A mountain run

No rules. Speed doesn't matter and miles don't count. Or maybe they count double. It's almost 4pm. Diner is in 2 hrs when I write my name in the book. Two hours to get up and down Guadalupe Peak. Can I make it in two hours? Normally I'd think yes. But today? Today was a challenge I like.

This morning I ran 8 miles on the Permian Reef Trail. Over 2100 feet of climbing up single track, rocky trails in 3.1 miles. Then around and down a bit before getting to stand, arms open wide, at a look out point and just shout down over the amazing view of my campsite in the distance. Wow. Going down Permian was equally great. I was just fighting back giggles that I'm sure had hikers thinking I might be crazy. But this place was like Bandera on steroids. Bliss.

The day before was a 30 mile Joe run. Anyone who knows Joe knows what this means. How this man manages to find ass-kicking trails and string them together in a way that will have even then nicest runner cussing is a gift beyond measure. Oh how I love doing a Joe run.

My quads are sore, my hands are cold, and my back is dripping sweat under my fleece and Nathan pack. It's time for up. I feel like I'm running, in a way. My arms are swinging and my turn over is quick. But moving is slow. Still, the feeling is, again, bliss. 18 minute mile bliss.

After 1.4 miles two hikers pass me on their way down. "There are 2 guys ahead of you. You have a long way to go," one says.
"Less the 3 miles," I reply with a smile.

More up. I was breathing hard from the get go, but the climbing never got harder. 2 miles up. Three. Getting close to four. By this time I'm surrounded by cloud. A mile back the wind blew pieces of cloud over me as I climbed, drawing out more laughs. Now the fog is almost thick. Wisps of cloud cover the rocky trail and the smell in the air is sweet and ethereal. I've been climbing for over an hour, taken two wrong turns, but I know I'm close to the peak. This climb is billed as a tourist trail, but a few of the turns are hard to see. At least in the fog. Still, I know I'm close to the top. Hugging a turn I hike the last bit of trail up, climb a few rocks, write my name in the book and give a happy whoop into the thick clouds. This mountain offered me no view from Its top. But the 77 minute climb was reward enough. I slapped the monument, climbed off the slippery peak rocks, filled my lungs with the cloudy air and started the run down.

My GPS died after just over 8 miles in 2:01, about .5 miles from the trail head. But I don't care. On the mountain speed and time really don't matter to me. I made the climb.