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.