From Backpack to Pass Run

I never liked running. I have always loved the outdoors, hiking, climbing biking, offroading backpacking or car camping. You name it, I was there. At one point, in college, I even tried to run, and didn’t like it. I’m sure I went about it all wrong and did a huge run, off the couch… with a backpack.

Fast forward a decade, I had moved from the small mountain town I went to college in to a tiny mountain town I had been snowboarding in. Every year, the town hosts the finish line for a mountain pass run. It climbs 5000 feet into the mountains and takes runners 17 miles from town to town.

Some people in town make the run annually, many try it at least once. I had always said I’d be one of the latter. The problem? Cutoffs, lack of experience or motivation. Until one year. A buddy of mine who smokes cigarettes had finished it the previous year. Two months before the race he said ‘Why don’t you do it?’

I didn’t have a good answer. So, I started running. There are beautiful trails leading right out of town, and the road the run takes place on. This particular summer was marked by torrential rains, usually about the time was getting off work, wanting to train. With about 10 weeks training time, I took to the treadmill.

Fortunately, I was able to afford a gym membership at the time. I had already been weight training seriously, for the first time…since college. Maybe there was a life theme. I decided one of the best things I could do was to only treadmill on an incline. ‘because when I look out my windows everything goes up.’ I had visions of myself able to sprint up the mountain.

Between rainstorms, I could get out on the trails. My favorite was, you guessed it, straight up from my house. I wasn’t exactly able to sprint, but could hold onto 3 mph, for about an hour. I started to get scared. I was worried I wouldn’t make it. I had secretly set a goal for myself, comfortably inside the cutoffs, of 3 hours. This was a far cry from the four hours my cig buddy did it in, and not as ambitious as the 2- hour course record goal (I had asked myself, how come nobody has beat that? I can run 9mph!) that was coupled with visions of sprinting uphill.

I began running as much as possible. I would wake early, treadmill after work, or after my wife was in bed. I ran until I was sick. Literally I climbed a 13,000 ft. mountain, running 4 miles up. By the time I got back to my house I was ruined: Exhausted, dehydrated, nauseous. ‘How do people enjoy this?’ I asked myself. Now, I wasn’t running for me, I was running for my promise. Unspoken words, and personal intentions were driving me.

Race day was rapidly approaching. Based on my training the 3-hour goal seemed attainable. I wondered how I could keep doing cardio work, while being able to rest my legs. Simultaneously I had been dabbling in another curiosity. There it hangs in half the gyms across America: The speedbag. I had never boxed. Images from Rocky made me think that fighters had some of the best full body/cardio conditioning programs around. Like most proud American men, instead of asking for help, or how I could learn to hit the thing more than twice: I went to YouTube.

YouTube showed me how to be a beginner: To start, you hit the bag, let it rebound, bound again, then you hit it. For the musicians out there, it gives the feel of a ‘triplet.’ Just the act of learning something new was riveting. I could easily spend over 20 minutes messing around. That fulfilled my goal: to create a cardio workout. To keep up the intensity I added footwork. One day, out of curiosity I tried to hit the first bounce. I was shocked when it worked, and I was able to follow. By the end of my last training weeks I was proficient at the speedbag, and felt like a runner.

Race day came, and it was glorious! The weather cooperated. By the time I was at the top of the pass it was still blue skies. On the downhill I had a renewed vigor, distancing myself from any competitors. This is where I could virtually sprint. I felt so good passing the final aid station, I skipped it. A half mile later I kicked a rock and went tumbling. Bloody hands and elbow couldn’t keep me down. I knew I still had a few more miles to grind out. Keeping up my speed, less than a mile from the finish I felt my shoe coming untied. There was no time to spare. I kept running. I hit the pavement, and crossed the finish line in 3 hours, 30 seconds. I smiled, and rolled my eyes (to myself). I counted it as ‘mission accomplished.’ My first organized run, almost exactly at my target time, what a feeling.

Honestly, what a feeling: I felt like I would never run again. Certainly I thought if I DID run, it would not be ‘such a long distance.’ The next year, spring sprang, and I developed an itch only running could scratch. I had a need to spend hours on the trail, going high, and far like never before. The training was the seed, my body and psyche were the fertile ground and nutrients. I have blossomed into an avid mountain runner in the years since.    

If you liked this story check out others by John Lutz: The Mountain, The Desert, The Rescue, Backpack to Pass run

Interested in more Alternative Training? Check out my posts on Slow-Carb Diet, Occam’s Protocol, NOBLE running form and more!