Almost every runner I know, whether they’re training for the Pikes Peak Ascent or Marathon or not, has already been on the incline or Barr trail this year.  Challenging trail runs, it seems, are a quintessential part of any runner’s routine.  Any runner, perhaps, other than me.

I haven’t seen the top of Pikes Peak for three years. I probably haven’t seen the top of the incline for just as long.

I could blame my inertia on the emotional toll of the fires in our community, or my bronchitis (which is still lingering, thanks in no small part to the air quality resulting from the fires), or my busy work schedule.  I could, but I won’t, because it would be a lie.

The truth is, I don’t follow a regular training regimen. And I don’t generally take on outdoor activities that don’t bring me to life. And I gotta say, huffing and puffing my way up to the top of the Peak has not historically made my soul sing.  I love challenge, but I detest being terrible at things. And on the Peak, I’m slllllllllooooooooooow.

It turns out, I'm not much better on the descent. A few years ago, I hiked Ellingwood with a particularly patient friend. After finally reaching the summit (bribes of chocolate may have been involved), I realized I was terrified to come back down. What's a girl in running shoes to do with all that scree? Here's what I did: I scrambled down that mountain like a crab - on all fours. Not one of my finer moments.

Conventional wisdom tells us that in order to improve, one has to practice. With the big event less than two months away, I had better start. And the only place to start is right where I am.  On Tuesday, I scraped up the motivation to purchase a cog ticket, locking me in to at least one full ascent (and guaranteeing me a ride back down.)

I don’t predict a glorious, strong, three-hour summit. I may take TWICE that amount of time. I might even cry at the top. But I’ll get there, at least twice this summer, and maybe more.