A little shade is provided by the rugged slopes of the Black Mountains at the start, but after a few miles all the runners are soon exposed to the merciless heat of the desert. The temperatures rise to more than 50°C in the course of the day and make even mere breathing into a super-human act. It is now important to maintain an optimum running rhythm and, after each short provision stop, in which my supporters cool me with iced water, quickly pick up the pace again to get through this hell as quickly as possible. But the hell is never-ending. Around every corner, over every rise in the road, the horizon, shimmering in the heat, extends into a seem-ingly infinite distance. Running, breathing, drinking, cooling, running. Mile after mile, I glide over the up to 80°C hot asphalt. Space and time seem to blend into one and it is only my heartbeat that determines the rhythm. Yet even in this phase, the naked beauty of this landscape has an immensely powerful quality. A beauty I had looked on in awe from “Dante View”, a breathtaking viewpoint above Death Valley, a few days before the start. In his Divine Comedy, the Italian poet and philosopher, Dante, describes the journey of a traveller through the Inferno and Purgatory to end in Paradise. My Paradise is Mount Whitney – the race fin-ish, still around 160 km away. “But I will make it.” It is these thoughts and flights of fancy, backed up by the encouraging support of my indefatigable supporters: “Great, Dad, keep it up, we’re on schedule, brilliant…,” that motivate me in these phases and keep my spirits up. The race route runs past barren, parched earth, covered with a white salty crust, with the demonic name of “The Devil’s Cornfield”, past imposing dunes, with their golden sands disappearing into the horizon, onto the bleak ridge of the Panamint mountains.