He was speaking during a carbo-loading spaghetti supper the night before the race hosted upstairs in Ouray's firehouse. I passed on the pasta since it looked like a starchy gut-bomb that would do more harm than good, and I intently listened to the man who not only founded the Imogene Pass Run, but won the Pikes Peak Marathon 5 consectutive times. Plus, he also helped design the Hardrock 100 that is commonly referred to being one of the toughest 100 mile races for ultrarunners. If that's not enough, he won the Hardrock in 1996 and has a full time job and a family.
Ouray, Colorado sits at 7,810 feet and is nicknamed the "Switzerland of America" and is nestled at the end of a box canyon where deadly Red Moutain Pass looms overhead. The jagged San Juan Mountains tower above Ouray with a strong summertime flow of tourism as well as a world class ice climbing in the winter. The Imogene Pass Run connects Ouray to Telluride via 17.1 miles of mainly jeep roads over an alpine summit.
The following morning, prior to the sun cresting the eastern wall of mountains, I stood with hundreds of runners at the starting line of the sold out race. I trained hard and felt the race would be a challenge and the gun went off. The herd of runners began the ascent to the top of Imogene Pass at 13,120 feet. Ten miles to cover an elevation gain of 5,310 feet meant a nonstop uphill grind that was rewarded by a 7.1 mile descent into Telluride.
As always, the Dr. Seuss show of every body type, age and clothing were represented amongst the runners. The nonstop flow of passing and being passed by the same runners was highlighted in this race and I was happy when pavement was finally abandoned and replaced by a dirt road. Single track trails are my favorite, but the stony jeep road made an adequate substitute.
At mile 5.5, the Camp Bird Mine was reached where nature is slowly trying to take back the property. Later, the upper Camp Bird Mine was passed and I was starting to hurt. My legs burned as we kept gaining in altitude where treeline was reached and rocky alpine tundra opened to scenic views. Far above, I could see runners appearing like little ants angling single file up a trail to the summit.
Running was abandoned and my version of power-hiking was incorporated. Many others power-hiked right past me so I re-classified my stride to simply walking...very slow walking. My legs were shot. I noticed a sign detailing only 1 more mile to the summit and I have no memory of that final mile. I had transformed into a high mountain, alpine zombie doing a death march that took 21 minutes to cover that final mile. Simply pathetic.
 |
| Imogene's Summit with Telluride far below on the left. |
Miraculoulsy, I somehow neared the summit when a volunteer from the aid station reached over the final little edge and rescued my zombie ass by jerking me up and over to the top. I staggered to the aid station and gulped some water and looked down where we began. Far, far below was Ouray and while on the knife's edge of the summit, I peered down the other valley and far, far below was Telluride and the finish line.
Being very disappointed in myself on the ascent, I wanted to make up time on the descent and let my legs go. Reckless abandon caused many near wipe-outs and after oxygen returned in the atmosphere, I pushed harder. Toe trips led to high speed face plants that caused grit-filled road rash on hands and knees. But, as a friend once said, even falling down is forward motion...
The temperature warmed immensely as I pushed harder down the mountain. As each runner was passed, I targeted the next. I felt a Texas-sized blister on the bottom of my right heel, so I tried to run strictly on my toes, which thoroughly trashed my dainty calves that rebelled by knotting up. While on the outskirts of town, spectators began to line the trail.
"How much farther?" I asked which blasted out of my voicebox more like an angry demand.
"Oh, just around the corner...you're almost there," was heard.
That exchange was repeated many times and I wondered just how many corners could be left? I felt my body starting to shut down from the punishment. Quads began to quiver and partially seize while calf muscles rebuked any demands of performance. Trujillo's Incessant Forward Motion theory was visited, again and again and again.
Finally, that much anticipated corner was rounded with the finish line in sight. After passing that magical line, I crumpled off to the side and later staggered to the medic tent. Initially, I thought my road rash and ripped up heel was worthy of attention, but others had heads cracked open, really nasty road rash and one man appeared to have a broken arm. I suddenly felt like an ultra-wimp standing in line to flush imbedded grit out of my flesh.
Mr. Trujillo, you founded a BRUTALLY beautiful race. Thank you and congrats to being inducted into the Colorado Running Hall of Fame. You deserve it!
No comments:
Post a Comment