ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
BACK IN 2005, Larry Weissman read a pile of my magazine clips and synthesized them into one smart question. “Endurance is at the heart of all your stories,” he said, or something to that effect. “Got one you haven’t told yet?”
“Well, yeah. I heard about this race in Mexico. …”
Since then, Larry and his brilliant wife, Sascha, have served as my agents and higher brain functions, teaching me how to turn a clutter of ideas into a legible proposal and yanking hard on the choke chain whenever I miss deadlines. Without them, this book would still be just a tale I told over beers.
Runner’s World magazine, and especially then-editor Jay Heinrichs, first sent me into the Copper Canyons and even briefly (very briefly) entertained my notion of publishing an all-Tarahumara issue. I’m indebted to James Rexroad, ace photographer, for his companionship and gorgeous photos on that trip. For a man with such a huge brain and lung capacity, Runner’s World editor emeritus Amby Bur-foot is extraordinarily generous with his time, expertise, and library. I still owe him twenty-five of his books, which I promise to return if he’ll join me for another run.
But I’m especially grateful to Men’s Health magazine. If you don’t read it, you’re missing one of the best and most consistently credible magazines in the country, bar none. It’s staffed by editors like Matt Marion and Peter Moore, who encourage absurd ideas such as sending oft-injured writers into the wilderness for footraces with invisible Indians. Men’s Health allowed me to train for the race on their dime, then helped me shape the resulting story. Like everything I’ve written for Matt, it came into his hands like an unmade bed and came out with crisp hospital corners.
For a clan so consistently misrepresented by the media, the ultra community was extraordinarily supportive of my research and personal experimentation. Ken, Pat, and Cole Chlouber always made me feel at home in Leadville and taught me more than I ever wanted to learn about burro racing. Likewise, Leadville race director Merilee O’Neal filled every request I could think of and gave me a race-finisher’s hug even though I hadn’t earned it. David “Wild Man” Horton, Matt “Skyrunner” Carpenter, Lisa Smith-Batchen and her husband Jay, Marshall and Heather Ulrich, Tony Krupicka—they all shared their remarkable stories and secrets of the trail. Sunny Blende, the ace ultra nutritionist, staved off disaster in the desert when Jenn, Billy, Barefoot Ted, and I fumblingly crewed for Luis Escobar at the 2006 Badwater, and provided the best definition of the sport I’ve ever heard: “Ultras are just eating and drinking contests, with a little exercise and scenery thrown in.”
If you didn’t feel overwhelmed by weird digressions while reading this book, you and I both owe thanks to Edward Kastenmeier, my editor at Knopf, and his assistant, Tim O’Connell. Also to Lexy Bloom, a senior editor at Vintage Books, who offered her valuable insight and comments down the stretch. Somehow, they figured out how to cut the fat out of my writing without sacrificing any flavor. Likewise, my friend Jason Fagone, author of the excellent Horsemen of the Esophagus, helped me understand the difference between storytelling and self-indulgence. Max Potter first let me write about Leadville for 5280 magazine and is the rare writer noble enough to cheerlead another writer on. Patrick Doyle, 5280’s amazing researcher, confirmed many facts about Caballo’s mysterious life, and even unearthed that lost newspaper photo from “The Gypsy Cowboy’s” prizefighting days. Years ago, Susan Linnee gave me a job at the Associated Press that I didn’t deserve, then taught me how to do it. If more people knew Susan, fewer would bash journalism.
To be a great athlete, you need to pick your parents wisely. To survive as a writer, you should do likewise with your family. My brothers, sisters, nieces, and nephews have all been tremendously supportive and forgiving of missed birthdays and obligations. Most of all, I’m indebted to my wife, Mika, and my glorious daughters, Sophie and Maya, for the joy that I hope is evident in these pages.
I now know why the Tarahumara and the Más Locos got along so beautifully. They are rare and wonderful people, and spending time with them is one of the greatest privileges of my life. I wish I had time for one more mango juice with that great gringo Indio, Bob Francis. Shortly after the race, he died. How, I don’t know. Like most deaths in the Copper Canyons, his death remains a mystery.
While still absorbing the loss of his loyal old friend, Caballo got the offer of a lifetime. The North Face, the popular outdoor sports company, offered to become his race sponsor. Caballo’s future, and his race’s, would finally be secure.
Caballo thought it over. For about a minute.
“No, thanks,” he decided. “I don’t want anyone to do anything except come run, party, dance, eat, and hang with us. Running isn’t about making people buy stuff. Running should be free, man.”