At 9:41 a.m., on July 27, 2001,
Shannon Farar-Griefer jogged through a knot of cheering people in a pine forest clearing at the base of California’s Mt. Whitney. She had been running— and limping, puking, cramping, and crying—for 135 miles. After almost 52 hours, her feet were covered with oozing blisters. Five toenails were black.
Like most runners who tackle ultramarathons (any race longer than 26.2 miles), Shannon had endured without complaint, though she didn’t like the bats swarming above her at night. But she had a knack for suffering, even by the standards of ultrarunners, for whom stoicism, if not masochism, is a way of life.
All of the 71 Badwater 135 ultramarathon competitors had started at Death Valley—at 280 feet below sea level, the lowest point in North…
