"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.
I love this.
ReplyDeleteYou have this natural voice for what you love.
Question--do you eat sugar? (I need to know the answer.)