Colorado Fourteeners

“The trick to climbing 14ers in Colorado, is to do it with your sea-level friends.

 That way you feel like you are in really great shape.”

-Journal, January 2013

Thinking in terms of altitude is a studied art. I hail from Minnesota, a state where the highest peak is a whopping 2,000 feet. Altitude sickness? That was something climbers on Mt. Everest got when they tried to ascend without their oxygen masks.

But when you live in the mountains, altitude takes on a level of importance, mostly in terms of bragging rights.

Now, when I run into someone from Utah, at some point I'll probably say, “Cool, so what's your elevation there?”

“Oh? Is that all? Yeah we're at 8,250. 10,000 at Mountaintop.”

Or

At yoga class in Boulder, “Well, I would be breathing hard but, I'm from Vail...gotta couple thousand feet on you.”

And, of course the drink effect...

I return back to sea-level Minnesota and am perfectly justified in downing a bottle of wine, “Altitude training,” I tell my friends, “I can drink like a rockstar.”

Yes

Coloradians, and the state's transient orphans like myself, are quite proud of the height of their mountains, in particular those mountains that peak above 14,000 feet. It's generally agreed that there are 54 of them, most with non-technical climbs to the summit. There are a dozen a stone's throw from the town of Vail. Last winter, I hear the scoop on these nearby 14ers and vow to climb at least ten over the summer.

I climb one.

At the top, I snap a picture and send it to my father, with the text, “First 14er! Whoot!”

“Wow! 14 miles,” he texts back. “That's a long way!”

“No dad, 14 thousand feet. Up.” I respond. Duh.

I am certain I will climb more, but summer ends and it starts to get cold so I put off my hiking plans till next summer.

So I thought.

A few friends from Minnesota came to visit this week, and they wanted to climb a 14er.

“Want to climb Quandary?” they ask.

“What? You mean in the snow?”

Do I want to take the day off of work? YES. Do I want to spend it waking before the sun and dragging myself up a snow and ice covered mountain in the freezing cold? NOT REALLY.

But I agree to go, after all, I don't see these friends all that often and I want to show how much of a bad ass I am now that I live in Colorado.

The first mile up the trail I am suffering. They may be from sea-level, but my friends are all ultra-marathon runners. I am red in the face, breathing hard and struggling to keep up. I should have stayed in bed.

Fortunately, I was just experiencing the disinclination mile: the first mile of any long event that always seems to suck big, thereby making you disinclined to engage in such events. The good news is, once you get over the hump...it gets a lot better.

This happens around mile two. We are just passing over tree line and pause to take a look out. You can't find this in Minnesota. It has turned into a a perfect day, warm and sunny. I feel endorphins start to kick in, and I am suddenly chatty Kathy, rambling and humming as we stalk up to the fake summit. (Whether or not this cheerfulness was appreciated my hiking companions I cannot say.) Either way, we all suffer together for the last 40 minutes to the top as the grade really gets steep, but then we crest and...wala!

Totally, completely, undoubtedly, worth it.

I vow to climb more 14ers. Seriously. You wanna bet on those odds?