Did I ever tell you about Summer?

I will.

She looks like Pochahontas, but prettier. She has hair like a horse's tail, but shinier. She has eyes like chocolate, but livelier. She has a smile like a string of pearls, but whiter.

It looks like spring, but greener. It has grass like a football field, but freer. It has beams like the sun, but brighter. It has warmth like a sauna, but cooler.

She laughs more than a laughtrack, and louder. She dances more than a TV star, and spazzier. She loves more than a president, and sincerer.

It buzzes more than a busy kitchen, and fresher. It grows more than winter, and newer. It loves more than fall, and longer.

She talks and giggles and secretizes and creates and plays and works and jokes and stresses and teases and wonders and dreams and aspires and sweats and cares and magnifies and honors and repents and understands and testifies and flirts and runs and questions and accepts and investigates and introduces and drives and serves and does it the most.

It shines and grows and lengthens and heats and provides and allows and explores and liberates and frees and discovers and runs and denies and extends and demands and teaches and shows and blows and gives and hollows and carves and reads and rotates and overcomes and brightens and forgives and introduces and drives and

Summer does them both the best.

The End

(this story is dragging. But I feel an obligation to finish it. Who knew writing about it would be harder than actually running it? Sheesh!)

With two switchbacks left to go, an indescribable surge of energy came up from my worn feet, through the developing cramp in my calf, up my hunched and sore back and suddenly I was running. My arms pumped back and forth with effort as I rounded the final switchback where I was overwhelmed with a crowd of people and a yellow finish banner hanging somewhere up ahead. I heard Summer from somewhere to my right, but my eyes were so focused on the finish and my efforts were so concentrated on preventing my calf from cramping I couldn't tell where she was.

And then in an instant I passed the neon clock and cross the finish line of the Pikes Peak Ascent.

Someone shoved a finisher's medal over my head. Another person put his hand on my shoulder to make sure I was ok. The next person shooed me ahead, telling me to keep walking until the end of the mountain.

Was it some kind of joke that they made me walk more after I was already done running up a 14,ooo foot mountain!?

I swayed. My legs began to quiver. My arms dangled like spaghetti noodles. I wanted to sit down.

Then my mom was there and she grabbed me into a huge embrace, supporting me at the exact moment I thought I might fall. My throat suddenly tightened as the immensity of what I had just done overcame me, and I squeezed my mom with what strength remained in limp limbs. The hug was a familiar one, and I registered it as one like the hug we shared four months ago.

"Kris you did it!!!! You ran up the mountain!" My mom squeezed me again before Summer came bombarding me, grasping me up with a grin as wide as the Nile spread across her face. The pride in her eyes made tears spring to mine, and I gave up all effort and relaxed into her arms.

"You did it, Kris! You just ran up Pikes Peak! That was awesome!" Her pearly smile beamed from beneath the hood she wore, and it reminded me that it was probably cold up here.

"Thanks for coming, Bum. I'm so tired. I wanna sit down!" I was so happy to be with Summer, but my legs were about as useful as pick-up sticks at keeping me up, and if Summer had let go, I would've tumbled right to the ground.

She walked me over to the wall of the Summit House and I slumped against it, the cold of my finsiher medal bumping against my thigh. Grandma and Grandpa had come over by that point and were smiling down at me, congratulations beaming from their eyes.

Mom pulled out her camera and started recording.

"Here's Kris, sitting on the ground. Kris, what did you just do?"

This was typical. Posterity will appreciate these interviews someday, I have no doubt.

"Uh.... I think I just ran up Pikes Peak!" The words fresh out of my mouth sounded unreal, like I had just told a lie. But I a huge smile of satisfaction spread across my face as I looked to the camera.

"You look tired. Would you do it again?" I could see mom's eyebrows shoot up over the top of the camera, and I licked my lips, smoothing over a layer of salt.

My eyelids drooped as I beamed again, this time taking a breath and nodding my head vigorously. "Oh yeah. I'd do that again."

My roommate went to a party for everyone from Texas on BYU campus. They ate Bluebell ice cream and talked about cows and how big everything is where they're from.

It made me wish they would have a similar party for people from Colorado. It would be much better, of course, than the Texas party, and it would be a lot prettier too. There would be tables of people eating fresh herbs and healthy salads, and there would also be a long dessert table in the back with Rocky Mountain fudge. The entire evening would revolve around discussions of purple mountain majesties and rolling plains, and we'd top it all off with heart felt compliments to each other. The best part is, it wouldn't be in some ninny room in the Wilk. It would probably be in a beautiful meadow, which, although the Utah version would pale in comparison to the real deal, would remind us fondly of the gorgeous landscape back home. Lots of strangers at that party would probably fall in love because they would be so giddy with fresh mountain air and nostalgic doses of true Colorado humility.

Speaking of, I think they should have a party like that for all the people on BYU campus who know Krista Roy. It would have to be in the mountains too, sometime in the middle of summer because that's her favorite season. There would be big blankets laid out where people could sit cross legged and ask each other lots of questions because instant friendship is so important to her. They would eat milkways, gummy worms and maple bars; fajitas, grilled cheese and teriyaki chicken; hawaiian punch, chocolate milk and water. They would play Egyptian Ratscrew, but not for very long before they all took off and went for an endless run through the breathtaking mountain trails. They would paint their nails with their sisters, solve problems with innovative solutions and look at pictures of old times. They would be happy. And even though they wouldn't all know each other, they would feel perfectly comfortable because Krista would have it no other way.

What is it about places and times you want to be so close to you that makes them much farther than normal places and much, much farther than foreboding places and times? This was one of those times and the summit was one of those places, and I wanted it to be so close but it was so so far away. I looked back down at the granite gravel. Then I looked back up at the peak. I could still hear the man. And then I could hear the whistle of the Cog as it left. Or came. I had no sense of time becuase I was so focused on lifting one foot off the ground and putting it farther on the ground then doing the same thing with the other foot, inclining all the while. My toes hurt.

I am moving faster than I usually do. And I've been moving faster all the while. I turned a sharp switchback and a mountain sized gust of wind bombarded me in the face, making my weak little limbs wave like the aspens below. Tears sprang to the corner of my eyes, precious water leaking out of an unsuspecting portal.

The Cirque, a girormous valley on the side of the mountain, plummeted to my left as I made another turn, but I had no desire to go stand on its edge. None of the other Ascent runners did either.

"Happy Birthday to you! Happy Birthday to you!" A portly man next to a middle-aged woman in a blue zip-up jacket on the side of the trail sang out the happy tune. Was that really happening? Or was I that delusional?

The very tip-top far edge corner of the summit house came into view as I approached the 16 Golden Stairs, and I winked at it (perhaps subconciously) before starting the serious ascent. The 16 steps straight up the mountain formed from jumbled piles of granite toppled on top of one another ate weakling's quads for breakfast. But it was lunch time, and I was hungrier than a pile of rocks. I pushed the stream of people ahead of me as I rocketed up the stairs--or rocketed as best a mini spaceship runner can after shooting 13,000 feet into the air with only the sheer power of her legs. My legs hurt.

I straightened my back ad took a deep breath. It smelt like rocks, the good, solid, earthy kind you can smell when you go to the gardening section of Wal-Mart. And it smelt like sweat. My own. The man's in front of me. Maybe eve the finisher's wafting from above.

"Come on, Kris. You can do it." The solid words came from my own mouth, slipping past my chapped lips with a little effort. And once they were out, they bounded past my face and into my mind, motivating my muscles to move more.

Three more turns. Just like at Barr Camp, but I knew it was real this time. Three more turns. Between the temporary shade of the rocks piled on top of each other.

The Basement

I usually am endeared to things that are smaller than the normal size, but I think since I grew up with that little door at the foot of our stairs, I never noticed it was smaller. It was the right size for me when I needed to use it, and so I was more concerned with what was behind it than the smallness of its structure.

With a turn of the faded gold handle, a pitch black space would greet me, filled with nothing but dark outlines of indistinguishable shapes. A single light switch installed upside down on the beam closest to the door was always the first thing I reached for before even stepping onto the first cement step becuase I did not like being in the basement in the dark. We tied a red yarn to that lightswitch so we could turn it on and off from other places in the basement, and for years, I yanked on the yarn before anything else, because it served to quicken the process of bringing light to under the house.

The room was no more than four feet tall. Wooden beams running parallel across the roof of the basement were actually the floor of the kitchen above. Nails jutted down at random places on the makeshift ceiling, threatening to scalp us without warning. The floor was lumpy and uneven, covered in brown shag carpet and almost never visible. Too many toys. Everywhere. Card games. Dress-up clothes. Clue. Stuffed animals. Barbies, barbies and more barbies.

The basement smelled like dead mice, wet sand and unvarnished wood. Rust lingered on all of the pipes lining the ceiling, and the only thing more numerous than the boxes forming random walls all around the 20 foot crawl space was the cobwebs hanging in every corner. There were spiders--not just daddy long legs either--and mice. There was dust and dirt. There were only two light bulbs, and only 60 watts at that. There was a corner heaped high with random inherited clothes and a shadowy half for storage--we weren't allowed over there. (But who hasn't built a secret fort where they aren't allowed? Ours lasted all the way until mom disovered it ((and the forgotten saltine crackers)) years later). While sitting in the basement, the pounds of footsteps from people in the kitchen created an eerie feeling of impending doom, and the scratches of the dog's nails up above were reminiscent of nails on a chalkboard. It was a creepy place.

But we spent hours down there.

Tucked somewhere between Dad's box of old English notes and Grandma Halcyon's trunk, nestled next to a broken shelf and sidled between the old mattresses and the Christmas decorations was a sprawling kingdom of barbies.

So many barbies. Sum and I would spend days huddled amongst our miniature world, one which she had constructed with careful precision and crafty eye. The junk Mom discarded became the precious keepsakes of Summer's barbie world; a scap of cardboard covered in black construction paper to become a chalkboard; the fallen petals of an artificial bouquet neatly arranged in a vase molded from blue tack for home decor; the broken spring of a click pen turned into the tiny slinky of the youngest barbie. She would play, and I would do the hair. I would make the clothes, and sometimes, I would jump into the world my sister considered a real part of her own.

With every first day of school, new puppy, and first date of the barbies, the scent of the dead mice faded. There seemed to be no more cobwebs when we planned a family vacation or made dinner. The wooden beams served as platforms where the bad guys held the barbies ransom on our adventurous days, and the uneven ground was the world's greatest roller blade park.

No one would ever know, without turning that faded gold and pulling that red yarn, the magical world beneath that old 60 watter.

Blah

The three miles between Barr Camp and treeline were NOT as easy as people made them sound. They were long and they were hard and I did quite a bit of walking. And strangely enough, I was quite alone on the trail.

I didn't stop walking though. All that advice from my running customers all summer didn't go to waste there.

I grabbed a hadnful of skittles at the switchback to the start of treeline but didn't eat many of them before tossing them to the side of the trail. I glanced at the summit some three miles above and quickly looked back at the ground. That was still a lot of mountain, and every inch of the trail was defined by the steady line of neon-clad runners inching along from one side of the face to the other, until they disappeared behind the boulders just beneath the summit house. It looked like I could jsut run straight up the face, but it always looked that way and I knew it was better to switch back and forth between the mountainside.

The sun was right above my head, and so close to me, I could feel its hot fingers striking my part with intense sunburn. There was nothing but gravel up here, and it crunched steadily beneath my feet. I shot a quick prayer of gratitude towards the summit house because I felt well-supplied with bounteous oxygen becuase I was accustomed to having only this much at work all summer.

Not eveyrone was so lucky. A mile and a half into the final climb i passed a grown man, wincing on the side of the trail as he sat to try and catch the breath he would never have up here. Poor man. He wore a purple wristband, which meant he had started 30 minutes earlier than me. I wanted to pat him on his head, but just kept moving instead. Time was ticking and I was trucking.

More Ascent

The supposed half mile to go to Barr Trail creeped by as I wound through trees and across little bridges constructed from knotted logs laid side by side. I knew the halfway point was just around the corner, just around the next corner, but it seemed that some conniving hand had crafted seven extra corners I had forgotten about from the last time I hiked the mountain. When I finally rounded the turn to the straightaway towards Barr Camp, I was thrilled to hear music blaring down the trail.

Barr Camp resembled an anthill more than it ever had, and I was taken aback by the countless volunteers scampering around in blue Ascent shirts. Two tables laid out on either side of the trail were burdened with finger foods- lunch meat rolled up in tortillas like little sushi balls, pretzels and grapes overflowing out of plastic bowls. There was a colorful array of skittles and M&Ms on the next table, nestled beside hundreds of Dixie cups full of water and gatorade.

"You can do it! You're looking great! Keep going!"

The enthusiastic shouts of the volunteers pushed me through the camp as I grabbed some grapes from the table and slowed to let a man fill my water bottle with water from a pitcher. "You're looking good!" he said. I smiled and muttered a thanks, then kept running past the party.

I passed the last boom box and threw the stem from my grapes within the trash zone. I thought I would be again enveloped by the silence of the mountain, but I was surprised when there came a booming voice somewhere above me. I couldn't make out the words it was saying, but I looked up to figure out what was going on.

A lady in front of me turned slightly to talk to me. "Are they finishing already?"

My jaw dropped as I identified the voice. It was the announcer at the top, celebrating the runners as they crossed the finish line. I could hear a man some 7 miles above me in the sky? And not only that, but people were already finishing and I was still at the halfway point?

My legs were a little tired, but I was ready to go join them. Three miles till treeline, and I knew I could run that in my sleep.

Ascent

The cobblestones on Ruxton Avenue seemed to move beneath me like the flat escalators in airports. The crowds cheered enthusiastically for us, and I appreciated the fact that none of them said anything about being almost done or a simplifed countdown of only so many miles to go. I paced myself, beaming at the people, alternating between glances at their supportive faces and the summit I was racing towards. We passed the Cog depot and when we started up the gravel trail to that linked with Barr Trail, people had already started walking.

Already!? We weren't even a mile up the mountain yet!

I settled in between a slender man with a balding head and a woman in a neon running top, bottles of water bouncing on her hips in those water carrying contraptions the serious runners wore. After winding through the shaded forest which paralleled the real trail at a less steep incline, we finally joined with Barr Trail and I felt the same joy bubble inside of me that comes when I run into an old friend in the grocery store.

"Hey there, Barr Trail," I thought as my breath remained steady in beat with my footsteps. "How you been? You ready for this?"

I remembered the first time I got to this part of the trail in my training. That was two pairs of shoes ago, but today I knew I would outlast the gravel beneath my feet.

We trudged up the switchbacks, one long caravan of crazy runners hardly believing they had talked themselves into this, or, for the veterans, that they had kept coming back for more. The sun was already up and we were already up, a mile or two, and I turned to look at Manitou Springs. It was there, as I always saw it from this view in my training runs, but this time it was better than when I saw it in the evening after work and it was better than the sunrise climbs I had made with my Peak co-workers or cross country teammates.

The switchbacks were ruthless as ever. I focused on breathing slowly, savoring the oxygen I knew would leave as I climbed. I watched the heels of the woman in front of me, and around a wider switchback, I passed them to gain on an old, old man with a tattered Ascent hat covering his gray hair. Forty minutes passed and I had already made it to the top of the famous "W's," or switchbacks of the first three miles of Barr Trail. Right on pace.

I couldn't see the city anymore. It was veiled by the first part of the mountain I had just climbed, and I was in the cooler part of the trail now. Large aspens and poky shrubs lined the trail, and I smiled as we sidled past the entrance of the trail to the top of the Incline. Been there, done that.

The forest was beautiful. Beyond beautiful. Maybe it was because I was running where I had only ever hiked before, but the whispering aspens seemed to hold some mystical nature as they chortled with the short pines and hummed in harmony with the trickle of the small brook alongside the trail. No one spoke in our line of runners, but it was more fitting as our patterned breath and concentrated strides contributed the descante of an already orchestrated display of God's handiwork.

I was still running up, and I passed the place where I peed when I hiked this with Mom and Char for the first time. The line became more spread, and I focused on the woman in the red shorts up ahead. She was listening to her music, and I used the pitiful fact to justify my ability pass her. Anyone listening to music in this secret sanctuary deserved to be passed.

If this was apparently the "easy" three miles, I needed to take adavantage of it. Running around a slender pine tree in the middle of the trail, I looked ahead and calculated who was ahead of me. Barr Camp lay nestled just two miles from that point, and I saw a blond head bopping down the trail in front me.

I will get that blond before we get to Barr Camp. I will get her."

Barr Trail was lovelier than it had ever been, and I thanked it as I skipped around Red Shorts girl to close the next gap.

Sister Shnike

Charina had a bright green long sleeved shirt on over her tshirt. The elastic around her head didn't match--it never did--but it matched her runningness becuase this is what she looked like every time she went running. The silky black basketball shorts still had holes in them from her her knee brace rubbed, and trailing from underneath the front of her shirt came the white wire of her headphones. She held the old mp3 in her hand as she hopped from one foot to the other, her high, thick, horse-tail hair do swinging from side to side.

"Please, Char? Can I please go with you?" I was bundled in a ball in the corner of the couch, mostly becuase I knew she wouldn't say yes, but if she had I would have been ready at a moment's notice.

"No, Kris! I just like to run slow. I just am a slow runner, k? You go so fast!" Her little brown eyes squinted up and she gave me her receptionist smile before turning toward the door.

"Char, I will run your pace!" No budging. "Ok. Well, will you tell me where you are going? Maybe it will give me a good idea for a route." I said it hopefully, innocently. Just wondering, you know.

"I'm just going up Alta Loma around to the Borrego ditch then out by the Becars to get to Keller Park. It won't be long enough for you anyway, Kris. Sorry." She turned the doorknob and went out onto the front porch; i could see the raindrops bouncing off her shoulders as she trotted past the large front window.

I didn't lose a moment's time. Jumping off the couch, i dashed up the stairs two at a time and down the hall to my room where I ripped off my hoody. I slipped on a white long sleeved shirt over my t-shirt, much like Charina, and forced my feet into my shoes. Charina didn't have to know I wasn't still nestled in the corner of the couch. That was the point.

I ran down Topaz, past the fire mailbox, the duplex, Brianne's house, the woodpecker lightpole, and the mini hill half way down. At the stop sign on Meadowland I turned right, the muddy corner causing me to slip in my haste. I flicked the mud off my hands before resuming my jaunt past the church where Meadowland intersected with Alta Loma and started heading towards Keller Park. The sidewalk had just enough moisture to feel like it was splashing beneath my feet, and I trundled past the pine tree cluster where we had our seminary socials. If I timed it right she would be coming out by the Becar's on the other side of the park in about 2 minutes.

The grass squelched beneath my feet as I skipped through the rain across the park. I could see the fence lining the park and the point where it would open to the Becar's cul-de-sac. Still a quarter mile away I saw her emerge- bright green glimmering through the rain, flying ponytail knocking rain drops out of their paths.

My whole face broke into a huge grin. Just seeing Charina come out of the rain, running toward me with a conviction in her stride, hand clasped around the precious mp3 probably blaring Colors or Kelly Clarkson made me lengthen my stride over the clumped bits of aeration.

She eventually looked up and her eyes trailed over the landscape. I couldn't see every detail of her face, but I could tell she did a double take when the horizon was suddenly interrupted by my bounding figure.

The gap closed until I was right in front of her. "Kris! How'd you get here!?" Her lips were still pursed, but she wasn't mad. She rolled her eyes as I turned to run the same direction as she was, and the raindrops started making way for the two of us.

"Char! You look great! I was so happy to see you just forging your way through the rain just now!"

Eye roll again. She switched the mp3 over to her left hand, and I'm pretty sure between each swish of the ponytail and the bright green blur as her arms moved back and forth, I saw a sneaking smile spread across her face.

And Then The Ascent

And then I ran all summer, up and down that mountain, on the trails around Colorado that reached higher than normal elevation and until the Incline was my best friend and I knew Barr Trail like the back of my hand and my running shoes were tattered pieces of hard work and my thighs bulged beneath my Sunday skirt.

And then it was the week of and I took extra caution to look both ways three times before crossing streets and didn't participate in sports and tied my rugged nikes extra tight to avoid rolled ankles and drank more water than Pikes Peak's total annual precipitation and went to the pasta dinner with Mr. Mac and his old timers who had run the mountain more years than I had been alive and dreamt of the Ascent every night.

And then it was the night before and I watched Chariots of Fire which who knew it was actually a religion movie and not a running movie but it was inspiring anyway while i painted my toenails pink and took a break to talk to Jordan when she brought me a good luck card and went to bed early but didn't actually fall asleep until I had mentally run the race and gone through the GREAT analogy completely and told my beating heart to stop beating so much becuase I would need that pulse in the morning.

And then the alarm clock went off but barely before I sprung out of bed and looked in the mirror and thought today is the day it is the day i run up Pikes Peak and read Summer's good luck sign she made for me and gathered my energy jellys and my initiated shoes and tiptoed around the kitchen i had come home to all summer after every run and ate mom's toast and drove with mom down the road I drove all summer, down to Academy where the Peak was looming and down to Garden of the Gods where the Peak was peeking and down to Ruxton Ave where the Peak was beckoning and its invited guests milled around Memorial Park, sipping Gatorade and stretching while they pinned on their numbers.

And then to the start line where I talked to someone who had run it 34 times in a row and asked another woman about her five finger shoes and listened to a talented woman belt Katherine Lee Bate's resounding lyrics with the inspirational summit just winking in the background, winking, wninking, the Incline pointing straight up to its teasing apex, knowing i would be there in just 4 hours, knowing those 4 hours were proceeded by countless hours running the city all summer,knowing that summer lead to this moment and to that moment 4 hours away.

And then.

Hand on watch.

Feet on toes.

Eyes on Peak.

Finger on trigger.

Mind on edge.

I took off.

Images From Childhood (no story, sorry Carol)

The sandbox was all the way at the end of the backyard, nestled beside the rundown horse stable in the back corner. The wooden fort Grandpa built us before I could remember dominated the right-hand side of the sandbox and off its second story came the top of a swing set, reaching down and posting in the sand. The sand was full of treasures and holes. The eggs we once buried are probably still there. All of us played there together, digging into the soft sand with our overgrown fingernails and filling the cracks in our callused heels with little grains of earth. Maybe we started when the sun came up or when the chores were done or when Mom was busy, and always we started whenever another sister was with us. And when were we done? Never really, but we would take breaks--in the middle of the sand village war or the pioneer pine cone gathering fest, a loud knock would reverberate from the very front of the backyard, where mom pounded on the kitchen window to call us in for dinner. Then the roles would swap, village defenders became enemies surrendering, pioneers became wild indians, and we would flee to the back door and around the dogs to wash off because Mom knocked and told us to.

I was always the first one up. The sun would come in through our open window, streaming light over our rumbled bed spreads and past the red carpet, hitting our large mirror doors on the closet. The Looney Toons on our wallpaper seemed to dance in the reflecting sunlight, and I wiggled my toes beneath the blue tie quilt Grandma made out of old flour sacks. This is where I mastered the art of silent travel, for I would fold my blankets under my body to tidily make my bed without waking Summer, then tiptoe to the door and into the hall. Silently past Jamie and Charina's room, around the corner and a leap across the hallway intersecting Mom and Dad's door to keep them asleep too. I would switch the bathroom light on only after I had carefully closed the door and even when I was done, I wouldn't flush to ensure the silence in the house remained. Then down the seven steps while clinging to the handrail Dad crafted himself, slipping onto the tile floor where the same sun from my room was now greeting the kitchen. Then around the final corner till the cereal cupboard was in sight and I would look--only to jump back, startled by my silent father, sitting at the table and quietly reading the paper, softly munching his raisin bran while the rest of the house slept on. So that's where I really learned it, I guess.

I think the rooms in the Meadowland Stake Center all look the same, but I could still point to the exact room where I had this Sunday School class. The same people where there with me then as were there when I was 17--Kyle MacGill and his brother Korey, Taryn Smith, Ryan Jensen and Rachel Guasp. There room smelled like the generic cleaning solution you can buy in bulk, and the cold air from air conditioning blew through the room as constant as the Wyoming winds. THere was a big, black chalkboard on the wall, set out against the cinder blocks painted white which constituted the whole building. My teacher was a woman, and she sat next to round table, brown like the chapel's pews. Propped in the chalk tray was a poster, a picture of a large forest with lots of sunlight and green leaves. Kneeling on the floor in this forest was a boy in peasant's clothes, and there were two people that looked like angels floating above him. She said that was God? This boy asked a question and God came to answer it? It sounded familiar, and from the first time I heard it, I liked it.

I guess if I had thought with anyone else's brain, I would have actually thought twice and made a different decision. But I was a brainless freshman in high school and though I will never say it out loud and didn't consciously think it then, I probably decided that bringing the green chick to school in my hoody was a great way to get attention.

So, pushing aside my fears that somehow I would be discovered and the nightly news would have a story about "chickens running rampant around Doherty High School!" I tucked the small, fluffy chick into my orange hoody, its bright green down-dyed in honor of the upcoming Easter holiday-acting as a hideous contrast.

"David Daley. Guess what is in my pocket!?" David raised his heavy eyebrow as we stood in the middle of the freshman locker bay. He glanced down to the pocket where my hands were nestled loosely around the small animal.

He wasn't the only one in the circle. But I had told him I would do it and so I wanted him to know I had. I don't back out on silly ideas. (Not something I really say with pride, as it turns out.) "Look!"

I turned sideways and nodded toward the pocket, which I opened as wide as it would go so the little chick could pop its head out. "It's my green chick!"

David Daley jumped back in surprise. "You didn't!"

"I did. And Mr. Roth already knows, but I'm hoping he's the only teacher that finds out. He'll probably tell. Mrs. Roth, but I don't have her till 4th period so no one will know between now and then.

I walked away as the bell rang, leaving David Daley and the people surrounding him with gaping mouths. I strolled into my Geometry class with an innocent smile at Mrs. Colgate and took my seat in the middle of the class.

Summer Winters leaned over to me across the aisle. He long stringy hair fell over her shoulder as her jutting jaw opened in a loud whisper. "Krista. I heard you have a green chick in your pocket! Is that true!?"

Showing Summer wouldn't hurt. She was a space case and I we had a good enough friendship as athletes in the school that she wouldn't rat me out. I opened my pocket as I had for David Daley and let her peek at the bird.

She back away in awe. "OH my GOSH. You actually have a chicken in your pocket! Where did you get that!?"

I held my finger up to my lips. "Sh! Don't let Mrs. Colgate hear I have a chicken in my pocket!" I glanced to the front of the room where Mrs. Colgate was absorbed in her notebook. "I got it at that Agri-Feed store across from the school. It's just down the street. But we get chickens every year so I've had this one for weeks."

Class started, but we hadn't even gotten past our first warm up problem with the isosceles before Mrs. Rainford, the Algebra teacher next door came in the room.

"Sorry, Steph," Mrs. Rainford said, looking at Mrs. Colgate, "but we've been notified that there is a live animal in this room and we're going to have to ask the owner to take it home right away."

The room froze. I looked anything but innocent with my wide eyes and hunched shoulders and I shot Summer Winters a look. Other people in the room who had apparently heard about the chicken started snickering and avoiding looking at my spot in the room. They were on my side. But I was in trouble. Nobody moved. I didn't say anything. I would take it home. I just needed to wait for Mrs. Rainford to leave the room.

Then the silence broke with laughter. It was Mrs. Rainford. "I'm just kidding! I just heard Krista has a green chick and I want to see it!"

I blew all my air out of me. "Mrs. Rainford, you scared the heck out of me!" Laughing along with the others, I walked to the front of the room as the two anxious math teachers huddled around my pocket. The chick let out a few complimentary chirps before the whole room wanted to see him and he came right out of my pocket and onto the overhead projector. If Dr. Martin didn't know about this by the end of the day, it would be a miracle.

Third and fourth period flew by. Turns out Mr. Roth did tell Mrs. Roth, and that wasn't it. David Daley told all his friends, who told all their friends, who collided with Summer Winter's friends, who already knew, who told their friends. Who, in the end, all went to Agri-Feed at lunch and bought, you guessed it, their own cardboard boxes of little round chicks.

I was horrified.

By 6th period the entire school was alive with little chirps in lockers and tucked away in the corner of classrooms. Why these hooligan high school children thought it was ok to go buy little chickens and bring them to school was beyond me, but it didn't matter. They had, and the fact was, it was my fault.

After school, I shuffled with a miserable soul to the locker room for track practice. Sanctuary. But then from the locker across the aisle I heard small chirp. Of course.

That night I laid in misery on my parent's bed for all the parents across the town who were undoubtedly lecturing their children on misappropriation of funds and the random inedible livestock in their kitchen. The news came on and I zoned past the TV screen as words came in my ears and left, my eyes taking in nothing.

"... and tonight's interesting story, chickens running rampant across Doherty High School!" The plastic news lady wore a concerned look and my eyes snapped to attention on the screen.

Jennifer, an angry parent, as the subtitle beneath her denoted, came on the screen. "I do not know how they just let high school kids go and buy chickens!"

Cold dread filled my body until from behind me came a burst of laughter. My parents and my sisters had all come to watch the TV and for such a miserable day, it actually turned out to be a pretty good idea to bring that little green chick to school.

(This will definitely be re-written becuase this version does not give this story justice. Sorry, Carol)

Incline Part II

I had never even climbed the Incline. Why I thought I should just run up it was almost beyond me. But not quite. I know what is beyond me because I challenge myself to explore those outer limits, and running the Incline was one of the ways I did it.

I held a half-crumpled water bottle in my hand as I started up the steep slope. There were thousands of railroad ties lined up the side of the mountain, and they started as long, wide strips. I ran slow. The first stretch was only marginally inclined, and I trundled up it like a gondola on a rusty set of old wires. I didn't stop.

Almost without warning, the path took an upturn, and it had to be no less than a 90 degree upturn as I was suddenly moving straight up the peak. The ties broke into two halves, haphazardly scatter ed on the surface. I chose the right side ties and continued to glance off each one to the next on the very tip of my New Balance 410s. I passed a middle-aged woman sitting on the left side of the ties, huffing for air and looking up at me with a pleading face as if I could somehow transport her back down the incline. We weren't even at the 800 meter mark of the mile long climb. I glanced at the top of the incline where it disappeared into the atmosphere and forced myself to look back down. That was a long way up. That was a steep, long way up.

"Come on, Kris. You can do it." I kept running. The incline was getting increasingly steeper, the gap between each railroad tie expanding to one or two feet straight up. Every ten ties or so there were huge black pipes, split and leftover from the days when the train was in operation. If there weren't pipes there were large rusted rails, succumbing to years of dirt building up on their sides. I kept running.

The sun was setting, and the crowd on the Incline was thinning as I gained and passed each weary soldier struggling up the slope. The fire in my legs would have burned the whole mountain down if it were actual flames, and the sweat seeping from my hairline and down the corner of my jaw served as a memorial for each enduring step I took. My run was a slow trudge, but I kept my arms moving back and forth and pressed to each new tie. I turned at one point to check my progress and saw no trail--the path was so steep it sunk behind the curve I had just traveled up, and I could only see the quaint Manitou Springs nestled somewhere beneath me, seeming to float becuase I so no trail connecting me to its location.

Holy. Crap.

I kept running. Two men dressed with ARMY stamped across their polyester shirts stood on the side of the trail, their bulging biceps quivering beneath the load of the weighted camelbaks. The look on their chiseled faces was familiar, but I was not sure if it was becuase I had seen it on the middle-aged woman below or if it was reflecting my own fatigue.

"You running this?" The guy on the right raised his eyebrows, pushing little pools of sweat up his forehead. "You crazy!"

I didn't answer. Too much breath. I forced the corner of my mouth into my best effort at a smile and kept running. Army guys. Psh. What a bunch of ninnies.

I could see the top. the stretch was vertical and ever laden with more railroad ties, and the water bottled clenched in my fist held only enough water for a lizard in a terrarium. "Come on, Kris! You can do it!" I licked my lips and kept my head down, breathing the granite dust my feet kicked up between ties. My legs screamed for mercy as I forced them up and up and up and my arms wanted to drop to the ground and throw an angry tantrum. My hunched back rivaled Quasimodo's, but he was an outcast and I was a champion.

The final step was well-worn and I crossed its threshold with a flourish, stumbling forward to where the trail finally leveled out. I slopped the sweat off my forehead and looked down at my watch.

I dropped the water bottle in surprise. 26:23! Three hours ago I gaped at James for his 24 flyby and now I gaped at the 26 minutes ago I had started my own.

I turned back to the Incline, keeping care to stay on top of the flat earth to prevent tumbling down. I could see the top of two buzzed haircuts creeping up the trail and I smiled. Army guys. Psh. What a bunch of ninnies.

Barr Trail connected to the top of the Incline, and I turned to begin my descent down Pikes Peak. It was a beautiful, quiet evening, and my legs rejoiced in the initiation of a hard task overcome.

I rather think I would be inclined to do this again.

Incline Part I (sorry for all these half stories)

"You do it in 24 minutes!?" My jaw dropped as I opened hot dog buns onto the counter and gaped at James. He was a short, feisty little man with blond hair, sticking up like the thorns on a cactus. And he could run the Incline in 24 minutes.

"24 minutes. I did it back when I used to train with my Army friends and we would go every week. We could fly up that thing. I could probably do it sub-30 now, but 24 is my best."

I was still gaping. He left to walk through the dark hall to the office of the Summit House and I reached for more hot dog buns.

"Kim, did you hear that!? James said he's done the Incline in 24 minutes!"

Kim scoffed and slipped on some kitchen gloves before stirring the bloated hot dogs in the boiling water on the industrial size stove. "24 minutes? I bet you could beat him. He's an old man now, and you are the queen of the mountain!"

We started placing the nasty hot dogs into the stale buns on the counter, pitying the poor Pikes Peak tourists who would buy them for an elevated price in a short moment's time. The Summit House kitchen bustled with activity in preparation for the arrival of the next cog, and I squeezed close to the counter to let Angie slide behind me as she balanced a large tray of fudge-dipped donuts on her hips. There was a haze in the air that was always present because of the oil cooker, presently roasting frozen fries and chicken patties. A timer went off somewhere. Soup is done. The bell rang, signifying the arrival of the train full of tired, hungry tourists and we scurried out to our registers to greet them with our best Pikes Peak smiles.

Mine was genuine. I loved the foreign visitors, and I loved even more the runners who were training, like me, to run up the mountain in two months. When they came through my line, ragged and worn with a donut in one hand and a camelbak swinging off their sagging shoulders, I would drill them about their experience and what advice they had and how the trail was looking and if they trained on the Incline as well as on Barr Trail. Many of the more hard core runners, like James, could run the Incline in their sleep, and that day I was determined to join their numbers after work.

My shift ended with a successful cleaning of the coffee machine and a quick wipe down of the fudge bowls before we sidled down the world's highest paved highway to the bottom of the peak. Every wind and turn I anticipated the climb ahead of me and wondered how my water intake would affect the spontaneous decision to run the steep scar up the side of the mountain where the original train once started its journey. There was nothing but the train ties leftover now and the property where it ascended the mountain was even privately owned, but people did the Incline all the time, and my initiation was fast approaching.

"Good luck, you crazy runner girl," Kim said as she walked over to her car in the employee drop-off spot in the parking lot of Pizza Hut in Manitou Springs. She fumbled with her keys then stuck one into the door. "Don't do anything too crazy."

"Are you sure this is a good idea, Krista?" Angie's sweet voice echoed with its usual concern and her delicate eyebrows furrowed over her motherly eyes. "You didn't even plan on doing this today!"

I assured her it was fine then bid them farewell before driving to the foot of Barr Trail. I squeezed my faithful blue ford focus into a nonexistent parking spot and walked right past my usual starting point on the main footpath up the whole mountain. Tucked away in the corner was a small break in the cement barricades separating civilization from pure Peak, and I hopped through it to the sloping start of the Incline. I didn't know what to expect, but it certainly wasn't 50 yards of winding trail through near dead brush to the actual challenge. When I emerged from the briar patch, my eyes widened as they traveled up, up, up to a point I couldn't even see. Stretched before me was a slender line of railroad ties, one on top of the other, ascending to heaven itself. Little antlike people trudged up the slope. I shot up on my tippy-toes, hoping that would help me see the top or give me a jump start on the challenge ahead.

State Part II

You know that feeling when you are about to knock on someone's door and you don't know quite how you are going to apologize, or when you you approach a microphone before a large crowd and can feel their ears magnetically connected to your mouth, or when you sit down to watch a movie about which you've heard nothing but the best reviews?

Some people call it anticipation.

That day I called it hunger.

We toed the lines as Spartans that had been eating up the competition all season, and today we were especially hungry for victory, for fulfillment of all the pressures our reputation placed on us, for a win to match the Gazette's front page pre-race story about our ever-more threatening team. And like it had countless times for the past three months, the gun went off and we burst out of our tiny box, nudging elbows with each other and the villians around us, struggling to claim a spot of grass where no one else was already stepping.

"Don't start out too fast, Kris." I echoed my father's words in my mind, remembering the primary downfall of so many runners. "Remember to be GREAT. Don't start out too fast, and focus on the task at hand. This is your race."

It was obvious before we reached the first turn 100 yards from the start line that many of the girls in the pack did not have a wise dad like me to remind them to control their hungry appetites and harness the anticipation for the 3 miles past the first .2. Aubrey was out of sight. I thought I could see her blue Brooks flats scampering around the lead pack to take the first place position, but I may have been confusing them with Lynnea's. I knew Lynnea could maintain that pace. Aubrey usually did, but I was nervous for her. She usually stuck around in 4th or 5th before taking the lead in the last mile.

It was a regular pre-heated oven, top-floor apartment and dusty Sahara desert on that course. Almost like a golf course turned dirt with its weaving turns visible to anyone standing anywhere along the 5k stretch. Nothing like beautiful Arapahoe where we won our first invitational earlier that season or rolling Air Academy where we conquered the hills for another first place. One path, one line of girls, and only one team would position all seven of their runners to score the lowest points.

I lunged down a small hill where a the Sjoerdsma boys were cheering like crazy on the side, waving their already gangling arms and almost sucking everyone nearby into their wide open mouths. It was weird how I didn't even hear the sounds they were making because I was so focused.

I passed a girl on a flat stretch along a dry riverbank. One spot down, I thought to myself. The usual gaps between girls I passed and the next fastest contender were gone becuase everyone here had earned their spot-it was one fast girl after another.

Amidst all my constant stream of the GREAT acronym and sweaty sentiments over my last 5k as a high school athlete, I lost sight for a moment. I still looked at the dry reeds lined up along the path and the pattering heels of the girl in front of me, but I could not see; my entire being focused for one moment on the sharp pounding of my feet on the trail. I could hear every stride, and each step spoke for miles of running, months of training, countless races developing a competitive fire.

First 5k, varsity gained. Left, right. Team contention, no progression. Left, right. Summer grouping, new recruiting. Left, right. Coach Schwartz gone, Coach Creech come. Left, right. Regional champs, State chance. Left, right. Left, right.

That moment I realized it didn't matter that I ran two minutes slower than our 3rd runner and 3 minutes slower than our 1st. The 15 girls I had let pass me through the season were behind me now and I was that much closer to Leah. This was State. This was the meet I thought of since I discovered what it meant to be part of a team and run for myself at the same time and I suddenly understood that doing that latter would bring success in the former. My sight returned, renewed and refocused.

Another girl down. My watch read 13:30 at mile 2.

"Please bless the Spartans right now." I shot the prayer up in my head, wondering how Aubrey and Lynnea were faring at the front. Then I looked up from the path, saw the swinging ponytails lined up like horses caravanning on the trail in front of me and licked my lips.

"Let's go, Kris. I'm hungry."

State Part I

An onlooker might have thought we were models strutting down a gravel runway, so confident was our gait down the trail. But then again, models didn't wear baggy sweats or headbands, top brand running shoes or concentrated scowls. We looked the part of runners, and we felt the part of competitors.

Lynnea was still smiling, but I knew in about an hour when we directed our anticipating legs towards the start box, the smile would be ancient history and anybody in the path of her stony eyes would be scared. Jordan was already halfway there. Jordan always looked concentrated. Aubrey was already not speaking. But then again, she thought she was going to win the state meet, of course. We were all supposed to win state.

Nuclei of varsity teams shuffled around the course, marking sharp turns and good passing points in their minds. Watch for that uphill climb. Conserve there. Wait for the downhill. Look for the Spartans. The tall skinny Lynnea girl. And the blond one. And the little runt of a sophomore--she's been doing well this year.

I was never on the radars of the other teams, but my teammates were and that put me right there with the best of them. We walked the course like we did every meet, stalking through chalk arrows and pulling grass off the side of the trail. After what seemed like a whole marathon of time, we left our tent in silence, the hopeful stares of our dedicated fans urging us to the starting line. The Spartans were at state. How would they leave it?

Carpool

Carpools go from point A to point B, stopping at point A.5 and A.75 for additional passengers and arrive at their destinations with little to no exciting adventures.

Not ours.

Mondays we would sit in different seats. Char remained in the driver's seat, but I would move to the back and take Sarah's seat on the left-hand side or snuggle next to Taryn while sitting in the middle. Sometimes, when Charina had meetings in the morning, we would even let mom drive us to school. Mix-It Up Monday.

Tuesdays we would open up the cylindrical bank which we stowed in the glove compartment and pass it around. Inside we stocked tiny, rolled-up Tootsie Rolls. During December we would hold them in front of the small heat vents, hoping they would warm up. Come May, we would squelch through their rich brown texture while following our routes. June arrived and Charina and I cleaned out the back seat to see Sarah and Taryn had been stowing wrappers in the seat covers. Shnikes. Tootsie Roll Tuesday.

Wednesdays were nothing less than absolute crowning glory. The responsibility would rotate, but Taryn almost always could never come or would forget. It was part of the joy of having her there. "I have an appointment," she'd say. Every Wednesday? It was harder to get up and ready earlier than normal, but worth it when Sis. Griggs would set a sizzling plate of eggs in front of us, next to a cup of flavored hot chocolate and with a bowl of fruit on the side. And the last Wednesday of every school year we would go to Burger King and get some french toast sticks and eat them on top of the Old Farm hill. Worth getting up earlier. What's For Breakfast Wednesday.

Thursdays were impactful, to say the least. I'm impressed with how well that CD still functioned even after being tossed around in our car between Thursdays and the other days when we wouldn't use it. But that mix was the best, with a little bit of Abba and some Queen, in the line up behind Queen and Kelly Clarkson. Of course, it was the epic max blasting of Jump Around that made the car rattle with what were probably inappropriate lyrics as we pulled into the seminary building. No shame. Thundering Music Thursday.

Fridays were a good way to end the week. Nothing too stressful or filling or damaging to the temporal lobe. A good workout, in fact, at the Austin Bluffs and Oro Blanco stoplight. Maybe if the cars rushing down Austin Bluffs stopped to look they would catch a glimpse of our anxious bodies flying through the cold or the hot or the wet or the ice, depending on the weather that Friday. I think I even slipped on gravel once, sending me straight to my sorry rear end in the middle of the routine. Only once, though--good odds. Chinese Firedrill Friday.

They were long weekends when we didn't live those blessed moments from 7:21 to 7:37 on sad and sorry Saturday and Sunday.

Boston on the Brain

On this 26th eve of the Boston Marathon
I think of nothing else the whole day long
Since there's more to be said than, "I am excited!"
Here are 26 thoughts running through my head:

1. In eighth grade my coach signed me up for the mile
And though he was young--I considered him senile
2. But I ran that race and then quite unforseen
Doherty's cross country coach asked if I'd run for the team
3. Not one to say no, I showed up the first day
And varsity took me--even with a 24 minute 5k
4. I got faster that season but still was just neutral
Meaning I didn't run any more than was usual
5. But the next year rolled around, then so did the passion
Training with Buggins, Mom, and Doug made me a fast one
6. It was that same spring when a landmark I hit
My first 10k in Tyler, Dad cheering, "You Can Win It!"
7. Well, I did, and Coach Schwartz set it up in my mind
I was a runner-- my soul was defined.
8. From that point on, I knew the joy of running
Even though my junior year was far from stunning
9. The following summer I ran to ensure preparation
And had running adventures all over the nation
10. Utah Handicap race, where, when we were done
Dad and I laughed for the raffle where EVERY soul won
11. The run with the buffs in Yellowstone Park
Made me Ol' Faithful to the journey oh which I'd embarked
12.That July Fourth I was more than all patriotic
For my first half in Wyoming made me a real addict
13. A run through corn stalks and years past in Illinois
Connected me to Halcyon and my heritage as a Roy
14. And feeling insignificant while running never felt so good
By tiptoeing reverently through the mighty Redwoods
15. Then down through L.A. and with buildings every mile
Showed me in my running I'm quite versatile
16. Then of course, summer ended and cross country began
And we won first place every time that we ran
17. The important part, though, was I signed to run Pikes Peak
And began the training journey towards 14000 feet
18. The Ascent marked a spot that told me I was tough
And since then, I can tell you, I can't get enough
19. The 5ks on campus, the short sprints through Provo
Were too short, were too little, were simply not thorough
20. But that's when it came, the idea I got lost on
It came so subtly and sudd'n'ly-- You'll run the Boston
21. Mr. Mac! Coach Deb! Lynnea, Jordan, Halcyon, Dad, and Schwartz
These people inspired me to sign up for St. George
22. After months of training consuming my mind
My little running body crossed that St. George finish line
23. Was it good? Was it great? "Too many questions!"
Although just one answer: Qualification
24. Yes, there was Boston just perched on the horizon
And since that 3:34 time, it's all I've had eyes on
25. Sometimes it's unreal and I'm in denial
Thinking of the transformation from that very first mile
26. But I'm here--and 26.2 miles away is my aim
And that's why, I'll tell you I've got
Boston on the Brain.

Registered!

Thirteen miles through Pueblo was nothing. The race on December 13th proved neither breathtaking nor heartwarming, though it did take quite a bit of breath and kept me warm in the heart of the bitter cold. The satisfying part was I beat Nic Walsh, and the important satisfaction was I qualified for Wave 2 of the Pikes Peak Ascent. And the clock ticked on until registration opened, 3 months away in March.

January. Snow runs. Up and down the Gem streets, plodding where I could find a bare spot of asphalt, slipping where snow packed 2 inches high on the uncleared roads. Round Platinum Road, peek at the Peak. Right onto Sapphire, wink at its summit. It eyed me all month long, and I occasionally nodded in its direction to acknowledge its challenge.

February. Ice runs. January's snow still hadn't melted and the trails were mud-ice and nothing else. Down into the canyon, sledding down what was usually a path on my size 8.5 New Balance tennis shoe skis. Tempted to bring along an ice pick, instead I'd summit the canyon exit and glance at Pikes. Still there. Slide down the valley path and wave to the Peak on the way down. It watched me all month long, and I would stare back to accept its challenge.

March. Slush runs. Sunshine poked through every other day, but bitter cold kept the wetness where I ran. Slopping down the road, dodging cars and getting a face full of their spatter anyway. Mother Nature did all in her power to keep Pikes Peak from shaking off its white winter wig. It loomed right above and stuck out its hand, and I grabbed it to register for its challenge.

Getting into the race was a race itself, but as always, my mom was there as the number one fan. Pikespeakmarathon.org was sure to back up beginning promptly at 12:00:01 on March 13th, but nothing would stop me from being part of the traffic.

"Did you copy you qualifying link so you can just paste it in?" my mom asked in an anxious whisper, like saying it too loud would set me back in the cyberspace registration queue.

"Yes. Mom. I did." I was nervous too, so I didn't mean to snap, but I think she understood. We zoned in on the Greenwhich clock we had pulled up on the screen. 11:59: 57. Three seconds. 2. 1.

RegisterFirstKristaLastRoyMiddleJGenderFBirth08/30/19Emailkristroy@mn.comDayPhone7192675305 (numbersweresohard!)Address5435TopazDrCityColoSpgsStateCOZip80918PredictionTime3:46:03Shirtsizesmallcreditcardinforxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxand SUBMIT!

waiting...waiting...waiting....(please wait, this site is experiencing traffic. Do not refresh or close out of this page)....waiting....

My heart tensed up every time the hourglass flipped and I watched the small green liquid fill the time bar at the bottom of the screen, barely inching forward. My fingertips were tingling, still resting lightly atop the keys while my mom breathed in and out beside me.

Then, finally.

Congratulations! You have successfully registered for the Pikes Peak Ascent 2009. You will receive verification of you registration at kristroy@mn.com.

I twirled in the chair to face my mom, who was kneeling on the ground. Our round, wide eyes met and locked, sending haywire electrical currents of excitement between each other's souls. Without warning we both leaped up and squealed like little girls in a pile of candy and wrapped each other in an ecstatic embrace.

"You're in, Kris! You made it in!" Mom and I didn't hug that often, not when I went to school, not when I came home, not at church. But in that moment I squeezed her so dearly I may have been the cause for the extra bulge in her eyes--or maybe it was the same excited relief that made mine pop.

If that feeling of pure excited accomplishment was anything like what I would feel at 14,115 feet in 5 months time, I could continue to sludge through miles of mud. And since I guessed it acutally paled in comparison to the emotions I would feel at the finish, I squeezed my mom again and logged into my email to gaze lovingly at the verification email.

Conversion

It runs in my blodd, I used to tell people, cleverly throwing up my hands and forming quote mark with the words runs to emphasize what I thought was a good pun. My oldest sister was second in state in the 300m hurdles, and the one younger than she was once called the "fastest white girl on the track" because she kept up with or beat all the black sprinters. The sister just older than me was a long jumper and could sprint faster than a lizard looking for shade in Arizona when she was on the basketball court. With a first, second and third heat to go before me in the running world, there was no question. I, too, was a sprinter. It "runs" in my blood.

Yet.

I remember my feet turning to stone, just like when I hit the teasing top tier of a hurdle, when I saw my name scribbled on the schedule for that week's track meet. There had to be a mistake or Coach misjudged something. I wove my way between plyo boxes and dumbbells littering the floor until I made it to my coach. His stopwatch hung casually from his neck and he smiled as I approached.

"The mile, Coach!?" The look of disbelief on my face would have scared any missionary away but didn't seem to phase Joiner. . His attention snapped from the clipboard in his hand. "The mile!?"

The sunburnt lips cracked into a devious smile while his leather skin formed laugh wrinkles around his eyes.

"That's right, all 1600 meters, Krista!" He swallowed before continuing. "I know you've run hurdles all season, but I thought we might try your legs at the distance events!"

Distance! Never in my life did I ever want to run longer than a 400, and here he was asking me to do that 4 times. Who did he think I was, a marathoner!?

Hard to Tell

I often had this problem when I needed to confess or apologize to my parents. I would tiptoe down the hall to their bedroom door, which was always wide open, stand at the threshold with bated breath, then chicken out and scurry back down the hall, eating the words that never came out. Then I would repeat. Tiptoe to the beat of my strategic words, shift weight from foot to foot at the doorframe, retreat to the safe hallway of unspoken words. Talking was not usually such a hard thing, but in moments like this one, I always struggled.

"Come on, Kris, this shouldn't be so hard! Just go tell Mom!" My heart pattered this message to me as I stalked one final time up the hall and past the bathroom, finally breaking the barrier of the doorway. Mom looked up as I eased myself onto the edge of their king-sized bed. Her expectant wide eyes were mirrors of my own, but her small lips looked huge compared to the ones tightly pursed on my own face.

I didn't say anything. At least I didn't walk back down the hall either.

"Hey, Kris." Mom knew. She always knew! How could she already know? This was something I had only told Jordan and Mr. Mac. But she knew. That was her knowing "Hey, Kris."

"Hey, Mom." I giggled. She couldn't know. She laughed in return, an edgy expectant laugh which matched the edgy, expectant look she gave me.

"Whatcha doin?" She went back to typing and I looked down at the gray carpet poking up between my toes. Had my mouth ever stayed closed for so long? I didn't think words could be tangible objects, but I could feel them lodged halfway between my stomach and my uvula, half bursting to come out and half struggling to be swallowed up and hide somewhere in the lining of my small intestine.

The tongue won. "So i've been thinking, Mom, and I just had this small little idea just come into my little mind and I just couldn't stop thinking about it and the more I thought about it the more it came into real life for me." Mom lowered her glasses and raised her eyebrows. "I just was thinking that this year I might just want to maybe run," I was about to say it. I couldn't quite tell why I felt like this was such a moment of revealing a great surprise, but I hesitated before charging on, "run the Pikes Peak Ascent."

Not the reaction I expected. Almost none, in fact.

"So I need to run a qualifying half marathon and I looked them up and there is one in December in Pueblo and so I guess just if you could maybe help me out that's what I want to do and I know it sounds crazy but I just have been thinking about that and that is what I have been thinking." Great. For all the anticipation of getting those words out, now they wouldn't stop coming.

"Ok. Sounds great. Just let us know if you need to sign up or whatever." She looked at me, nodding her head, an almost amused look on her face. But I think she knew I was serious. At least I hoped she did. I had been thinking about the challenge of Pikes Peak for months, ever since the beginning of the cross country season and I was obsessed.

Feeling as relieved as I do every time I finally let out the secret or confession to my parents, I slid back out of the room and breathed in the hall. Why was it so hard to tell them that one little idea? Maybe it was because I was scared someone else would think of the same challenge and the allure of the absurdity of it all would be lost. Maybe it was because I wanted everyone to be sure it was something I had decided to do all on my own. Maybe it was because if no one knew and I ran back down the hall before I actually did it, no one would be any wiser. Whatever it was, it was hard to tell. But it didn't matter.

I always went back up the hall anyway. I would go up the mountain, too.