BAKER-2-VEGAS 2010
I’ve run the Baker to Vegas law enforcement team relay race a number of times in the past 33 years – starting back in 1978 in the third year of the race when it was still known as the Death Valley Relay. In those days, the race began at a rock in the desert and ended at a rock in the desert.
Until this year, 1988 was my most significant outing. I was working the Anti-Terrorist Division (ATD) at the time. There were only thirty-five of us in the division and we produced a twenty runner team that placed 3rd in the race’s Over 800 division – the ages of the twenty runners on the team adding up to over 800 years.
I was the young kid on the team that year and in my running prime. It also helped that in our assignment with ATD, we were paid to work out an hour a day, so everyone was in decent shape. As the youngest and fastest, I was assigned to run the dreaded leg 15 – the Spiderman leg – a six mile segment that starts out uphill, in the dark of midnight, and just keeps getting steeper, rising over 1000 feet to the hand-off point at the summit (5000 feet elevation) before Highway 80 begins the long swoop down to Vegas. Until I began running marathons in the early 2000s, it was the hardest run I’d ever undertaken – the first and last time I’d ever puked crossing a finish line.
Since then, I’ve run Baker to Vegas a couple more times with various geographic area teams, but simply for the fun of participating and never seriously in contention.
Until this year – 2010.
Assigned to Mission Area in the north end of the San Fernando Valley, I found the members of the team to be very serious having placed 11th in 2009. This year the plan was to cut 45 minutes off the previous year, so there was some serious training going on.
I’ve been running 4 to 5 miles twice a day for several years, cutting back from the 120 training miles a week I was running when marathons were still in my wheelhouse. But with age, I’m 56 now, comes a deterioration of speed. No longer were 6:15 minute miles something for which I could aim. Now, 7:30 to 8:00 minute miles was a normal pace – 7:15 minute miles if I was really pushing the edge of my envelope.
I put those 7:15 minute miles in during our team qualifying runs on the five mile course around Balboa Park. I was the oldest runner (by ten years) and no longer the fastest runner on our ‘mixed’ team (five female runners and fifteen male runners), but neither was I the slowest. I had experience on my side and a deep base of miles run.
In assigning the legs for the 2010 race, I was offered leg 20, the 5 mile anchor leg, which I happily accepted. Often referred to as the ‘Hollywood’ leg – because you get to cross the actual finish line where all the crowds are waiting and cheering – the terrain is a flat shot down Desert Inn Road with two long inclines, one going over the 15 Freeway and the other coming up from where Desert Inn Road dips through a short tunnel under Las Vegas Boulevard – the Strip.
A short distance after the second incline, Desert Inn Road intersects Paradise Road. Here, runners turn left and run a final half mile to the Hilton Hotel Convention Center, actually entering the convention center and running down two sides of the interior of the building before crossing the finish line.
This is a great leg and built for speed, which was the only thing I was concerned about. I figured I could put in a good time, but not the excellent time that might be needed to get the total team time under our goal of 17 hours for the 120 mile distance. Still, the time of day, 0500 to 0530, ensured the weather would be cool – both factors suited to my physiology.
However, two weeks before the race, I developed a serious sinus infection affecting my entire upper respiratory area. It was the first time I’d been sick in over two years, and the week before the race I couldn’t have run ten minutes per mile let alone any kind of competitive time.
I got on antibiotics in a hurry, missing two days of running completely (a rare occurrence) and only slogging through a slow five miles once a day on the other days of the week. In reality, the layoff probably worked in my favor, as otherwise I probably would have over trained.
Arriving in Vegas two days early, I was feeling much better and went out both mornings and did training runs on my leg of the race to figure out mileage points and adjust to the higher Vegas elevation (2,500 feet). I actually love running in Vegas in the early morning, especially on the Strip. There are very few people about, but the lights still flash, the outside speakers still blare, and the barren heart of Sin City is revealed – it’s like getting a glimpse of the truth behind the Wizard of Oz.
Because there were 243 teams in the race this year starting times were staggered, with the fastest teams getting assigned the latest starting times. Our team was scheduled to be under starter’s orders in Baker at 1300 on Saturday afternoon. I was scheduled to be at the start to leg 20 at 0430 Sunday morning, expecting to get the baton handed-off to me between 0500 and 0530.
Before going to bed at 2200 hours on Saturday night, I called our team captain to see if we were still in the race (there are all kinds of things that can happen to get a team disqualified). She told me the team was running 30 minutes behind schedule due to the 102 degree heat in the early legs. Apparently, a runner from another team had to be airlifted to hospital when he collapsed after running leg 3 in the high temperatures.
Okay, so the pressure was off for me to have to turn in a super fast time to complete the final leg. I caught six hours sleep, calling the team captain back at 0400, only to be told the team’s runners had made up all the lost time during the night legs and we were now 2 minutes ahead of schedule!
I flew out of the hotel and drove out to the starting point of my leg. I was met by members of our support team, who got me signed in and rigged me out with a lightweight safety vest with flashing LCD lights and my runner’s number.
In what seemed like just a few minutes, the loudspeaker from the race administration table blared out our team number – meaning our leg 19 runner, Kika Wheeler (our fastest female) was less than two minutes out. I moved into the hand-off shoot and looked back down Desert Inn Road for a glimpse of Kika’s flashing legs.
During the race, every team provides a follow vehicle to keep pace behind their runner. When a runner enters the coned-off hand-off chutes, the follow vehicle has to pull off and slowly drive to the front of the chute before falling in behind the next runner.
I saw Kika coming and began yelling encouragement. She was still moving fast, but looked completely spent. She slapped the baton into my hand and I exploded out of the chute like a rookie running his first marathon – going out way too fast to maintain any kind of pace.
The support crew in our team follow van told me later they pulled up to the front of the chute to wait for me and sat there, waiting and waiting, until they realized I had already blown past before they got there.
About a quarter of a mile into my leg, I knew I had to back down the pace or burn out. When you do this, your adrenaline driven mind gives you the illusion you are running way to slow. Fortunately, I’d experienced this enough times before to keep my discipline and not speed up. Within a couple of minutes, I began to feel normal.
The weather was in the low ‘60s. I’d broken a well-oiled sweat, and was running smoothly. And then some young stud from the Culver City Police Department team blew past me, leaving me sucking the exhaust from his follow vehicle. I was ticked. I did not want to be passed, but I still kept my discipline and didn’t speed up. I hoped I could keep in contact with the Culver City runner, but I also had to make sure I finished the leg without burning up.
Past the one mile point, I realize I was in the zone. I couldn’t feel my body making any effort to run – it was just running. In the darkness, my field of vision had narrowed to a long tunnel in which I could only see directly in front of me. I was cruising on autopilot and was loving it.
Through mile three, I passed three runners, but not the guy from Culver City who had blown past me. I could see him ahead of me, however, and realized he was slowing down and I was gaining. I mentally checked my reserves and picked up my pace to go after him.
In mile four, I was ten yards behind the Culver City runner when he reached the bottom of the long incline taking Desert Inn Road over the 15 Freeway. He hit that incline and I saw his pace falter. I lowered my hips in my running posture, essentially kicking my body into a lower gear, and powered up the hill, passing the Culver City runner to the accompaniment of the hoots and yells from the crew in my follow vehicle.
The rule when you pass a runner, like I had just done, was to not to pass unless you knew you could hold them off and stop them from passing you again. I had no doubt, the kid from Culver City was toast, he was still running okay, but he didn’t have anything left to speed up and catch me.
I hit the crest of the incline, passed over the 15 Freeway, and hit the other side leading down and under Las Vegas Boulevard and up the other side. In this stretch I passed another runner and was no longer able to hear the Culver City runner’s ragged breathing.
I was maintaining my pace. I knew I was running faster than normal because everything around me had slowed down. I was having my best run in years.
As I approached the left turn onto Paradise Road, I could see another runner struggling in front of me. I don’t know where the speed came from, but I kicked it up and took the runner on the turn.
Now it was a little over a half mile to the finish line and I couldn’t see any other runners ahead of me (there were obviously a lot of runners ahead of me from teams who had started their runs earlier than our team). I was searching for mental motivation not to back off my pace.
The day before the race Daryl Gates, the chief of police for L.A.P.D. from 1978 to 1992, and a man I admired and honored deeply, had passed away at 88 years old from cancer. He had run the Baker to Vegas relay almost every year while he was chief. So, now I whispered, “This one is for you, Chief,” and from somewhere found the energy to pick up the pace again.
Down Paradise Road, into the parking lot of the Convention Center, and through the doors into the main building and a wall of sound from the crowd gathered there. I was not going to be caught from behind at this point. I virtually flew down the wide lane on two sides of the large building and tapped the baton on the electronic timer as I crossed the finish line.
Suddenly, my arms and legs felt disconnected, as if they were wind-milling of their own volition. Our team catcher grabbed me and helped steady me. I couldn’t get enough air and was gasping for breath.
Then I was surrounded by team members jumping up and down, yelling at me, jostling me, and high-fiving each other. I’d crossed the finish line in 32:18 for the five miles – under 6:30 per mile! Our total time 16:58:08. We’d broken our 17:00:00 goal. We placed 7th in our mixed team category and 90th overall out of 243 teams.
I don’t know where the run came from – somewhere deep inside, the ghost of Chief Gates carrying me, or just the perfect combination of time of day, weather, enough runners ahead of me to keep me chasing them, and serendipity.
I guess it really doesn’t matter.
In the grand scheme of world events, cataclysmic disasters, and actual athletic accomplishments, my five mile jaunt in the desert doesn’t even rate as a grain of sand. But in my personal perspective, those five miles were a gold nugget. I’d left everything I had, and some of what I didn’t know I had, out on the course – in my mind I was still a runner.
They say if women could remember the pain of child birth, they would never get pregnant again. I felt great the day of the race, but the next day and for a solid week afterward, my legs felt like two dead stumps, my knees ached, and my thighs in particular felt liked they had been run over by a big rig. Every time I went out to run, I swore I would never run competitively again – never, never, never!
And then one day I went out for a run, felt great, and started thinking about next year’s race . . .
LAS VEGAS CENTRAL: WANNA GET LUCKY!
SWORDS FROM THE EAST 
