Pikes Peak Ascent
I want to write a little entry about the Pikes Peak Ascent, which I ran on Saturday, but I am having trouble because words can't really do it justice. I am thinking of phrases and comparisons ("getting sucked through a jet engine... falling into an ice cream maker...") but nothing can truly convey the extreme conditions of this race. I'll try anyway.
Even on the best of days, Pikes Peak is not supposed to be easy, with the long climb, oxygen deprivation and volatile weather all part of the reason entry slots fill out faster than Obama fundraisers. But this year, weather took center stage.
I found myself at a rainy, 50F starting line in Manitou Springs debating what to wear. In the end, I opted for my complete winter gear... my complete, California, winter gear. So I started in shorts, a long sleeve shirt and a short sleeve shirt over it, while carrying along gloves and ear muffs. This would be woefully inadequate for what was to come.
The first several miles of the course are the steepest, but I found myself moving very well, running probably 80% of the time and making good progress. The middle miles flattened out a little, but continued an upward trend. Around 9,500', I found myself walking more than running, and getting passed a lot. This phenomenon lasted until about 10,500', where I either fell back into my appropriate pace group, or the oxygen deprivation caught up to everyone else.
Two things of significance I need to mention: the rain was intermittent, and although I was not soaked, I'd say I was wet. The other thing, I encountered a runner who was descending from the top. Everybody was wondering, what is he doing? Well, we'd find out.
A-Frame is the name of the final aid station, which is located roughly three miles and 2,000' from the finish. It is significant because this is also "tree line" -- the elevation above which trees stop growing. As I approached the station, I heard someone calling out that this was A-Frame, water on the right etc. and if it got too cold, to turn around and come back. I thought the last part was a joke, but then two other people called out the same thing. No joke!
Three miles, 2,000'. That's all that was left. But in the same way sometimes those last six miles in a marathon are the heart of a race, I don't think anyone who was out there is going to remember much of the first 10 miles of the 2008 Pikes Peak Ascent. This is what happened after tree line:
First of all, the temperature dropped. The number I heard was 29F. Next, the wind picked up since there were no trees to impede it anymore. That number was 20MPH, which doesn't sound too bad, until you remember that everyone was wet. The terrain turned into gravelly single-track through a boulder field. Visibility dropped, as we were basically in a cloud. The precipitation was at times sleet, small hail and later snow.
I'm not sure what to say. Words really can't do it justice. I read that paragraph, it sounds like mildly unpleasant weather.
The first of the three miles after A-Frame was possibly the most miserable in terms of the precipitation. A number of times I heard people shout out in pain when the wind hit us and blew the sleet and hail into our faces like shrapnel. It hurt like the devil. One wind blast caught me across the neck, and it was a searing pain until the area went numb a couple of seconds later.
Speaking of numb, there was good news and bad news regarding my hands. The good news was, I lost all feeling in both hands from the knuckles outwards. The bad news, from the knuckles in it was so cold it, ironically, burned. My runners' gloves might as well have been toilet paper. I transferred my water bottle to the crook of my arm in an effort to keep my hands close to my chest for warmth, but it didn't help much.
Second mile after A-Frame, it started to thunder, though nobody ever did see lightning. Now this was truly frightening, because there was no cover at all to be found. At this point, I would have pulled myself from the race if there had been a viable option to do so. Unfortunately, there were only two ways off the mountain: run to the summit or run back to Manitou. There was quite literally no way to drop out.
I knew my core temperature was dropping and did my best to keep moving, but everyone was basically speed hiking. The sleet/snow had begun to cling to the rocks, although I can't say the footing ever got really treacherous. One guy fell down and didn't move for a good 10 seconds, and had to be helped back to his feet before he could continue. Despite the lack of oxygen, my legs felt fairly strong and I was able to keep moving. I was extremely uncomfortable, but my main worries were the thunderstorm and my fingers, which I thought might be getting frostbitten. Interestingly, although my feet were soaked, my legs were bare and my torso was wet, none of those parts approached the level of cold I felt (or not) in my hands and face.
I never did see the "one mile to go" marker, and I wondered if I was losing my sense of distance because of the altitude or cold. Luckily, I only missed it. And lo and behold, there were volunteers on the course that had descended from the summit. Wrapped in winter gear like mummies, they were handing out plastic bags, which I promptly wrapped myself in and created a way to insulate body heat. It made a noticeable difference to my hands.
That last mile the precipitation picked up again, but it took the form of snow, which didn't hurt as much. The visibility and footing got as bad as it was going to get, meanwhile. At one point, a volunteer told us we had a third of a mile to go, and I almost started crying. The finish line popped up out of almost nowhere, and I have never in my life been so excited to see the end of a race. I have some race T-Shirts that say "I survived" or "survivor", but I felt it was true in this case.
The carnage was spectacular. Only 460 of 1,900 registered racers finished the Ascent, as many people were turned back at A-Frame when the weather worsened. 80 of those finishers, about 1 in 11, were treated for hypothermia. The little hut where runners put on their sweats looked like an epileptic convention, as everyone was trying to untie knots (iced over, too) in their bags while shaking uncontrollably. My body didn't stop shivering until about 45 minutes after getting in the van that would start us down towards Manitou.
There's a fine line between a challenge and outright danger, and I think I crossed it last weekend. The problem was compounded by my poor preparation. I know now that I should have bought, and brought, actual winter gear for the race. I don't think the chances of becoming seriously hypothermic, or being blown off the mountain by a stray lightning bolt were all that high, but I think the chances were too high for a voluntary event like this. In terms of preparation: at least now I know better.
Once back in Manitou, I heard about the effective race cancellation and watched many very glum folks jogging back into town, having completed a 20 mile out-and-back to A-Frame instead of the Pikes Peak Ascent.
I'd say at least I have a good story to tell, but it's not really, because, again, words cannot... they cannot... convey how bad it was up there.
Some further reading:
Storm pushes many Ascent runners back down
Peak throws all its tricks at Ascent runners
Blog post with summit pictures