What I Learned Running the Pikes Peak Marathon: A Four-Year Transformation

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Introduction: The Dream I Gave Up On

Four years ago, I quit.
Not mid-race, not during a tough workout—
I quit a dream.

That day I went for a rare run. It wasn’t planned, and running wasn’t part of my life then. I pushed full effort for a mile and a half, redlining the entire time. And even giving everything I had, my pace was a 13-minute mile.

I finished that run exhausted, embarrassed, and defeated. I sat down on a ledge and looked up at Pikes Peak—the mountain I had always quietly dreamed of climbing in the Pikes Peak Marathon. A race known for being one of the hardest marathons on the planet.

At the time, I had never run more than a 10K. I never ran cross-country. Never ran track. I wasn’t a runner in any traditional sense.

Yet something about Pikes Peak called to me.

But that day, looking up at the mountain after one of the hardest 13-minute miles of my life, I realized:

Running the Pikes Peak Marathon was impossible for me.

I wasn’t built like a runner.
My bones were too big.
My body type was wrong.
I was too slow.
Too heavy.
Too unathletic.

And I genuinely believed it came easier to everyone else.

That day, I gave up on the dream.

What I didn’t know then is that I wasn’t lacking talent—I was lacking consistency. I wasn’t incapable—I was inexperienced. And I wasn’t too slow—I just hadn’t given myself enough time.

Four years later, everything changed.

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Standing at the Start Line: A Completely Different Version of Myself

Fast forward four years from the day I quit the dream.
I stood at the base of Pikes Peak:

• 20+ pounds lighter

• Significantly smaller and leaner

• In the best shape of my life

• Experienced, patient, trained

• Mentally tougher

• Physically ready

And most importantly, I was here to prove something to past-me:

The impossible is often just the unpracticed.
Consistency makes the impossible possible.

The 70th Pikes Peak Marathon was 12 hours away. Eight hundred runners from all over the world would line up in historic Manitou Springs to take on one of the most brutal marathon courses in existence.

The course climbs 13 miles up to 14,115 feet and back down the same technical trail.
It averages an 11% grade, with sections far steeper.
And altitude, more than anything, determines the outcome.

Pikes Peak has the final say.

My soft goal: 7 hours
My secret hope: set a personal record
My mission: bury the old belief that this race was impossible

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Race Morning: Gear, Coffee, and the 7:04 A.M. Start

The day started at 5:00 AM.

Coffee.
Clothes.
Shoes.
Socks.
A banana.

Everything packed into my running vest:

• RX bar

• Huma gels

• Skratch gummies

• Carb drink

• Electrolytes

• Mandatory jacket

• Bottles on the front (much faster than a bladder)

I was assigned bib 339—important because Pikes Peak starts in controlled waves. Every hundred runners start about two minutes apart. My start time: 7:04 AM.

I reminded myself of the plan:

Start slow, finish strong.
On this mountain, the race is won—or lost—in the final 8 miles above treeline.

So I let people fly past me.
I power-hiked early.
Even on the paved section near the Cog Railway, I remained disciplined.

When running is only slightly faster than power hiking but doubles the heart rate, the better choice is obvious.

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Miles 1–4: Finding the Right Runner to Follow

Early in the race, I found my rhythm by doing something extremely helpful in long mountain runs:

I found someone to follow.

Not drafting.
Not copying everything they do.
Just matching their pace and line.

A runner with experience on this trail will:

• Pick better foot placements

• Choose straighter lines

• Save mental energy on decisions

• Reduce unnecessary side-to-side movement

• Maintain steady pacing

This freed up my brain. I could zone out and climb.

At 2.5 miles in, I felt great.
At 5 miles, still cruising.

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Bar Camp: Arriving Faster Than Planned

I reached Bar Camp—roughly halfway up the mountain—in 1 hour 48 minutes, far faster than expected.

This was concerning.

On Pikes Peak, the biggest mistake runners make is pushing too hard at lower altitude. You feel amazing early, but once you hit 11,000–13,500 feet, appetite drops, strength drops, decision-making drops, and your day can fall apart.

But I checked in with myself.

My breathing was controlled.
My legs felt strong.
My stride felt natural.
My body felt capable.

I know my fitness well, and my gut told me I was good to continue.

So I pressed on.

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The Grind Above Treeline: Power Hiking Into the Sky

After Bar Camp, almost nobody runs.
It’s a power-hike grind straight into thin air.

Steady. Consistent. Controlled.

Around this time, I felt a numbness in my foot. I checked it:

My shoes were tied too tight.

Small problems become big problems at altitude.
So I stopped, untied, retied, and immediately felt better.

This “micro-adjustment mindset” is the reason many runners finish strong.

Altitude makes every decision more important.
Fix small problems while they’re small.

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A-Frame to the Summit: The Harshest Three Miles on the Mountain

A-Frame marks the moment you break through the trees and enter the exposed upper mountain.

This part is:

• Steep

• Rocky

• Technical

• Windy

• Exposed

• Slow

• Mentally draining

You can see the summit—but it feels impossibly far away. Time moves strangely here. Your brain works slower. Every breath matters.

But on this day?

I felt good.

Really good.

Strong legs.
Strong lungs.
Strong mind.

I reached the summit in 3 hours and 48 minutes, and I could hardly believe it.

Before celebrating, I reminded myself:

The real race begins now.
Get below treeline as fast as possible.

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The Descent: Passing 700+ People on Single-Track

The top three miles of the descent are absolute chaos in the best way:

• Technical terrain

• Massive crowds of runners coming up

• Narrow single-track

• Constant passing

• High stakes

• Huge consequences for a missed step

I ran steady and athletic, hopping rocks, weaving through incoming runners, feeling energized by the camaraderie.

I clicked off these times:

• 12:40

• 9:23

• 9:21

These were insane splits for me on the upper descent.
I expected 15–17 minute miles.

When I looked at my watch and saw those numbers, I realized:

Something special was happening today.

If I held strong 10-minute miles, I could break six hours.

A time I once believed would never be possible for me.

This became the new goal.

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The Danger of Downhill Speed

But downhill on Pikes Peak is dangerous.

I saw three runners faceplant hard on the way down.
One had to drop out due to injury.

It only takes:

• One root

• One rock

• One lapse in focus

…to ruin your race.

So I reminded myself of my rule:

Strong legs only.
If the legs stop firing, slow down.

Tendons take over when muscles fatigue—and that’s when injuries happen. With my history of knee surgeries, I don’t compromise.

I fueled, hydrated, and kept moving.

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Bar Camp Down to the Finish: Solitude and Steady Running

From the summit to Bar Camp, I passed hundreds of people.
From Bar Camp down to Manitou Springs?

It got lonely.

This six-mile section is faster, cleaner, and quieter. I passed maybe three people total. Sometimes I ran ten minutes without seeing anyone.

Just me, the mountain, and the sound of my footfalls.

Eventually, I caught up to a runner who had done Pikes Peak 16 times. The perfect person for me to shadow on the final miles.

He knew every rock on this mountain.
Every step seemed precise.

I matched his pace and followed him down.

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The Final Mile: Rain, Emotion, and an Unexpected Surprise

My camera died with a mile to go.

Rain started pouring.
Crowds were cheering.
The finish line energy grew louder.

I felt fast.
Strong.
Emotional.
Proud.

Then, out of nowhere—a figure stepped into the trail.

It was my dad.

He lives seven hours away and didn’t tell me he was coming. He popped out of the crowd and gave me a massive high-five as I ran through the finishing chute.

I crossed the finish line in:

5 hours, 50 minutes, 15 seconds

Nearly an hour faster than my soft goal.
Nearly unthinkable compared to where I began four years prior.

This wasn’t just a race.
It was a breakthrough.

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What This Race Taught Me

I wasn’t fast.
I wasn’t perfect.
I wasn’t genetically gifted.

But I improved.
Significantly.

And the real lesson isn’t the time.
It’s this:

Consistency over time will always beat hard work in short bursts.

Four years ago, I truly could not have completed Pikes Peak.
It was impossible then.

But today?

Consistency transformed impossible into possible.

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Final Thoughts: What’s Impossible Today Doesn’t Have To Be Forever

Pikes Peak taught me something I hope others can take with them:

You might not be ready today.
But you might be ready in six months.
Or a year.
Or four years.

Your mountain—literal or metaphorical—might feel impossible.
But with consistency, patience, and small daily steps, the impossible slowly shifts.

And one day, you look up and realize:

You’re running the thing you once thought was impossible.

God bless.
See you on the trails.