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.