My Raw Badwater 135 Journey Pacing Jeff Pelletier

A few weeks ago, I stepped into the furnace of Death Valley to pace my friend Jeff Pelletier at Badwater, a 135-mile footrace from the lowest point in North America to Mt. Whitney Portal. 

The course is a masterclass in environmental brutality: starting 282 feet below sea level in Death Valley's scorching basin, runners traverse barren desert stretches where temperatures hit 115°F, then climb over 14,000 feet through rugged mountain passes to reach Mt. Whitney Portal.

What started as a quick photo shoot turned into something much bigger: I joined Jeff’s crew, paced him through the most brutal ultra I’ve ever witnessed, and documented it all from start to finish. 

It was my first time at this legendary race. I was nervous but ready to experience the race in full, to be there for Jeff to provide support, to push myself, to test our Path Projects gear in the harshest possible conditions, and to see what the desert would reveal.

Heat, Grit, and Beautiful Chaos

At mile 60, I hopped out of the van again to snap a few photos. The sun was baking the pavement at 115°F, making the sweat sting my eyes. My camera and lens felt heavy in my hands. Our videographer Derrick was already recording video, so I ran behind them to stay out of frame. When Derrick peeled off, I realized I was nearly half a mile from the van, straight uphill. Legs getting tired, body heating up with no water around, I just kept running.

Honestly? I loved it. That stretch became one of the most memorable parts of the race. The heat training in my sauna paid off, and our Wadi hooded sun shirt kept me surprisingly cool in the brutal air. Those photos did well to capture Jeff’s raw emotions and grit, but you have to be on the road with him to experience those emotions fully. When the surface is stripped away, you see what people are truly made of.

Crew: The Unsung Legends

None of it would’ve been possible without our crew. Audree, Jeff’s partner and crew chief, was a machine. Every two miles: ice, hydration, nutrition, mental check-ins. Like a Formula 1 pit crew, executed with calm precision.

Fast forward to Day 3. It’s 2 AM in Lone Pine. We’re 28 hours deep, stumbling like zombies into a gas station, piling snacks into our arms like kids in a candy store. The cashier watched us closely. We felt drunk without any alcohol in us and probably looked like trouble.

Back at the hotel lobby, we inhaled cold pizza like it was a Michelin-star meal before crashing for our first 30-minute nap in two days.

The Final Push

Jeff had nailed a 100-mile PR in 21:36, but by mile 123, the toll of heat and sleep deprivation hit hard. There was real talk of dropping. We paused. Reset. Took that nap. And at 2:48 AM, we began the final 12-mile climb together: 4,300 feet of elevation gain, with almost nothing left in the tank.

Step by step in the darkness, we kept moving. And as the sun rose behind Mt. Whitney Jeff crossed the finish line in 32:44. He completed his B-goal, with a finish earned through pure heart and unbreakable spirit.

A small crowd gathered as we welcomed him in. We took the finish line photos, gave each other hugs, and made our way back to the hotel for the most satisfying sleep in recent memory.

Gear That Didn’t Quit

Our gear held up incredibly. Jeff wore the custom Path Projects Moab arm sleeve we developed together, paired with the Wadi T-shirt for optimal sun protection. His Sykes PX shorts and Tahoe liners? Zero chafing. He ran 135 miles with zero gear issues, and that’s something we’re really proud of.

3 Lessons from the Furnace:

1. Say yes to the scary thing.
   I was nervous to go, worried about messing up or becoming a liability, but prep, mindset, and presence made all the difference.
   
   

2. Surround yourself with the right people.
   A solid crew changes everything. The energy, focus, and care they bring can carry a runner across 135 grueling miles.
   
   

3. Keep going when everything screams stop.
   The breakthrough is almost always just beyond the moment you want to give up.

I came home tired, grateful, and with a deeper respect for what’s possible when you just keep going.