Tales from the Furnace: Bradford Lombardi Pre-Race Q&A

When I called Brad Lombardi on May 29, 2012, he was in his one-bedroom apartment in Stuart, Florida, eating a green salad while perched on a plastic lawn chair his neighbor lent him. You see, Brad doesn't own any furniture. No table. No chairs. He doesn't even own a TV. Just a foam pad to sleep on and an air conditioning unit that is left perpetually unplugged. It is all part of a conscious style of simple living that he has adopted; what Brad doesn't have in material possessions, he makes up for by living life to the extreme. The 43 year old ultrarunner and ex-smoker has tackled the 100 mile distance with some incredible results. I talked to Brad about life, relationships, and running. This summer, he is set to run the legendary Badwater Ultramarathon in Death Valley, California.

I want to start by congratulating you on your performance at the Keys 100 miler.

Well, I’m a little disappointed, but I’ve learned that you don’t get greedy with these things and you take what you can get.

Disappointed? You finished in, what, 19 hours?

Yeah.

A lot of people would consider that to be a pretty good time.

Well, I was shooting for 16:30, so…

And this was your second time doing Keys, right?

Yeah. It was actually my one year anniversary of doing 100 milers. The Keys 100 in 2011 was actually my first 100 mile race. In that 12 month period, I toed the line for seven 100 milers. And I went five-for-seven.

What do you think went wrong this time?

It was the rain. My feet got wet. We hit my time targets in the beginning. I was at 3 hours and 30 minutes at the 25 mile mark. My target was 7 hours and 40 minutes for 50 miles. I came in at 7 hours and 41 minutes. So, I was right on schedule. But, then my feet got wet, and it just went all downhill from there. I actually got cold during the race. The last thing I expected during that race was that I was going to get cold and that I was going to be wet. I had prepared myself for the heat. I love the heat. I was expecting it to get up to 100 degrees, maybe even 110. I thought, “The hotter the better.” And as soon as the rain came out, I was just laughing to myself. I was like, “Are you kidding me right now?”

Have you always been an athlete?

Pretty much. The main thing that has kept me in shape over the years has been surfing. I’ve been surfing for about 25 years now, and that’s kind of all I did for a long time. I had run a few marathons before. In my early 40s, I did a few 5k and 10k races. Stuff like that. But, I was a pack-a-day smoker less than three years ago. That’s kind of my claim to fame. I quit cold turkey on July 25, 2009. Since since that day, I have done over 50 marathons and ultras, including my seven 100 milers. It just sort of progressed. I didn’t even know what the hell an ultramarathon was until my friend told me about them.

Tell me about surfing. Do you still ride the waves?

I do, but not like I used to. My friends in San Diego still don’t understand how I have put surfing on hold to do this whole Badwater thing. For a long time, surfing was, literally, all I ever did. From the ages of 22 to 40, that was who I was. A surfer. I left every girlfriend; I left every job; I left every stable situation I was ever in to chase waves around. Every job I’ve ever had has been, basically, near the surf, in the four corners of the United States: the Pacific Northwest, New England, Florida, and California. I worked on boats mostly so that I could be close to the water.

How do you relate surfing and running together?

I just love to do both. Surfing and running are the kind of sports that just keep you happy and fit because you like doing them. They are not a painful tasks. You don’t have to twist my arm to get me to go out and run or surf. I do it because I like doing it. They are also very similar in the sense that they very individual sports.

I find a lot of runners I talk to tended to shy away from team sports when they were younger.

It’s kind of a selfish sport. I don’t like team stuff. My girlfriend always says that I’m a loner. I don’t like groups. I don’t like too much interaction. I do a lot of these Ragnar Relay Races. But, the only way I will do a relay is if it is totally paid for, if I don’t have to spend a dime, and if I don’t have to drive. That’s kind of my rule because I just don’t really like it. But, I do them because it’s forced miles.

What do you do for a living?

I’m a traditional wooden boat builder by trade and I worked as a shipwright and carpenter for many years. But, presently, I work as a test driver for emerging amphibious vehicles. It’s actually a pretty cool job. I’m like the Chuck Yeager of these kinds of vehicles. They haven’t really hit the market yet. I’m not really allowed to talk too much about them. We’re not allowed to take photos or talk too much about them, but imagine a cross between a four-wheeler and a jet ski. These things cruise around on land, and then, when they hit the water, you push a button and they turn into a jet ski. Basically, my job is, for ten hours a day, I go drive them around and push them to their limits until they break, and then try to figure out why things are breaking. It’s pretty much a dream job.

Sounds fun.

And the funny thing is, they found me. At first, I thought it was a joke. But, the guys that run it are really cool. They know what I’ve got going on here and they are very accommodating. If I’ve got a race to do or whatever, they give me the days off. It’s good money. And it’s a lot of work. You ride these things for a lot of hours. It’s kind of good cross training. So, that’s an added bonus.

Where did you grow up?

I was born in Rhode Island, and I grew up in New England: Rhode Island and New Hampshire. I went to high school out in Seattle. Then, I went to Boston for college.

Was athletics a big part of your childhood?

I grew up playing hockey. I started running when I was probably around 12 years old. I did some road races. In junior high school, I was actually a pretty good cross country runner. I think I got 12th place in the Rhode Island state championships. But, when we moved out to Seattle, I didn't run in high school. It’s kind of funny because now I’m friends with all these guys from high school still, and they were all these big track stars in school and they see what I am doing now and they ask me, “Why the hell didn’t you run in high school?” I really don’t have an answer for that. Because I was going to dance clubs and smoking cigarettes probably.

Yuck. Of all the vices, why cigarettes?

I don’t know. Coming out of the water when you’re done surfing and having a butt and some coffee; being around a boatyard; being a carpenter. It all just went hand-in-hand with smoking. Really unhealthy. And I got bigger. Not necessarily fat, but muscular from swinging a hammer, moving big wood and big boats and stuff. I was up to about 205 pounds, smoking butts regularly. I smoked not so much as a social activity or to be cool or anything. I just liked smoking by myself and working on wood and working on boats. I don't anymore though. [Laughs]. I hate it. I’ll never go back.

What made you quit?

It was my high school girlfriend. She got cancer. She was doing chemo treatments in Seattle, and I was in Boston at the time. She has since passed away, but at the time, we talked on the phone a lot. She would call me up during her treatments at 3 a.m. - it was midnight where I was. And we would talk. She convinced me to turn my life around. She got got me to quit smoking. And she convinced me to get into running. She was my catalyst. I envisioned her just sitting there in that hospital, dying to get out and do something. But, she couldn’t. And here I was, clowning around with my life. I had to change.

And what a change! You were an occasional recreational runner and now you are running the world's toughest footrace.

I've really enjoyed the journey. I've gotten pretty far in just a short period of time. I went from toeing the line of my first 100 miler to running Badwater in just 14 months.

What attracts you to these extreme events as opposed to shorter distances?

The 100 mile distance, for me right now, is the distance that really gets my attention. It’s difficult for me to even consider doing the little races. A lot of my friends are triathletes and super fast 5k and 10k people. They are always trying to get me to do these little races, but it doesn’t turn me on. The 100 mile distance is just such a daunting distance. I don’t care if you’re Mike Morton or any of the other big guys: every guy that toes the line realizes what he is in for for that day. It’s so frickin’ hard. But, when it’s over, it’s pretty satisfying. It’s tough to top. I’m sure with Badwater, if I can somehow find that finish line in the time I’m looking to do, it’s probably going to be a peak thing. It’s going to be an epic moment in my life, I’m sure.

You were telling me earlier about your difficulties financing Badwater. Tell me more about trying to strike that balance between work – trying to earn money – and going off and doing these races, which can be quite costly.

It’s tough. I give my girlfriend a lot of the credit because she helps with so much of the financial stuff. I only get paid once a month. So, I get paid tomorrow for the month of May. Then, I’m going to have to wait another 30 days for the next paycheck. Which means this will be my last paycheck before Badwater. It totally – excuse my French – fucks me. I had a friend who was able to pull a few strings to get me into the San Diego 100 mile race on June 10, but I don’t have the cash to get there. It kind of sucks.

You’re also going to school now.

Yeah, I’m a part-time student. Over the years, I moved around so much that I never finished my degree. I have three classes to go in a degree that I started twenty years ago at Boston University. Because of the online program through Southern New Hampshire University, I am able to finish it. The degree is in English language and literature. The idea was that once I stopped running around I was going to go teach abroad or something. At this stage, I may parlay this whole running thing into some kind of teaching or coaching deal. Or something along those lines. It’s never too late, you know. I essentially started running at the age of 40, and I kind of went back to school at age 40, too. It's funny: I feel younger now at age 43 than I did at age 23. It really is relative. A lot of people think I am in my late 20s or something. But, I was born in 1969. I’m an old dude.

What is your girlfriend's name?

Brooke.

How did you meet?

I met her two years ago when I was in Florida. I was actually dating another girl at the time. Brooke was friends with my next door neighbor, and we met because I had a dog and she had a couple of dogs. Well, time went by. I left Florida and went on a road trip out west. I went and worked on a boat in Washington for six months. I broke up with the other girl, and then decided to come back to Florida about a year and a half ago. It just happened we were both single, and boom! I just started dating her! So, it’s been about a year and a half.

Is she involved in your running career?

When I met her, she didn’t know anything about this ultra stuff. She liked being around it, though. She crewed me for my first 100 miler. And I’m tough to deal with. I’ll warn you right now. Towards the end of race, I can be quite nasty. But she put up with it. She is incredible. She knows what I need during the course of a race. I don’t stop anymore during 100 milers. I used to have to sit down and eat something or change. But, now, I just grab whatever she gives me. I don’t even have to ask. She just knows me that well. The thought of going out there to races without her is very scary to me. I’m pretty confident that I couldn’t do it without her there.

Not to change the topic from your girlfriend, but what do you mean you are difficult to deal with during a race?

I can be kind of moody. Everyone knows that about me. My crew knows what to say and what not to say. My pacer knows when to open his mouth and when to shut it. I actually tell my pacer that: “Don’t speak until you are spoken to.” I don’t sugarcoat stuff. Some people hate me because of that. If I don’t like something about you, I’m not going to pretend. You’re going to get an honest answer out of me. I’m brutally honest. Abrasively honest. And when things aren’t going my way, it’s pretty tough to be around me. During these races, I can be a total jerk. During Iron Horse, there was a stretch where I missed my girlfriend for about 4 miles. It was between miles 92 and 96. I ran out of food and water. And that cost me a sub-17 hour finish time. I was on track for a 16:50 finish. But, my tank went on empty and I had nothing. I was crawling. When I finally met up with her and she got me food and water, I was a dick. I was screaming at her.

And how does she handle all this? The races. All this training time you’re putting in. Is that strain on the relationship?

At the beginning it was, but she understands. She’s really easy. She’s also very independent. She has all her own stuff going on. So, we don’t have that tension that a lot of couples do. And I know a lot of people do have it. A lot of my friends do. It’s a lot of hours. My training runs 25 to 30 hours a week. Plus working. Plus my class. Plus sleeping. It doesn’t leave a lot of extra free time. Fortunately, I live very simply.

What do you mean by living simply?

I haven’t owned a TV in 23 years. I don’t even have any furniture in here right now. Essentially, all I’m doing is sleeping on a foam mattress and trying to stay really simple and focused on getting fit. I just recently got a phone. I didn’t even have a phone for a year and a half. But, now I do. So, I guess I’m kind of rejoining society a little bit.

And just to be clear: this lifestyle is by design. It’s a chosen philosophy more than a default one. You choose to live this way.

Absolutely. And I’ve lived this way for a long time. It’s funny; a bunch of triathlete friends of mine all came over to my place the other day to give me a ride. My friend Gavin had to step inside because he had heard stories about my place but had never seen it for himself. He looked around and said, “Well, you do have an air conditioner, but it’s unplugged!” I actually have Christmas lights plugged in the wall, and that is kind of my lighting situation right now. My parents would see me when I was living in San Diego or Boston or wherever the hell I was – I’ve moved over 40 times in 43 years – and they would feel bad for me. They thought I was living in this unhappy poverty-stricken state. They’d go out and they’d buy me all this shit, and I’d come home from work and there would be a little bed and a little table with some chairs. And three months later, I’d move someplace else; so, I’d sell the stuff. They’d get all pissed off. They probably did that about ten times over the years.

Do you find there is a lot of pressure to conform to the “normal” lifestyle of our materialistic culture. House. Car. That sort of thing.

No. People don’t get it. Like my friend Gavin. He was just blown away. They call my apartment “the monastery.” The average American household has the TV on for seven hour a day. The average American individual watches TV for four hours a day. One day, I just got out a calculator and I multiplied 4 hours by 30 days by 12 months by 40 years. And the amount of hours TV takes up in our lives is just ridiculous. I realized at the age of 19 that that was something I just didn’t want to do. That was the last time I owned a television. I gave my TV away, and that was it. I’ve had people give me TV sets over the years and I ended up just giving them away. I won’t do it. I won’t spend my life like that.

And yet, non-active people are often astonished that ultrarunners can devote hours a day to training. It’s because we don’t spend that time in front of the television.

Absolutely. I’ve had people ask, “How the hell do you do all this? You must have some fancy trust fund set up. Where do you find the time?” If you just turn off your TV! The average American watches TV for four hours a day. Four hours. That is my training for the day. People always talk about these new shows on TV. I have no idea what they are talking about... I read. I do read a lot.

It must be liberating to live that way.

Right now, I have 52 cents in the bank. I guarantee you that I am the poorest person doing Badwater this year. I am a hiccup away from living in a cardboard box. But, I am also a hiccup away from greatness. I am very lucky compared to a lot of people. Even though I don’t have a lot of shit and I don’t have any money, I am very healthy and I am very happy. A lot of people get up in the morning and they think about a fancy car or a big house. I think about running. I’m just very content living this way. I’m very content not having a lot of shit.

That probably makes it easier to relocate!

It's funny: I’m actually about to move out of this place in about two weeks. I am going to put all my stuff in storage, and I’m going to get a travel trailer and drive out to Death Valley. When you live like this, it allows you the opportunity to roll up the carpet and go. I went and paced my friend, Sergio Radovcic, at Ultraman UK this year. He called and said, “You’re the only one I know who’s crazy and stupid enough to roll up the carpet and leave for ten days. Wanna go?” And I was like, “Yeah, let’s go.” Now, if I had a wife and kids, I wouldn’t be doing this.

I want to talk now about Badwater. How did you first hear about the race and what sparked your interest?

The funny thing is, I knew nothing about Badwater. I used to date this girl, and she told me one day, “Hey, I got this movie. Why don’t you watch this while you’re running on the treadmill today. It’s called ‘The Distance of Truth’ and it’s about this guy named Ferg Hawke.” I threw the movie in, and when that movie was over, I said, “I’m going to do that.” And this was long before I even did an ultra. I’ve probably seen that movie 50 times now. I correspond with Ferg now. He’s been really encouraging since I started doing this.

What made you apply this year?

I actually had no intention to apply for Badwater this year. I was actually supposed to crew for Chris Roman. Chris asked me a long time ago, and I said yes. I figured I would go grew this year and 2013 would be my year. But, I was getting better and better at the 100 mile distance. I ran my first 100 miler in 23 hours. Then I took it down to 21 hours. Then, 19 hours. Finally, I dropped down to 17 hours. That was at Iron Horse. After that, I was like, “You know what, I’m just as fast, and, in fact, faster than a lot of these guys doing Badwater.” And I’m super fit right now. So, I figured, why not throw my name in there? I’ve got a decent backstory. I’ve got the credentials. Write a couple of essays. I got a letter of recommendation from Mimi Anderson, who I crewed for last year. It was just kind of a long shot.

Tell me about your relationship with Mimi Anderson. What was it like crewing for her?

It was awesome. I had never met Mimi before going out to crew for her. She was going for the record for the Badwater Double.

Which she got.

Easily. I think she broke it by like 20 hours. When I met Mimi for the Double, I thought, “This is insane. I don't know how someone can even finish Badwater once, let alone turn around and run back to the start. You’re going to run across Death Valley, summit Mount Whitney, and then run all the way back?!" I was actually the first pacer on. I got on at Furnace Creek, at mile 17. At that point, she was hauling ass. I think she was running 8:30 minute miles. And I remember going, “Mimi, you are going way too fast. I know I’m kind of green at this whole thing, but I don’t think this is a good idea.” And by the time we got to mile 30, she was really getting weary. I even said to one of the other crew members, “How is she going to do a Double? I don’t even think she’s going to finish this thing.” And then, I watched this little lady – 5-foot-nothing, 100 pounds, fueled by nothing but grapes and almonds and water (her diet during this race was just so small; it was ridiculous) – just get stronger and stronger. When she got to mile 75 and then cracked 100 miles, all of a sudden, she transformed into this machine. She was just relentless. It was so cool to watch the whole evolution of it. She powered through the thing. Super tough lady. Incredible. And she’s a grandmother! I’m 43 years old, and I'm a pretty tough dude, but I was watching this grandmother run me into the ground. As a pacer, I was just amazed. I needed relief, and she just kept on going. And it’s not like it just ends at Badwater with her. She’s done some insane races. She just finished the Jungle Marathon yesterday.

You draw inspiration from her.

Of course. All that just gets put into your memory bank. She’s been instrumental in keeping me inspired to do this thing. When I get into trouble during these races, I start thinking Ferg. I start thinking Mimi. All these people that you’ve seen come back from the dead and power through these things.

Are you being coached?

Yes. I am doing the Furnace Creek 508, too. I am going for the Death Valley Cup, so I actually have a fancy Belgian coach now. His name is Dr. Peter Vervoort.

How did you come into contact with him?

A friend of mine owns a bike shop called Belgian Bike. And he’s his doctor. He hooked me up with this guy. And the two of them have kind of taken me under their wings to try and hone my skills a little bit because I’ve really never trained before. Up until about two months ago, I’ve never really trained for a race. I would do my running, but there was no rhyme or reason to it. No structure.

And you felt you needed that for the Death Valley Cup?

Well, I wasn’t going to turn it down. It’s kind of nice: every morning, I just click on my phone and it tells me to ride “X” miles or run “X” miles. My coach has incorporated 200 to 300 miles of cycling per week into my running routine. So, I am running about 100 miles a week. And I am cycling about 200 miles. But, what I am going to do for the next few weeks is up my running mileage and just keep my cycling where it is at. I try to stick to what my coach gives me as much as possible, but I adapt it to what I feel I need. Like yesterday I wasn’t supposed to run, but I ran anyway because I felt like it. What they put out there, I treat as a general guideline, but it is not the Bible. When Badwater is over, then, I will quit running and focus on cycling until the 508 in October.

Where do you like to do your training runs?

I really love Florida. I like the Treasure Coast around here. Hutchinson Island is also a good place. Jensen Beach. It’s an 18 mile long island and I love to run there. I kind of feel like a local celebrity when I go run there. I get a lot of honks. A lot of thumbs up. I get a lot of support in this community.

I understand that you have a nickname. What do they call you?

They call me “The Peacock.”

Why do they call you that?

Well, they call me “The Peacock” because – it’s kind of a long story. I’ll give you the short version. The friend I told you about who asked me to pace him at Ultraman UK, Sergio, well, when I met him, it was for a Ragnar thing about two years ago. I’d never met him in person, but he needed a guy to run it, so I said, “As long as it’s paid for, I'll do it,” and he said, “Yep. I got a hotel. I got a van. Everything.” So, my friend Will Glover and I got on this relay team. They picked us up. We started running our leg. And we got really competitive. We set the tempo pretty fast. And when I run, I run very upright and just take off like a peacock. Sergio said it to Will while I was running. He has a European accent. He said, “[Imitating the accent] Will, what is it with Brad? Look at him. Look at the way he runs. He looks like a fucking peacock!” And from that moment on, it kind of stuck. So now, I am the freaking peacock. I went with it. Now, I go to races and I hear people yelling, “Go! Peacock!” It’s pretty cool.

What time of day do you usually run?

Whenever I can get the hours, basically. I belong to a running group, which I attend every Tuesday and Thursday at 5 a.m. I like running with them. And then, I’ll maybe run in the middle of the afternoon if I’m not working. And then, run at night.

Are you doing any specific heat training?

Martin Memorial Hospital is the gym I go to. The trainer there, Scott Morrison, gave me a year's free membership as part of an incentive to, basically, do well at Badwater. He wants to help me. And he gives me a lot of pointers on nutrition and stuff. But, the only sauna in the country is at LA Fitness. So, I was forced to join. And I go there about 4 or 5 times a week.

Is it active or passive sauna time?

I just sit there like Buddha Brad. I’ve worked my way up to where I can sit in there for 60 minutes. I take two big jugs of water in with me that I put in the freezer the night before. And I just sit there and try to control my breathing and stay relaxed and take the heat. I try to be happy with the heat. But, it’s tough because there are so many yahoos who come in and they are kickboxers and they juice the thing up to 240 degrees and sit there for like three minutes. And here I am trying to log in time. It's so frustrating! I’ve come to the point where I just tell them, “Dude, if you are in here for just three minutes, jumping around like a monkey at 240 degrees, it doesn’t do you any health benefit.” I’ve had that conversation with a lot of guys in there.

Do you have a time goal in mind for Badwater?

I do, indeed.

Do you care to share it?

I don’t want to disclose it.

Fair enough. I want to talk now about your mental preparation. We’ve talked about training your body, but how do you prep your mind for an event like this?

That’s funny you say that because people always ask me what my biggest training secret is and that’s it. Mental training. I do a lot of relaxation techniques. I do it in the sauna, and I do it when I go to bed and when I get up in the morning. It’s just kind of realizing and reflecting on where I was and how I got here and what I am doing. Staying focused on the present moment is super important.

Any fears going into this thing?

I think it would be the biggest regret of my life if I don’t come home with that buckle. I even told the guys at work, “At this point, with 45 days left to go, I am willing to walk away from everything in order to know that I’m prepared when I show up on race day. The last thing I want is show up to Badwater Basin and toe that line at 8 a.m. with reservations that I haven’t prepared myself. I want to take the line with confidence, and with a little pinch of fear, that I can cover the distance. I think if I give it my best and if I prepare myself my best and something goes horribly wrong and I don’t finish, then I could probably live with it. But, I will use all 48 hours if I have to.

Brad, I have no doubts that you will be amazing. I want to thank you for taking the time to talk with me, and I want to wish you all the best in your training.

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.