victory is mine (ours).

I did it! Well, we did it. This weekend, Doug and I successfully climbed to the acme of Pikes Peak, one of Colorado's famous "fourteeners" and the tallest mountain in our area at 14,115 feet above sea level. Nicknamed "America's Mountain" (it is the most visited on the continent), Pikes Peak is visible from practically every point of the Springs, and Douglas has been lusting after it since the moment he arrived in Colorado. Climbing the mountain has been scribbled on our calendar since the two of us sat down to to plan our summer to-do list. I was personally dreading the day, not knowing if my lungs were up for the task, but everything went off without a hitch... nine hours of hiking, thirteen miles, and two pairs of shaky legs later, we had covered the 7,400 feet elevation gain to the summit.

 

We arrived at the trailhead at 8:00 a.m., slightly behind schedule, but I expected as much. The first few miles were familiar to us, having walked down them a few times already during our descent from the Incline, a local fitness attraction (known to me as the staircase from hell). Once we got into unfamiliar territory, we plowed through the first seven miles of the trip in two and a half hours to reach Barr Camp. During this pit stop, we made friends with the local chipmunks... and by friends I mean we fed a couple of them by hand and one little bugger started crawling all over my back looking for more when I put the food away. The second leg of the trip was much harder, as the altitude started to do a number on Doug's lungs and my legs nearly buckled from sheer exhaustion. We made the acquaintances of some fellow summit-seekers along the way, a father and son from Tennessee and a girl from Minnesota, sharing some fears of death-by-lightning (not an uncommon occurrence once you get past the tree line)  as we waited out a passing storm at Timberline Shelter. We also ran into a few rascally marmots and were not quite sure what they were after or whether or not they could be trusted. Marmots (shrug).

The last half-mile of the trek was the most brutal: sixteen "golden" steps to the top, better described as a treacherous climb over boulders while fearful of aforementioned death-by-lightning. I was not sure my body could move another inch at this point, but with a constant prayer going over and over in my head, Douglas and I made it to the top in one (two) pieces. It was an amazing feeling. To be honest, climbing the mountain was entirely Doug's idea and something I would have never planned on my own, but once my feet took the final steps to the summit I felt like a true champion. I had pushed my trembling, aching body to do something it was begging me not to do for the past nine hours, and something that my mind had been dreading for more than a week. But I did it. We did it - and it was awesome!

After the exhausting climb, Douglas and I rested at the summit shop and tried one of their "world famous" doughnuts (it missed the mark in our opinion, even after a nine hour hike). Not that I minded, but we were treated like celebrities by the other visitors in the summit house, who had almost all taken the railway or driven to the top. One boy even came to interview us about our ascent, as he was debating whether or not he wanted to make the climb himself. After the hoopla died down and we snapped a few blurry pictures in the rain (against the recommendation of the shop staff, who frequently announced that EMTs would not come to our rescue if we were struck by lightning), we took the cog railway down the mountain, an hour-long train ride with a scenic view of the surrounding wildlife. We caught a glimpse of few mountain goats and wild sheep on the descent, which were exciting, although I was hoping to spot a bear. After a drive home in a torrential downpour and a warm meal, we both passed out within a few minutes, proud of our day's feat but sore to the bone. Where's the next adventure?!