Devin Kelly is uniquely attuned to the physical and mental demands that runners place on themselves. Over the years at Longreads, Kelly, an experienced ultrarunner, has turned over injuries and impatience, the pleasures and pitfalls of accomplishment, remarkable moments of endurance and interiority. For his latest, at Outside, he trains his sights on the helpers, embedding with the crew of 20-year-old Kaylee Frederick as she tackles the Badwater 135, running for 30 hours and climbing more than 8,000 feet in lethal temperatures.
In the car in between our mobile aid stations, we discussed strategy and tried to build the foundations of a strong relationship that would last over 30 near-sleepless hours in a 100-square-foot car. We talked about what we do when we’re tired or stressed. Boyd, naturally insane, gets a bit more insane. And Myers, naturally energetic, quiets down. I, too, get quiet. To be honest, I get a little sad. We talked about the importance of being forces of calm in the ever-changing world of Frederick’s individual journey. We joked. When Myers suggested a swap from water to Tailwind early in the race, Boyd responded, “You’ve got it, man.” Myers immediately shot back. “You’ve got it, woman,” she said. We all—in the pitch dark of early morning—laughed. Sometime around 2 A.M., one of us sprayed another racer with cold water. They spread their arms, overjoyed. Looking up and down the lone road through Death Valley, I saw nothing but stars above and the blinking hazard lights of cars miles ahead and miles behind. There were constellations decorating the night sky and constellations decorating the desert. It wasn’t the runners I saw; it was the crews.
As we turned into Lone Pine to begin the half-marathon ascent of Mount Whitney, I got the sense that Frederick had been distilled into a person whose focus was so singular that she only needed someone to show her direction. That someone was Boyd. Frederick asked him to pace the miles into the base of the climb, and it was then that Boyd told her, finally, that she was on pace to break the age-group record. This was the final arrow in his quiver. Use it too early, and Frederick might blow herself up. Use it too late, and Frederick might run out of time. Standing outside the crew car a couple of miles up the Whitney Portal Road, we saw Frederick minutes before we had predicted. It looked like she was sprinting. Boyd threw me the belt that held the pacing bib.
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