🏔 Mt. Sherman — DIE Tour Begins: Closing a 500-Foot Gap

📍 AllTrails recording: link

A note before I start

I'm a little nervous to post here. I don't normally document my hikes beyond a Garmin or AllTrails recording, and I know most people come to this forum for trail beta. So if the story below isn't what you came for, scroll to the trail notes near the bottom — they're there.

But I want to share why I climb, because I think it might matter to someone reading.

How I Got Here

I started hiking 14ers in 2020, when the rest of the world also started going outside more. In 2023, I went bigger — the Pikes Peak Ascent. I tapered into the Boulderthon Half Marathon afterward, but my body was in so much pain that the more I tried to recover, the worse it got. I didn't have a diagnosis yet. I just thought I was doing recovery wrong.

I later learned I have a condition that is common among women but underserved, underdiagnosed, and misunderstood: Deep Infiltrating Endometriosis (DIE). It's the form of endometriosis where lesions infiltrate more than 5mm into the peritoneum, often involving the bowel, bladder, ureters, or rectovaginal septum. The average diagnostic delay is 7–10 years. The pain is real, daily, and largely invisible on standard imaging.

I'm working with the acronym in a way most people probably wouldn't — calling the rest of this year my DIE Tour. 14 down. The remaining 44 by end of 2026 — climbed visibly, deliberately, with the condition named. Because too many women with this disease are told to just push through it. I thought that too, and it nearly broke me. That's exactly why so many of us get misdiagnosed and mistreated.

Last Year's Sherman (2025) — The Turnaround

Mt. Sherman was supposed to be the easy one. Class 1, short, low-stakes — the standard "first 14er" recommendation. This was my 1st 14er about 7 months after major surgery.

I was forced to turn around 500 feet from the summit. Dizzy, unsure of myself, and not confident hiking the snow and ice even with spikes on. I'd never had to turn around on a 14er before, and I was deeply unsatisfied with myself when it happened. But it also lit something — the next attempt was going to be different.

This Year (2026) — What Changed

This time I camped the night before near the trailhead. Sleeping in a tent at elevation took a toll on my recovery stats, but it provided the crucial acclimatization I needed. I also chose to start later than the typical 8:00 AM alpine start, knowing from experience that rushing my body is a double-edged sword. Whether living with DIE or hiking mountains, I've learned that supporting myself sometimes means moving differently.

I had no trouble getting to the upper trailhead with my 2021 Toyota RAV4. On the lower section I met some other women hiking at a similar pace — slow at the beginning, deliberately, with careful breathing and breaks. We were all listening to our bodies in our own ways.

Above the mine ruins, the grade steepens toward the Sherman/Sheridan saddle. This is where the day's altitude reality showed up. Just past 12,000 ft, my heart pounded hard enough that I had to stop for several minutes to let it settle. My WHOOP later confirmed a brief Zone 4 spike at 167 bpm on what should have been a Zone 2 effort — classic altitude tachycardia, predictable for someone with reduced autonomic capacity from chronic inflammation.

The conditions helped me this year in a way they hadn't in 2025. We had a relatively light winter snowfall, so even though there was snow on the upper sections, it was manageable. Auzzie loves to slide his head into the snow — and I wish I were as fearless as him, because the small cornice in the final 14 vertical feet to the summit gave me and the other hikers a real moment of pause. But I made it. We all made it.

How I Listened to My Body This Time

Here's what changed between Pikes Peak 2023 and Sherman 2026 — what I actually do differently now:

• I track autonomic data, not just performance data. WHOOP tells me my HRV, recovery score, and resting HR every morning. If recovery is red, the day's plan changes.
• I pace by heart rate, not by partners. Cap at HR 145 below 13,000 ft, HR 155 above. When the watch says I'm pushing, I slow down — regardless of who's ahead.
• I respect the 12,000-ft moment. When HR spikes at altitude, I sit, slow my breathing (4 in, 6 out), sip electrolyte, and resume slower. I don't power through anymore. Power-through is what got me into trouble after Pikes.
• I acclimatize when I can. Camping at the trailhead the night before — even with a recovery hit — beats showing up cold from Denver elevation.
• I treat recovery as training. A 14er costs me 3 days of recovery time before HRV returns to baseline. I plan for that, not against it.

I now write about this work at EndEndo.io — research, updates on medical benchmarks, and I'm working on implementing a patient experience to reduce the delay to diagnosis with experts in care for not only DIE, but other conditions that are often considered sisters to it. If you're reading this and any of it resonates, that's where the rest of the work lives. If you have a spouse/partner, girlfriend, or sibling who thinks they might be living with DIE please reach out at support@endendo.io and I would love to hear their experience.

Trail Notes for Others Going Soon

• The road is the variable. Whatever AllTrails or 14ers.com says about distance, the real number depends on how high you can drive Four Mile Creek Road. Check recent forum reports before you go.
• Light snow this year. Microspikes were helpful but not strictly required on most sections during my mid-May climb.
• The cornice in the final 14 vertical feet to the summit was small but real. Pay attention to footing right at the top — it's the only spot on this route where you need to be deliberate.
• Altitude sneaks up on Sherman because it's a "short" 14er. Don't let the modest elevation gain fool you. Pace conservatively above 12,000 ft, especially if you're coming from below 6,000 ft.
• Dogs on Sherman: Class 1 throughout, no exposed scrambling. Auzzie did the whole route happily. Bring extra water for them and watch paws on the mine-area rocks.

What I'd Do Differently

I'm currently updating my Garmin watch. On this hike, I decided to only use my Whoop strap instead of my usual Garmin watch and inReach. I was familiar with the trail, so I didn't need to check AllTrails for navigation or mileage. I wanted to focus on listening to my body rather than fixating on the distance ahead.

My confidence was low at the start, and while tracking distance can sometimes be encouraging, I found a different source of motivation this time. The other women on the trail shared their distance updates with me, which helped improve my mindset during the long incline.

For my next 14er this upcoming weekend, I’ve uploaded the GPX file and set up automatic inspirational messages to pop up at every half-mile marker. I'm also planning to hike with my partner next time. He's much faster than I am, but I tend to perform better as we near the summit.

To Anyone Climbing With a Chronic Illness

If you live with endo, adeno, autoimmune disease, or any chronic inflammatory condition: you can still climb mountains. Not without cost. Not without learning your specific body. Not without occasional days where your physiology says no and the right answer is to listen.

But you can. The work is to know your physiology — really know it — and build the protocols that let you train, recover, and summit on your terms. None of that erases the disease. All of it changes what's possible.

Trisha Black — climbing all 58 Colorado 14ers for Deep Infiltrating Endometriosis awareness. Sherman makes 14 of 58. 44 to go on the DIE Tour by end of 2026.

More at EndEndo.io · Source data at github.com/trishab/diet-signal