The morning air was straight from the freezer and runners were waiting for the first person to derobe down to short shorts and t-shirts, it seemed no one wanted to take the plunge into bare skin and icy air. Then minutes before the horn marathoners were jumping and dancing to keep warm, puffs of condensation hovering around white faces and red noses dripping.

They began a colourful herd hoofing it up the mountain. “It’s always worse for the spectators” a comrade in cold commented. We got chatting as we waited for the runners to resurface and Stephanie told me about her own running aspirations and her boyfriend Mike’s struggles with always coming so close to the top, but not quite gripping the leader’s shoestrings, the heartbreak of not now, not yet. Living in Leadville, but not born there the altitude was taking its toll, sickness you can’t quite kick, anemia and exhaustion spinning you downward, down the plug hole. But beautiful mild summer, made up for heavy, harsh winters, hopefully it would come soon enough for fragile spirits to heal and not break. The runners began to ant up the single file track and out of sight.

Nick Clark and Josh Arthur in green and grey sped by, faster than a claps could reach them, we waited some beats after they vanished, then black, orange, green and finally red with bright yellow arm warmers. Dylan was coming in 6th. Trying to avoid disappointment he had spent the last few days speculating that top 10 would be a dream, but who knows in a foreign country with tough competition it might be top 50 and dreams of ultrarunning might be a pleasurable outlet now a way of life. I knew Dylan, bred like a racehorse, competition and endurance in his blood, anything less than top 10 would be a blow. It was early though so top 10 was not a certainty at mile 8, the only 4 winners of this race were competing today, this was no club race, if it was top 10 it would be a glorious one.

At the top we waited, then the leaders came by making it look easy. Nick and Josh, the last two year winners for them it was a race of two. 5-10minutes behind Timmy Parr, then Marco Peinado, all four mountain men. Then the red and yellow, Dylan Newell had moved up a spot in front of Ryan Burch. Moments before the two had been yapping about the after party, now things were getting serious. It was time to descend, I had mental images of Dylan rolling down the steep and rocky trail, I put them aside and cheered the next twenty or so runners. The first female runner all in purple, began her descent, face a mask of determination. The wind picked up, the clouds rolled over and there was definitely snow ahead of our runners. We fled to the car and began the creeping descent, runners became walkers, faces were set, these marathoners had hours ahead of them. Some smiled, but more had the ground in front of their feet for companionship and eyes only for it.