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my wealth of experience on the Leadville course. Waiting for her to arrive at an aid station, I met Theresa’s friend, Heather Vose, who introduced herself and her dog. While Ripley sniffed me out, Heather told me she’d gotten to know Theresa at their place of work, an environmental consulting firm in Denver. She’d come out to watch Theresa and was curious about “this ultrarunning thing,” which she’d heard of only recently.
    Smart and sexy, Heather intrigued me. She was also younger than I, at least ten years my junior if I guessed right. Maybe more. Does it matter? Over the next fifteen hours of the race, I thought about that. And her. A lot. So I was pleased when I saw Heather again as Theresa crossed the finish line, making her one of only two women who’ve completed the course eleven times. Heather and I quietly celebrated our friend’s victory, and I found myself growing more and more attracted to her. What an extraordinary woman!
    Years ago, I’d decided I wasn’t marriage material: With my track record, I didn’t want to subject any more women to being tied to me that way. But who’d said anything about marriage? I just wanted to talk to Heather again. Sadly, I anticipated I’d never get the chance. As we said our good-byes, I hugged her and kissed her lightly on the cheek.
    After the race, though, Heather and I exchanged some e-mail messages, and a few months later, I joined her, Theresa, and another friend for Christmas dinner in the mountains near Leadville. We went snowshoeing, shared some laughs, and told stories while Heather and I checked each other out surreptitiously. At the end of the day, I drove Heather home, we stood on her doorstep, and feeling uncharacteristically bold, I took her in my arms for our first kiss. As she returned my embrace, Heather’s snowshoes clattered to the ground, and that was the beginning of our romance.
    In April, Heather asked if she could move in with me; we were spending so much time together that it just made sense. I hadn’t expected to be ready for something like that so soon in our relationship, or ever—hell, I was fifty and set in my ways—but this straightforward, passionate woman brought out feelings long dormant in me, and I agreed, happy to have her near.
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    A month later, she kissed me good-bye when I left to embark on my first mountaineering experience. Sometime before, professional mountaineer Gary Scott had called me after reading an article in Outside magazine that mentioned my desire to scale Mount Everest. We’d never met, but he was interested in helping me gain some experience, and he advised me that although I was already skilled with some climbing from my adventure racing, I’d better go up a few seriously big mountains before attempting Everest. He’d be happy to guide me, he said, and then suggested we put together a team to climb Denali; at just over 20,000 feet in elevation, it’s the highest peak in North America, the perfect place to start my training, and we could do this expedition inexpensively. Great! As usual, I’d lucked into the cheapest way possible to try something new. I contacted some friends I knew from adventure racing, Charlie Engle and Tony DiZinno, and Gary contacted a young man with some mountaineering experience, Aron Ralston. We got sponsors, too, who gave us backpacks and climbing gear, and Gary led us to the top. When I handled the altitude well, it gave me the confidence I needed to climb Aconcagua, the highest peak in South America, less than a year after that. I was on my way to Everest, mountain by mountain, now determined to climb all Seven Summits.
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    In another year, I’d changed my mind completely about getting married again, and on Christmas Day in 2002, I gave Heather a stuffed moose with an engagement ring hung on a gold chain around its neck. At first, she thought the moose was all there was to it, but then she