The Mt. Baldy Ascent Race and a runner who loves hills constitute a delightful duo. The eight-mile Labor-Day climb up the 10,000-foot peak east of Los Angeles coincided with a visit to my family, so I entered the race.

Over 500 runners took part in the race on that warm late-summer morning. After running for two or three minutes up a dirt road I began walking due to the steepness, and I covered most of the course at a fast walk.

About three miles into the race, someone yelled, "Go, Margaret." I finally located the well-wisher overhead in a ski lift chair. The race worker had remembered my name from the check-in table.

Five miles into the race the trail narrowed to a hogback where straying three feet to either side on the loose rocky soil would result in a long roll to the valley below. Rangers sat on outcropping rocks a minute apart along the dangerous stretch. Since the hogback trail and the wider trail that followed it consisted of gently rolling hills, I ran past many walkers.

Finishers returning down the mountain cheered on the slower competitors and stepped aside to let us pass. Two of them took my picture, and one young man whose brain was possibly low on oxygen took my hand, knelt down, and kissed my shoe.

At the seven-mile mark my thighs began screaming for a rest, and I leaned a hand on them to push myself upward with each step. Ten minutes from the top the trail temporarily fanned out like the Mississippi River Delta, thus eliminating crowding and the need to pass those ahead. I ran the last fifteen seconds and crossed the finish line looking stronger than I felt.

My time of 2:35:32 wasn't fast enough for me to place in the 55-59 age group. Alas, if I'd been six weeks older I'd have been first in the more senior classification.

After the race we all walked down to the halfway point where we rode the ski lift the remaining half of the descent. The view alone was worth the pain of the competition.