High Altitude Fourteener Event!

Fourteener - a 14,000+ foot mountain - 3:15 a.m.
I was expected at YAO Clinic at 3:45 a.m., but, because my alarm failed to awaken me at 2:45, I was left with a mere half hour to dress, feed the dogs and let them out, eat, gulp down some tea, and drive six miles to the clinic. It’s so easy to blame the alarm clock. I had last seen 1:59 a.m. right before I fell asleep, anxiety tormenting me. I was drowning in my own need for sleep. Somehow, I managed it all, but I was also eight minutes late, and the Hudson brothers, Daniel and Darren, were packed and ready.

As I pulled into the lot, I’m certain I saw them clearing a seat for me in the back of the Jeep, in utter disbelief that I had actually made it (although late). They told me three more minutes would have cost me that seat, and I wondered whether that would have been a very bad thing. I’m not one for Jeeps. All the bouncing around reminds me of the bumper cars at Idora Park, being slammed around and ganged up on by my brothers, in that endearing, sibling-torture kind of way, and the inevitable headache that followed.

This ride was no different. The hum of the tires was a meager attempt at lulling me back to sleep, but every bump in the road jolted me back into reality. My reality. I was about to climb a 14,000 foot mountain. No wonder I couldn’t sleep! Anxiety. I’m a mom, after all - a single mom, raising an 8-year-old son, Sam, who spent the entire previous day encouraging me to go. What was ringing in my ears was the offhand comment by a co-climber about the “sheer cliffs”, “narrow trails”, and “huge drop-offs”. Was I crazy?

I spent much of my childhood in treetops, high above the roof of our three-story house. I loved the gentle sway of the pine trees, the wind’s whispers, the chirping squirrels, the solitude, the loftiness. It was an escape from a bustling house, kids everywhere, lingering chores, the paper route that always called urgently for delivery. “Am I that same person,” I wondered? How I miss those treetops and that fearlessness!

I had every intention of drawing my mind away from my anxiety, and I hoped the “Tropical Rain” soundtrack on my iPod would help. In this case, however, my own thoughts about the mountain pulverized the crickets and croaking frogs. There was no exit from this speeding car, nor my racing mind. No turning back. At this point, I could only hope to make my boy proud of his mama. I hate to disappoint him!

We exited the highway, the headlights burning into the darkness ahead, and I quickly realized that the climb was imminent. We approached the trailhead on the worst road I’ve ever had the displeasure to traverse. Crevices, two and three feet deep, lacerated the terrain. We zigzagged up the road, if you could even rightly call it that, and came dangerously close to those “sheer cliffs” and “huge drop-offs”.  ”Wait a minute,” I thought, “we aren’t even hiking yet!” It was at this point that I became infinitely grateful for my own mother-sense to leave my child at home. My anxiety would have quadrupled had he been by my side on this jarring ride. The bouncing headlights revealed flitting previews of the journey ahead: teasing, tormenting, terrifying, exhilarating. 5:30 a.m., at 11,000 feet.

Stevens Gulch as moon was setting.

It being August, I forgot my winter hat and gloves, and I immediately realized my mistake as I stepped down from the Jeep. The cold found its way through every gap in my clothing. I tightened up all the drawstrings, and gratefully accepted the knit hat offered by Darren. I did, however, manage to gear up: Altigen, Camelback, Columbia hikers, high-carb snacks, cameras, first aid supplies. I was as ready as I could be.

We commenced on our journey through Stevens Gulch shortly after our arrival at the trailhead. This trail is no joke. The climb begins immediately, and doesn’t let up for some time. I thought, “If it’s like this the whole way, I’ll be out before you can say ‘Boo!’” The sun teased its way up, first casting an indigo glow over the meadow, then gilding the peaks ahead, and finally, blazing up over the range. Here, the trail evened out, a much steadier ascent, and I could regulate my breathing again.

Time for some Altigen. Time to layer down, or begin the big sweat. The topography gradually transformed from verdant meadows, to olive-colored scrub, to pale lichen-covered rocks. At points, it was difficult to discern the trail through the rockslides. About every hundred feet or so above 12,000 feet, I needed to take a breather. At about 13,000 feet, it seemed dire.  No headache, though - a first for me! I usually get a headache as soon as I reach the Eisenhower Tunnel. Thank you Altigen!

Along a loose rock wall, I braced myself against the face, and filled a water bottle with Emergen-C and Electro-Mix packets. I gulped it down with more Altigen, insatiable, and drained the bottle of every drop. Within minutes, I was renewed. The remaining 1,200 feet were easy! I powered ahead of my team, (sorry, guys!) cruising comfortably at a pace that I hadn’t yet seen. I’m certain it was the Altigen and the view that drew me on, it pushed and pulled me to the top of Grays Peak, the highest peak in the Rocky Mountain Front Range. And, to say the least, the view was spectacular. My first thought, upon reaching the summit of my first fourteener, was, “Sam would love this!”

Me, at the summit of Grays Peak, 14,270 feet.

Grays Peak, Clear Creek and Summit Counties, Colorado along the Continental Divide. 14,270 feet at summit Visit the Colorado Fourteeners Initiative for information about Colorado’s 54 fourteeners, or to volunteer and become a Peak Steward like Daniel or Darren.

Tuesday’s Taste! GoMacro MacroBars

Grain Sweetened, Macrobiotic, Gluten Free, Vegan and non GMO
Positively Delicious.

Need a healthy energy bar that won’t make you crash later? GoMacro Macronutrient Bars are high-fiber with slow-burning, complex carbs which help you go the extra mile without the crash at the end. An best of all, they’re delicious! All varieties are vegan and macrobiotic, with no refined sugars nor artificial sweeteners. They contain no preservatives, synthetic additives, hydrogenated oil, refined flour, or artificial flavors/coloring. Instead, they’re always made with wholesome ingredients, and organic whenever possible! MacroTreats are manufactured in Viola, Wisconsin near Madison.

Try MacroBars for yourself during our Tuesday Tasting at YAO Clinic all day on Tuesday, August 4!

King of the Campfire

Our first camping trip of the season came a little late this year. We traveled southwest into Pike National Forest, about two hours’ drive from Denver. Smelter Basin is a lush area, fed by several streams and creeks, with alpine meadows bursting with color.

Knowing my history with altitude adjustment, which never fails to strike as headache and nausea within a half hour at high altitude, I began taking Altigen™ two days prior to our departure. My 8-year-old son also suffers the effects of altitude adjustment, usually manifesting as a persistent headache. He, too, took Altigen™ for this trip.

We arrived late in the afternoon, after a bumpy ride down Routes 62 and 119 in Clear Creek County. Water washed roads exposed sharp rocks and felled boulders, which made the road pretty hazardous. We bounced and swerved all the way in, about 10 miles into the pass and through a stream. Now, that alone is enough to make anyone nauseous!

The view was beautiful, and I could actually enjoy it. I wasn’t fighting a headache nor trying to suppress nausea. We set up our camp along a riverbank, the rushing water making a lovely soundtrack for our fun activities. For the first time, I was pitching a tent, not my sanity!

My son, too, was running around the campsite with our dog, playing in the stream, and proclaiming himself, “King of the campfire!” We increased our water and carbs, and ate lean meals to keep our energy up.

We took Altigen™ for both camping days, and never once felt like we were adjusting to altitude. We even snuck in a hike and a game of soccer! Now that’s what I call high-altitude camping! Our site sat at about 9,000 feet in altitude, and, in the darkness, I never would have known it wasn’t Denver, but for the mosquitoes and utter solitude.