It has been said before, but something about running up a mountain just makes sense. Your average runner has his or her standard routes that–at their core–consist solely of running around this block to a bunch of other streets, linking up to some more blocks, and then ending up back at home. This is fine. This type of running will get you in shape, get you outside using your body, probably release a glowing shot of endorphins into the bloodstream, and generally satiate the need for a running fix. But, beyond that, the route is fairly arbitrary and non-distinctive.
This is usually not the case with mountain running. Instead, it typically consists of just about the least-contrived routes that I can conceive: See that undeniably compelling summit? Let’s run to the top and back. It sure makes a lot more sense to the athletic, adventurous corners of my mind than simply stringing together a bunch of faceless city blocks.
 (Pikes Peak, overlooking Manitou Springs.) My introduction to running up mountains came during college in Colorado Springs (it was not accidental, afterall, that I went to school in Colorado Springs). Every Monday the cross-country team would pile into a couple of 15-passenger vans, drive 10-20min to a trailhead in the foothills, and–led by our intrepid assistant coach, Paul Koch–run for two hours up and down snaking, gravelly, precipitous mountain paths, following doggedly in Koch’s experienced footsteps. Beyond Koch’s laid-back, can’t-be-rattled demeanor and ruggedly bearded visage, the very real air of mountain-man legend that surrounded him was a result of his multiple top-3 placings in the Pikes Peak Ascent and Marathon (and, a finish at the Leadville 100–definitely my initial inspiration). In our eyes, to race up and down that gigantic mountain was the pinnacle of hardcore athletic prowess.
Pikes Peak defines Colorado Springs. Not just mountain running in the city, but simply living there. Its 14,115′ summit rises up directly from the plains seemingly forever. In the Lower 48, only a few volcanoes in the Northwest (Rainier, Shasta, etc.) can top its towering 8000′ of vertical gain, and none of those have snow-free, legitimately runnable trails to the top in the summer time. Even after living and running there for a total of seven years, I’ll still look to the sky and mistake a shimmering snowfield on Pikes’s upper reaches for a fluffy, lofty cloud. That’s how high it reaches. It unequivocally dominates the geographic identity of the city. As a result, it is a mountain full of history and lore, especially in the trail/mountain-running community.
The Pikes Peak Marathon–running from City Hall in Manitou Springs, to the summit, and back down to main street–is the second-oldest marathon in the country, behind only Boston. And, although I have yet to actually run the race, its course is so classic–arduous, symmetrical, scenic, and rewarding–that it is one of my favorite training runs, period. Before each of my wins at the Leadville Trail 100, all-day training runs from downtown Colorado Springs to the top of Pikes Peak and back down were the cornerstones of my preparation.
 (The day's route.) However, due to circumstance, ill-timed injuries and snow, until yesterday I hadn’t completed a round-trip/up-down tour of Pikes Peak in over two years. Yesterday’s run was an ideal return to the mountain. My winter’s diligence on Boulder’s steep and technical local peaks made the Barr Trail feel comparatively groomed and shallow during the 1:22 it took me to get to the route’s mid-way landmark of Barr Camp at 10,200′. With many accumulated training miles in my legs, I took the bottom half of the mountain at a relaxed, go-as-you-please pace, just waiting for my legs to warm to the task.
Above Barr Camp, the trail became relatively busy again as scattered hikers launched their respective morning bids for the summit. Here the trail becomes considerably more rugged with innumerable rocks and roots to step up, over, and around: this is my kind of terrain. Soon, however, I was breaking out of the trees and striding into the celebrated thin, dry air, desolate landscape, and unending views that define being above treeline. I love it. I have only been to 14,000+’ one other time so far this year, and this fact was evident as I teetered across a few lingering snow fields and the trail’s final, gnarly Golden Stairs with a foggy head and dizzy vision. My strength was evident, though, as even with the lack of acclimation and the occasional snowbanks I covered the top half of the mountain (Barr Camp to the summit) in 1:12, a comparatively much more spritely pace than I’d mustered on the trail’s lower reaches.
I spent little time on the summit as my day’s running companions were planning on hitching rides down the Pikes Peak Auto Road while I intended to run back down the mountain to accrue some final quadricep pounding in anticipation of the extensive downhill running in the upcoming Western States 100. Despite the technical nature of the trail to slow me, the run down always seems to pass much quicker than a normal 13-ish mile run and yesterday was no different even though I kept the effort casual. Pikes’ anomalous vertical relief allows one to pass through a uniquely wide range of ecological zones, and by the time I’d completed the 1:42 of downhill running required to deposit me back on Manitou’s main avenue it was a hot summer day in comparison to the pleasantly cool temperatures experienced higher on the mountain.
Runs like this are exactly the kind of special treat that summer offers a mountain runner like myself, and though I’ve maybe temporarily moved away from the region, the fact that this place is where I was initiated to and fell in love with mountain running means it will always carry a special significance for me. I guarantee it won’t be another two years before I make it back to visit Pikes again.
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Nice. You sound very, very ready.
Need to find some mountains to run here in Miami : )
Tony, I don’t really disagree with anything you’ve said, but there’s no reason that street-based runs have to be entirely arbitrary and dull. There’s an art to making routes that minimize traffic and highlight interesting features of the area (parks, lakes, etc.). Alternatively, one can actually use urban runs to accomplish something useful, as I do in commuting to and from work.
Greg,
Agreed; I, too, add some utility to my runs most days, literally running around-town errands in the afternoon or evening and did a lot of run commuting back and forth to school growing up. But–and respecting your general proclivity for the roads–given the choice, I’ll ALWAYS choose a mountain. Back to White River this year? I’m thinking about it…
Tony, I’m thinking about it too. Waiting ’til July 1st or so to decide….
That first paragraph I think describes one of the defining differences between road runners (or, at least, me) and trail runners. Arbitrary, non-distinct routes are fine, nice urban runs are no problem, long loops on the country roads around here that accomplish nothing more than bringing me back home for a drink of water are wonderful — I just enjoy the run. Heck, I even run up the mountain I live on (a measly 1000′ climb) from time to time, but if I don’t summit that is OK. If I’m on a trail and don’t make it to the overlook, I really don’t care. The run holds much more draw for me than the summit.
My husband is much more like you, Tony. He sees no point in running only 5 miles out if that last .5 gets you to the summit.
As the aforementioned husband, I agree. Overlooks and vistas are one of my primary reasons for running. As a middle ground between Tony and Crowther, I adopted this method while city-bound in Pittsburgh: run to water towers. They are always on the local high points, have cleared ground around them that affords a view, and in a city like Pittsburgh you can link up many water towers. All the towers are unique and you can see your next objective from the last. If you have a decent sense of direction you can pick the route on the fly. Sometimes the rougher neighborhoods afford glimpses of “sweet megafauna” and occassionally impetus to pick up the pace some.
The best linkups I found for 20+ milers included 5 summits, 4 river crossings, and some gem 4-wheeler tracks.
the way you capture your running experience is so moving. it makes me want to fall in love with running all over again. thank you.
Michigan is a really dull place, granted but I wanted to tell you how much it meant to have you come out here to speak. It was very refreshing and awesome to have such an esteemed runner come and share your philosophies. Thank you so much. I’ll never forget it!