Race Report: Pikes Peak Ascent

 Well, if you read my last blog post, you know I was going into this race with some ridiculous history and some current anxiety. 

I regret to inform you that anxiety did not magically disappear on race day. Good news, the race got done. Better news, I didn't smash my face. Best news, I did not have (another) stroke at mile 9. 

That did not stop me from crying at the start line, because sometimes, I can't get my anxiety and fear under control. Anxiety has always been a part of my life, and "enough" anxiety drives me forward and is a part of who I am. I've more or less made friends with anxiety, and most of the time I walk a knife edge of "just enough" to keep me moving forward and toward whatever goal I've presently set or commitment I need to keep. However, increasingly since the stroke, and really, in the few years before when my work schedule was out of control, I fall off that edge. Things improved after changing jobs, but one of the common residual effects after a stroke is higher anxiety, and for someone who already keeps that particular pet in show-condition, it can be a problem. I'm telling you this not for pity, but to be transparent about what's going on. I also believe we need to demystify mental health, which means talking about it. I'm also going to go to my doctor and talk to her about this- I have an appointment scheduled.

Ok! So after I got done crying... I know, its SO dumb. I mean, I know there are lot of memes about how "trail running is like regular running but with more crying," but I'm pretty sure they are referring to when you are actually running. After I got done crying, I had a couple minutes before the start of the race to notice it was a beautiful day. Sunny and clear at the start. The weather was predicted to change, so I wore 3/4 length tights (which ended up meaning that my legs were fully covered by the tights and my long socks), and a long-sleeve shirt. I had my required waterproof jacket in its little bundle hanging off my running belt, along with the required water bottle, reusable cup attached with a carabiner, and pinned on gloves. With five Honey Stinger stropwafels, a sleeve of Shot Blox, chapstick, tissue, sample pack of Biofreeze, baggie of Tylenol, naproxen and ibuprofen, and bottle of Hylands muscle cramp tablets, I was prepared. 

Mile 1 is through Manitou Springs and up Ruxton Canyon toward the trail. I made good time and was feeling confident. After mile 1 is the gut-check uphiller I've talked about before, and I glided through that section in the ways I know to do. Once I crossed onto the spur trail over to Barr Trail, things got a little backed up with all the racers, and I had to hike the spur and a lot of the W's because it wasn't worth the energy to try to run up the side of the trail to pass people. I passed when I could and ran when I could, and overall felt strong. I told myself to enjoy the strength in my legs and how far I had come in training. After the W's was still more hiking than I expected - and remembering now why I like the marathon more than the Ascent, the entrance is capped lower. Anyway, I hit the aid station at No Name Creek, grabbed some Scratch with my handy-dandy cup clipped to my belt, and moved on with barely a pause.

Still more hiking. 

More hiking.

Finally hit the rolling hills and got to run, noting that my back and hips and rump were still kind of sore. 

At some point I got a little confused about distance and thought I had 1.5 miles to go when a runner looked at a sign and said "half mile to Barr Camp." Well good, I thought, I'm making way better time than I thought! I opened a stropwafel and chomped it down. 

More Skratch and a water top-off at Barr Camp and I was through the aid station in about 47 seconds, thanks to the amazing volunteers staffing the area! 

Above Barr Camp I was power hiking at a really good clip for the next mile. I noticed more people than I expected pulled off to the side of the trail. I remember seeing folks cramping up above treeline in races past, but this felt early to me. Maybe the slightly warmer temperatures and sun played a role? 

After about a mile and half, I started to have my own struggles. For all the extensive elevation training I've done, I was taking big deep breaths and could feely my lungs expanding, but it didn't feel like the oxygen was getting past my lungs. My arms felt heavy, which I haven't felt in years. At some point, my face started feeling tingly, and I put myself through stroke protocol to make sure I wasn't having an emergency. This would have been the absolute worst place to have a medical event - farthest from any help and miles up or down to get me evac'ed. Now, in all reality, of stroke survivors I am in the absolutely lowest risk for having another stroke. My cardiologist, who I have seen a number of times, has explained that the stroke was absolutely caused by the hole in my heart, and with the hole patched, there is almost zero chance of having another, and oh yeah, I'm healthy and do thing like train for marathons. 

Literally none of that mattered at mile 9. I was in my head and struggling.

ALL THE FREAKING HIKING!

At mile 10 I had a nice little break because the aid station was backed up. I got a cup of Skratch and topped off my water bottle (I think). 

At the three-miles-to-go sign, I thought that if I had a good day I could make my goal time. I could feel the Skratch kick in, had another Shot Blok (which I think was number three at this point?) and was on my way. The three-to-two mile mark were fast. I got a little backed up with the conga line of runners, but I was feeling really good and thought "Ok! I know this. I've trained this. I can do it - its all coming together." I opened another wafel and started to try to eat it. I've been using these because they are easy to chew, and I've had trouble with eating in previous races. However, I couldn't seem to get it down. Making myself take bites was hard - I think I was sending all my energy to my legs and had nothing to even gum down soft foods.

Two miles to go was another story. The trail underfoot gets better - more packed down and less loose gravel, but I was starting to struggle. My quads felt tired. I was having that same lightheadedness from lower down. At one point, I kind of got lost in my head - a very out-of-it feeling, and kept telling myself to get it together. There is no reason this should have happened - I've done more elevation training for this race than I think I have in prior years, and two weeks ago was blasting repeats on this same stretch. The mountain is clearly a different place every time. 

I stopped at the mile-to-go aid station had a couple of cups of Skratch, and took a handful of pretzels and M&Ms (both of which were dry I couldn't get them to melt up in my mouth, even with water). I popped in another Blok. A couple of switchbacks in and I felt the fuel hit my bloodstream. I felt great all of a sudden! I zipped up a couple of switchbacks and thought, "ok final push!" And then just as suddenly as it came on, it passed.

The rest of the trail was a death march. Moving as quickly as I could and telling myself "you will finish," it was slow going. I got to the 16 golden stairs and managed to pass a couple of women who were crawling over the boulders, but was in turn passed by faster runners. 

I felt panic coming on about two turns below the summit. My throat started to close and I had to tell myself "take a deep breath." I think I even shook my head and put my hands on my knees, while listening to someone above me yell "you can do this!" I fought the panic by breathing and forcing myself to smile at the folks who were cheering on the finish.

I crossed the line 24 minutes slower than my goal time and 40 minutes slower than I think I could have done this race a couple weeks ago. 

I smiled over the finish, got my medal and a full-blown panic attack hit me like a brick. I dumped myself down on a rock, throat slammed shut and screaming in my head "BREATHE!" I used to be a therapist, I know that this isn't something actually shutting my throat down, but the result is the same - no oxygen coming in. I fought it and forced my throat open with a creaking, ugly gasp. Then the sobbing started and I tried to get it under control - and feeling very much like none of this was in my control. I tried to be as quiet as possible, not wanting to ruin a finish for anyone else, and feelin embarrassed. Some women noticed, and patted me as they went by. After a few minutes, one very kind man - I don't know if he was a spectator or a volunteer - came over and asked if I was ok. I told him I was ok but I was having a panic attack and I just needed to get my breathing under control. He very kindly said, "Ok, well I will sit with you," and he did. His name was Scott and I thanked him multiple times and am so grateful he was there. 

Just a woman, her medal, and snot-sleeves

I finally got my crap together and made it out of the chute. I fist bumped some of the runners I recognized from the course and went and got my drop bag. My friend Dave, who I worked with and used to run with sometimes, was handing out drop bags. He gave me a hug and bloody hell if I didn't start crying again. I wandered over to the finish food and got some Skratch and a handful of Cheezits, which I dropped on the ground before I got a chance to eat them. No worries, I'm now sitting on the couch with a box of Cheezits as I write this, because Cheezits are also for breakfast. 

I got in the transportation van for my trip down the mountain, still feeling pretty weepy like I was in some kind of postictal state. The weather was starting to change and I could see the clouds moving is as we descended. I was grateful to be getting off the mountain when I did. 

Eric met me at the post-race area and we had pizza, got my finisher's shirt, and took a walk around the expo booths. I saw Raymond and Kaori, fellow Achilles runners who both rocked their races and I was so glad for them! I also saw Madeline, a friend from our Monument days who did her first Ascent, just two weeks after running the Imogene Pass trail run. Amazing!! So proud of my friends and as I've said before, so fun see people you know at races. 

I love this running community. I love this mountain. I love this race. I love running. 

I'm grateful to Eric for his willingness to drop me off, pick me up (literally and figuratively) and cheer me on. I didn't have the race I wanted, and I had some mental stuff that really got in my way. But I didn't fall down (and really, that's quite an accomplishment in and of itself). I didn't get injured. I got sad and sadness passes. I have another race in three weeks and its going to be a totally different thing.

I live to run another day, and in the end, that's what matters. 

Race on, friends.

Epilogue: The weather did turn. It rained all night at our house and was misty and dreary when I got up this morning and went down to cheer on marathon runners. At 5:30 this morning, race organizers made the difficult decision to cut the race short due to the unsafe conditions - not just for the runners, who would have contended with a couple of inches of snow - but more importantly for the race volunteers, who would have been exposed to wet and freezing conditions for 9+ hours. That's a recipe for disaster and the race organizers made the right call. They are turning runners at Barr Camp for a 14 mile day. Eric and I are taking a volunteer shift at the finish and will be down there later to congratulate everyone who's left once we get there.