CT postmortem and 2026 catch up

The photo memory popped up: 10 years since I through-hiked Oregon section of PCT (wish I knew about FKT's back then). That was some good time, no pressure sort of thing...Yesterday would have been my last day on CT. Under 13 days was my goal, so that I could "break" the records on the given direction in every style (unsupported, self-supported, and supported). This will have to be never contested now. 5 summers committed. Time to move on.

A little bit of how this attempt went. I got 46.7 miles the first day, and then dropped off my pack for the camp, didn't even look around - it was the last flat spot in the forest before a steep climb. As soon as I got inside the tent, the wind started howling, and the creaking sound of a dead tree I had set up next to was unnerving. I crawled out to pee, and looked at that leaning, completely dead and void of any branches, tree trunk. Should I move my tent somewhere? Then wind suddenly calmed down, and I was too tired to do anything, it being 11 pm...in 30 min I woke up to a crazy lightening and thunder right above me, and for the next 3 hrs the heavy rain, hail and wind were insane. Yes, the tree was grating and squeaking, and I laid there, thinking what a not-honorable death I might die, with a widow maker on top of my head. I tried to still my heart. By 3 am the rain and wind stopped. I survived my first night, I exhaled. That's a start...

Day 2 began with a cold and wet climb, and then a long meandering among the wet grass and bushes, along the creek, in complete shade. This lasted until 9 am, when I finally turned onto the sunny side, and took my layers off. With sun, came the realization I am sleep deprived, and I hazily dragged my legs, foggy in my head. At some point I stopped to dry the tent, spent 15 min on all the chores, and kept going. On the side of the trail - 5 little bottles of "5 hour energy" drinks. As I am passing by, the thought pops: is it a dream? Can it be real? Am I hallucinating? This year, the "dry year" in CO, natural water sources are scarce to say the least, and the trail angels are dropping jugs of water in a number of places. I can't use that, going for an unsupported record, besides, I hike fast enough that a 12 mile carry can be done with 2 bottles, so I'm ok. But energy drink, especially when I struggle to keep my eyes open? Must be dreaming. That day was pretty boring in terms of the terrain, until I crossed Kenosha pass highway, and faced the climb up to Georgia pass. My goal was to roll over it before camping, since last year I was 2 miles below the high point. Comparison is a killer of joy, but it's an FKT attempt, not a hiking trip. Somewhere before I trip on a rocky downhill and fall on my left side, pinned by my 35 lbs backpack really hard to the ground. I am hurt, and I have no idea how to get up from under this weight that shifted over my head. Takes me 5 minutes to wiggle out, my thumb base is brusied beyond (holding a hiking pole is painful), and there's blood and eventually bruises on my arm and leg. But, I'm ok. I climb on, slowly, keepng a score with my watch beeping on the mile - can I make those 30 min or less? Somehow I do, get over the pass, still as beautiful as I remember, and drop down for a couple of miles. I find a flat spot, making sure I am a bit far away from other hikers - I cough at night, and I get up by 3:30 am. Not a good neighbor. 41 miles on the dot.

Day 3 is good...until it isn't. The air began tasting like smoke. I don't quite see it yet, but my cough intensifies. I have a tendency to react to a combination of things with my lungs, and I know it's not simply an altitude/effort, must be more. But, I'm on my schedule, and must go on. I quickly drop to cross Breck/Frisco highway (a much easier crossing than Kenosha was, which nealry killed me with speeding traffic from both sides and no break in sight when I dashed for it). The Gold hill TH has a detour, boring dirt road, must be done though. I reconnect to the CDT, and it's like a deja vu from last year. I know every step, every upcoming creek. I plan on washing myself at one of those, before the big climb over 12,500 pass to Copper begins. This a popular MTB tral, and I lucked out between riding folks as I strip down and take a quick "bath" and rinse my clothes. Wearing them wet felt amazing. With that, I climb. Last year, nursing bronchitis and fever, this is what broke me. Near the top, I quite literally stopped breathing, couldn't draw air in, panicked, suffocated even more...Anyway, I'm ok this time. Slow, but moving up, inhaling some oxygen. And as I top out, thinking - yeah, success! - a gust of wind knocks me off. It's not a gust, turns out, it's a continuous 60 mph cold wind, no pause. I'm on the open rocky ridge for nearly 2 miles, in a t-shirt, and the wind blows into my right ear. Soon I realize if I don't do something, I'm getting an earache for sure - so I stick my finger into my right ear. With that, I can't use my poles for stability, and the wind blows me to the left side, off the "trail" path, almost all the way down. I fight, and bide the patience, trying to keep my breaths steady. Eventially, I turn towards the wind, and drop into the tree line. It dies down as sudden as it came - and I'm back to hot. But, at the same time, I sense something - lots of smoke in the air became noticable enough even for me, normally quite oblivious to things around. I cross another road, walk past Copper mountain ski resort, and as I begin my final climb, the sky is so densely thick with smog, the sun is orange, and it smells bad. I also taste it in my mouth, and my cough gets really bad, with the voice coarse when I try to call Larry. "Is there a fire I am walking in?" No, it's the strong winds bringing smoke from the UT border, he says. I don't know about that...I cough and keep walking. It's later than I planned, but the good spots are taken by hikers, and again, I am not a companion for the night for the humans, so eventually, as the darkness almost falls, I spot inside the fir tree canopy a flattish spot big enough for my Marmot, and set up. Another 40 miler. The night's cough is horrific, and when I finally pack up and put my backpack on, the excrutiating fit with trying to release mucus comes on hard, and that plague gets stuck in my trachea. I can't push it out or back in, and the airway is closing. I keep calm, so the panic doesn't add to constriction, and eventually hack this shit out. OK, another close call is over...

The climbs to Searle pass, over the rolling ridge, and to Kokomo pass, went much better than expected. In fact, sans Larry and I's "run" up there, it's my fastest section here in 3 hiking goes. I'm pleased, and despite horrible smoky air, keep my spirits up. The next roller, by the 10th Mountain Division bunkers, and to Tennessee pass, was also fastest, even though I am now coughing like a tuberculosis patient. I show a finger to the Hwy 24 (where I dropped last year), and don't even stop to contemplate. The heat in the air is rising, both with temperature, absence of any wind in the trees, and the smokiness from that Utah border. But, the first 3 miles after the road, I'm flying happy. Then, it's a gradual long rocky climb, after 2 pm, and I'm getting slow, breathing heavier. I don't give myself a way out. I talk to my soul - we've got so much time, I can do any variant of this route (CW), I can still switch to the "easier" variant (CE), I just have to keep my forward motion and get another 40. I know exactly where I'll camp, and it's not "that" difficult to get there. I call Larry and tell him (in whatever raspy voice I had by then, and if he could understand anything) that I'm on a struggle bus, but I'm not getting off. I've got options, and I'm not quitting. I climb up the last bit, and about to drop to the Turquoise lake TH, a very familiar path, as 2 through-hikers, who are sitting at the top, stop me. Now, I'm an introvert to begin with, and when I hike "for time", "hello" is all you ever get out of me. But, they insist. Their phones are out, and they show me something. An app? I'm technology illiterate. It's a fire, they say. Right beyond that very TH I'm going to. All area is closed - it's JUST started, as in, just 2 hrs ago! Colorado trail is a boundary of a burning forest. The Leadville officials the couple is on the phone with, suggesting to turn back and hike out to a different trailhead. I refuse to believe. I definitely refuse to turn back - I'm on a mission for an FKT, I can't just go back and "skip a section". And, I'm less than 3 miles from the TH, where I can reassess. I call Larry, but he knows nothing (we're now complete addicts to Watch Duty app, but at the time...why?). I tell the guys thanks, and keep my head down. Larry calls back - indeed, the fire started pretty much now, spread to a 1000 acres in 20 min, and the area is under an evacuation. I sigh in disbelief. WTF is my luck. I tell him start driving, and keep an open mind that if I "can" sneak through, I will. As I get down to the parking lot, a SAR vehicle drives in (literally), a woman jumps out and runs towards me, waving arms. Yep, I'm sort of "under arrest", not for a wrong doing, but to prevent me from going anywhere farther. They take me to Leadville shelter per rules, I walk some road, catch a ride to Twin lakes, and soon enough Larry comes and we drive home...as we observe the black sky full of smoke. So scary. So close...

I cough like there's no tomorrow. I thought last year with bronchitis was bad - that was nothing. I hack mucus, hard enough that every time it gets stuck, I wheeze and afraid that's my last breathe. It was especially bad in the shower, as hot water dislodges a lot of it, and I bend over, suffocating, banging on the door for Larry's attention...I don't sleep that night. Between inability to breathe and the overwhelming feeling of both being pissed off for getting off the trail (again!) and yet also being alive (I would have walked in!), I stare at the night window. Somewhere out there is my Colorado Trail FKT dream. Somewhere out there is a raging fire I escaped. Somewhere out there many more fires that seemingly started around the same time, pressing into people's homes, burning our forests, and threatening firefighters' lives...

I hack my lungs out for the next 4 days. On Thursday, I finally get myself to see a doctor, and get prescribed Prednisone and an Albuterol inhaler. Eventually, things do turn for the best with my health, another 4 days later...and so does my mind.

I'm at peace. Finally. Every previous time, despite whether it was "truly" a must-exit situation, or one percieved as such by me, it was MY decision to get off the trail. I questioned every one of those for the last 5 (6) years. I judged myself harshly. I pointed at others who "failed" and kept coming back - and also at those who continued, despite what any normal human would label as "insanity". My yearly return was yearning to find answers: do I have what it takes? I knew the "perfect throughhike" of that magnitude is not possible. But can things go "right" at least for the most part?

I wasn't going to quit. The Higher Power did it for me. It settled the score. I'm grateful.

The next few paragraphs are for the handful of friends of mine who are not on IG, and yet they still care about what's up in my life and my running. Those who had read it as it was happening, can skip. 

I've decided I had enough traveling, both in spent energy, and money, last year, and I'd race less frequently, and local in 2026. I built a great base from December to mid-April, and began my journey into racing with a 21 mile near Denver. It went as well, or better, than expected, and apparently these old legs can churn some ground. 3 weeks later there was a 25M race on Midland trails near BV (and I stayed with Annie, catching up with my trail child for the first time after a very long break). That result was quite impressive as well.

Mid-May came with a local Ram Party 55 miler. First ultra test of the season. Gosh, I trained so well, even tapered, but these distances keep getting harder with aging, if you choose to put a real effort into it. I had a goal - when do I ever not have one? I keep setting my standards high, still not willing to drop them. I ran every step for 29 miles (and the race started with a 12 mile 5+% grade uphill), then began short occasional hike breaks on hills. At mile 35 I was 10 min behind my prediction, and mentally thought "game over". That very same crazy 12 mile downhill was a misery in my screaming quads, and at 44 miles my infamous cramps set in. I really wanted to walk, but the gravity kept pulling me, so I just had to churn my feet. In the last 0.4 mile a little dog ran between my legs, I tripped over and dropped hard on the asphalt, screaming profanities. Somehow I mastered a coherent finish line, but split second after all the cramping and pain just washed me fully. I let go of pretense, and hoped Larry would catch me. Real life is often looking not nearly as pretty as the images we share. I got my time goal, and while I swore off ultras in the moment, the next morning the curiosity within was awaken yet again: what am I capable of? I don't get excited before the races. I wonder what I am made of when shit gets hard. I guess I am still in the game...Indeed, as the song says, doesn't matter what I've done, matters what I am doing. Back to training it is. I'm here representing the older generation who refuses to give up. 

My mother turned 90 on Mother's day, and my sister is a blessing for taking care of her. Wish I could give them both a hug. Larry and I rolled over 18 years of romance and building life together (19 since meeting the first time). He's my rock, hurting when I hurt, yet letting me fall and fail, and always proud of the work I do. Here's to many more years of being caught by my best friend and love of my life.

5 weeks after Ram Party 55M included the final training block push with check-points of Incline and Pikes Peak in PR (and a goodbye to a pinch of ashes of my late Portland adventure buddy Mike Bushwhacker), then a taper week for my A-goal race this front half of 2026 - Ring the Spring 100k (nearly 66 miles with over 11k vert gain). We got a heatwave of 95F in town, and mitigating the distance and the elements was the name of the game. I executed my plan to a "t", and, miraculously, my body and mind came together when I needed it. Intermittent rolling clouds and some wind at high altitude provided little reprieve from what could have been worse, as the sections between the aid stations were long and hard and open. I focused on the "here and now", one step, one sticky gel and electrolyte bottle, at a time. It was definitely beneficial to know the trails intimately and always be able to predict when to switch the effort levels. Larry met me at near mile 41 for crewing, all professional, quick and without extra words or emotions. The only bad bout of cramps came in the last 2 miles, making me carefully walk the ridge trail, before dropping to the finish line. And I didn't fall!! For a lot of the race I ran around a young kid Eric, who impressed me with his calmness and steadiness (although to think I was at my best when he wasn't even born...). Despite the relatively small field, I still moved up through it, proving yet again that my strengths are patience, long distances, and less fading in the second half than many others. I stuck to my splits like glue (a 15 hrs chart for 64M came to a 15:18 finish on a final changed course 65.8M), and it was good enough for 2nd F and 9th OA. The placing doesn't mean that much, but it felt extremely satisfying to do justice to my training and fitness level. I might be older, but also seasoned. Tired, though. 

This time period also included Larry's return to trail racing after a 4 years gap, with a win (!) in the men's division in 25k, and a visit from his son and a girlfriend. 

This concludes the first 6 months of the year. My next goal is San Juan Softie 100M on August 14th, and I'm about to put a couple of weeks of training, starting with today's Barr camp adventure. This weekend, though, Larry and I are going to spend some quality time in the Indian Peaks Wilderness, before the next chapter rolls my life in a tight grip.