Delighted to be allowed on the mountain

Editor's note: Gazette page designer Todd Burgess ran the Barr Trail Mountain Race. We asked him to write about his experience of running on a mountain trail that has been closed to public use since June 10

By Todd Burgess/The Gazette

The Barr Trail Mountain Race was my first time on Pikes Peak in 39 days.

I wasn’t sure what to expect. My speed work was lacking, my uphill training had been more hiking than running, and I’ve never been strong on the downhills.

But, after running in Buena Vista and Leadville, I knew the altitude wouldn’t bother me.

I also knew I wasn’t headed to the summit of Pikes Peak. I wanted to “miss” the turn halfway up the mountain and continue up. But before the 12-mile run, race official Larry Miller told us that anyone continuing past Barr Camp could face a $5,000 fine.

My goals were simple:

• Don’t start too fast.
• Run every step.
• Under 1 hour, 30 minutes up.
• Sub 1 hour down.
• Get in a zone where I’m doing nothing but running. Not thinking. Just running.

The strategy worked.

The early hills didn’t hurt much. My thighs and calves were tired but not burning. It was more of a heaviness, as if my shoes were caked in mud.

When I race, I like to focus on other competitors, usually someone who is faster than I am.

A tan, shirtless 18-year-old, Tony Krupicka, was three or four places ahead of me; a couple of inches taller and a good 30 pounds lighter, he didn’t look like he had any business in the middle of the pack. “If I can catch that guy,” I thought, “I know I’ll have a good race.“

He drifted ahead.

The ground was surprisingly soft in places. Dirt had been washed off the hills and settled like sand traps, 3 or 4 inches deep, onto the trail. If Barr Trail had been getting its normal, daily parade of hikers and runners, the ground would have been firmer.

Above No Name Creek, at about mile 3, I could see one person ahead of me and couldn’t hear anyone behind. It was time to stretch the legs out. But I couldn’t switch gears. My legs should have had more pop.

What? I’m walking? I couldn’t believe it. I went from a choppy, but relentless, jog to a walk in a second. I was walking the worst place to walk, just a few strides from where the trail levels out.

After 20 steps, I started running again. I vowed I wouldn’t walk anymore. Minutes passed, and no one passed me. This was starting to feel like a training run, relaxed and fun.

I was gliding along, then I had my first good look at the top of Pikes Peak. Instantly, I was angry. I wanted to be above tree line, up with the other hikers and runners on the barren mountain. I thought about all the tourists being allowed up the peak on the Pikes Peak Highway and cog railroad, people who drive to the top of the mountain so they can buy “Real Men Don’t Need Guardrails” T-shirts and other souvenirs; people who go straight from the cog trains to the summit house to eat donuts; people who don’t know, or care, what it feels like to spend an entire day on the mountain, pushing one’s body to its limits.

It bothered me knowing the people in the Barr Trail Mountain Race who are training for the Pikes Peak Ascent and Marathon are being denied access to this mountain, hurting their chances on race day and stopping them from doing what they love to do.

The burst of anger was unexpected, but it fired up my legs.

Eventual race winner Paul Low had made the turn at halfway a good 15 minutes ago and was sprinting toward me, with long, smooth strides. His feet were running the show. It didn’t look like he even bothered to look at the trail. The next five runners had a similar, effortless but speedy gait. How can people run that fast and make it look that easy?

Soon after, I saw the shirtless Krupicka. He must have pushed to gain so much time. He would end up nearly half an hour ahead of me.

“On the way down, I go as fast as possible without breaking something,” the Colorado College runner said.

When I got my next good glimpse of Pikes Peak, I was more sad than angry. I miss being high on the mountain. I miss the 16 Golden Stairs. I miss standing on the summit, alone, at 3 in the morning.

Despite feeling slow, I made the turn at halfway in 1:29:41 — 19 seconds faster than my goal.

People passed me ... four, five, six runners. Oh, no. Don’t fall way behind. The high school runner in the gray shirt ... try to stick with her.

The high schooler, who I later learned is a sophomore in college, is 19-year-old Hillary Dobson, eventual winner for her age group. She, like me, seemed tentative on the rocks. When there were no tricky turns, she sped up, just as I did. I knew that if she drifted away, a stream of runners would continue to pass me.

“I’m not much of a downhill runner,” she said before the awards ceremony. Neither am I. I’m not much of an uphill runner, either. And I’m not so hot on the flats. But at least I was running.

With about a mile and a half left, I saw Glen Ash as I negotiated one of the switchbacks. He was maybe 10 seconds behind me.

If Glen caught me, he’d pass me, and if he passed me I’d have no chance of catching him. He’s 65 years old and tough.

I knew he would be hard to hold off, but, 32 years younger, I was ready for the challenge. I ran about as fast as I could and held it there. My thoughts spun. Hold off Glen. C’mon. You can go faster. Let’s go. Don’t let him catch you.

Glen became my symbol of the person who deserves to be on this mountain. His pushing himself led me to push myself. He wasn’t going to catch me.

My legs started to feel good. I found third, fourth and fifth gears, and then I was running. Not thinking about running. Running.

I started to realize it. I started thinking again. But I kept pushing and the thoughts went away.

With half a mile to go, I came crashing back to earth. I found myself racing, trying not to let people pass me and trying to catch the people ahead of me.

I turned up the Hydro Street hill and crossed the finish line.

My time was 2:22:20-something, middle of the pack, about what I expected. With the exception of walking those 20 steps, I achieved my goals.

Being on the mountain didn’t feel as good as I expected it to. My body was too out of shape to fully enjoy the run. But the race made me want to get back.

I left the race with spent legs and a pleasant surprise: I didn’t realize how deeply I want my fellow competitors to be allowed back on the mountain.

Todd Burgess may be reached at 636-0257 or tburgess@gazette.com