The Spirit in the Mountain

Euphoria.  Exhaustion.  Exhilaration.  Awe.  

I watched and worried as my friends tried to summit Pikes Peak on Saturday.  It had been raining for nearly twenty-four hours at race start and throughout the day the rain came in great squalls.  We didn't see the summit of Pikes Peak for two days.  For most on Saturday, the mountain won.  The few who did make it were cold from rain all the way up to tree line followed by snow and freezing temperatures.  For those that didn't summit, they ran many more miles than the anticipated.  It was a tough day on the mountain.

But that's part of mountain running.  Sometimes - or maybe all the time - the mountain has the upper hand.  Saturday's experience made me rethink and re-evaluate my plans for Sunday.  I knew I couldn't count on Dad and Jane getting to the summit and I mentally prepared myself for the mountain taking control and turning me back too.

I woke up about 1 am early Sunday morning to hear the rain beating down.  My heart sank. Maybe we wouldn't even start, or maybe it was going to be a garbage bag day for me too.  I went back to sleep and finally got up at 4:50 am.  It wasn't raining - a good sign but it was still too dark to know how low the clouds were or what the weather was really like.  Did it really matter?  What it was like at 5 am or the start was certainly not what it would be like as the day went on.  I needed to be mentally prepared for whatever the mountain would hand me.

Driving to Manitou we SAW Pikes Peak with a snow covered summit.  But at least we were seeing the mountain face.  A huge relief.  Just to the South a full moon was setting behind Cheyenne Mountain.  It was going to be a good day, somehow I felt that as we drove West.  And yet I reminded myself that I ought to pay attention to the details and be thankful for the small things because this day would be completed one step at a time and only if the spirits in the mountain wanted me to finish the roundtrip.

So I noticed:

• the beauty of the Peak with a snow capped summit
  
• the full moon setting
• my dad hanging around the start line until the race started
• U2's "Beautiful Day" playing over the loudspeaker - that's my pre race song!
• the guy at the Cog playing "Chariots of Fire" assuredly telling us he'd be there with the same music on the way back down.  And, he said, we'd be nearly done then (it was hard to imagine).
• all the aid station volunteers and the search and rescue volunteers - they really were awesome!
• Barr Camp volunteers encouraging us on - I was 1/4 of the way and entering about 3 miles of trail that I hadn't run in my summer of training.
• snowflakes above Barr Camp
• Blue sky and snow at the same time
• the beauty of the snow on the summit before the clouds sunk down and made it ominous
• yielding to downhill runners periodically and then more and more and more as I slogged, slowly and carefully to the summit
• Volunteers at the Cirque doing the WAVE for each runner that came up.
• Summit volunteers tearing off my tag, marking my bib  and asking "Do you have a better hat, girl?  Put it on NOW!"  I obediently pulled up my hood and was grateful for the order :-)
• I never saw the Summit House.  Or Dad and Jane.  Though I think I knew I wouldn't see Dad and Jane, I imagined my dad hollering like he did when I was a kid in the pool, "Go Jessie Go."  I knew he was in town waiting, wondering and probably worrying.
• A mittened hand - I swear it looked like a boxing glove - held out to help me down a particularly BIG step as I headed back down the 16 slippery, Golden Stairs.  I never saw your face, friend, but I am grateful for the hand proffered to keep me from slipping.

And then I was headed down.  I'd made the turnaround.  I'd felt good above treeline.  I'm pretty sure I could have done a 4 hour ascent had the weather cooperated.  Somewhere between 1 1/2 and 2 miles the trail was only wet and I was able to run again.  I felt free and good.  And then I worried about the calories I hadn't taken in at the summit.  I took in what I could with gloved hands while still moving and vowed to make sure to get a good volume of calories at A-Frame. They had my Mike and Ike's - soggy and stuck together - but still great, quick energy. And Gatorade.  And Grapes - I took a handful and head on down the trail.  I knew I was running strong and smart - stepping on the trail, not on rocks or roots that were slippery and trying to remember to keep my body leaning forward not back.

Before I knew it, I was at Barr Camp - only a 1/4 of the race left!  I shed my long sleeves - though I put the rain jacket back on - filled my water bottle and filled up with gatorade and grapes.  It was somewhere after Barr that my legs started to cramp - alternately the right quad, then the left, then the right.  I thought of Paula Radcliffe the night before running the Olympic Marathon in obvious pain and knew I could continue on.  I shortened my stride and slowed up when I needed.  Even walking the uphill stretches that are few, but there, below Barr.

Somewhere between 4 & 5 miles to the finish a runner pulled up behind me. "Think we'll finish under 6?" he asked.  I looked at my watch.  It said I'd been running 6 hours and 5 minutes.  "Under 7, you mean?" I asked with a smile.  "Yes he said."  We ran together a few minutes and then he pulled away.  I knew he'd finish under 7; I wasn't certain about myself but ultimately I didn't care because I knew I was going to finish.

4 miles to go at 6:14.  Then 3 miles to go.  Then 2 miles to go.  Then I could see the cutoff and then I heard music.  Was I hallucinating?  The guy from the Cog had moved his boom box and speakers up to the trail and he was, as promised, playing "Chariots of Fire."  I nearly started to cry for the first time.  Keep it together, Jessica, I told myself.  You're almost there.  Next thing I hit the pavement, near tears again.  Then it was the Ruxton/Hydro intersection.  

And then there was Karen on the right side of the road.  A few tears squeaked out.  I raised my arms in triumph and kept going.  Then I heard Rich and Gordon, "Is that Jessica?  Go Jessica, Go."  And then there was Jane on my left.  An angel, like my friends in Boston.  I tossed my bottle to her.  She gathered it and ran along beside me, sign in hand that read "Go Jess."  The crowds that lined Ruxton chanted "Go Jess" as I ran by.  Then I saw Dad on the last corner before the finish.  I couldn't help but grin and raise my arms in triumph.  Then my name was over the loud speaker and then I was done.  26.2 miles up 7200 feet and back down again.  6:51:04!

I had so much fun.   Who knew that you could run up a mountain and love it?!  There were moments when I had to look at my race number to remember I was in a race because I hadn't see anyone in 2 or 3 minutes.  And then I'd come upon a fellow runner, encouraging them on as I passed the same way others did me as they passed.  We were racing, but it didn't often feel like we were racing each other but instead our own goals and most certainly the spirit within the mountain.