4,226 feet high and rising.

I last boarded an airplane back in August and, despite the economic gloom the news would have me believe, the parking lot outside the airport was packed, the hallways were flooded with bodies hurrying from gate to gate and there was not a single unoccupied seat on board.  Looked just like it did in the salad days of the late 90's and early millennium by my eyes.

But Cincinnati in early 2012 had room, room, lots of room to spare.  My mind conjured up the foretelling of the rapture but I couldn't recall if Cincy fell in the ol' Bible belt or not and my instincts told me no.

Nope, not a single soul had ascended to heaven but some of the hell had been taken out of flying.  The flight in from Philadelphia found me enjoying a row of seats all to my lonesome and I'd landed in Ohio without any need to unfold myself from a cramped position.  The doors flung open and there waiting in the airport was...nobody.  Glorious.

There was another spare seat waiting on the connection from Cincinnati to Salt Lake City and clear, obstacle-free skies delivered me blissfully to the Wasatch Front.  Back again and ready to run.

Yes, there was work (much work) to be done and as much as I'd like to "cool guy" you into believing I don't give a crap about work, I'd be bluffing and you'd be right to call me on it.  I toil away like my Germanic father before me, wearing a work ethic like its the only pair of pants I own.

But I do leave room for my vice and, in a world of R-rated vices, mine is downright Disney with a capital G.

The clock strikes 4:30 AM Mountain Time and I am out the door.  Fifteen minutes later, I'm a thousand feet above downtown and Salt Lake City sleeps below like the slumbering lion of The Tokens' song.

I only covered about 5 miles but the thin, crisp (and impossibly clean in comparison to home) air and the meandering singletrack put me in the right headspace for a day of business-ing in the climate-controlled environs of the Salt Palace and the Winter Outdoor Retailer trade show.

I did take a pretty big digger on a patch of black (brown?) ice that surprised me on the otherwise soft, sandy trail and deposited on my, er, um...ass.  Which is where being in my line of work comes in rather handy.  In between appointments, I ducked into the Kahtoola booth and bummed a pair of MICROspikes from Danny Giovale, the very man who built the damn things.

What are MICROspikes?  Glad you asked.  They are one of those startlingly simple engineering marvels, a set of low-profile crampons integrated into a durable rubber housing that slips easily over whatever footwear you got.  You might be more familiar with Yaktrax, but they are truly pedestrian in comparison to the adventure ready MICROspikes.

Where can you get them?  Glad you asked.  Try here:

http://www.backcountryedge.com/kahtoola-microspikes-2011.aspx

So, I'd secured traction but needed advice on how to get up higher.  Danny began saying something about Grandeur Peak but then got pulled in another direction, leaving me with an imagination-inspiring name but no idea how to get there.

Lucky for me, those-in-the-know were milling all around me, including Piep. 

Piep (John Pieper by birth, but, take it from me--a Steven known to many/most as Leon--he is and shall ever be Piep) had been living with his lovely family in Durango, Colorado for the past several years but had returned home to Salt Lake about a year ago, taking a Director of Sales and Markeing position at Gregory Mountain Products.  He was well familiar with the area trails and he seemed to agree with Danny that Grandeur Peak was well worth visiting.  After dinner, he grabbed a topo map, outlined the approach options and then insisted that I take the map along with me when I headed back to the hotel to catch a few hours of sleep.

Thanks, Piep.

I just realized that I've failed to touch on the fact that the daytime temperatures in town had been hovering in the upper 40's and low 50's even though Salt Lake City sits at an elevation of 4,226 feet, a good 3,800 feet higher than my Manheim home.  In other words, winter hadn't come to the Great Basin any more than it had come to the Susquehanna Valley.

And, so, the next morning I awoke to precipitation, but not the fluffy white stuff that I'd hoped to find.  I drove up above town, hung a right on Wasatch Boulevard and then took a left up Millcreek Canyon in the dark.  The moisture in the air still qualified as rain but just barely.  A good sign.

As soon as I stepped from the car, I was headed uphill through a National Forest picnic area.  The lungs were immediately heaving despite the fact that I was creeping along at a rate well shy of my normal pace.

A sign came into focus in the beam of my headlamp and confirmed that I was headed in the right direction.

That was fractions of a mile farther than I expected which immediately illuminated the fact that I'd forgotten to bring my Garmin.  Who cares right?  I know, I know, BUT it meant that I was going to be ascending in the dark with no real idea of what time it was or how far I'd gone which could be problematic since I needed to eventually to get back to the hotel before returning to the Salt Palace for another day of work.

The effort required in the climb and my love of running in the dark combined to back burner those concerns.  Per the topo map, I was looking at well over 2,500 feet of climb in those 3 miles and my legs and lungs were busy confirming that reading.  I cycled between running, power hiking and straight-up trudging, all with an oh-so-happy grin.  You know the kind...shit-eating some call it, though that phrase has always been lost on me.

Periodically, I'd peek to my right or my left depending on the turn of the switchback and ponder the void, wondering at the invisible drop.  I was so captivated by the darkness, it took me longer than it should have to realize that I was ankle deep in snow and more was falling.  A look back over my shoulder confirmed that I'd been plowing through snow for quite some time.

Such is the power of the MICROspikes.

Long (too long already) story short, I ended up turning back before the top out, a decision I'll probably always question, but the appropriate call given my not being able to confirm the time but being conscious of my going pretty darn slow given the conditions and my flatlander lung capacity.

Thanks to the short hours of winter daylight, I didn't see a single drop of sun on my morning runs but I loved everything I could see in the tunnel of light that I carried with me.  I look forward to getting back up to Grandeur (or anywhere else Piep or other locals can point me toward) in August and getting in a run or two ahead of taking another shot at the Jupiter Peak Steeplechase up in Park City (just confirmed today as again being part of the La Sportiva Mountain Cup series!) on the Saturday of Summer OR.

Then, if the body holds up, I'll be back through Salt Lake in October for the drive down to Moab for the SlickRock 100.  Pretty stoked.

And, just to return to the good omen of the empty flights, Salt Lake sent me off in style with an unexpected meet-and-greet (a run-in...get it?) at the airport with the iconically-mustachioed Nick Offerman.

Who?  You know who.

Pretty random, I know, but good times nonetheless.  Don't let the scowl fool you (his, not mine), he was a sweetheart.

If I hadn't alreay returned Piep's map and Danny's MICROspikes, I might have clued him in on Grandeur Peak.

Next time.

august.

This was going to be the month.

July had seen a slight uptick on mileage and August was going to be the month that I finally pushed things up a notch.  Only it didn't happen.

Some really solid running took place and there were many memorable on-trail moments, but I went in the wrong direction in terms of miles.  I did a couple of mid-distance races, the Jupiter Peak Steeplechase, of which I've already written, and the seemingly underappreciated On the Rocks 16-Miler at Rocky Ridge Park in York, PA.  I was reasonably pleased with both efforts (I finished 9th at On the Rocks), but admittedly felt some fatigue in the days after and struggled to cover additional miles.

No matter.

A couple days of tired legs are no big deal and other than keeping track of them for curiosity's sake, the number of miles really don't matter much to me.  I do, however, need to remind myself of that now and again.

And so August wasn't THE month, but it sure was A month of running and one that I'm looking back on fondly as I sift through the photo evidence below:

Wednesday, August 10 - AM - First run after Jupiter Peak Steeplechase included a good bit of climbing at Pumping Station and on the Horseshoe Trail - legs feeling good.

Wednesday, August 10 - PM - Back end of my twofer, a run home from work.

Thursday, August 11 - Run to work - felt fatigued but held pretty solid pace.

Sunday, August 14 - Morning run at Pumping Station/Horseshoe.

Wednesday, August 17 - Morning loop run on Horseshoe Trail starting on southern side of 322, crossing over to Eagle Rock overlook and back on the conservancy trail - may have been the last go for these MT 101s.

Saturday, August 20 - On the Rocks 16-miler at Rocky Ridge park.

Sunday, August 21 - Colebrook Road to R2T to Junction Road loop - good effort the day after On the Rocks.

Wednesday, August 24 - Horseshoe Trail out-and-back with Jefferson starting at Segloch Road and heading toward Middle Creek.

Thursday, August 25 - Midday run on Penryn and White Oak roads.

Friday, August 26 - Nighttime loop on Colebrook, R2T and Junction roads returning on Sun Hill - UTMB excitement and the pending arrival of Hurricane Irene had me feeling cabin fever.

Saturday, April 27 - Post-UTMB and early stages of Irene on Colebrook, Hossler, Power and Sun Hill roads.

Sunday, August 28 - Post-Irene afternoon/evening run at Pumping Station and on the Horseshoe Trail.

Monday, August 29 - Midday run on White Oak and Penryn roads.

Wednesday, August 31 - Pre-dawn run at Pumping Station and Horseshoe Trail - planting seed of hope for a sub-2 hour effort at the Conestoga Trail Run in a few weeks.  Fingers are crossed.

the sea level blues.

Twice a year, I board a plane for Salt Lake City to attend the Outdoor Retailer trade show.  If you like backpacking, mountain biking, climbing, trail running, paddling, camping or just about any other activity in the great outdoors, each January and August, the Salt Palace serves up a head-spinning carnival of "what you'll have to have six months from now."

OR (pronounced oh-are), as it's known affectionately, also happens to be a great place to make and/or reconnect with like minded friends who've found ways to forge out a similar work/play hybrid career.  Each time I go, I've got more faces to look forward to seeing and more difficulty freeing up the time I'd like to catch up with everyone.

As a key component of a retail operation that works hard, hard, hard to continue carving out a place in the outdoor industry, I am often overwhelmed by how much actual work we cram into just a couple of days and I should be thrilled that we find anytime at all to socialize.  And we do.

For the past three or four years, while at OR I've run the Wasatch Wobble, a 5K put on by Montrail/Mountain Hardwear up in Red Butte Gardens above the city.  The event is a non-timed focused-on-fun event but at 5,000+ feet of elevation it's always been a good test for me too.  This year, though, I'd learned about the Jupiter Peak Steeplechase that takes place in Park City each August.  Beginning at 7,000 feet, stretching for 16 +/- miles and having a gain of over 3,000 feet, this race promised to be a big step up from the Wobble.

On the first day in town, I got up early to sneak in a run and breath the fresh air before sucking in the artificial air at the Salt Palace all day long.  I was also looking forward to seeing how my legs and lungs felt a few thousand feet higher than back home.

We were staying south of the city just a short drive to the foot of Big Cottonwood Canyon.  Unfamiliar with the area and starting before sun-up, I opted for a paved pedestrian trail until it conked out and left me climbing alongside the road toward the top of the canyon.  Not being on single track didn't dampen my spirits, as there were no cars on the road and the soft grit that ran parallel to the road felt great underfoot.  As the sun rose, I plodded steadily uphill as the sun began to peak over the Wasatch Mountains.

Not even the birds were stirring and the only sound was the creek crash, crash, crashing its way down the canyon.  My camera complained about the lack of light and an inept operator who couldn't find a mechanical compensation.  All the same, it did its best and captured a few memories.

I was on the verge of daydreaming my way up into the mountains and away for the day when I came to and realized I needed to get back to the car.  I tucked the camera into my waistband and quickened my pace.  I'd managed the climb nicely and was able to really push on the descent.  This made me hopeful for the race on Saturday morning even though I knew I'd be at twice the elevation.  I'd hiked above 10,000 feet but never run up that high.  It was safe to expect that I wouldn't manage the sub 7:30 miles I'd just logged, but, I was still encouraged by my effort that morning.

The next two days were a blur of backpacks, socks, tents, sleeping bags, trekking poles, waterproof/breathable jackets, headlamps, doodads, whizzywhats and shaboozles.  Business was talked, talked, talked, talked, talked.  Thankfully, there were also a healthy number of warm handshakes, hugs and laughter wedged in between all that talking.

The hours and days flew by and it was Saturday morning.  True to its calling, the alarm alarmed me that it was 5:45.  A little over an hour later, after dropping my boss off in downtown Salt Lake for a pre-business business-breakfast (talk, talk, talk, talk, talk), I coasted into the lower parking lot of the Park City Mountain Resort and stared past the windshield at the fittest bunch of pre-racers I can remember seeing.  A little gasping-for-air voice told me I was in my over my head, but my eyes followed the chairlifts upward and I wondered where out there was the top of Jupiter Peak.

I had to go see.

There was one last moment of trepidation when I realized that Lindsay's phone number was printed right on my bib.  So some kind passerby could give my wife a courtesy call upon stumbling on my corpse?  Yikes.

Clearly I was over thinking things and just needed to get my feet underneath me.  I wedged in with some 300 other runners as someone muttered inaudible instructions through a megaphone.  A signal of some sort, again unheard by me, sent the pack slowly shuffling up a steeply sloped service road before funneling us onto the start of endless (and glorious) single track that would wind its way all the way to the top of the mountain.

I'd decided on a modest goal of 4 miles an hour on the ascent, expecting that the severity of the grade and the altitude were likely to make my usual pace impossible to achieve.  If I could top out in 2 hours and have legs left beneath me, I hoped to let gravity whisk me the full 8 miles down to the bottom at a much faster pace.

I fell in stride with a number of runners who seemed to be of equal ability and condition

Somewhere soon after mile 5 the grade steepened and I could sense unfamiliar physiological demands.  I was struggling to pull enough oxygen out of the air and my legs reported corresponding heaviness.  Feeling a little lightheaded, I decided it was time to peek at the GPS and learned that we'd now climbed over 9,000 feet.  There were less than 3 miles left to the top but another 1200+ feet of elevation to be gained.  Needless to say, I was no longer running 12 minute miles when I looked up to see the ridge just below Jupiter.

To give some scale to the photo, note the "runner" at the very lower right and keep in mind that the tufts at the top of the ridge are full grown trees.  I couldn't help but notice that not a single person ahead of me was actually running.  In fact, some of them were on all fours or at least appeared to be.  Loose rock added to the challenge and I was relieved to find that the stubborn grass growing on the ridge held my weight as I clutched at it.

Topping out, I glanced at my Garmin and was surprised to see that I'd only covered 7 miles.  I vaguely remembered hearing that there was more work to be done after Jupiter's Peak and after a quick two hundred yards of downhill, the track led upward again to the top of Tri-County Peak.  At last the climbing was done and the smooth winding downhill single track led off into the distance.

It was right around mile 10, probably while my mind wandered off into another patch of aspens, that I fell and fell hard.  I took the brunt of the fall on my right knee which was now bleeding but also banged my right side just above the hip and dragged my right forearm and elbow.  A couple of runners hopped over me, offered words of genuine encouragement and then disappeared down the trail.  It took me a moment or two to get back on my feet and I was, admittedly, shook up.  I traversed the next few miles very tentatively and did anything but barrel down the mountain.

Eventually I shook off the fall and got back to running but I never work up to the pace I'd hoped for on the return to 7000 feet.  My head, however, did begin to clear with the downward progression and I reached the bottom feeling good.  Good and tired.

I can't speak for any of the preceding 18 years, but my GPS confirmed that this year's course was a full mile short of 16.  My exhausted lungs and legs didn't seem the least bit disappointed.  Those 15 miles had taken me just over 3 hours (more than an hour behind the winners), but, coming from a home elevation of 400 feet, I'm holding my head up high...and looking forward to next year.

"i just wanted to say that i'm a nerd."

In December, I formally laid out my if-all-goes-well race plans for 2011.  It was (and is) a pretty ambitious schedule but leaves some room to sign-up for additional events depending on when they are being held.

Last month, the 2011 La Sportiva Mountain Cup series was announced.  If you're unfamiliar with this series that began back in 2008, it consists of 10 trail races ranging from 10K to marathon distances held between March and August at various sites scattered throughout the country.  Runners tally points based on where they place (closer to first, the higher the points) in their five best finishes in Mountain Cup races and after all races have been run, La Sportiva posts the winning results and award cash prizes.

I've never taken part in a Mountain Cup race and other than a passing curiosity, I wasn't expecting to do so anytime soon.  That changed the second I saw the final date for this year and my determination to get involved solidified as I further investigated the Jupiter Peak Steeplechase.

http://www.mountaintrails.org/2009/03/jupiter-peak-steeplechase-august/

For the 19th consecutive year, the Mountain Trails Foundation will be putting on this challenging event at Utah's Park City Mountain Resort.  A 16-mile sufferfest, the Jupiter Peak Steeplechase starts at 7,000 feet, gains more than 3,000 feet of elevation by the halfway point and then leaves you with an 8-mile run back down from its 10,400 foot high point.

That description alone was more than enough to pique my interest but travel plans also happened to already be in place that coincided perfectly with the date of the event.  As a gear buyer for Backcountry Edge (http://www.backcountryedge.com/), an online retailer of backpacking, hiking and camping equipment, I would be in Salt Lake City that entire week for the Summer Market Outdoor Retailer trade show.  A little creativity in my scheduling could free up enough time in the morning and afternoon of August 4th to allow me to make the drive up to Park City and the slog up to the top of Jupiter Peak.

I immediately logged onto the Mountain Trails Foundation website and attempted to follow the provided link to register for the event.  With a 400-participant cap and the inclusion of the event as a Mountain Cup event, there was a good likelihood that registration would close long before race day.  Unable to complete the sign-up, I became nearly frantic and fired off a message to the race director.  Minutes later I received a very kind and patient response that pointed out the big bold letters on the event homepage that spelled out the fact that registration opened on February 1st.

I was as apologetic as I was embarrassed.

I marked my calendar and waited.  Having checked back on the Mountain Trails Foundation site to find that registration was slated to open at 12:01 AM on the 1st, I decided to stay up late on the 31st.  Moments after midnight, I logged onto the page and was disappointed to find that sign-up was still unavailable.  Recognizing that the event is being held in Utah, I assumed that I was jumping the gun by a couple of hours and set my alarm for 2:00 AM.

Turns out the registration page is hosted by a west coast administrator.  In other words, I caught another 60 minutes of shut eye before rousing at 3:01 to try again.  As my sleepy eyes adjusted to the light of the monitor, I gasped to see that the beautiful "add to cart" icon had been activated on the website.  A running tally indicated that two other runners had already managed to sign up ahead of me.  I hurried through the registration process, hit "submit" and smiled to find that I was on the roster.

After patting myself on the back for not having foolishly waited until morning, I settled into sleep, dreaming of high altitude adventure.

Roughly 19 hours later, the roster shows that a grand total of one more runner has signed up and there are still 396 slots available.

Boy, am I one sleepy running nerd.  And a happy one.

So worth it.