimage: A Vision of the Father on the Path of Faith

When Jarom Thurston looked up, he saw someone ahead of him on the trail. A tall, thin, white man whose bald head glistened in the afternoon sun. The man was running, fading into the distance with every passing second. Immediately, Jarom thought of his father. For just a moment, Jarom couldn't be sure that it really wasn't his father. He had the same assertive stride, a burst of energy that came from a deep well of resolve. A strong and indefatigable family man, athlete, and pharmacist from Payson, Utah, Gary Thurston had always been a hero to his son.

Jarom closed his eyes. He was in the family living room, just a child playing with his toys on the carpet floor. His dad was sitting on the couch, slipping on his running shoes. The beat up pair of old Nike flats were treated almost reverentially. Jarom watched with fascination as his dad tied the laces. Can I come with you, he wanted to ask. What adventures did Gary Thurston have when he went out the front door? Sometimes Jarom would scramble to the window to catch a glimpse of his dad rounding the corner of the street and out of sight, his legs pumping rhythmically like poetry.

When Jarom reopened his eyes, he was back on the trail. The man that looked so much like his father was gone. He squinted into the horizon, which went on forever, but could see no sign of another human being. Jarom rubbed his eyes. His thoughts were getting fuzzy. The world drifted in and out of focus. An undulating pain that echoed through his body brought him back to and made him acutely aware of his surroundings. The heat of the afternoon sun was slowly pounding him into submission. Rivulets of stinging sweat cascaded down his forehead and into his eyes.

And even though Jarom knew that the old man he had just seen on the trail probably was an apparition, a trick of the mind brought on by the heat or by getting caught up in the surreal beauty of the countryside - such things happened out here in the expansive seclusion of southeastern Brazil - even though he knew that the real Gary Thurston was thousands of miles away, Jarom couldn't help but wish that his dad was in fact nearby, maybe waiting just around those trees up ahead, where he could ask him, Can I come with you?

"How you doing, man," came Tony's voice. Jarom turned around. His friends Tony Portera and Chris Roman were just a few feet behind him. They were both walking with a limp. Chris had his head down and was concentrating on the trail, which was covered with large rocks. The trail was actually a stretch of old railroad tracks and the rocks underfoot were dangerous enough to invite a twisted ankle if one didn't watch their step.

"I'm okay," came Jarom's reply. His voice sounded foreign even to himself.

"You're swerving," said Tony.

"Huh?"

"You're swerving off the trail."

"Oh. Just a little tired I guess."

"Well, watch your feet," warned Tony.

In the past seven days, Jarom and his friends had slept just a few hours total. They had since traveled a distance of over 300 miles through one of the most breathtaking landscapes in all of Brazil. They crossed mountains and passed through woods of eucalyptus, fields of banana trees, sugarcane, corn, and coffee beans, making their way from city to city to get to to get to Aparecida. The route they were on was the Caminho da Fé, or the Path of Faith. It was created in 2003 as a pilgrimage route to the Nossa Senhora Aparecida Basilica, a magnificent sacred temple.

Accounts of the history of Our Lady of Aparecida date back to the year 1717, when three fishermen set out near the Port of Itaguaçu to catch fish for their village. After hours of scouring the river for a catch, the men came up with nothing. Eventually, they turned their eyes to the heavens and offered up their prayers to God. When they cast their net again, they pulled up a dark brown statute sculpted from clay. It appeared to have been underwater for years. The three-foot tall statute presented an image of the black version of Our Lady of the Immaculate Conception. After the men hauled the clay figure aboard their vessel, they cast their nets once more into the river. The weight of their catch that day was so great that they returned to port overloaded, in danger of their craft sinking. This is the first miracle attributed to the Virgin. The image is now housed in the Basilica, one of the largest churches in the world.

Every year millions of people make their way to Aparecida to catch a glimpse of the holy image of the Virgin Mary. For many, the journey is as significant as the destination. Each person makes the trip for his own personal reason: to pray for a dying loved one, to be cured of a terrible illness, to offer thanks for the many blessings of life. Each person's journey is special. For those who travel the Caminho da Fé, every step is a sacrifice, a little holy act of endurance offered up to the ultimate goal of the pilgrimage. Some might not even realize the goal until they finally arrive at it. The journey is one of discovery.

It had only been a few hours since Jarom and his friends left the posada in Campos do Jordão. Their legs were still stiff from the rest. Starting back up again had been a struggle, but it was nice to have gotten a few hours of sleep and some good food down. The taste of hot Brazilian pizza still lingered on Jarom's palette. If he closed his eyes, he could almost taste the thin, crispy crust, the creamy, thick melted cheese topped with salty olives, slices of fresh ham, and other lovely toppings. The proprietor of the posada had introduced all three of them to a drink called cachaça (pronounced "ka-SHA-sa"), a hearty liquor made from fermented sugarcane. Cachaça was becoming all the rage in Brazilian bars and eateries. It formed the base of caipirinha, the national cocktail of Brazil. Mixed with lime wedges, sugar, and ice, the drink was a samba that danced on the tongue.

But now the samba was over and silence took its place. An oppressive silence, weighed down by the humidity of a slow-roast Brazilian summer. Even though Jarom loved this country, loved everything about it - the culture, the food, the language, the people, the natural beauty of the landscape - he couldn't be drawn out of his trance. All he could do was count the planks of the tracks underfoot. One, two, three. They went by with each agonizing footfall. 84, 85, 86... Soon, he lost count.

He found himself thinking back over the past seven days. The flight to Brazil. Meeting with Tony and Chris at the airport in São Paulo. The rain. The mountains. Blisters and falls. The Hill of the Broken Leg. Jarom had been ready to call it quits. But, Tony insisted he push on. "We came here together. We're going to finish together," he said.

Jarom felt like he did during his very first race. Ten years ago, he was running the Hobble Creek Half Marathon. Having never run more than three miles in his life, Jarom entered the race to be like his dad. Ever since he could remember, his father had been a runner, competing in marathons and triathlons. There was a mixture of awe and respect in his heart when he saw his dad lacing up his shoes to head out for a run. How Jarom wanted so badly to join him, to have the cool air rushing against his skin, filling his lungs as he raced side by side with his father. For the first six miles of Hobble Creek, all Jarom could see was the back of his father's head, just a hundred yards up. Pride welled up inside. He wanted desperately to catch up to show him how far he'd made it, to tell him he was still in it, still running. Always, always running. Never mind the pain in his legs or the light-headed feeling that swept over him like a blanket in the wind. Jarom felt alive. He was his own man. And he felt closer to his dad than ever before.

By the time Jarom, Tony, and Chris got to the street that leads to Aparecida, it started to rain. In a matter of minutes, the winds gathered enough strength to blow them off course. The roar of the water pouring down in sheets was deafening. Cars were pulling off to the side of the road to wait out the storm. Jarom and his friends looked around for shelter, anything to shield them from the force of the downpour, but none was to be found. In other circumstances, the storm might have been welcome, beautiful even. Instead, it made the weary travelers shiver with cold as they struggled against nature. In a sense, this was the essence of Brazil, the very heart of that old and mystical land, delicate as a flower, lovely as the promise of new life, cruel as the inevitability of death.

"We might as well keep going," Tony yelled.

With just two kilometers to go, they made their way to the church. A profound quiet filled the air, even deeper than the silence on the tracks. Each man was lost in his thoughts. With every footstep, they drew closer and closer to the end of their journey. Jarom looked around. The sun had set and the streets were like black glass after the rain. There were no cars out. No people cheering them to the finish. The world was motionless. Jarom could hear his breathing in the still air. Their footsteps clapped and echoed throughout the city. For all they knew, the world did not exist. The only thing that was real was the certainty of their pace, that relentless march to get to the end.

"We're here," said Tony.

They walked through the parking lot of the church. Designed in the form of a Greek cross, the massive architecture lay sprawled before them, a mecca of the soul. The dome of the building towered over them as they approached. The large blue and gold clock adorning the steeple read 8:30 pm. The place was empty. Our Lady of Aparecida, that small statute that symbolized for so many the end of a life-changing odyssey, waited inside on a gilded throne. Jarom looked at his friends, wanting to say something, anything, but couldn't find the words to convey what he was feeling. After a full seven days and fourteen hours of constant forward motion, the men had made it. Three hundred and forty miles. They were pilgrims. And their pilgrimage was now complete. Jarom turned and walked back towards the truck, ready to go home, eager to rest his tired legs, anxious to call his dad and tell him that he made it.

In the picture above, from left to right: Chris Roman, Tony Portera, and Jarom Thurston.


Click here to read Jarom's interview.

Running the Caminho da Fé: An Interview with Jarom Thurston

On January 18, 2011, Jarom Thurston, Chris Roman, and Tony Portera embarked on a journey to run the entire length of the Caminho da Fé in the heart of Brazil. The Path of Faith is used as a pilgrimage route to the city of Aparecida, where the National Basilica houses the holy figure of Our Lady of Aparecida. The group of friends finished the 340 mile journey in 7 days and 14 hours.

How long have you been running?

Ten years.

What got you into it?

I grew up as a swimmer; me and my brother and two sisters, that’s all we did growing up. We swam. I’ve always liked the individual sport, where you’re just worried about your own performance, your own workout and training. Not depending on others, like you do in team sports to win a game. I hated running, though. I did like soccer. I remember trying out for soccer. We had to run laps. I didn’t like it that much. But, I’ve always looked up to my dad. He’s always been into running and triathlons for as long as I can remember. I really started getting into running when I was twenty-six years old. I ran my first marathon. My younger brother decided to see if he could run a marathon with my dad. My dad had run several when we were little. For whatever reason, my brother wanted to see if he could do it. I thought he was crazy. He trained for a year and ran the St. George Marathon. I thought, If my little brother can do it, I wonder if I can 26.2 miles. That’s how it started. I just wanted to do a marathon like my little brother and my dad did. I remember trying to get into shape and running a mile or two. It was hard. I could barely do it. At that time, I was over 220 pounds. I wasn’t fat, but I was heavier than I am now. I would try to run two or three miles at least a couple times a week. It took a good five months to get to the point where I actually enjoyed running. That year, when my little brother was getting close to running his first marathon, he signed up to do a half marathon as a training run with my dad. At the last minute, there was a change of plans and he had to travel somewhere with some friends. A few days before the race, he told me as a joke, “I already signed up for this race. Just take my number and go run it with dad.” I’m thinking, Yeah right – a half marathon! I can’t even run three miles. But, I thought about it for a while and I decided to go for it. I thought, Maybe I’ll just walk the whole thing. I ran the Hobble Creek Half Marathon in Springville with my dad.

How did it go?

The first mile or so went by pretty easy. Then, by the third mile, I thought, I better slow down and walk or I’m going to kill myself. But, nobody else was walking. I didn’t want to be the first one to start walking! So, I just kept running, hoping other people would start walking and then I could just join them. I got to mile six and I could still see my dad about a hundred yards ahead of me. I thought, I’ll run up to him and let him know I’ve made it this far. When I caught up to him at the water stop, he was surprised to see me. My legs hurt so badly at that point, but I thought, If I walk, they are still going to hurt, so I might as well run and get this thing over with. So, I kept running with my dad and finished the whole thing in about two hours. All I really remember is crossing the finish line and wanting to die. I got tunnel vision; I had this head rush, a light-headed feeling, and I couldn’t see for about three minutes. That scared me. I laid down and waited for all my senses to come back. After that, I was sore like I’d never been in my whole life. I couldn’t walk for almost a month. But, I promised myself that if my legs got better and if I could start running again, I was going to continue training and eventually do the marathon. And that’s what I did. I trained for a year, incorporating more mileage into my training. Finally, I ran the St. George Marathon in 4:07. I saw for the first time what the marathon really was. I knew my dad had done them when I was little, but it never really meant that much to me until I did it myself. It was grueling. After St. George, I swore that I was done. I told myself, never again. But, a few weeks went by and I forgot about all the pain and misery; I found myself signed up for the marathon again, with a goal of shaving seven minutes off my time to break the four hour mark.

Tell me about your first ultra.

When I went back for my second marathon, I finished five seconds slower than the year before. That drove me crazy! But, I refused to quit. I went back again the next year and ran a 3:42. By then, I realized I was really addicted to running. I enjoyed it. I knew I wasn’t the best. I knew I wasn’t going to win any races, but I just fell in love with the sport. I worked with my younger sister for the fire department, and I met an ultrarunner, Mike Sanderson. He had done Badwater. When he heard I ran marathons, he told me, “Why don’t you come run the Squaw Peak 50 Miler?” It’s know to be the third hardest 50 miler in the country. But, I just told myself: “It’s only two marathons. I can do that!” All my training up to that point had been on road. I had never once set foot on trails. By mile seven of the race, I just wanted to die. I was sweating like crazy; my heart felt like it was going to jump out of my chest. And I wasn’t even running. I was hiking! I thought to myself, What is going on here? I’ve still got forty-something miles left and I don’t think I can even go a mile farther. But, I shrugged it off and eventually got to a downhill and felt better. By the time I hit mile 20, I realized I had not urinated yet. All day long, I was seeing everyone else jumping off the trail now and then to go into the bushes, and here I hadn’t gone once. My pacer got a little concerned. He asked me if I was drinking enough and I told him I was drinking all I could. He asked if I hydro-loaded the day before. I told him I hadn’t. Right before I hit the 25 mile mark, I finally felt like I had to pee. When I tried, it was red. Literally, I was urinating blood! It scared me to death. I thought, Well, maybe I’m bleeding internally. But, aside from being dehydrated, I felt okay. At the next aid station, there was a nurse volunteer. I asked her what was going on. She told me that I was so dehydrated that my bladder was empty and that the walls of my bladder were rubbing together to the point that they were bleeding. They made me sit there for half an hour to drink water. Eventually I got up and set out for the next aid station, carrying as much water as I could with me. By mile 33, I still had not urinated. That was a tough call. At the Squaw Peak 50, the aid station at mile 33 is really a critical point. It is about a 9 mile stretch between it and the next aid station. It’s also the hottest part of the afternoon and it has the highest, hardest climb at 9,300 feet. Most people get dehydrated in this stretch. The people at the aid station did not want to let me go. So I was forced to withdraw from the race. When I got to the finish line, I was really bummed. But, I knew I had probably done the safest thing. That was my first experience at an ultramarathon – a DNF at mile 33 and urinating blood.

It’s interesting that that was your first experience with ultras because, where something like that would happen and most people would never think to try something like it again, that was really your launching pad. What is it that pushes you to put your body through those kinds of experiences?

I get asked that a lot. I really don’t know the answer. I know it can be done. I know the mind and the body are powerful and I’ve seen others do it. That’s kind of what motivates me: seeing someone else I know who has done something. I get to thinking, Why can’t I do that, too? I’ve never been a quitter. Even when I fail at something, I keep trying. After that first attempt at the Squaw Peak 50, I went and trained for a year, came back, and finished it.

How many times have you run the Brazil 135?

This year was my fourth time running the race – 2008, 2009, 2010, and this year.

What is it about Brazil that holds your fascination?

I lived in Brazil a number of years ago as a missionary. I fell in love with the culture, the people, and the language. I’ve always felt a connection with the country. A few years ago, Mario Lacerda, director of the Brazil 135, put me in contact with a Brazilian woman who was going to run Badwater - a 51 year-old cancer survivor named Monica Otero. Monica needed another person on her support crew. Before the race, I got to fly to Brazil to meet Monica to discuss the plans for Badwater. The year she ran it was the same year [Valmir] Nunes broke the Scott Jurek’s course record, and Nunes’ record still stands to this day. That was a cool experience, to be able to be there for that. It got me thinking, I wonder if I can do this race?

What was your first 100 miler experience?

Well, my first two attempts at the 100 miler, I DNF’d. Then, I did a training run out on the old Pony Express route in Utah. A group of people go every year and they get some friends to crew for them. It’s kind of becoming a race now, but years ago it was just a few people doing it. I thought, If I’m going to try a 100 miles, I’d rather do it in this kind of circumstance where it’s not a real race and there’s not a whole lot of pressure. I ran 93 miles in 21 hours and then I just stopped. I sat down on a rock and said, “I can’t go on anymore.” Later that day, I found out my liver was starting to fail, so it’s a good thing I stopped. Six months later, I tried the same course and I got to 72 miles. I got so sick. I was throwing up. My nutrition was just completely off. I walked for six hours that night and I never got better. So I DNF’d again. My next attempt at a 100 was the Brazil 135 in January of 2008.

You’re kidding me.

(Laughs). No joke. I had been friends with Mario [Lacerda] since Badwater with Monica. He accepted me into the race even though he knew I hadn’t finished a 100 miler yet. I had a lot of friends telling me, “You’re crazy! You’re going to attempt 135 miles in a foreign country and you haven’t even finished 100 miles?” I just told them, “Yeah.” I didn’t even take a support crew with me. I ran it solo. Mario set up the course on the Caminho da Fé. There are enough little towns – approximately every 12 or 13 miles – along the way so that you can restock your backpack if you speak the language and have some money. I felt comfortable doing that. And the reason I felt okay doing it was that I changed my whole mindset about racing. I thought of the run as an expedition, a journey, rather than as a race. I just wanted to finish it. I took my camera; I took videos and pictures. And I suffered a lot. It rained a lot. My feet were really bad. I got like 45 minutes of sleep. In the end, I ended up finishing in about 45 hours, placing seventh overall out of 41 that started that year. I had such a great experience that I’ve been back every year. Mario has kind of dubbed me as the U.S. Ambassador for the Brazil 135 race. Now I help other Americans and other foreigners outside of Brazil who want to get information on getting accepted into the race, getting hotel accommodations or translators.

How many Americans went this year?

We had more last year than there were this year. We had about 9 or 10 Americans last year, including Brian Krogmann, Tom Sperduto, and Brian Recore. This year, we had Cheryl Zwarkowski, Marty, Razy Sanchez, Tony Portera, Chris Roman, Lynne Hewett and myself. Lynne was set to support Tony, Chris, and I for the first three days and then run the whole 135 with us, and then support us the last two days of our Caminho da Fé journey.

How did Lynne do in her race? I crewed with her at Badwater and she is a hell of a runner.

Yeah, she’s awesome. Lynne got a little past 50 miles and then she had to drop out. Her knee went out after the first two or three hours of the race. She had a really hard time on the downhills. She was limping, gutting it out, but decided to drop before she caused too much damage. After dropping, she continued to crew for us. She was incredible.

Now, explain the project you embarked on with Tony and Chris. What was your goal?

It was Tony Portera’s idea. I ran the Brazil 135 with him last year along with Ken Posner. Tony enjoyed the whole thing so much that he decided he wanted to go back to Brazil and run the entire Path of Faith. The Brazil 135 runs along this pilgrimage path that Brazilians have developed over the past eight or nine years. There are different starting points, but they all meet up in one town called Águas da Prata and then its becomes a single trail system leading all the way to Aparecida church in São Paulo. Tony decided he wanted to do the longest possible course of the whole Path of Faith, which is 530 km. The Brazil 135 takes place almost in the middle of the whole Path of Faith, but it is the hardest 217 km of the 530. That’s where the biggest mountain climbs are. Eventually, we coordinated with Mario to do the project during the week of the Brazil 135, starting a few days before the official race, planning how far we would go each day, and making our way to São João da Boa Vista, which is where the race starts. We would then start the race with everybody else who was running it, finish the Brazil 135 in the 60 hour cutoff, like everyone else, and then continue for another two or three days to Aparecida. So, Tony got me involved. We got a tour guide who spoke the language and made a lot of contacts. We then got Chris involved, who was a good friend. Charlie Engle was going to run the whole thing with us, too, but he couldn’t come.

How long have you three been friends?

I met Tony a few months before last year’s Brazil 135. He e-mailed me, saying that he wanted to run the race and asking for more information. Prior to running with him in Brazil, we had only communicated via e-mail. It was kind of the same thing with Chris Roman. I had heard of him. I knew he ran the Erie Canal 363 Mile Run. We e-mailed back and forth, but the first time I met him was in São Paulo, the day before we started. Tony has known Lynne for a while; he’s run several races with her. He brought her along for support.

How did you train for the run?

(Laughs). Honestly – and I told this to Tony and Chris – I didn’t really train for this any differently than I do for a 100 mile race or a 135 mile race. You just get in a lot of mileage and then taper off. When you get to the start of a multi-day event, you have to know that the first few days are going to be about getting yourself into shape for the second half of however many miles you have left.

How was the weather?

Hot! The first three days were tough for me because I got behind in hydration. The first day I got sick and vomited after just six hours of running because it was just so hot. Summertime in that region of Brazil means a lot of rain. There had been a lot of flooding going on in different parts of Brazil. And when it wasn’t raining, it was hot.

How did the heat affect the field?

It caught a lot of people off guard. There’s a guy who has won the Brazil 135 twice. I think both years he’s won were cooler, rainy years. This year, he took third place, and he had bad stomach issues twice during the race and almost had to drop out. Ray Sanchez also had a tough time with the heat. On the mountains, it just gets so humid. You are always wet. You never have a chance to dry off. When the sun comes out and the clouds dissipate, you feel like you’re baking. Some days, it was in the high 90’s with high humidity. There were times when I felt like I was running across Death Valley, it was so hot. We couldn’t wait for the sun to go down. My bottom lip got sunburned really bad. Some of the blisters still haven’t healed. The backs of legs got fried. Tony and I got a lot of water blisters on the backs of our calves.

What is a water blister?

Your legs look like they are wet, like drops of water are running down them. And then you go to wipe it off and you realize it’s just a really thin layer of skin. It’s got a puss in it that’s really clear. You can just touch it and it will burst. Then the skin dries and peels off.

How did you handle the heat?

We got our driver to get ice whenever he could and put it in the cooler, keep all the drinks cold. We used ice handkerchiefs around our necks and in our hats.

Aside from the heat sickness, did everything go as planned? Did you hit your daily mileage goals?

Yes. The first day we ran 90 km. The second day we ran 75 km. The third day, we only did about a marathon, but that’s when we hit the mountains. It rained the entire third day. We ran the mountain in the mud. We made it a shorter day because we wanted to get to the start city of the pre-race meeting and have enough time to rest. Each night, we stayed in a little posada like the other pilgrims who run the Path of Faith. What most people do is they plan for 15 or 20 days to complete the whole 530 km course to Aparecida. Tony wanted to do it in 8 or 9 days. We ended up finishing the whole thing in 7 days and 14 hours, a little ahead of schedule.

What was the lowest you ever felt during this journey?

By day three, I was so out of it. Mentally and physically, I felt that there was no way I could finish the 135 miles, let alone the two or three days after that. It just hit me so hard. I sat down with the guys and Lynne at dinner the night before the Brazil 135. I wanted to find an excuse to stop but not give up on the team. I knew it was Tony’s dream to do this thing, and I wanted to be there for him, but I really didn’t think I was going to be able to finish. So, I said “What if I just drop out now and help our driver and crew?” Tony and Chris said, “It’s your decision, but we came here to do this together and we want to do anything to help get you there. We know you’re having a hard time because you got behind on your nutrition and hydration.” I had lost about 12 or 13 pounds since the start of the journey. I could feel it.

What motivated you to keep going?

Tony said, “Eat and drink all you can tonight; get all the sleep you can get. Let’s show up to the starting line tomorrow and we can just decide what we’re going to do.” He talked me into making it to the starting line and just going as far as I could. I said, “Okay.” Well, I don’t know what happened, but I think I ate all ten pounds that I lost in one evening! I ate rice and beans and potatoes. I got up in the morning and I felt so fresh. I felt great. I was resurrected. I felt better than Tony and Chris!

What things did you eat during the run?

We ate rice, beans, steak, and spaghetti. I ate a lot of Brazilian pizza.

What is Brazilian pizza?

Usually, it comes with ham and green olives, which are really salty. It’s made with a kind of cream cheese, a really moist, warm cheese.

It sounds wonderful.

Oh! It was so good! We all fell in love with it. We ate it with hard-boiled eggs. We also had these little sandwiches made of cheese, ham, and tomato. They would warm them up for us at the posada. We ate fruit, too.

Were you keeping track of your caloric intake?

No, not really. We just kind of went by how we felt. We tried to help each other. For example, I would know if Tony hadn’t eaten enough if we had a whole pizza and Chris and I ate half of it and Tony only had one piece. We would tell him, “You got to eat something.” Lynne was really good about keeping track of who ate what. She was always on top of it. She and Glauber would have all kinds of food options ready for us at the truck.

Lynne is so great at planning ahead for things to come. I know she is also a great medical expert to have on a crew. Talk about how important it was to have someone there with you guys who was familiar with the medical aspects of distance running.

It was so important. Lynne was such a tremendous part of this project. Chris Roman is a doctor, too. Anyone in the medical field is absolutely instrumental in these kinds of runs. If something goes wrong, whether it’s your feet or your stomach, you need to have someone to go to for answers. Lynne had all kinds of medication and equipment. Maybe half the time they were feeding me a bunch of bull so that I wouldn’t worry, telling me that I was fine when I really wasn’t. I don’t know. But, it was just nice to know that if they weren’t worried then I didn’t have to worry.

Did you ever have to stop for first aid?

Yes. Lynne bandaged up my feet several times. At one point, the second night into the Brazil 135, which was day five of our entire journey, I got a really bad blister on the ball of my foot. It developed within just half a mile. It brought me to a halt. I told Chris and Tony, “Something is wrong. My foot hurts really bad.” We stopped and I sat on the back of the truck. Lynne got her flashlight out and just started jabbing at it, poking at it, trying to puncture it somehow. It hurt. She had me biting down on stuff. She called me a “big boy.” (Laughs). That’s about all I remember from that episode. But, whatever she did, it relieved the pressure, and by the time she bandaged me up and got my socks and shoes back on, I was able to run again.

One of the purposes for this run was to raise money for the Challenged Athletes Foundation. Tell me a bit about the Foundation and what got you interested in running for that particular cause.

The CAF raises money for challenged athletes, athletes that have a hard time competing in any sport because they use prosthetic limbs; they are missing a leg or an arm. I wasn’t really that involved in it. Tony is really involved in it. Chris is on the board for the CAF branch in Florida. They are the ones that brought that aspect into the whole scheme of this expedition. We set up a page for donations and we set our goal at $40,000. I haven’t looked at it recently, but before we started the run, we had raised over $25,000. We are hoping to still promote that, now that we’ve done our part, other people can do theirs by making a donation to the cause.

How did it feel to finish the Brazil 135 leg?

Well, we finished in about 55 hours and 24 minutes. By the end of the second night, we knew we were going to make 60 hours. We wanted to finish officially, get our medal, and continue on to Aparecida. We finished in the afternoon. By the time we got to the finish line, most of the other runners were gone. There weren’t a whole lot of people behind us. Everyone knew what we looked like when we went to the pre-race meeting. We had already been running for two days and we looked like death. And we still had the Brazil 135 to run! It was so emotional when we got to the finish line. When Mario stood in front of us all and handed us our medals, I just broke down. I said, “Mario, this is my fourth Brazil 135, and it has been the hardest one to finish because I was ready to give up after day three, right before I started.”

What did you do when you finished?

I took a two hour nap. Then, we had to go to the post-race party and awards ceremony. We stayed there for a little while and then went back to the hotel and got a full night’s sleep. We got up in the morning, while most of the other runners were getting up for breakfast, and walked over to the town square, where the finish was, put on our sunscreen, and set out for the next leg of the Path of Faith.

How did your family support you throughout this journey?

My dad and my brother wanted to come with me. They both crewed me at Badwater. My brother does Ironman, and whenever I can, I go support him. My family was always waiting to hear from me, hoping to catch updates online. We had the GPS SPOT tracker that Tony brought, so we were constantly putting up links so people could follow us. I know my family was following everyday to see how far we had gone and where we had stopped. It was just so cool to be able finish and talk to my family, tell them “I’m still alive and I finished.” It’s a really good feeling when you know they are worried about you and they know what’s going on all the time and are waiting for pictures and updates. You really feel loved.

Describe coming into Aparecida, the final destination on the Caminho da Fé.

After we left for the final leg of the journey, we traveled another 60 km to a place called Campos do Jordão, one of the premier cities along the Path of Faith. The city is full of German influences and beautiful architecture. We made it there and stayed at another posada. We got to bed late. Every night, Tony and Chris got on Skype to talk to their families. We tried to make as much contact with family and friends. We updated our statuses on Facebook and kept up with our e-mail. So we were always getting to bed late. We got four hours of sleep that night, and that was a lot. The next day we set out again. The trail of the Path of Faith has its own markings and signs so you don’t get lost, little yellow arrows painted everywhere – on trees and mailboxes and walls. Almost every two kilometers, they have little kilometer signs, so you know how far you’ve gone. We started at the 530 marker and slowly made our way to 528, 526, 524 and so on. Everyday, we were counting down those kilometers. When we got to the 10k mark, the weather changed. This freak hurricane storm came out of nowhere and hit us. The winds reached about 60 miles per hours. The rain was coming down like buckets of water. It was blowing us off the road. Cars that were on the road we were running on were pulling over and stopping. We put our rain ponchos on, but it was pointless. We were trying to find a little bit of cover somewhere but we couldn’t find much. Tony said, “Let’s just keep marching through. It will blow over eventually.” It kept coming down for a good half hour. Finally, it cleared up. And we got a phone call from Mario. He and his brother were at the church in Aparecida, waiting for us. Glauber, our driver, went and picked them up and brought them to us. Mario did the last two kilometers with us. We took a picture at the last two kilometers sign and then walked up to the Basilica. It was around 8:30 pm when we finished. The church itself is massive. It’s just huge. We walked all the way inside. There was a mass session going on. Inside, there is a little office with a walk-up window. You go there and show your credentials. We had little pamphlets that we got stamped along the whole Path of Faith, in various towns that we passed. You turn that pamphlet in at the window inside the Basilica and you get a certificate. The whole process was very quite and emotional. It was all kind of surreal. We were all lost in our own thoughts, thinking back on what we had accomplished. The certificate has your name on it. It has the date. Basically, what it signifies is that you are a true pilgrim.

Jarom, thank you so much for sharing with me your incredible journey. I look forward to hearing more great things about you in the future.

Click here to read the feature story about Jarom's pilgrimage.

An Ultrarunner's New Year's Resolution (or, Quit Your Bitchin'!)

It's about that time of year when you start reflecting on the past and planning for the future. As the year draws to a close, I find myself running over in my mind all the things I did, both good and bad. I remember fondly my triumphs and I try to learn from my downfalls. It's time to formulate New Year's resolutions.

New Year's resolutions are helpful because they reinforce the possibility of change, the promise of a better tomorrow. They are psychological tools that allow you to realize change is within your grasp. What can I do (or not do) to alter the course of my life for the better? If nothing else, they imply a positive attitude.

So what is my New Year's resolution? I was looking back at some of my Facebook status updates and noticed an alarming trend:

"Law school suuuucks."
"I hate law school."
"This sucks."
"Kill me."
"F.M.L."
"I feel like crap."
"I am fat."
"I hate studying."
"Is this really my life?"

I am somewhat ashamed to read back on these posts. It would appear I have become quite a negative person. It never occured to me that I complain so much. Did it do any good? Probably not. If anything, it made me feel worse. Things are hard enough already without being so negative and cynical. So why complain about that which you cannot change? There really is no point. And there's no honor in it.

Allow me to digress for a moment and tell you some personal information. This summer, my dad went into the hospital and stayed there for about two months. He had to have his leg amputated due to complications from his diabetes. Every day, my mom, my sister, and I would go see him. There was a time when things were not looking good. The doctors thought he was dying. He developed a bad infection on his leg. He was running a fever. He was delirious. The doctors were doing all they could. All we could do here at home was pray.

Eventually, my dad did get better. The infection went away and the fever subsided. But, my dad had lost his leg. When he came home from the hospital, he had to adapt. Confined to wheelchair, he had to make his way around using what he had. Then, one day, the doctors were able to get him a prosthetic leg.

It was very difficult getting used to the prosthesis, like learning to walk all over again. In fact, he is still getting used to it. He has lost his balance and fallen down. The phsyical therapy is helping. He is getting stronger every day. I have full confidence that soon he will be up and about like nothing.

Why do I tell you this? Well, in all the days, weeks, months, that my dad spent in the hospital, after all the pain and heartache, through the misery and hell of losing a limb, not once did I ever hear my dad complain. Not once did I ever hear him curse or grumble. Not once did I ever him lament his situation.

It would have been easy to throw in the towel, whimper and whine into a corner, get bitter. What he went through - is still going through - sucks. It really does. Life, sometimes, is a bitch, and it fucking blows. You get hurt. You feel angry. I don't deserve this. This wasn't supposed to happen to me. But, you have to move through it. You don't get over it, you move through it. Anger is just not a very useful emotion in the long-run. The most it will get you is a few quick spurts of energy and then you are back where you started. Optimism and hope are much more productive, long-lasting emotions.

In the end, you do the best you can and you try to enjoy the little things.

These days, my dad laughs all the time. He listens to good music (some Charlie Parker or Miles Davis on the stereo), eats good food, and smiles big. He is enjoying life.

I want to be like him.

I want to enjoy life. I want to realize my blessings and savor them. How can I do that if I am always complaining, always seeing the bad side of things instead of the good?

So here it is, my New Year's resolution for 2011: I, Gerard Martinez, hereby promise to focus on the good things in life instead of the bad, to stay positive and hopeful even when the world around me is crumbling to pieces; I promise to be joyful, to count my blessings and be forever grateful for the gift of life; I promise to enjoy this life to the fullest because it is precious and you only get one shot at it.

Happy New Year's and happy running!

Running for a Cause: Lisa Smith-Batchen's Journey Across America (Part 3)

The woods are lovely, dark and deep. The flow of the cool water around her legs transported her away, far away, from Rockville, Maryland. The throbbing in her feet and calves gradually melted. She closed her eyes and she was home. Her husband and two daughters were standing in the hallway of their house in Idaho. Gabriella and Anabella ran to her with beaming faces as she knelt down and held out her arms to receive them. “I’ve missed you” she whispered. “We missed you, too, mommy,” they said as they buried their faces in her embrace. Jay came over and wrapped his arms around his family. She could have stayed this way forever. Right here. A perfect, happy moment.

When Lisa Smith-Batchen opened her eyes she was still standing in the creek. I have promises to keep. She stood still and listened to the sounds of the woods around her. There came the music of the gently babbling stream and, in the distance, the drawn-out, high-pitched call of a female Wood Duck. The wind stood still and Lisa listened to her own breathing. The day was now over, and it all came flooding back to her: you just ran another 50 miles. Suddenly, the pain returned full-throttle. “God,” she called out, and she plopped down listlessly. Miles to go before I sleep, and miles to go before I sleep.

The water was filthy, but she didn't care. It was a sweltering afternoon – quite unbearable, really. Her shirt clung to her body as the heat radiated across her salt-caked skin. But that wasn’t really what was getting her down at the moment. She was lost. She had already run 600 miles, and although she was done for today, Lisa had somehow missed the trail head to get back to the RV camper. She heard one of her crew say that they must have gone off course by about two miles. Two extra miles seemed like an insurmountable distance at the moment.

Looking down, she could see the wavering outline of her blue Crocs in the yellow-brown water. People had asked her why she ran in Crocs. To be honest, they were just really comfortable. She put an insole in them, wore two or three pairs of socks for padding and she was good to go. Comfy, indeed. But, right now, she might as well have been running in high heels, her feet hurt so much. She closed her eyes again and sat perfectly still in the muddy creek.

“You okay?” Mike Evan’s voice fell muffled on her ears. Her loyal friend, affectionately called Spud by the rest of the crew, stood watching from the rocky bank. Lisa could hardly bring herself to answer. Am I okay? Probably not, Mike. It was hard to see the silver lining. Things just weren't clicking. She wasn't getting into the groove of it. On top of that, it seemed Marshall had been wrong.

Her good friend, Marshall Ulrich, the Endurance King himself, had said she would need to be patient, that the first ten states would be especially tough. On the eleventh day, he informed her, she would fall into the routine of the journey and things would start to get easier. He should know; in 2008, at age 57, he completed his 3,000 mile run across America in just 52.5 days, breaking two transcontinental speed records. Marshall knew that at some point the body learns to adapt to what you put it through. When you run 50 miles a day, everyday, like Lisa was doing, your body needs time to process the abuse you are subjecting it to. Eleven days. That was the magic number. What the hell was the problem then? She hung her head in despair.

Maybe the training wasn’t enough. Lisa had built her entire training regimen around the eleven-day principle. To prepare for the project, all Lisa did was walk around her hometown of Driggs. She threw in some weekly workouts to strengthen her core, but she hardly did any running. Knowing that her body would eventually get used to running such a high daily mileage, she did not want to get into endurance-level shape prior to the start of her journey, only to be overtrained midway through and suffer some kind of overuse injury. Better to start off in good shape, but not in great shape, and gradually get fitter as the run progressed. In theory, she should have been in top physical form by now.

Did I mess up by not training harder? Lisa tossed that thought right out the window. She knew it wasn’t true. In reality, walking and core exercises were just the tip of the iceberg. Her whole life had been preparing her for this run. It honestly felt like she had spent her entire athletic career training for this. Thinking back to all the tears, all the sweat and blood of all her previous athletic endeavors, she realized a simple truth that filled her with a tremendous sense of courage: no matter what happened, she was and always would be Lisa Smith-Batchen. An obvious fact, sure. But there was profound comfort in it; in difficult situations, it helps to remind yourself who you are. Lisa knew what she was capable of. She was a person who loved deeply and was loved. Her power was within.

Yes, this was tough. And, yes, she was going to some dark places, emotionally. However, she had traveled across the barren landscape of dark human emotion before and she knew what to expect. Things would get better. Marshall was right. Patience is crucial. Persistence is key.

Yet, sometimes it is necessary to be flexible as well. Take the donuts for example. Starting off, Lisa had decided to keep true to her nutrition principles and eat only good, whole foods – things like avocados, tomatoes, and beans. She quickly realized that wouldn’t be enough. After adhering to her strict diet for a few states, Lisa realized she needed calorie-dense foods, high in fat and sugar, to fuel her body. At the sip of her first milkshake, she perked up immediately. When she bit into a glazed donut, it was like somebody was charging her up, like a car being filled with gas. People in each state would show up to run with Lisa, and when they saw her eating the sugary confections, word got around that she eats donuts and drinks milkshakes. Alert the press!

Soon people from all over, total strangers, were bringing her boxes and boxes of the fried goodies. Amusing as it was to be thought of by random people as some kind of donut junkie, the whole episode merely reinforced the flexibility principle: nothing is certain. Like life, running is not an exact science. The trick is to not let it throw you off. You have to take what's happening in stride, make the changes necessary, say positive, and keep going. Make lemons into lemonade, she told herself. The willingness to alter the way you are doing things, to modify your strategy when things aren’t going as planned, is such a key tenet for ultrarunners. Change is good. In fact, it's inevitable.

If things weren’t looking good right now, right at this moment, as Lisa sat in the Creek o’ Filth, she simply had to try and see things in a different light. The power was indeed within.

She thought of the children that she was running to raise money for. She thought of her family.

Get up.

She was done for the day. Another 50 miles down and she was closer now to her goal. Her dream of dreams was being actualized. Had she ever felt more alive than now?

Get up.

A joy filled her heart. Lisa couldn’t wait to get back to the RV camper and lay in her bed, down a milkshake, and get some rest. A donut sounded good. Two miles was nothing.

Get up.

She knew eventually would get up from the water and walk back to the RV. Her crew stood around, ready to tend to her needs. A few minutes passed. The sounds of nature floated all around her. She was at peace.

Slowly, quietly, Lisa rose to her feet.


This article is part of a series that will be published on a monthly basis. Stay tuned for more of Lisa's incredible story! Click here if you missed Part 1 and Part 2 of Lisa's story.

Cactus Rose 100 Race Report (Part 1)

As I write this, I am listening to Laura Nyro's "Save the Country" - a great song by a great artist - and I am struck by a particular verse:

I got fury in my soul./Fury's gonna take me to the glory goal.

I dig it. I, too, have fury in my soul, and after this past weekend's DNF (stands for "Did Not Finish") at the Cactus Rose 100 Mile Trail Run, I am more determined than ever to become the best ultrarunner I can be.

How can I express all the things that are running through my mind - the anger, the pride, the joy, the sadness? I'm a bundle of emotion, all tightly bound together, with no way to exorcise the pain or get away from it. But, I'm okay with that. I don't want to avoid the agony. It's characteristic of ultrarunners, I think, to face pain and process it, embrace it and learn from it.


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"Can you run 5 miles in an hour?" The question was sort of laughable. Of course I couldn't. I had been running for well over 75 miles. My quads were screaming. I could feel two big blisters on the bottoms of my feet. I just wanted to stop. But something told me not to throw in the towel. Here I was at the main aid station (nicknamed "The Lodge") which served as the start and end of each 25-mile loop. I had taken a shortcut from Boyles to The Lodge to call it quits. There was no way I was going to make it the five miles from Boyles to the Lodge in time to make the cutoff. No way. The officials at the Lodge looked at me with concern.

After being lost in the Bandera wilderness for nearly six hours, I had finally made it to Boyles. I wasn't injured and I was in fairly good spirits. But, I had spent so much time being lost, wandering aimlessly through the nasty, rugged trails of the Texas Hill Country that I now had only an hour to make it to the main aid station to meet the cutoff time to start the fourth and last loop of the race. Why did I take the shortcut back here to the main aid station to quit instead of just running the damn five miles? Was I really a quitter? Did I not have the right stuff, the stuff to finish? It was just five miles. Oh, but what a five miles! If you've ever run the trails of the State Natural Area in Bandera, Texas, you know how grueling those five miles can be.

The terrain is rocky, unforgiving, and extremely technical. There are almost no flat running sections. You are either clamoring uphill or tearing, trying not to tumble, downhill. I hear it is one of the toughest race courses in the country. Five miles in one hour? I don't think so. When I realized the certainty of my defeat, I walked the quarter-mile shortcut back to the Lodge to tell them I was going to have to quit. But, something felt wrong just giving up like that. I had worked so hard to get to this point. All my training, all my time and energy and money... I couldn't let it all go to waste. Besides, I felt pretty damn good. Aside from my legs being a little sore and my feet hurting, I was in great shape. I had to give it my best shot. I snapped.

"Drive me back to Boyles. I'm going to do the five miles," I said.

"Okay, but you have to make it back here by 7:15 a.m. to start the next loop," the race official told me.

"I understand."

I stuffed my pockets with energy gels and PB&J sandwiches and refilled my water bottles. I jumped in the passenger side of a truck that pulled up and got a ride back to Boyles. Once there, I very quickly jumped out of the truck and began ascending Boyles Bump, a grisly little 300-foot climb. Then, I shot down the side of the hill, only to encounter another hard climb, a repulsive roller called Cairn's Climb. I ran like I've never run before. I was bawling. Angry tears fell hot down my cheeks. I knew it was all in vain. No matter how hard I pushed, I knew I probably would not make it in time. But, I had to try. The sun was coming up now. The fiery red of the horizon struck me as an odd sight to behold, reinforcing a startling fact: I had been running for over 24 hours straight.

Those five miles stretched on forever. I had a lot of time to think out there. Mostly I thought of my friends and family. I thought of Steven Monte, Dave Carder, Lee Irons, and Lynnor Matheney, who were also running the race and who, I knew, were out there somewhere, in pain, like me. I thought of my dad, who, just a few weeks earlier had his leg amputated due to complications from diabetes and who wanted to be there to support me at the race so badly that he mustered the strength and courage to make the trip to Bandera just to see me run.

I thought of my mom, the strongest person I know, who has loved and supported me through all my triumphs and failings and who, I knew, would be there for me at the finish line no matter what. I thought of my sister, who brings joy to my heart even in the darkest of times. I thought of my friend Aleia, paradigm of loyalty and love.

I thought of Lisa Smith-Batchen, one of the most amazing athletes I know of, a strong and loving person, who has accomplished so much and who will always remain my greatest inspiration. I thought of Shannon Farrar-Griefer, a badass ultrarunner and beautiful woman, whose determination to endure is nothing short of amazing. I thought of Eric Clifton, an uncompromising athlete, who runs the way he wants to - fast - and will settle for nothing less than his very best in a race.

I thought of all these people. And I kept running. Always, always, moving forward...

Part 2 to be posted soon.

Running for a Cause: Lisa Smith-Batchen's Journey Across America (Part 2)

"Say something." The cameraman did one last sound check before he started recording. Lisa had never had so much media attention in her life. It seemed as if nowadays someone was always sticking a camera in her face. First, there was the Good Morning America show, and she was still scheduled to appear on CNN and plenty other news programs throughout the country, not to mention all the people who came out with their own camera equipment, wanting to get a picture with the woman running through America. Lisa looked around her. The cool light of the early morning augmented the feeling of unreality. The world seemed calm and tranquil, but her soul burned with such passion and excitement. She stood at the precipice, the beginning of something big.

Was she really standing here in Morristown, New Jersey, talking to the camera? Were all these people here to see her? Home was over 2,500 miles away now. The thought made her shiver slightly. She stuck her gloved hands in her jacket pockets.

"Why are you doing this," the interviewer asked her.

For a second, she was at a loss for words. Lisa couldn't process fast enough all the things she was feeling. She glanced over at Sister Mary Beth, dressed in her full black habit. She was busy talking with a group of people who had shown up to run. Part of the order of the Religious Teachers Filipini, Sister Mary Beth had to wear her black wool tunic and headpiece at all times, even while running. Lisa noted her friend's blue Pearl Izumi running shoes. The Running Nun. Lisa smiled to herself: it felt so good to know that Sister Mary Beth was with her, supporting her wholeheartedly. It filled her with resolve.

"I'm running for orphans all over the world," she told the interviewer.

Sister Mary Beth taught Lisa the incomparable joy of running for a purpose, running for a something besides personal gratification. Helping others became the motivating force behind her athletic endeavors; indeed, it was the driving philosophy of her daily life. People run for many different reasons. Some people run to lose weight. Others run for peace of mind. Lisa ran to help the less fortunate. All the money raised during this project would go to two charities: AIDS Orphans Rising and the Caring House Project. Her focus was on helping children.

Lisa thought of her own two daughters. Little Annabella and Gabriella. She imagined them asleep in bed right now. Soon they would be waking up to go to school. She wanted more than anything to be there to kiss them when they woke. It had crossed her mind to bring them along, but she felt it was important to maintain a stable atmosphere for them; her and her husband, Jay, had talked about it. They decided it was best not to disrupt their daughters' lives during this project any more than what was absolutely necessary.

In truth, she was also running with them in mind. When she envisioned their beautiful faces, she couldn't help but think of the thousands of children out there with no home and no one to look after them, no one to hold them when they got scared, no one to tell them how wonderful they are and how much they are loved. No one who cared. But, Lisa did care. She aimed to provide these children with food, clothing, shelter and educational opportunities. To give hope. This was her mission, pure and simple, deep and true.

It wouldn't be easy; she knew that much. It would be painful as hell.

One million dollars. That's how much money she wanted to raise. It was an ambitious goal, to be sure. Several people told her it couldn't be done. But, she had faith. She had thought about it long and hard. Some nights, months earlier, while her husband and kids slept soundly, Lisa tossed and turned in bed, unable to sleep. She kept turning the number over and over in her mind, feeling its contours like a stone in hand. Heavy. Solid. Smooth. One million dollars. It seemed so possible. Her logic was this: if she got the word out about her project to a million people, and each of those people gave just one dollar, she would reach her goal. Pretty simple. One dollar didn't seem like such an impossible thing to expect of people.

Lisa finished the interview and went to join her crew. Mike, Mary Ann, and Ashley were setting up supplies by the camper. It was time to start running. Everyone huddled around for a group prayer. Sister Mary Beth took her place next to Lisa. Everyone who showed up to run came together and stood silent. Gathered in a circle, they all bowed their heads and offered up their petitions. Family, friends, and even complete strangers united, hand-in-hand, on that chilly morning in Morristown. It was April 19, 2010. The sun was peaking over the horizon. It promised to be a beautiful day. With one last look around at all the new and familiar faces of the people who were making her dream come true, Lisa took the first step of her journey...

This article is part of a series that will be published on a monthly basis. Stay tuned for more of Lisa's incredible story! Click here if you missed Part 1 of Lisa's story and here for Part 3.

Running for a Cause: Lisa Smith-Batchen's Journey Across America (Part 1)

The foot was definitely broken. The doctor looked at it from every angle, applying slight pressure with his fingers at various points. She winced. "Does that hurt?" A no-brainer. The pain was radiant, brilliant and clear. Damned potholes. She had been talking casually with a group of people who were running with her in Plano, Texas, when her right foot suddenly rolled over. It was a really small pothole, too. But, it was enough to cause a break in the bone. They told her to stop running, but she couldn't entertain the thought. She just couldn't. She had come too far. And people were counting on her. The kids were counting on her. To stop would be to let them down, and she just couldn't do that. So they iced the foot and slapped an ankle brace on. That was over a month ago. 1,350 miles later, she was still running.

The good doctor's brow furrowed in concern. He looked truly doubtful. "I don't know, Lisa," he said. The foot was throbbing. "I just don't know." Here she was, on the night before her last run, and the orthopedist was giving her the bad news: she might not make it. But, Lisa wouldn't accept that.

"I don't know if your foot is going to last. So, when you see the finish, you just run like hell," he told her. "You give it all you have." Her journey was almost complete. Tomorrow would be her last day running.

Now, the wind whipped all around her. Lisa stood in the afternoon breeze. The sky was overcast. Not much farther. Just a few more miles to go. Just a few. Family and friends had come from all over to see her finish running 2,500 miles through America. That's 50 miles in each of the 50 states in 62 days. No other person on earth had ever accomplished such a feat. Lisa would be the first.

It seemed all of Driggs, Idaho, her hometown, had shown up for the event. It was a circus. People were cheering her name. Cameras flashed every which way. Onlookers honked their car horns. The local fire department had shown up, and they blasted their truck's siren. Even the weather wanted in on the party: the winds were absolutely torrential. Claps of thunder swelled in the threatening sky. "Look, Lisa," said Sister Mary Beth in an awed whisper, "God is bringing us home with a bang." Her good friend had always supported her and given her strength when she needed it most. Sr. Mary Beth's kind eyes brimmed with warmth and compassion. An accomplished athlete herself, the media dubbed Sr. Mary Beth Lloyd as "the Running Nun," but to Lisa Smith-Batchen, she was, and always would be simply "godmother." Lisa put on her shoe and stood up.

She started running. The pain was agonizing. The crowds emboldened her. But, there was something else that kept her going, something apart from the people and the cheering, something only she could hear - a voice, clear as crystal and serene as the sunset. A little voice that seemed to drown out all the noise of the wind and thunder. It told her everything was going to be okay and to keep moving. It made her feel so peaceful, so strong, like anything was possible. Anything. She had heard this voice before in her life, and each time she heard it, it filled her with such grace. It fueled her onward, through difficult times. It did so now. Each step came a little easier. It felt like she was walking on air, like the very wind was picking her up and lifting her to town and to the finish. Lisa was overwhelmed with emotion. Tears poured down her cheeks. Never in her life had she felt more loved than at this moment, right here and now.

Her husband and children were waiting for her at the finish. She could see her two little girls, Annabella and Gabriella, holding up the yellow ribbon finish line. She yearned to hold her daughters in her arms, to kiss and embrace her husband. She could see her family in the distance. Run like hell. Suddenly, the sun broke through the overcast sky and illuminated the scene. The brightness was exquisite. It brought Lisa's mind back to recollections of the long journey that brought her to this very point. As her community chanted her name, impelling her to the finish, Lisa's memory raced back in time...

Two months earlier, she was in a park in Morristown, New Jersey, about to embark on a long journey across the America. Her shoes were laced, and she was ready to start running.

This article is part of a series that will be published on a monthly basis. Click here for Part 2 of Lisa's story and here for Part 3.

Prayer to God

I didn't want to go back to law school this year. My dad has been sick in the hospital and I felt like I needed to stay here by his side. But, I guess you have different plans. That's cool, I guess. All I ask is that you give me the strength I will need to be away from my family and to handle whatever little dramas come up throughout the year. Also, about that whole career thing and the future, please help me figure something out soon. I'm getting scared. Another thing: please don't let me get injured while running. I need running now more than ever. Help me train well for the Cactus Rose 100. I want to kick ass at that race. I know there's something else, but I can't remember what it is. I'll get back to you. Thanks, God.

-gerry

Losing Weight - Part 1

I used to be fat. The picture on the left, that was me. A year and a half ago, I was clinically obese. At 5'4, I weighed over 340 lbs. I wore 56" waist pants. It was a bad thing because diabetes runs in my family. My dad has it. My aunts have it.

The weird thing is I never saw myself as fat. I knew I wasn't skinny, but I never considered my situation a dire one, or even one deserving much thought or attention. Then my aunt died.

Her name was Maggie, my Aunt Maggie, and we were very close. I don't have a big family. It's just me, my parents, my sister Becky, my two aunts, and my cousin Isaac. That's it. My Aunt Maggie never got married or had kids. She struggled with obesity and diabetes for most of her life.

Then, her kidneys failed her. She had to go to dialysis. Twice a week, every week. I remember going to drop her off some mornings. She had to be at the clinic at 5 am sharp. She'd stay there for three hours or so while they "cleaned her blood." Six long and painful years. I remember the tears.

Aunt Maggie had been on the list for a kidney transplant. She carried around a beeper. It would buzz if the hospital received a matching donor. It could ring at any time, day or night, and she would have to be at the hospital within minutes: the donor kidney doesn't keep long. So she had to be prepared. She kept a bag ready in her closet, packed with clothes and toiletries. For six years, she waited. Then one night, she got the call! A mad scramble to the hospital. She got my dad to drive her - bless her heart. My dad is a beast behind the wheel.

We were all very excited. We waited patiently for news. How did the surgery go? Was she okay? Did the kidney take? We waited. And waited.

Aunt Maggie never came out of the hospital. Something had gone wrong. Her body rejected the organ. Things got complicated. Doctors came to see her. They poked her with needles. They ran tests. She wasn't allowed to leave

Days turned into weeks. Weeks turned into months. We went to see her every day. Some days were good. Most days were not. Little by little, her body was shutting down. Before long, the doctors were preparing us for the worse: there was nothing more they could do. Her situation was hopeless. She was going to die. They would give her medications to ease the pain.

That was a hard blow to my family. In her last days, her lips were blue. Her skin was pale. She couldn't recognize us. She couldn't even talk or move. My Aunt Mernie, her sister, went to her bedside. "Do you remember me," she asked. "Do you know who I am?" Nothing.

By this point, the doctors still had my aunt on life support. Chemicals were being pumped into her body on a daily basis just to keep her alive. One day, the doctors gave my family a choice. They could cease administration of all medications, all treatments, and allow her to live out her last few days without being poked and prodded. She wouldn't feel pain. She would die with some peace.

My family would hear nothing of it. The anger we all felt was overwhelming.

My Aunt Mernie sat at her sister's bedside, defeated, not knowing what to do. She looked at her sister. She tried to speak to her. Nothing. Aunt Maggie hadn't been out of it for weeks. They told us she wasn't even conscious of what was going on around her.

But then, she moved. Faintly. Slowly. Her eyes started to open. This startled my Aunt Mernie. "Are you okay, Maggie," she asked. "Do you know who I am?" My Aunt Maggie looked at her. She actually looked at her! Her lips moved. She wanted to speak. The words formed slowly... "It's... okay," she uttered. That was it. A faint smile came across her face and she closed her eyes.

My Aunt Mernie told the family what had happened. She told my grandfather, too. My grandfather, who has since passed away, was in his 90s when this happened. He was house-bound and confined to a wheelchair. A very religious man, her spent most of his days praying and meditating. My aunt explained the situation to him. For a long time, she had been trying to spare him the details. But, she couldn't anymore. "They want to stop medications. They want to let her pass." My grandfather wouldn't hear it. "I don't think she is here with us anymore, dad," my aunt told him. "I think her soul is with God." My grandfather said he wanted to see his daughter in the hospital.

We took him. He sat at her bedside. He held her hand. He prayed over her. When my Aunt took him back home, he told her, "I didn't want to believe you when you told me what you did. But, I can see you were right. She isn't here with us anymore. I believe she is with God right now."

We made the decision to cease treatments.

My aunt passed away on September 12, 2008. She was in the hospital for six months. Her favorite color was red. She loved Elvis Presley. We all miss her intensely. We still tell stories, stories about all the funny things she said and did. Stories of her kind and courageous nature. Her vibrant spirit.

She was a powerful person. A strong person. She was one of the reasons I decided to take control of my life and lose weight. Her strength and power emboldened me to make some big changes...