By Joe Turcotte

August 21, 1994: Upon finishing my fifth Pikes Peak Marathon, I recall saying “Never Again!”

Between 1984 and 1994 the mountain had become my obsession. Three Pikes Peak Ascents and five Marathons were enough ... I thought. Twenty-one years later, I’m still running. Hundreds of races (including 29 marathons and 11 Ironman Triathlons) and I can’t imagine life without it.

I discovered triathlon at age 43, and like the Pikes Peak Marathon two decades earlier, it became an obsession. By age 53, I had completed about 40 triathlons. For the record, when I discovered triathlon at age 43, I had no clue how to swim and didn’t own a bike. Two years later, I completed five Ironmans in one season.

< Near the Cirque, 1994

I mention this not because I’m an over-achieving, obsessive athlete ... I’m Not. To this day, I have a very difficult time referring to myself as an athlete. What I have no problem describing myself as, is obsessive compulsive. Someone told me about Pikes Peak Marathon and I decided I’d do it. I witnessed an Ironman finish and decided I would experience one. The fact, that I was out of shape, never ran, didn’t own a bike or couldn’t swim was irrelevant. I pictured myself crossing the finish line and figured out how to get there.

Upon accepting the fact that I “suffer” from a fairly serious case of OCD, I decided at around age 25, that I could  either continue to channel all my energy into self destruction, or I could simply accept the warped way my thoughts process and focus on the never-considered concept of living to be 30 years old.

In October of 1983, my friend, roommate and employer climbed into his attic and took his own life with a Colt 45. As tragic and traumatic as that was, I wasn’t surprised. Suddenly, my decision was made. But what on earth could I focus on that would be stimulating enough to steer me away from my less than healthy (or legal) “supplementation and hydration” based lifestyle?

Ruxton, 1990 >

< Cirque 2015

A year or so earlier, I had found myself “between homes” and had my tent set up a bit north of the Manitou Incline. As I would walk down Barr Trail to hitchhike to whatever construction site I was working on, I would see runners. I asked a few why they were running on a friggin' mountain. They explained the Pikes Peak Marathon to me. That, I decided, would be my new obsession.

It was October of 1983 when I started running. It took me a full month before I was able to run a mile without stopping. I had topped out at about 260 lbs. and noticed the weight come off. After long days of framing houses, I began to say no to my typical afternoon/evening happy hours and would head to Monument Valley Park.

When it was dark and snowy, I would run mile after mile up and down Tejon Street because it was lighted. I was appalled that I spent $24.99 for a pair of Nike Equators and bought a Runner’s World magazine.

I ran from October 1983 until I found myself at the start of the 1984 Pikes Peak Marathon. I had shrunk to 165 lbs. and was about to undertake an event that would change my life. Five hours and thirty-three minutes later, I experienced my first marathon finish line. I was hooked. Still wasn’t out of the woods with my earlier obsessions but I was on my way.

A brief but morbid side note. After my friend shot himself, I dug the slug out of the ceiling, drilled a hole through it and carried it on my keychain as a reminder of why I was running. It worked.

So here it is 2015. I really can’t pinpoint my reasons for wanting to get back on Pikes Peak. I believe I’m blessed with a pretty sweet life. I have the most amazing friends, family, pooch and soulmate. What really boggles my mind is that I’m 56 years old. How the hell did that happen? Two reasons, a suicide and The Pikes Peak Marathon.

Ruxton 2015 >

The last few weeks of running on the mountain and standing at that starting line was like going back in time. Unlike other events that create stress in the days beforehand, I felt relaxed, like I was returning to say thanks.

So this is supposed to be a “race report”. The gun went off, got to the top in 4:05 and struggled coming down. Didn’t care. Conditions could not have been better. The volunteers were all rock stars. My thoughts, memories and emotions kept me entertained for the full 26 miles. An Ironman finish is one of the most rewarding experiences of my life, but there’s something pretty special about that tiny, crowded finish line in Manitou Springs. I’ll not stay away as long ever again.