Sometimes getting high can bring you low.

ing marathon held in 2002 in the Western Rockies. It was a double-loop

marathon course at 9,000 feet of altitude on trails at the YMCA Snow Mountain Ranch. The race was ominously called the “Snow Mountain Trail Challenge’”—which are four words you never want to see in a race title.

\ fter years of therapy, I now have the courage to write about a challengWhat’s in a name?

The word “snow” implies frigid, blizzardlike conditions, which is great if you are a chubby man in a sleigh with a team of reindeer but not if you are a marathoner. Fortunately, so as not to interfere with ski season (and cut down on frostbite), the marathon was held in July in 80-degree weather.

The word “mountain” also appears in the title, implying not only hills but less air. I did not become concerned until I reached the first aid station, and to my chagrin, I saw volunteers wearing oxygen masks! (Well, OK. Maybe I’m exaggerating a little bit.) But if I ever go back, I think I’ll sell T-shirts based on the 1980s “Got milk?” ad campaign. “Got oxygen? O, does a body good.” One bonus was that the volunteers did conduct a free deer-tick check at each aid station. This was helpful, as I have returned from marathons with injuries and other strange maladies but never with Lyme disease.

The third word in this race was “trail,” which had a multitude of meanings. In some instances it meant “double track” like an old farmer’s road or “single track” like an off-road bike course. Other times it was “‘no track,” like exploring with Dr. Livingstone in the wilds of Africa.

The final word in this race title was “challenge,” which the organizers selected because “fun run” was too cruel and “torture” was deemed too politically incorrect. All four words combined to describe a gritty race west of Denver.

The proper training

Tam from Tallahassee, which is almost at sea level, and I’ve been known to get dizzy on the observation deck at the capitol building (altitude: 400 feet). The key question was, How do I get used to less oxygen at high altitudes? My first inspiration was a bizarre ritual that involved laughing gas. However, after my involvement in the infamous “bicuspid giggles” affair—that included two dental assistants and a janitor—my plea bargain prohibits me from using laughing gas or any other controlled substance in Leon County. I also attempted to hold my breath while running, as Emil Zatopek reputedly did (hint: it doesn’t work), and visiting local bars (which involved a lot of chain-smoking and secondhand smoke). I also watched Alfred Hitchcock’s thriller Vertigo to alleviate my fear of heights. (That did not help.)

The race

Ready or not, I stood there about to plunge into the forest in the wee, wee hours of July 13. All I had were my running clothes, my watch, a full complement of GU packets, and a nicotine patch. (I’ll be darned! Those cigarettes really are addictive, even if it’s somebody else smoking them.) I also brought some fairly