Conquering Pikes Peak — Again and Again

1996, 1997, 1998, 1999, 2000, 2001, 2003, 2005

Most people are satisfied to stand on top of a mountain once.

Ted Epstein wasn’t most people.

The Pikes Peak Ascent is not simply a race — it’s a vertical test of will. It begins in the charming town of Manitou Springs, Colorado, at 6,295 feet, where the air already feels thin to visitors. From there, runners climb 7,815 vertical feet to the summit at 14,110 feet — higher than most people will ever stand in their lives.

There is no easing into it. No flat stretches to recover. From the very first steps, gravity is your opponent, and the higher you go, the less oxygen you have to fight it.

Ted didn’t just run Pikes Peak.
He worked his way up it.

On the steepest pitches, where the trail turns into rock and loose scree, Ted often dropped to his hands and knees. Palms on stone. Legs trembling. Inch by inch upward. It wasn’t about elegance. It was about forward motion.

While many runners slowed to admire the breathtaking views of the Pike National Forest, Ted rarely looked up. His focus stayed on the ground just ahead. At that altitude, one careless step could twist an ankle, end a race, or worse. Ted respected the mountain — and the mountain demanded that respect.

Breathing became labor. Muscles burned in slow motion. The higher he climbed, the more the world narrowed to three things: footing, rhythm, and willpower.

A Mountain That Doesn’t Let You Down Easy

There is no triumphant downhill run at the finish. The summit is so steep that even the descent requires caution. Finishers board buses to return to Manitou Springs — and those buses must stop every ten minutes to cool their brakes so they don’t overheat on the punishing drop.

That’s how relentless the mountain is.

And yet Ted came back.

Eight times.

Not chasing trophies. Not chasing headlines.
He came back for the challenge, the ritual, and the quiet community of runners who understood that some battles are worth repeating.

Part of a Bigger Life of Climbing

By the time Ted was running Pikes Peak year after year, he had already:

• Completed six-day endurance races
• Run ultramarathons through mountains and deserts
• Swum in open water around cities and across icy straits
• Climbed Mount Kilimanjaro and later Mount Vinson in Antarctica

But Pikes Peak was different. It was home turf. Colorado air. Colorado granite. A mountain he could return to like an old friend who never got any easier.

Each ascent was a conversation between Ted and the mountain.
The mountain said, “You again?”
Ted answered, “Just a little farther.”

Why He Kept Going Back

Ted wasn’t trying to prove he was stronger than the mountain.

He was proving something quieter and more personal — that limits are often just suggestions, and that showing up again is its own kind of victory.

Every climb meant:

• Early mornings in Manitou Springs
• Shared stories with fellow runners
• That familiar mix of nerves and excitement at the starting line
• And the deep, bone-level satisfaction of standing once more on a summit most people only see from below

For Ted, endurance wasn’t about conquering nature.

It was about meeting it with humility, persistence, and heart.

And year after year, step after step, breath after breath,
Ted Epstein kept climbing — not because it was easy,
but because it was hard.

And because somewhere above 14,000 feet,
he felt most alive.