The Valley of Death, in the Californian Mojave desert, registered in 1913 the highest temperature in the history of the Earth (56.7º C), and this summer it reached 54.3º C during a heat wave, enough to frying on the asphalt not a fried egg, as in the streets of Écija or Carmona, but a well-done steak, almost a shoe sole, the kind that chefs angrily send to the table when a diner complains that theirs is a little raw.
In summary, a cool place, with average temperatures of 48º C during the day and 38º C at night in the month of July, which is when you run –or rather sweat– one of the toughest ultramarathons that exist, a race of 217 kilometers that begins almost at sea level and ends at an altitude of 2,550 meters, at the gates of Mount Whitney (with snow even in summer), developing for the most part along the desert, without a shadow to take refuge under, for two days and two nights, with no time to even nap, unless you're Quick Billy. Because if you take longer, it doesn't count. All the effort and sacrifice, for nothing.
A British participant in last month's issue explains that her training consisted of one-hour sessions of running on a treadmill inside a sauna, at between 50ºC and 60ºC. Or, if she was outside, clad in an anorak, with gloves and a scarf in the middle of summer, as if she were in the middle of February at the North Pole, to acclimatize her body to the extreme temperatures of Death Valley. Overcoming, of course, but, for those who are not a super athlete, with a certain point –or several– of masochism.
To get an idea of what the test is, two tourists have recently died in the area, one of them, after suffering a flat tire from his car. The nearest gas station can be more than a hundred kilometers away, there are no shops or towns, mobile coverage is conspicuous by its absence and the chances of bumping into someone are remote. It is a landscape of sand and rocks that seems from another planet, one of the most hostile places on the face of the Earth. Numerous signs warn of the need to bring plenty of water and fuel.
If it's hard for someone who goes by car, imagine for someone who runs the route. Throughout the ultramarathon there are several control and refreshment points, where the participants are moistened with spray, drink a sip of water and can eat something, generally mashed bananas and baby food jars (in this type of race five or six thousand are burned). thousand calories a day). In the desert, any hope that temperatures will drop a bit at sunset is a fallacy. And when you leave the desert, the mountains arrive and you have to go uphill...
An ultramarathon is any race of more than the 42,195 kilometers of a traditional marathon, having two types, those that consist of covering a certain distance (generally 50 or 100 kilometers and 50 or 100 miles), and those that involve running for a certain amount of time (24 hours, for example), generally through difficult terrain and often in extreme hot or cold temperatures. In some, like the Gran Ultra (it is not a reference to Meloni or anyone from Vox), one has to carry with them, in a backpack, all the necessary supplies to survive a week.
Tourists have gone to Death Valley this summer to experience what it is like to be at 54.3ºC and take a selfie, and the few and spartan hotels in the area have made a killing. It's like standing on top of Everest or K2 in a helicopter. Only the latter is not possible.
