My Ascent

In summary, I did well. Met my goal, felt good afterward, didn't puke, survived an August snowstorm (note the snow on the mountain in the photo above, taken Sunday morning from my house). That says it all, but a far too exhaustive description of my experience at the 2005 Pikes Peak Ascent follows.
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The Pikes Peak Ascent can be divided into 5 nearly equal sections. First, the trail starts on the streets of Manitou for about 1.2 miles. The second section is the W's, where the trail gets steep and narrow for about 3 miles following switchbacks up the front of the front range. The third section, from the top of the W's to Barr Camp, is roughly 3 miles and is less steep. The fourth section, from Barr Camp to timberline, is about 3 miles as well, and gets steeper and more rocky. The fifth and final section, considered by some as the second half of the race in terms of effort expended, is the final 3 miles above timberline. It is steep, rocky, exposed, and above 12,000 feet.

There is one piece of advice that you'll run across over and over again when researching running the Pikes Peak Ascent: Don't use up all of your energy too early in the race. This advice was running through my head the whole time, but because the race gets higher and steeper as it nears the end, I was never quite sure when to push it. I haven't been up the trail since I was in high school, and was unsure whether my body could handle the tough final section without totally falling apart. Ultimately, did not become a marching zombie, and I finished strong, and passed people all day long, but I was left wondering, after a race that felt good and didn't leave me overly sore the next day, whether I could have pushed a little harder and still kept it together.

The first section, along the streets in Manitou, was very comfortable. I started in the second wave, in the back half of the pack. America the Beautiful, inspired by a trip to the summit, was sung, and we took off. I took it easy, enjoying the energy of the crowd, keeping pace with the people around me, many of whom seemed to be from Arkansas, from their accents and comments to each other. The spoke a lot about pig-calling, and were the friendliest people around. The best part of this portion was the spectators who encouraged the racers, saying "only one more hill to go!" This should have been totally annoying, especially because it was repeated dozens of times after the novelty had worn off, but strangely enough, it was endearing. As the road section ended, I started getting a little bit concerned that most of the people around me were walking. I passed a few people while I still could, but didn't want to push too hard.

As we got onto the trail, the path narrowed down significantly, and we entered the W's. This section is pretty steep, so most everyone around me was walking. I could tell most of them were happy with their pace, because they were chatting along the way. I was feeling twinges of frustration at the pace. I probably would have taken it a little faster if I'd been alone, but ultimately, I'm not sure if that would have been a good thing. I just tried to enjoy the views and the trail, and passed slow folks when I could. I wanted to keep my heartrate up around 165 for the race. Through this section, it was around 155. Here is a graph of my heartrate throughout the race.



One annoying feature of this section was the people who weren't interested in being patient, and wanted to make the trail like a highway. They were making their way up the switchbacks saying "walk on the left, pass on the right." I thought they seemed a little too anxious, and it seemed pretty discourteous to ask us to slow down and cram onto one side of the trail so that they could run through. We're all on the trail, most of us would like to be going faster, but it's not happening, so relax. I passed most of these folks further up, which was somewhat satisfying.

The next section, from the top of the W's to Barr Camp, was my best. The trail widened and flattened out, and I was able to get into a rhythm. The trail was still pretty busy for the first mile of this section, but again, I felt good about conserving energy. For the last 1.8 miles before Barr Camp, I felt good, ran a fair amount of the time, and passed people liberally. My heartrate wasn't going crazy, but it would get up to 170 on the steep parts, and I'd walk to recover.

There is a great pace calculator on Matt Carpenter's site, and it has 4 split times between the start and Barr Camp. Because I was not paying attention, I didn't notice when the first few split locations passed by. I was worried that I was going to be behind because of all the walking. The first indication I had of whether I was on pace was halfway through this section, at a sign that marks a trail intersection and says "7.8 miles to the summit." I was glad to see that I was about 2 minutes ahead of pace. Once I reached Barr Camp, which is about halfway (in time and elevation) to the summit, I was almost 5 minutes ahead. I was starting to have naive thoughts of a 4 hour finish. Here is a graph of my split times, along with how far ahead of or behind pace I was.




After Barr Camp, where I picked up some gatorade and a handful of pretzels, the trail got significantly more rocky. At this point, I walked more and ran less. Rather than running at will, I was entering a period of self-deception and denial. I would be walking along at a good pace, and think to myself, "I should try running for a few minutes. I'll start at this next tree... No this one... No, that rock up there will make a good starting point... shoot, maybe I should wait until the next even minute on my watch, so that I can time it easily... Ok, this minute... No, next minute... Oh, there's a good tree..." But, running a little and walking a lot, I kept my heartrate up and gradually worked my way up to treeline, where I was still almost 6 minutes ahead of pace. Not having done any high altitude training, that buffer was about to slip away on me. It was also during this section that the people around me got much less happy. I was walking quickly, and a woman was behind me. Behind her was a man who suddenly started making distinct retching sounds as he was walking.

Him: Hao-achh…Huuuuak
Her: None of that now!
Him: I promise to give fair warning.
My mind: If having a guy hurl on your back isn’t an incentive to pick up the pace, I’m not sure what is.

Of course, at that point, we were about to lose conscious control of our pace. The oxygen level was in control above timberline (about 11,000 feet). The organs of our bodies had determined that the brain was the least important, and a majority of the organs voted to impose a mandatory temporary shutdown of the brain. The nerves connecting the eyeballs to the feet would be hardwired to bypass the brain, allowing the brain to hibernate. Which was fine. All that our brains were good for at that point was relentlessly repeating the melodies of Journey’s greatest hits.

Surprisingly, I was still able to run small stretches above timberline. I would concentrate on running for 30 seconds at a time when I had a stretch of clear trail ahead. Even at my walking pace, I was still passing people. Most of the people I passed during this portion had a word of encouragement for me as I went by, which was nice for me, and an unnecessarily generous sacrifice of valuable air. Most said “good job”, and I said “you too.” One man, however, said “go get ‘em.” That was the best. Just a small gesture, but the fight in those words gave me a little burst of energy.

Here is a graph of my speed throughout the race.



The whole run had been sunny, but clouds had gathered, and with two miles to go, I entered the clouds that had surrounded the summit. It got a little bit chillier, and I had to make use of the windbreaker and gloves I’d been carrying. Soon after I put on my jacket, it started hailing, and I was thankful that I had a hood. The hail was small, and as light as dried peas, so it didn’t do any damage. I heard stories of later runners getting caught in worse hail, and being bloodied and welted by it.

During the last two miles, thunder was sounding every few minutes, but there was nowhere to go but up, so I couldn’t let myself get too worried about it. I did start wondering how I would take it if they closed the mountain and sent me back down the way I came. They did end up closing the trail early, and sending some runners back down, which must have been torturously frustrating, but I sneaked in before the really bad weather closed the trail. The difficulty of the race at this point cannot be overstated. On Sunday, during the marathon, an experienced runner had a heart attack above timberline and didn't survive. Sad story.


I was pushing at a tolerable pace, but it took forever. I made sure to run when I passed the photographer (bib #1346), as you can see above. Eventually, when I reached the 16 golden steps, a ridiculous set of switchbacks in the last half mile, I fell in with a guy ahead who was going my pace. He and I accelerated, and actually ran the last couple of minutes, adrenaline providing the fuel, oxygen, and strength. We both made our way up the steps, and eventually ran the last couple of minutes to the finish line. What a great site to see Heather at the finish.

Even though the race was an incredible experience, it honestly wasn't until after the lady placed the finisher's medal around my neck that most of the memorable moments happened. Within 15 minutes of finishing, the lightning was getting worse, hail was falling steadily, and we heard rumors that the road was closed. The summit looked like Greenland, and soon, maybe 1,000 runners and spectators were jammed into the summit house. We (myself, Heather, Pete, and my mom and dad) found a place in the entrance vestibule, next to a nice family including a dad and daughter who'd finished. They brought along their pleasant old golden retriever, who sat on the crowded floor looking exasperated. We passed the time, and after about 2.5 hours, finally got to take a shuttle down the mountain. It was annoying, and the lack of communication from the race organization to the stranded runners was frustrating. Nobody really knew what was happening, so information flowed through a simple three step rumor mechanism. Here's an example

1st person: I wonder if anybody got hit by lightning.
2nd person: Someone said something about someone getting hit by lightning.
3rd person: I heard someone got hit by lightning... I wonder if they've opened the road yet.
1st person: Someone said something about the road opening...

But we all got down and nobody was hit by lightning, as far as I know. A woman in our shuttle van swore that she saw a gatorade bottle in front of her get struck by lightning. I'm wondering if she was just concentrating really hard on the gatorade logo and got confused, or maybe she was composing a gatorade commercial in her head.

My overall impression of the race was positive. It was tough, and I was tired, but afterwards, I was less sore than I expected. I was surprised by how much walking there was. Everyone says that you should expect periods of walking, but I didn't realize they meant 80% of the race. I probably ran 45 minutes total. The strategy of the race is the most interesting aspect. I was not in control of my pace for about the first hour. Then, I was in control for roughly an hour before the altitude took over. That center section is key. I would also try to go out a little faster next time, in hopes of breaking out of the pack of walkers earlier. Being in the first wave might help with that.

Would I do it again? Yes, I'm dying to. I can feel the addictive nature of this race. How about next week? Anybody want to come with me next year?