Chris Wristen

Back in August, the day after completing the Pikes Peak Ascent, I drove out to Leadville, Colo., to catch the end of my friend Laurie’s successful completion of the Leadville Trail 100.

I’d been to Leadville a few days earlier to have a pre-race lunch with Laurie after I arrived in Colorado, and on the drive in I started getting the itch to want to race in Leadville. I’ve always felt like a Colorado kid at heart, and mountain races appeal to me — hence the Pikes Peak race and my Lawrence Trail Hawks nickname, Summit Hawk. It was on the drive home after the LT 100, with Leadville and its mountainous surroundings in my rearview mirror, that I decided I definitely would return to do one of the Leadville races in 2012.

The 100-miler seemed out of the question. I’ve been running trails for less than two years, have yet to complete an official marathon and am still figuring out what this body can handle.

While reviewing the race series options during the past few months, however, the Silver Rush 50-Mile Trail Run kept jumping out at me. Maybe it’s the name, Silver Rush, that ties into the old mining town’s history; maybe it’s the fact that the entire race is above 10,200 feet; or maybe it’s that it’s the perfect midpoint distance to let me know if a future LT 100 attempt is reasonable.

The more I thought about it, the more the Silver Rush made sense. It’s a race where I’ll either bonk hard or finish strong, but either way I’ll find out if exactly what I’m made of.

Registration opened today, and I’m signed up. It’s official. On July 15, 2012, it’s on.

I have eight and a half months to tackle other races, both marathons and 50Ks, log plenty of long runs, weights workouts and Ogg Road repeats. Then, it’s back to Leadville to turn a year-long dream into reality.

The day before the inaugural Hawk Hundred 100-Mile Trail Run in Lawrence, I contacted Trail Runner Magazine to see about contributing a story to the publication.

About two weeks later I received a response. The story I ended up writing wasn’t what I’d originally had in mind, but it was by far the best story to come out of the race. The lady it’s about is one of the happiest, kindest people I’ve ever met — and also one of the toughest.

The story ran in Trail Runner‘s Inside Dirt newsletter. It came out on Friday.

In case you’re interested, here’s a link to it.

Six weeks ago was the first time I seriously considered attempting a 100-mile trail run.

I’d just run the Pikes Peak Ascent and performed far better than expected, and the next day I hopped in my rental car and headed to Leadville, Colo., to catch the end of the Leadville Trail 100. My friend Laurie was running, and although I didn’t make it in time to see her cross the finish line — she’s too darn fast! — I witnessed enough of the spectacle and the stunning scenery to whet my appetite.

Yes, maybe if my training goes well I’ll sign up for this race in 2013, I thought.

Fast forward to last Friday and Saturday, and my desire to do a 100-miler pretty much disappeared.

I was in Logan, Utah, crewing and pacing my friend Nick for the Bear 100-Mile Endurance Challenge. Laurie — his girlfriend — was there, too, as the better half of our crewing/pacing team.

Some quick background info before we go any further:

— The Bear is considered to be one of the toughest 100-mile trail races in the United States because of its rugged terrain and incessant climbs and declines.

Elevation change map for the Bear 100

— Nick had done two previous 100s — the relatively easy Rocky Raccoon in Texas, and one of the hardest in Leadville. Neither compare to Bear other than the same mileage.

— As for me, my legs hadn’t carried me more than 18 miles in a single day prior to Bear.

To sum it all up, we expected this race to be extremely demanding of all of us, Nick and crew/pacers alike.

Still, while I anticipated it being a truly epic experience — and it was — I didn’t expect it to be so damn humbling.

PRE-RACE

Heading into Bear, I was a little concerned that our crew/pacing team consisted of just Laurie and I. A third person would have been ideal.

I had no doubt in Laurie’s abilities as she’d done this many times before and just ran Leadville on a busted foot. In addition to being an awesome person to spend hours with at a race, I knew I’d learn plenty from Laurie about how to crew a 100-miler.

My concern was in my abilities. I knew Laurie would show me the ropes about most of the duties, but Nick needed me to do a PR distance of about 20 miles as a pacer. It’s what I committed to, but a left foot injury from Pikes Peak had shut my training down for most of a month leading up to Bear. The foot healed after a few weeks, and it had handled the 18 miles of running/hiking that I put on it two weeks earlier at the Hawk Hundred, but that was on much kinder terrain than Bear.

I put on a good face for Nick in the weeks leading up to Bear and made sure to talk up how great the foot was feeling, even though it was far from perfect. I didn’t want to give him any reasons to panic when he had his own race to worry about.

The night before the race, in a truly unexplainable turn of events, Laurie went to take a shower and returned with a large bump and bruise on the side of her foot. The mysterious sixth toe that Laurie sprouted right before Leadville had returned.

Nerves immediately set in. Who knew how this would pan out? At that point I told myself I’d be doing my first marathon the next day … at The Bear … in the mountains … at The Bear … with no rest beforehand … at The Bear.

Sweet dreams. Tomorrow’s going to be intense.

RACE DAY

Nick taking fuel while Laurie reloads his pack at the 20-mile aid station.

The rental house was buzzing with activity by 4 a.m. as everyone was up early, packing and snacking on breakfast before departing for the starting line. We arrived at the start by 5 a.m. and had plenty of time to relax, chat with other runners and get Nick and Becca checked in before the 6 a.m. start. Jeremy showed up for the start, and he informed us his wife had given him the O.K. to spend the night helping us crew and pace. It was like Laurie and I had been given a life raft! We had a third crew member, and just in time!

The race began nonchalantly with the 250 runners packed together on a neighborhood street and the race director yelling, “See ya! Goodbye!” The runners hollered and took off uphill by the glow of their headlamps. After about a block, they made a right turn and hopped onto single-track trail for a 13-mile uphill climb.

The race was under way. The adventure had begun.

Laurie and I headed back to the house to grab a couple more hours of sleep, and then packed up the truck, ran a few errands and headed to the first aid station at about 20 miles. We were on pace to arrive on time — even with a herd of cattle blocking traffic for a few minutes — but Nick was cruising faster than expected. His hill training in Colorado paid off as he crushed the first climb, and then coasted the next seven miles to the aid station. Thanks to the cattle delay, Nick beat us to the station by a couple minutes. No worries, though. We arrived shortly, and he was feeling great. We reloaded his pack, he changed socks and headed out.

Nick and Laurie arrive at the 45-mile aid station.

Nick had another 10 miles before we’d see him again, so Laurie and I grabbed lunch at Great Harvest Bread Co. in downtown Logan, then bought $75 more in Roctane gel from Sports Authority and headed to the next aid station.

Record heat was setting in on the Bear 100 — upper 70s or low 80s — by the time Nick rolled into the 29.9-mile aid station. Most of the course was exposed to the sun, and the heat was cooking him. He was still going strong, but was starting to feel the heat. Laurie had everything set up and ready for Nick when he arrived. The chair she’d purchased — including a back pad — was ready, along with bags of food and medical supplies, energy drink and plenty of water. Within a few minutes Nick was reloaded, patched up and on his way.

Seven miles later, Nick’s pace had slowed considerably. A combination of heat, blisters and achy knees were ravaging his race. I refilled Nick’s hydrapack and supply of gels while also taking notes of the other details Laurie was tending to — patching blisters, mixing energy drinks and pestering Nick with questions to monitor his health. This crewing thing is complex!

Laurie had two surprises ready for Nick upon his arrival, though. One was a wet T-shirt she’d soaked in a nearby stream to wrap around his head. The second was that she was ready to pace. Sore foot and all, she jumped in for the next eight miles at a point when Nick was more than ready for some company.

I took the keys, hopped in the truck and headed to the next aid station hoping that I wouldn’t get lost. Within 15 minutes I reached the next station at the 45-mile mark. While setting up the chair and bags of supplies, I tried to replicate how Laurie had done everything. With plenty of time to spare, I changed and loaded up my hydrapack. A day of crewing had made me antsy, and I was ready to jump in a bit early to pace.

Time for that first marathon!

ON THE TRAIL

The view at mile 46. Nick started feeling better at this point and we cruised for the next few hours.

Nick was still struggling when he and Laurie arrived at the 45-mile aid station. He was dehydrated, fatigued, sapped by the sun, and his knees were suffering on the downhill segments.

Shortly after the next 6.6-mile stretch began, Nick began feeling better. We were in the shade and had plenty of tree cover. Plus, most of it was uphill, and he was crushing the climbs. We settled into a steady pace and cruised most of the way. As darkness set in, we arrived at the 51-mile aid station at a brisk jog.

At that point, we pulled out headlamps, hats, gloves and long sleeves. Temperatures had plummeted into the 40s, and they’d dip below freezing in the middle of the night. The next 10 miles took three hours, even with a brief wrong turn factored in. Nick felt good for most of it, and I was riding on adrenaline. At one point I radioed ahead to Laurie at the aid station and told her I thought I could go all night.

Nick knew better. I’m sure Laurie did too.

After three hours on the trail, we arrived at mile 61.5. It was frigid. Nick was shivering and huddled under a sleeping bag at the aid station while Jeremy grabbed him some soup and Laurie treated his blisters. I spent most of the break scarfing down Pringles and soup, and hopping around trying to stay warm. My legs still felt great — but that was about to change.

On the trail with Nick to do a bit of pacing. Both of us were feeling good at this point.

Nick and I departed the aid station at midnight, but after a quarter of a mile Nick sent me back to catch Laurie and grab his hoodie. He was shaking from the cold, and his condition was deteriorating rapidly. I booked it back and found her as she was shutting the doors to the truck. I darted back out of the aid station and caught up to Nick at a river crossing. We paused while he bundled up, and then moved on.

Maybe it was the extra warmth provided by the jacket, or perhaps it was his appetite for climbs, but Nick quickly regrouped and hit his stride as we began about a two-mile climb. He hammered the hill and I stayed right with him. Soon the trail smoothed out and we marched ahead through the night. Both of us were doing fine until about mile 65 when an endless downhill began. Nick had suffered on the downhill segments all night, and this time I did too.

By 2 a.m. the adrenaline rush was long gone and the record mileage caught up to me. My legs were trashed and there was a sharp pain in my right ankle. I kept my mouth shut about all of it, though, because the last thing Nick wanted to hear from a pacer was complaints about leg pain. Heck, he’d already done 45 more miles than me.

The final stretch was on a rocky, rugged road, and it was particularly frustrating because the location of the aid station had moved just days before the race. We didn’t really know exactly how long we had to go until the aid station, only that it would be there … eventually.

We arrived at the aid station at 3 a.m., and Laurie and Jeremy were waiting with food and a sleeping bag for Nick. Jeremy was taking over from here. I was done.

The next few hours were a blur. Jeremy went from mile 70 to mile 85 with Nick. Laurie and I did some napping and some crewing during that time, but I was too groggy and sore to be of much help. Laurie did most of the work.

At mile 85, Jeremy took off and Laurie hopped back in to pace Nick the rest of the way. The sun was up, Nick was feeling better — except for his knees — and there was no question he would finish.

I met Nick and Laurie at the 92.5-mile aid station. I had hashed browns and Gatorade waiting for him, and he was in and out quickly. The finish line wasn’t far. As they headed back down the trail, I hopped in the truck and headed to the finish at Bear Lake in Fish Haven, Idaho.

AFTERMATH

Done!

Nick rolled through the finish in 31 hours, 54 minutes.

The smile on his face masked the agony his legs were enduring even as he laid in the grass basking in the sun.

The quote Nick repeated numerous times on the trail, as well as at the finish line, was “This is really hard.”

Talk about an understatement.

I fully expected Nick to be hurting after the race. He’d been awake for 36 hours, and he covered 100 miles in less than 32 on some of the most rugged trails in the United States.

At the same time, I could only imagine how much pain Nick was feeling as he hobbled like an elderly man. I only went a quarter of the way with him, and my legs felt destroyed. How he and his fellow finishers made it all the way baffles me.

Team Lang celebrates after Nick's finish at the Bear 100.

I’ve endured some tough physical challenges — most recently running the Pikes Peak Ascent and climbing Mount Kilimanjaro — and neither comes close to the pain and fatigue I felt pacing at The Bear.

I returned home to Kansas City in awe of Nick and his fellow finishers for their ability to conquer The Bear, and completely humbled by my own experience.

I learned so much about 100-milers from Nick and Laurie, and I had an experience that “epic” only begins to describe. I’d love to do it again.

I also returned home with some doubts about whether I want to do a 100-miler myself. Six weeks ago it seemed possible and somewhat appealing. After The Bear, it seems completely insane. Maybe one of these days I’ll do one — perhaps Leadville 2013 — but first I have some other distances to take care of. I put in my first “unofficial” marathon at The Bear. I need to find another race to make it official.

Check out Nick’s race report here.

It’s been an eventful month since running Pikes Peak.

A foot injury from the race sidelined me for three weeks. I enjoyed a post-race, seven-day burger binge. I also went bald with Shelley and a few others when she decided to buzz hers off before chemo could take it from her.

I also covered a PR for distance in a day when I ran/walked 18 miles at the Hawk Hundred 100-Mile Trail Run last weekend at Clinton State Park in Lawrence. About six of those miles were pacing the wonderful Debbie Webster, and the others were logged while re-marking part of the course and doing other race assistance duties.

Now it’s time for the next big adventure. A week from right now I’ll be preparing to start my stretch of pacing duties for Nick Lang at the Bear 100-Mile Endurance Run. It starts in Logan, Utah, and ends in Fish Haven, Idaho. I’ll be pacing Nick for about 20 miles — another new distance PR.

I was pretty nervous about pacing Nick when my left foot flared up after Pikes Peak. I’d basically been totally idle for three weeks. Conditioning was lost. The foot hadn’t even been tested, so what if I got out there and started to pace only to find out at 3 a.m. that I couldn’t go?

The long day at the Hawk Hundred did wonders for my confidence. The foot had been feeling quite a bit better, and once it logged a record number of miles and still felt fine the next morning I knew it would be OK.

I’ve run a few more times since then, including Wednesday on the rocky trails at Shawnee Mission Park, and it continues to feel normal. Even better, my legs still feel strong and my lungs feel fine. I guess my conditioning didn’t suffer much during the break.

Now that I know the foot is good to go, nerves are setting in. I need to pack. I have to make sure all of my work-related duties are completely taken care of in advance. I need to log a few more miles and run a few more hills.

It seems like just a few days ago I was in Colorado, standing atop Pikes Peak at the end of the Ascent. What a journey that was. Now it’s time to go again.

“Sir, are you feeling OK? I think you should sit down,” a man in the medical building said, ushering me to a nearby chair.

Taking oxygen after the Pikes Peak Ascent.

Oh yes, I was good. Very, very good. The Pikes Peak Ascent was done, and it went far better than I’d expected.

A few minutes later, after the man plugged my nose with a hose that pumped bottled oxygen into my lungs, I was even better. My heart rate slowed, the room stopped spinning and my thoughts cleared.

“I did it … 3:57 … holy cow,” I thought. Four months of training paid off.

Hot days, long months

Back in March, shortly after running my first half marathon, I began searching for a bigger race to train for. I’d never traveled for a race, and my summer vacation budget was almost nonexistent, so I started scouting out reasonable options. A few friends had run Pikes Peak before. Plus, it met my love of the mountains and high-altitude thrills.

I signed up, and on March 31 my name appeared on the official list of entrants for the Pikes Peak Ascent — 13.32 miles and 7,815 feet of elevation gain to the summit at 14,115 feet.

In the four and a half months that followed, I undertook a training regimen more grueling than anything I’ve done since high school, pounding out mileage five days a week, strength training and sticking to a healthy diet. I peeled off about 15 pounds in the process.

I also relied on the knowledge of many of my fellow runners — and that made a world of difference. Sarah Henning, Colinda Thompson and Danny Miller all shared tips from their experiences on Pikes. Matty Mullins — a regular training partner — is a multi-time Pikes Peak finisher, and he shared knowledge of the mountain while also showing me how to train. In addition, Matty and Brian Brooks taught me to love hill running. At first they talked me into running Ogg Road hill repeats with them, and eventually I made it a part of my routine on solo days as well.

On multiple occasions I scheduled “Ogg Mondays” to do six miles of solo hill repeats, and oftentimes as I’d be heading up the backside of the hill, Matty would come flying over the top and down as part of his preparation for the Pikes Peak Marathon.

We had as hot a summer in Kansas City as I can remember, but I never let it keep me indoors. If it was 100 degrees, I was on the trails or pounding out hill repeats. When it was 111 degrees in early August, I ran with Coleen Voeks, Deb Johnson and Laurie Euler.

We had rain in the days leading up to departure, and on those mornings and evenings I slogged through the drizzle to pick up a few more miles.

When I boarded my flight for Colorado on Thursday, Aug. 18, I felt confident that I’d done all I could to prepare.

Final countdown

Upon landing in Colorado, I headed to Leadville to have lunch with Laurie. She was running the Leadville Trail 100 the same weekend (She finished, by the way, and did awesome!), and I was eager to hear how she was feeling in anticipation of her race. Plus, I was excited to see famous Leadville for the first time.

We grabbed lunch at the Tennessee Café, walked the main strip and grabbed coffee at Provin’ Grounds before I headed back to Manitou Springs.

The three hours in Leadville provided good acclimatization time above 10,000 feet and likely paid dividends two days later.

As I neared the hotel, I received a call from Shelley. She and Kelly were headed to Leadville to crew for Brooks Williams and looking for a place to crash. I had a spare bed in my room, and the sight of a few more friends from home was very welcome. They departed early Friday morning for Leadville, and shortly after we had breakfast I headed to packet pickup and ran into Rick Troeh from Kansas City. He was there to do the double (Ascent and Marathon). Later that afternoon, Matty arrived, adding to the slew of friendly faces from home that kept me company and helped settle my anxiety.

I ended up having short but good nights of sleep both Thursday and Friday, and that definitely paid off Saturday.

Bring on the mountain

I set my alarm for 5:45 a.m., but was wide awake well before then. I felt well rested and ready to go. I met up with the Mullins crew in front of the hotel about 7 a.m., and we made the six-block walk to the starting line, dropped off bags of warm clothes to be transported to the summit, and then snapped a ton of photos.

At the starting line with Matty Mullins. He taught me how to train for the mountain.

Finally it was time to go.

I found a spot close to the front of the pack, just behind the runners who looked like they would sprint at the start. I made sure to stay near the side of the crowd so I could avoid being boxed in if I needed to pass.

On your marks … set … GO!

From the starting line in front of Manitou Springs City Hall (6,300 feet), we headed up Manitou Ave., turned left on Ruxton Ave., and up past the Cog Railway Depot to Hydro Street. At that point — 1.45 miles into the race — we reached Barr Trail and headed onto the narrow dirt trail. My legs were burning a bit because of the constant uphill, but I was feeling good. The pace I’d determined on Thursday for the early part of the race paid off. I’d avoided a logjam at the trailhead, and I hadn’t gone too fast.

The next 2.7 miles were steep. We gained about 1,900 feet during that span to No Name Creek. I focused on the race strategy suggested by Pikes Peak legend Matt Carpenter to give a consistent effort throughout, regardless of your pace. “Run when you can; walk when you must; never stop moving,” I told myself.

Passing wasn’t too difficult, and I quickly found a few other runners who had a similar pace to mine. I fell in line with them and hit a comfortable rhythm power-walking the steepest areas and running the rest of it. Each aid station came quickly.

Ruxton Creek (1.65 miles): 19:30.

Incline (2.8 miles): 40:00.

No Name Creek (4.3 miles): 1:05.

A third of the way in, I was well ahead of pace for a five-hour finish. I felt good, though, and continued to cruise at a comfortable clip.

The next mile to Bob’s Road included 550 feet of elevation gain to 9,350, and I rolled through in 18 minutes, reaching the 5.3-mile aid station in 1:23.

From there, it was 2.3 miles and 850 feet of gain to Barr Camp. Most of that stretch was runnable, and I picked up the pace. Just 31 minutes later I reached Barr Camp at 10,200 feet in 1:54. More than half way home, the possibility of a sub-four finish entered my mind.

Less than a half-mile out of Barr Camp, my hydrapack went dry. I had another two miles to reach the A-Frame aid station, I was well above 11,000 feet, and I had no water. Fortunately most of this section was steep and I was forced to power walk a good portion of it. It cost me some time, but the walking helped me avoid sustaining leg cramps until I reached A-Frame and was able to refill my hydrapack with Gatorade.

The 30-second stop to refill was the only time my forward momentum stopped during the race, but it was a necessary step to give me fuel for the rest of the race — and also so I could wash down two S-caps.

With a full hydrapack, I left A-Frame (10.2 miles; 11,950 feet) in 2:42 and prepared for the grueling push above tree line.

Final steps to the finish line of the Pikes Peak Ascent.

It was 1.7 miles to the Cirque aid station. The whole section from A-Frame to Cirque was exposed to the sun, and it included 1,350 feet of elevation gain. Most of it was steep enough that power-walking was necessary — although there were a few runnable areas. I ran whenever possible, passing numerous runners who’d started in the first flight. It took 47 minutes to reach Cirque. By then, the summit was in sight and dozens of runners were doing a zombie walk up the trail or sitting on rocks with their heads in their hands.

I was lucky. Altitude has never been much of a problem for me. Breathing was tougher at 13,300 feet, but my head and stomach felt fine. I started passing more people and picking up the pace as much as possible. I passed through Cirque in 3:29.

I wanted a sub-four-hour finish.

Passing became harder as the path narrowed and grew significantly rockier. Dizzy and dazed runners crushed by the altitude weaved and wobbled up the trail. Those with minds clear enough allowed me to pass. A few wouldn’t move and turned down offers for assistance. Long switchbacks made this portion even more mind-numbing, but finally a smiling aid worker sitting on a rock said, “Welcome to the Golden Stairs! You’re almost done!”

Ah yes, the 16 Golden Stairs — 32 short, steep, rocky switchback step-ups to the finish line. These are supposed to be the final spear through the soul before finishing. They bring many runners to a standstill and make the oh-so-close finish line appear so far away.

I glanced at my watch, saw it read 3:52, and kicked it in gear up the first step. What felt like a sprint was probably more of a steady jog, but I charged up the stairs as quickly as possible, turning the corner on each switchback and bolting toward the next one. Glance at my watch: 3:54. Up a few more stairs. Another glance: 3: 56. I heard the announcer at the finish line call out my bib number, my name and hometown as I entered the second-to-last switchback. One final turn, a few more steps and I crossed the finish line.

3:57.42!

One of the volunteers congratulated me. Another draped a medal around my neck. A lady with a camera snapped my picture.

I stumbled around gasping for air, choking up as the mix of shock and thin air combined to having a truly dizzying effect. I wobbled over and claimed my bag of warm clothes and then stumbled toward the medical building where a man took me by the arm and led me to a chair before hooking me up to a tank of oxygen.

For 10 minutes I sat with cool oxygen pumping through my nostrils and into my lungs. For 10 minutes I didn’t stop smiling. Four months of training paid off. The race went so much better than I’d imagined. What a trip.

Finished in 3:57.42!

It’s 12 hours until race time. The waiting’s almost done.

At 7:30 a.m. tomorrow, Aug. 20, the Pikes Peak Ascent will be under way and we’ll find out if four and a half months of training were sufficient. Other than hydrating and sleeping, there’s not much else I can do now.

In the meantime, the two days of prep time in Colorado have been plenty fun, and they’ve helped make the waiting go by faster.

At Provin' Grounds in Leadville with Laurie.

I landed in Colorado Springs a little before 9 a.m. Thursday and immediately hit the road. My friend Laurie Euler is running the Leadville Trail 100 this weekend (her race starts at 4 a.m. tomorrow). She’s spent the week in Leadville exploring the course and acclimating to life above 10,000 feet. Anyway, the first order of business was to make the 2 1/2-hour drive to Leadville to visit Laurie. We grabbed lunch at the Tennessee Café in downtown Leadville, and then she gave me the walking tour of all five blocks or so of downtown. From what I can tell, Leadville’s sole existence is to put on epic trail running and mountain biking races — and I want to do one of the trail races next year.

After a few hours in Leadville, I headed back to Manitou Springs to check into the hotel and settle in for the evening. Shortly before arriving, Shelley texted me. She and Kelly are crewing for a runner at Leadville this weekend and were en route from Kansas City. They wanted to see me and wish me well on my race, and also knew I had a spare bed to crash in to break up the drive a bit. All three of us were exhausted by the time they arrived, so we all called it an early night.

Shelley and Kelly visited me in Manitou Springs!

We set our alarms for 6 a.m. today. They needed to hit the road for Leadville, and I needed to keep my body on schedule for race time. We made a quick jaunt to Starbucks for breakfast, snapped some photos and parted ways for our separate adventures.

As I walked back to the hotel, my path took me straight toward Pikes Peak. It looms over Manitou Springs, and the walk back is when my first serious bout of nervousness set in. I remember it being big, but it seemed much larger this morning than yesterday — and 10 times larger than it did when I saw it in late December.

Whatever. No time to worry about a mountain seemingly fueled by Miracle-Gro. I headed to the race expo for packet pick-up. Shortly after grabbing my bib number and some schwag, Rick Troeh — a fellow Kansas Citian, Pikes Peak veteran and Ascent/Marathon doubler — walked up and said hello. We’ve communicated a bit through emails and Facebook the past few months, but it was great to meet in person and see another familiar face. Who knew I had to go to Colorado to see so many people from home?

It's official - I'm in the race!

The rest of the day was low-key. I went to Garden of the Gods for a little bit, and I jogged/walked the first mile and a half of the course to familiarize myself with it and figure out a reasonable pace to start the race.

Dinner tonight was the Kiwanis Club pasta feed back at the race expo. I ran into another Kansas Citian — training partner Matty Mullins — and his family there. He’s done the Ascent about six times and is going for his first Pikes Peak Marathon on Sunday.

After dinner, I headed back to the hotel and double-checked my gear for tomorrow. The weather looks pretty good, too. Rain’s rolling in tonight, but it’s supposed to be 50s and sunny at the start; possible rain in Manitou around 10 or 11 a.m.; upper 40s and clear on the summit until rain rolls in around 1 p.m.

All in all, I’m a bit nervous tonight — more anxious, really — but ready to go. I know I did all I could to prepare.

Bring on the mountain!

My bags are packed, a few miles have been logged, dinner’s done and it’s just about time for bed.

Departure for Colorado is just hours away, and it’s less than three days until race day.

Psych Night 10K

Those days and hours can’t get here soon enough, but to be honest this moment — being packed and ready to go — couldn’t get here soon enough, either.

I signed up for the Pikes Peak Ascent four and a half months ago. At first I was nervous for the race, then anxious, and now just plain annoyed with the waiting game. Four and a half months is a long time to train, and it’s been a mighty long summer. About two dozen workouts were in 100-plus-degree temperatures (including one day at 111), I’ve run enough hill repeats that I’ve grown to love them, and I’ve worn through two pairs of shoes.

Nervousness disappeared a week and a half ago at the Psych Night 10K trail race at Wyandotte County Lake Park when I took 17^th, finished in 59:24 and felt remarkably good running the hills. That last part, the hills, was a jolt of confidence heading toward Pikes. It reassured me that all of those repeats on Ogg Road were worthwhile.

When Psych Night was done, I was stoked for two weeks of tapering. The hard part was done; this was supposed to be the joy ride leading up to the race. But it’s been just the opposite. Running itself has been a joy for the most part, but each day crept along. Colorado felt farther away. It’s been hard to hold back.

I logged 29 miles last week; too many by my standards, but almost all of them were at a nice, easy pace. The final one was walking at Race for the Cure.

I got up early Monday morning and ran the trails at Shawnee Mission Park at the same time (7:30 a.m.) the Ascent will begin. Tuesday was a blah four-miler around Lake Lenexa. Tonight was a nice, easy four-miler with the Wednesday night crew. Danny Miller threatened to send me home because he didn’t think I should be running at all, but I couldn’t resist putting in a final light workout with the crew that has helped prepare me all summer for this race.

Now, it’s almost time to go. Only a few more hours of waiting — the hardest part to be sure. Twelve hours from now I’ll be in Colorado Springs, right in the shadow of Pikes Peak.

Then it’ll be time to get nervous.

After four days of nervously checking the list of entrants, on March 31 my name appeared on the official list of participants for the Pikes Peak Ascent half marathon.

Now, more than four months later, it’s almost time to go.

Psych Night 10K — Aug. 5, 2011

It’s two weeks until race day, and four months of tough training has come to a close. Group runs on the Shawnee Mission Park trails, hill repeats on Ogg Road, relentless humidity and numerous workouts in 100-plus-degree temperatures (as high as 111 degrees!) are done.

Now it’s time to taper.

The final hard week — which began with six miles of Ogg hill repeats Monday and included the 111-degree day Tuesday with Laurie, Coleen and Deb — concluded last night with the Psych Night 10K trail run at Wyandotte County Lake Park.

I chose this race for a few reasons. One, it was timely. Two, I hadn’t raced since the Free State Trail Half Marathon in April, so I wanted to step to a starting line and race prior to Pikes Peak. Third, WyCo is notorious for its endless supply of hills. Since Pikes Peak is a 14,115-foot mountain and the race includes 7,815 feet of vertical gain, hills are my best friend when it comes to training.

I didn’t “race,” so to speak, although I ran a bit faster than I’d expected to. The idea was to use it like a Pikes Peak walk-through: start slow, figure out a pace that would work, power-walk the steepest sections if necessary … and not get hurt. I accomplished the last part of the equation, even though there were tons of rocks and mud holes where the ankles wiggled and wavered a bit. As for the rest of the plan: I started faster than planned, settled into a steady pace after a mile and a half, and maintained that pace most of the way.

I power-walked the last part of the final steep hill after climbing over a fallen tree, but other than that ran all of the hills. Interestingly, I felt surprisingly strong on the hills throughout the course — a credit to the hill training on Ogg all summer (tip of the hat to Matty Mullins and Brian Brooks for making sure that became a part of my routine).

I finished 17^th out of 130 runners and clocked a 59:24. Gotta admit I’m thrilled with a sub-hour 10K time at WyCo. Overall, it was a great confidence-booster heading into Pikes Peak.

Now, it’s time to taper. I’ll still be at the group runs at Shawnee Mission Park and will do a few hill repeats, although much of it will be scaled back to conserve energy and avoid injury. Time to focus on nutrition and rest.

Next stop: Colorado!

The idea has been thrown around for a little while, but tonight it’s official: I’m headed to the Bear 100.

The Bear, a 100-mile endurance run, takes place Sept. 23-24, beginning in Logan, Utah, and ending in Fish Haven, Idaho.

I’m not racing it, however. I’ll be pacing my friend Nick. He has to run the first 50 miles or so solo before pacers are allowed. I’ll pace for part of it and Nick’s girlfriend Laurie will handle the rest. When not pacing, Laurie and I will serve as Nick’s crew.

The opportunity to pace and crew for Nick is one I couldn’t pass up. I haven’t paced or crewed before, but after tracking a few friends online at the Western States 100 I’ve had the itch to help out at a 100-miler.

Fortunately, Nick and Laurie both have paced and crewed before, so I’ll learn from some veterans. Plus, both are a blast to hang out with — and we’ll spend plenty of time around each other during the course of a 100-mile race and about a 500-mile car ride to the starting line and another 500 miles back to Denver.

Elevation will be an issue — the race elevation ranges from 4,860 feet above sea level to 9,060 — but so will wildlife. In particular, we may encounter bears (duh).

I have a lot to learn about the Bear 100 during the next two months — and a race to run on Pikes Peak — but it’s nice to know that another adventure is looming on the horizon.

The message on the digital sign above the highway should have been sufficient: “Excessive heat warning.”

It was 3 p.m. There wasn’t a cloud in the sky to shield the sun. It was 103 degrees.

“This might not be a good idea,” I thought for a moment, not giving serious consideration to turning around and going home.

The Pikes Peak Ascent is four weeks from today.

This was a valuable training opportunity, and there was plenty of motivation on my mind.

Motivation has been lacking a bit during the past few weeks as the summer heat as reached oppressive levels. The humidity regularly has been at 80-90 percent, temperatures have been in the upper 90s and tipped into triple digits and it’s been a constant 83-85 degrees inside my apartment — at night.

Yes, the dog days of summer are in full force, and they’ve done plenty to make training extra tedious. I’d begun to view Pikes Peak simply as a serious physical challenge and not for what it is: an opportunity.

The group runs have been a blast, especially as record numbers have shown up every Wednesday night. Other runs with friends have been equally fulfilling. Solo training, however, has felt like a chore.

On Monday, a dose of reality provided some clarity that will make these next four weeks — and the days, weeks and months that follow — significantly more fulfilling. I was doing hill repeats on Ogg Road in preparation for Pikes Peak. It was a productive workout, but the heat and humidity made it absolutely miserable. I was relieved to have it over with.

When I returned to my car, the light on my cell phone was flashing. The log revealed I’d missed a call from my good friend and running buddy Shelley, and that I also had a text message from her.

Volunteering at Ironman 70.3 Kansas

Shelley had flown to Philly on Monday morning for a week-long business trip. She was back on a plane about to return home.

“My doctor called me a couple hours ago,” her text read. “I have breast cancer.”

Damn.

I forgot about the hill workout I’d just done. The fatigue in my body and brain disappeared instantly.

Running hills was pain by choice. Cancer … that’s a whole ‘nother beast.

In the days since receiving Shelley’s text, speaking with her on the phone and meeting her at the airport that night, I’ve done a lot of reflecting.

It was 13 months ago that I received similar news about my own mom. She was diagnosed with breast cancer, stage three, in May of 2010. She waited until I returned home from Tanzania in June before allowing my dad to tell me about it. She didn’t want me to worry about her. Throughout her battle, I worried about her a ton. It hit home and scared me, despite the fact that my sister is a cancer nurse and told me that based on what doctors said everything would be fine.

Mom showed great strength and courage throughout her battle, always putting her best foot forward and rarely showing fear. It was something life threw at her, and she attacked it as best she could with a goal of getting back to being a grandmother.

I learned a ton from her during the past year, and she became my inspiration as I successfully completed my first two half marathons.

Shelley’s approach to her battle has taken me back to that state of mind the past few days. She has continued to run as much as possible, she’s gone to work and gone about her business as a wonderful mother of two.

She’s also talking about races to sign up for during the next few months. One of her best friends ran the Boston Marathon in 3:43 after having her third round of chemotherapy this year. Shelley’s not someone who makes excuses, and she’s not going to let cancer stop her.

Simply put, this is an opportunity for her to kick cancer’s ass and add it to her list of amazing feats.

Which brings me back to today’s run …

I knew it was going to be hot and miserable. I read the sign on the highway and knew what the risks were. But I also knew the alternative.

Good excuses were available all over the place.

A week ago I’m certain I would’ve stayed home.

Today — as with the Wednesday group run and the after-work run Thursday night — I saw the alternative and I saw the opportunity.

I know what Shelley would’ve done. She would’ve made time to run.

Cancer’s not stopping her, so what’s a little uncomfortable weather?

Rather than making an excuse and regretting it later, I chose to embrace the heat and pain — nothing more than minor discomforts — and savor every step.

Pikes Peak is 28 days from today, and I plan to make the most of every one of them.