My 2009 Pikes Peak Tale: Six hours of me wondering what the hell I was doing

*Note: The pictures in this post have disappeared. It’s probably going to be a lot more boring without them– I’m working on figuring it out. Sorry!

When I woke up Saturday morning, I almost immediately found myself wishing for a torrential downpour. Or even better, lightning. Thunder. Tornado warnings. Snow!  Anything to give me a legitimate excuse to not start the race. I felt very good, my legs felt fine, no stomach issues, all was well. But in my mind, I still somehow wanted out of it. I had cold feet, to say the least.

But, lo, it was a perfect morning. It was warm, still, quiet. I got out of bed, dressed in my running clothes/mountain gear (which means I brought gloves in addition to the rest of my summer running clothes), checked and double checked my lists, ate breakfast, and headed out.

I arrived early, which gave me a good place to park and I just sat in my car for a while, listening to the radio and watching the sun come up over the mountains. By the time it was time to get out of the car, I actually felt ready. I got everything together, made a porta-potty stop, checked my sweat check bag, and met up with some girlfriends. I was ready to get started. Ansty, you might say.

The second wave began at 7:30, so the sun was already warm, and by the first mile, it was hot. By the time the race course reaches the actual trail, runners are somewhat spread out better. This is a good thing as once you reach the first couple miles of switchbacks, the trail is all single track and it becomes very difficult to pass.  At one point I found myself trailing a little old man who just kept shouting “ON YOUR LEFT!” I just sneaked past right along with him, hoping everyone would think oh, look at that nice girl racing with her grandfather when the reality was, this guy was going to beat me so I might as well take advantage of him for a while.

About three miles in I knew something wasn’t right. Last weekend I did the first 6.5 miles of the course and felt fine. Great, in fact. It gave me confidence for the race. I was going to be okay.  But not Saturday, no, not at all. Instead, Saturday, my legs felt heavy and weak. I felt fatigued long before I’d expected. I was keeping a good pace, paying attention to my breathing, doing everything “right.”  Yet, it didn’t matter. My legs felt like lead.

After about mile four, I just concentrated on making the cutoff times. I had to be more than half way through the race (6 miles from the finish) at 3:00 hours. I made it at 2:35 with a few breaks in between. I was feeling okay. The next cutoff was just over 10 miles in (3 miles from the top), which had to be reached by no later than 4:15.  I made it at 4:00.

Between those two points, my already heavy legs started to cramp.  First, it was in my calves.  Then, my feet. A mile later, I cramped in my hips and my shins. If I stopped for a minute, they went away. If I moved too slow, I cramped like crazy. If I moved too fast my legs would fatigue and start to tremble.  Something was wrong.

Just after I passed the last cut off point, with three miles to go, I stopped on the side of the trail.  A woman passed me and softly wispered “if you have Gu, take a Gu.” (Sidebar: For those that don’t know, Gu is an energy gel commonly used in endurance sports. I use it a lot, because the thought of chewing food when my heartrate is over 160 is something I cannot stomach.)  Had I not actually seen that woman, I would have thought the trees or the wind were sending me a message.

I had been paying close attention to fuel and hydration up until that point. I thought as long as I was going so slow, I might as well try to do everything else right.  But for whatever reason, I listened to that woman, and I took another Gu. About ten minutes later, it must have kicked in. I felt much better. I was still cramping, though plenty hydrated, but I felt less fatigued. That lasted about a mile, which, in my case, was nearly 45 minutes.

The last three miles of this race took me two hours. It is a fact that the last three miles of this race are the hardest, but two hours is extensive.  The last time I did this race those last three miles took me just over an hour. But this time, it was much, much harder. I knew I wasn’t trained like I was last time, so I tried not to compare, but slogging up those hills, I couldn’t help but feel like I was on a death march.

Briefly, I stopped to take a few pictures:

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A gentleman passed me as I was taking them and remarked about the beautiful weather we’d had.  It’s true, we’d gotten very lucky. Aside from a very brief dark cloud and hail storm, the skies were clear and sunny. Being that the weather can change at 14,000′ by the second, I couldn’t help but take in the view.

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I thought as long as I was going so slow, I might as well remember it with some pictures. And, for what it’s worth, the AT&T signal was crystal clear. At that moment I felt like I could fall over and die and no one would notice* but, go figure, I could have called 9-1-1.

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Less than a mile from the top, there’s a section of the trail called The Sixteen Golden Stairs. Essentially there are rocks and boulders stacked, somewhat naturally, in the form of stairs. I’ve never counted, but from what I hear the ’sixteen’ actually references the number of switchbacks that contain these “stairs.” Otherwise, I think it’d be more like The Nine Billion Golden Stairs. And in my head at that point, because I’d stopped thinking clearly long before then, I was renaming them The Rocks That Made My Legs Fall Off. Creative, I know, but 14,000′ WILL STEAL YOUR BRAIN.

Perhaps one of the cruelest things about this race is that from about mile 6 and beyond, you can hear everything going on at the top of the mountain. You can hear cheering, you can hear finishers being announced, and the closer you get, the more encouraging it is. Except that you never actually get there.

Once I realized I wasn’t going to come in under 5:00 I thought about maybe just trying to come in under 6:00. I watched the time, but not closely. I stopped and talked to other runners when I wanted to. I helped an older gentleman with a cramp. I let a Search and Rescue guy massage my calf (perhaps the only part of those last three miles that did not suck). I was just doing what I could.

Once you’ve made the last cutoff (with 3 miles to go) you are not off the hook.  You still have to reach the summit and cross the finish line by 6:30.  No, they won’t turn you down the mountain but if you’re not there, you’ll DNF. I hadn’t been through all that, hadn’t watched my own legs twitch and seize up as if they weren’t attached to my body to DNF, so I did what I could. At some point I looked up just as my picture was being taken and the photographer says “three minutes from the top.” My watch said 5:58.  I had been on that damn mountain for almost six hours and all I could think of was that next three minutes.

And  he was right. I crossed the finish line with an official time of 6:01 and change. Holy crap. All I could think was holy crap.

After getting my medal, I turned around and watched a couple other people finish. I didn’t know them, of course, but there’s something special about that bond that goes on at the back of the pack, as you leap frog one another for a couple hours, pat each other on the back, and stop to make sure everyone is relatively okay. Never having laid eyes on them before, it now becomes imperative to insure their well-being.

After a few hugs and tears, I collected my sweat check bag, my finishers jacket, and went inside the summit house and met up with some friends. Some old, some new. I had a Coke, which I’ll only ever drink after a race, and some fries. So help me, that was the best Coke and fries to ever grace this planet.

I have a lot more I could add here— as you can imagine, six hours makes for a lot of stories— but I’ll save it for now. In the end, I did it. And I suppose that’s all I’d really hoped for all along.

*In reality, no one could fall over and die up there without notice. The volunteers in this race are nothing short of amazing, and at that point it’s mostly El Paso County Search and Rescue looking out for everyone’s well-being. They watch from points all over the trail, through binoculars, communicating by radio, just to make sure everyone is alright. It is a great feeling, when you’re out there having a really rough day, to know someone’s looking out for you.