Today, I have a guest post from a friend of mine, Jonathan Gunderson. I wrote about him last week because he inspires the heck out of me. Today, he’s running the Badwater Ultramarathon for the 5th time. He’s an incredibly tough runner and a great, great person. I’m pretty honored to have a guest post from him today.
He has a site, seegundyrun.com, and he raises money through World Harvest Mission to build wells in Uganda, bringing clean water to villages desperately in need. The next time you’re thirsty and you get yourself a glass of water, be grateful you’re not having to get it from a muddy river!
Real quick, on Thursday, I had a contest for a $250 grant and Danielle Sterling and the Cystic Fibrosis Foundation of New England won. Thank you to all the participants. I was excited to have this contest, but by the end of it, it was pretty tough for me to only be able to give the grant to one of the 10 participants.
OK, that being said here’s the guest post from Jonathan:
When Sam asked me about doing a blog post about my 5th run at the Badwater Ultramarathon, the hardest thing for me to do was to figure out how to distill the experience down in way that would be a compelling read without losing the core of what this run means to me. Having done this 135 mile run from Badwater Basin in Death Valley to Mt. Whitney Portal 4 times previously, each year brings with it new challenges and a whole new journey. In my races there, I have experienced 130 degree heat, 200 degree asphalt, 77 degree chills, wind, rain, thunderstorms, rainbows, and a bug invasion among other things. It’s a race and locale where anything and everything seem capable of happening short of a snowstorm.
I’m certainly no longer that wide-eyed guy who first showed up in 2006 as the youngest competitor during that year’s race. The day before that year’s race, the first time I had ever been in Death Valley, was a shock that even spending a month straight in a sauna getting heat acclimated couldn’t prepare me for. The Valley of The Shadow of Death was a real place with real consequences. I was driven by both a passion for the challenge as well as the untimely passings of close friends and family in recent years.
And maybe those passings drove home this ultimate point and the core of the journey for me: No man stands alone. I’m thankful to the Lord not just for the blessing of being able to do this safely, but for the people he’s surrounded me with that have made it all possible. The support crew take care of so much that they make it possible for me to focus on just running. If you really want to understand the core of what drives me, understand this: I don’t choose my crew members based solely on any skill or talent. I choose them based on my personal relationships with them first, and then based on their ability to work with the other crew members secondarily. If they have a skill or talent, that’s great, but first and foremost I want people that I can trust.
Apart from all the logistical tasks they have to execute, the most important moments have little to do with anything tangible. When I’m tired and dehydrated, laying on the pavement and possibly wanting to be anywhere else except for there in the moment, they will there with a word or even just a look that will keep driving me towards the finish line. But what really drives it home is the trust between us. Trust seals covenants, makes bonds stong and gives confidence where none exists. I not only trust them to hand me GU or fill a water bottle, I trust them with my life both within and outside of the race.
As time has passed and space grows between myself and some of the things that used to drive me, the basic challenge remains the same. In a place where depravity hangs over everything, I just try to bring everything that I have and everything that I am as both a runner and as a person to the table. This race amplifies feelings and emotions of things going for me both in the present as well as the past. Each challenging section brings with it a physical expenditure that takes me closer and closer to that edge. Where that edge is this year, I’m really not sure. I will plan, plan and plan while expecting the unexpected. Monday morning at 10 a.m., it all begins one more time. I can’t wait.
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