YOU KNOW YOU’RE HIGH UP when you breathe hard after drinking from your water bottle.

What does one do after a fun Indian Creek 55K at 7,500 feet last year? Sign up for a longer race at a higher altitude, of course. And so my niece Robin and I journeyed to the southwest Colorado mountains for the Sangre de Cristo Trail Festival.

One can run up to 200 miles at this five-day event (and a few did), but we settled on the Friday 50-miler. 10,000 feet of elevation gain at an average altitude of 9,800 feet. Below is the elevation profile, including the climbs to Music Pass (11,450 ft.) to kick off and end every race. Crazy? Sadistic? Well, as the race director pointed out, we signed up for it, so no complaining.

My most important prep was enough rest. I learned that the hard way from the TPK Debauchery 50K. So I took it easy more than I wanted to, and even thought I ought to. It paid off. My pre-race checkout runs felt good, and on race morning I was full of energy and ready to run.

To save weight I went with my lighter vest and hard flasks, leaving my boobs (a.k.a. soft flasks) at home, and on the Music Pass climbs I went with no vest and a handheld flask. This paid off at the end when I needed every scrap of energy I could muster.

Our adventure started with a miscalculation – not a particularly good omen.

We drove from Denver Thursday afternoon to the start/finish at Music Meadows Ranch and picked up our packets. After that we headed to Westcliffe, where our hotel was, to get some dinner. We got there at 8:30. And found they rolled up the sidewalks at 8. What to do? Fortunately, the friendly locals knew ONE STORE that was still open.

Hot Pockets and a chicken broccoli rice bowl for dinner! Filling, and not too bad, actually.

Friday morning we joined about 20 other 50-milers, all in good spirits and ready to take on the mountain. Right at 6 a.m. we headed out and up the road to Music Pass. And up. And up. And up some more.

Actually, that first climb seemed to go quickly. After three miles of uphill road followed by 1.25 miles of uphill singletrack, we reached Music Pass, observed a gorgeous sunrise, and picked up our first wristband (proof of getting there). Then back down the hill, which was considerably more fun. There were some pretty rocky stretches, and I’m not all that brave on them. But Robin bombed right down and through them, so I followed suit. And made it with no falls! That luck lasted all day; several trips, but no face plants.

Robin shows off her awesome downhill form.

Back at base camp I ditched my jacket and donned my vest, and onto the Rainbow Trail at the Grape Creek Trailhead we went. I’ll let the following slideshow give you a hint of the incredible views and beauty we saw out there. We are very fortunate to both want to run trails, and have the physical fitness and health to make it possible. I couldn’t think of anywhere else I wanted to be that morning.

At Horn Creek we refueled and went back the way we came. I felt way better than I’d imagined. Plenty of energy, no pain other than tight quads, no gut problems. And other than some panting after drinks, the altitude wasn’t affecting me at all. “You do know you’re crushing it,” Robin told me approximately 137 times.

We set a good pace and weren’t worried about that second climb at the end. We were actually a little cocky about it. Hmmm…where have I had that attitude before? Did I learn anything from my experience at Lookout Mountain?

I was still feeling good when we returned to Music Meadows at mile 39. A bit tired, but nothing unusual for that point in a 50-miler. I ate a bit, drank some Gatorade, dropped the pack, and we jogged back up the road for the second and final 8.6 miles to Music Pass and back.

And then reality struck.

“You will all have a couple of low moments,” the race director told us at the start. He was partly right. We had only one low moment the entire race. But it lasted 4.3 miles. All the way up that final g-d mountain. What was easy in the morning was now an absolute beast.

We had the motivation; we had the leg strength. But I just could not get enough air. For the first time I can remember in an ultra, I stopped for the sole purpose of catching my breath. It became a routine – climb a steep section, pause for heavy breathing, repeat. Even Robin, who lives in Colorado and has run above 13,000 feet, was pushing hard. How climbers tackle the big mountains without supplemental oxygen is beyond me.

The singletrack sign at mile 3 was very welcome, because my addled brain thought the worst was behind us. Nope. We were convinced someone had added at least another mile and a thousand feet of height since that morning. We took turns bitching about the endless climb, the race director, and what a wimp I was (okay, that last one was just me).

But the key was we took turns! Whenever one of us complained, the other stepped up as coach. “We’ve come this far,” I told Robin. “We’ll get there.” Then I’d moan about yet another climb and she’d encourage me on. A good team we were indeed! And then, finally, we were over the final hill and down to the cooler that held our second wristbands.

One the way down our breath and our energy came back. Once again we ran down the hill to Music Meadows. The finish line lights came on just for us. (Well, maybe also because it was getting dark.) Thirteen hours and five minutes, and we were done!

Finish line routine:  hit the Gatorade bottle, put on my dry, warm hoodie, and get something to eat, in that order. With enough fluids and a nice greasy cheeseburger I avoided the bonk. I sat down for a bit while Robin chose to get closer to the earth we’d been on all day. Then it was time to get back to our hotel for a well-earned good night’s sleep.

And the next morning we saw Westcliffe in daylight and open for business, and we enjoyed the views and some down time at the Tumbleweed Coffee House before returning to Denver. I should also plug the Courtyard Country Inn – very charming.

Worth it? Hell, yes. Do it again? As I found out, some people do! Don’t ask me right now, though.