| Short Version: I made it to both top, and bottom. I surpassed all of my goals for the event.
Long Version: Once upon a time, back during the high-mileage years, I was very interested in how far I could push my body. How far per week would I be able to do, how long a run I could handle, how big a hill I could climb. The limits were never really known, I was able to do everything I actually attempted to some degree. If 140 miles per week didn't stop me what would.
Well, last year the Pike's Peak Accent beat me. I left the race last year defeated by a run. I had to go back and redeem my self and not let the defeat happen again. If I was going to go back to Pike's Peak, I needed to do the round-trip, just to further the challenge. The stage was set!
I learned a lot about how to train for Pike's Peak from last year's experience. I learned a lot, but that doesn't mean I followed what I learned. A nasty combination of work demands and back problems conspired to leave me with a 25-30 mile-per-week base to attempt the climb. My longest run was a flat 22 miler, which felt really bad. A total lack of sleep and an amazingly bad diet for the month prior to raceday (frequently eating from truck stop vending machines), let me to reevaluate my goals for Pike's Peak. My hoped for sub-6 hour run was discarded and instead a plan of trying to finish was substituted.
After last year's race I talked fellow NOVA member, Scott Rafferty into signing up for the race. Scott is a veteran of numerous ultra-distance races and he had me a bit intimidated. One of my goals was to try to stay near Scott. I hoped to use his experience to drag me along to a better time. From past experience, I know that sometimes my pacing is not quite even. I needed all the help I could get.
Jeff Reed Running
Corollary 1,
"If you're not in
shape, you may
as well be well
rested."
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Arriving in Colorado 8 days before raceday, I tried to head for the mountains to do some altitude acclimation. However, Delta lost all my checked bags, so staying around the lowlands (6600 feet) was necessary for several days until my bags arrived. I was not happy. Planning to stay at as high an altitude as possible lead me to the wilds of Colorado. I saw the sights, drove the trails, and took the pictures. However, unlike last year, I did not run the hills. Following Jeff Reed Running Corollary Number 1, "If you're not in shape, you may as well be well rested.", I relaxed much more than usual for me. I am not exactly the relaxing type.
My only training mistake for the week happened on the Wednesday prior to the race. I had earlier tried to drive my rented station wagon over Mosquito Pass, the highest 4-wheel drive pass in America. One flat tire later, I limped down the Pass using the mini spare tire. Mosquito Pass had defeated me, I had to redeem myself.
My run over Mosquito Pass started as a little climb out of Leadville. I headed up the trail that had doomed my tire. Determined to see more of the trail than I had driven, I ventured onward, and upward. Seeing the road switchback well above me, I picked a spot to turnaround. Then I ignored my turn-around plan once I arrived there. Heading farther and farther up the Pass, I was soon high enough that I might as well do the whole climb.
Mosquito Pass tops out at 13,138 feet and I took it fairly easy. It is a big climb, but the climb didn't cause as much problem as the descent. Starting nice and easy, I sped a little to get out of the cold of the sub-40 degree temps and 40+ miles per hour winds. It wasn't short-sleeved t-shirt temperature.
Seeing a mountain-biker bouncing down the trail way ahead of me, I noticed he was having problems navigating the ruts and rocks of the trail. Gaining on him, I decided to catch him. Blasting freely down the trail, I quickly passed the shocked bicyclist. He mentioned that I'd better slow down to avoid falling.
Hearing that I was going too fast woke me up. Here I was, trying to take it easy by sprinting down a mountain trail. I stopped, checked the heart rate. Bad news-I had overdone it again- my heart rate hovering right at 200 per minute. Oh well, a jog to the bottom began my race taper.
The Race: Moving back from the startline, I began several rows behind normal. I was not going to get pulled out with the rest of the rabbits. Easing into the run, I concentrated on going slowly. Even with this, I was going too fast. The paved road bends up toward the trailhead, and begins its climb. I did a quick pulse check and decided I was going too hard. I began to walk.
Fighting off worries that this was going to be a really long day, I eased onward up the trail. The Barr Trail is frequently too narrow to pass easily. The pace lines that form more or less set the pace for the whole group. I settled in with my group, knowing how badly I did on the later portions of the ascent last year, I felt the slow pace would help out later in the day. It did.
Cresting Mt. Manitou I felt great. Not tired, feeling fairly strong, I began to pass some people on the few downhills offered. The crowds lessened a bit and the trails widened a little, making passing easier. I took advantage of these openings and began slowly moving up.
[F]orgotten was
how totally the
course was
unrelenting.
There is no rest,
no recovery.
You go hard, even
while walking.
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What I had forgotten from the race last year is how totally the course is unrelenting. There is no rest, no recovery. You go hard, even while walking. A lesson learned was to constantly make forward progress, no matter how slow. Always keep moving forward. This was my main focus.
Climbing out of the treeline, I began to tire. The thought of running down the mountain seemed impossible. I ground forward, locking onto anyone nearby to pull me along. I kept looking back and at the returning runners to see if I could see Scott. I wasn't quite sure if he was in front of me or behind at that point. Passing the mile to go point, I began to get psyched about how I was doing in the race. At this point last year, I had real problems just remaining standing, so just moving forward was a victory.
In the final 300 yards before the summit the right hamstring suddenly locked. A spasming, bulging lump was the prime feature of my leg. I began to question the wisdom of continuing the race. Moving forward became the goal-just make it to the top and worry about the rest of it at that point.
Crossing the halfway point in 4:04, 11 minutes faster that last year, I filled my bottles, ate some grapes and an orange. Standing to regroup, the leg started to loosen. Deciding it was to go now or never, so I headed back down the trail. Like a light switch had turned off the leg pain. Suddenly I felt good. I began to fly!
On the way back down the mountain, I passed Scott. He was just a few minutes behind me and moving along well. A quick pause for Scott to take a photo, and to check how each other were doing and then we moved onward. For the rest of the race, I kept thinking Scott was going to catch me.
I passed everyone
I saw, leaving them
all behind. It was
scary how well things
were going. As it
turned out, it was
going too good.
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Pushing the pace for the next 6-7 miles I passed everyone I saw, leaving them all behind. It was scary how well things were going. As it turned out, it was going too good. I used all available energy a bit too soon.
The first of the mild uphills on the way back let me know I had made a tactical error. The small uphill reduced me to a slow walk. There were no reserves, there was an immediate need to be less aggressive. With 4.5 miles to go it was too far from the end to even think about the end yet.
 Surviving the uphills, I struggle to hang onto the group I had caught. They seemed to be going really fast, beyond my limits. I tried to hang with them, letting them pull me down the big drops and pounding switchback. I held on until the 1.9 mile to go point. I had passed several of the group and blasted a turn of a switchback only to have my legs give out.
I avoided falling somehow, but was staggering badly. My forward progress was greatly slowed by the major effort I needed to stay on the trail. I had run my gas tank dry. There was no energy left in the body, no fuel. I was standing, conscious, but not much more. I bounced into several of the guardrails protecting the really big drop-offs, but I kept moving forward. Forward Progress, that was all I needed.
Finally reaching the paved road, my troubles multiplied. There was only one lane reserved for runners, and I could not stay in that lane. Bus loads of tourists drove next to me as their driver tried to explain that I was really okay and not to worry about me. Several spectators followed me closely, waiting to catch me if I fell. I kept moving forward, making forward progress. The brother-in-law of a friend who did the race remembered me as, "some guy who was staggering into traffic, running into the guardrails and cones. I thought he was going to die!". That was me, and it sounds a lot like how I felt.
Finally, I crossed the finish line, some 6 hours and 22 minutes after starting. It had been a really long day, but an extremely fulfilling one. I was not defeated by the mountain this year, but rather I won. The time was way better than I had any right to expect. Most importantly, I knew in my own mind that I had done my best. I had run to my limit for the day, the best possible. I could look back and worry about the 40+ minutes it took to cover the last 1.9 miles, but I will not. I declare victory!
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