Colfax Marathon Pics

I don't make a habit of buying every set of professional pictures from my races, but there are a few moments that I hold close to my heart and I want every image of that day to last.  The Colfax Marathon was a highlight of my life.  If I could relive that moment every day, I would. 

8 Miles in.  The first pass through Sports Authority Field. 

20 Miles in.  Second Pass through Sports Authority Field. Check out the people behind me walking.  I am deliriously celebrating and they are looking around wondering, "Is there a toilet in here?"

6 Miles away from finishing.  Getting ready to ride my bike. 

I love to run.  Don't worry, the smile fades dramatically in about 2 miles.

Victory...Almost. 

 

Exhaustion, pain, happiness... Yeah, bring on the tears.

 

The moment you realize you don't have to run another step, but you CAN'T STOP.

I did it!

Colfax Marathon Mission Accomplished!

I ran 460 miles between January 1, and May 19; all those miles spent preparing for one 26.2 mile race.  Throughout the first 10 miles I smiled at the cameras, glowing ear to ear.  I earned this moment and I wanted to enjoy it. 

Sporting my $3.99 Goodwill "throwaways," which I didn't have the heart to throw away...

For months before the race, everyone asked me whether I had a goal time.  My answer was always simple.  NO.  I wanted to finish upright.  I didn't want to wallow in self-inflicted pain for weeks after the race.  I thought it plausible to finish under 4:30, based on all my training runs, but there would be no regret if that ideal was not reached.
 

My husband, Randall, and me 30 minutes before the start.

Race morning arrived much quicker than I anticipated and while I spent a whole week plagued with fear, questioning if my training would prove me ready, I woke rested.  I didn't want to start too fast, but we were tightly trapped within so many runners on narrow streets.  Adrenaline rushed through my body and I was euphoric. 

After running through the stadium.

By eight miles in, my spirits remained high.  We ran through the middle of Sports Authority Field at Mile High and came out one minute per mile faster than we started.  The energy of that empty stadium was ironic. 

Heading uphill after the stadium.

Two miles later, my knees started to ache and I felt a horrible cramp forming in my calf.  I knew it was from salt depletion and luckily my training partner, Monica, had a salt packet at the ready.  Salt helped, but I knew my knees were going to be sore and I couldn't maintain at the pace Monica wanted.  We were headed uphill and while the overall elevation gain was slight, nothing during a marathon feels slight.

We reached the halfway point and Monica tried to surge ahead.  A man behind me yelled out, "Hey Orange Team!  You guys are going too fast!"  He was obviously joking, but my legs agreed.  I was going too fast to be able to finish strong.  I needed to regroup. 

Ethan drew the two of us at the finish, then told his dad what to write.

Monica and I said all along we would train together and finish together.  At mile 10, I knew that wasn't realistic.  At mile 13, I knew it was impossible.  I pulled back reducing my speed to a 9:50 pace and felt tears welling in my eyes. I felt defeated.  We promised we would run together the entire way but I knew staying with her would only lead to regrets later as I couldn't continue at a 9:00 pace for the next 13.1 miles.  I would end up hurting myself, or holding back my friend's finishing potential.  Either way, I wouldn't be happy. 

At that moment, I learned a powerful lesson.  This was a journey I had to complete independently.  I couldn't worry about other people's pace or goals.  I had to be selfish.  I stopped running, pulled out my phone, sent my husband a Glympse (GPS tracking so he knew where I was on the course), strapped on my headphones and turned on my favorite running music.  I watched runners pass me around a corner and I waited until I couldn't see Monica's bright orange.  Knowing she would be great, I took a few moments to regroup and I started off again. 

By mile 15, we were headed back downhill and my legs felt strong.  Working at a comfortable 10:00 pace, I returned to nose breathing and enjoyed watching the buildings pass by.  Spectators read my name off my green bib and I was so grateful for their energy. 

My kids said our orange shirts and hats looked like tigers. 

I passed the 20 mile marker feeling good.  My legs were tired, but not finished.  I smiled as I ran through the next mile knowing I was actually going to make it.  I ran back through the football stadium and again, my energy was restored.  Miles 21 and 22 were solid.  I wasn't moving fast, but I was moving and proud of every step. 

Somewhere around 21 miles, another marathoner, wearing a bright yellow shirt stopped, looking destitute.  I patted her on the back softly, "Come on, we can do this!  I feel your pain!"  She smiled at me, and we ran together for the next mile and a half. 

As I rounded my way back up 17th Street and headed into the depths of Denver, the hills sadistically reappeared.  Relay runners, who divided the 26.2 mile stretch between 4-5 runners had fresh legs every few miles.  They charged up those hills, passing my exhausted limbs without mercy.  I glared at their gait and gave myself permission to walk up the remainder of the steep hill, about a quarter mile.

Again, spectators cheered me on, "Yes!  Keep moving!  You are doing it!  Go Jennifer, GO!"  I smiled, mouthed a breathy, "Thanks..." and began to run at the summit. 

Transitioning from running to walking and back again hurt.  I felt like my calves were going to explode and bleed out for the first few steps after each transition.  At mile 23, I walked through the water station and when I resumed running, I swore I was riding a bike.  Delirium took over as my arms moved ahead of me, steering my makeshift bicycle.  My legs pedaled in circles, close under my hips and I wondered who graced me with this beautiful machine. 

"HOLY CRAP!  Pull it together!  You are finishing, not loosing your mind!"  I quickly grabbed another Gu from my bag, sucked it back and decided to not walk another step.  If I walked, I wouldn't finish.  "Run, just run. Don't stop. Just run."  My legs were in "go" mode and walking confused them. 

First sight of my husband at the finish line.  All the feelings of pain and exhaustion vanished.

26 miles down, and I could hear the finish line.  I couldn't see it.  But I heard it.  I wanted to stop but that would be pointless.  Once the actual finish line came into view, I charged forward.  My pace increased and I saw Randall and Mark, Monica's husband, standing there smiling and cheering.  Pride ran through my veins.  I threw my arms up in victory and crossed the line in 4:25:17.

"I did it!  I freaking did it!" played through my head like a broken record.

A firefighter put my medal around my neck and I waddled to food.  Monica intercepted me there and the sight of her brought all the emotions that welled inside me for the last 10 miles to the front. 

I was so tired, I forgot to pick up food at the stations along the way.

Relief and exhaustion.  Well earned!

I cried in relief, pain, happiness, and pride.  From mile 17, every spectator that called my name and every time I thought about finishing, my eyes blurred with faint tears.  "Hold it together, Jen.  Hold it together."  Once I finished, I had nothing left.  The race stripped me bare and all that was left was raw emotion. 

Emotions welled at the finish. 

Monica and I hugged for a long time.  I was so proud of us.  We each ran our own race, but worked together to get there.  I wouldn't have wanted it any other way. 

I never drink soda.  But throughout training, I dreamed of an ice cold Pepsi after a long run.  Randall had one waiting for me at the finish line, along with his flannel.

Strength

I don't want to go into the Colfax Marathon with negative memories from my 20 miler so fresh in my mind.  I've been nervous all week as the race rapidly approaches.  On my way to dropping Ethan off at school today he asked me if I thought I was ready to race.  I told him, "It is a goal that I worked really hard for.  I have been working for this since January, which is a long time.  I am ready because my hard work will pay off."  He didn't understand what "goal" meant.  So I explained it is something that you want really badly and you work hard to earn it.  I told him last summer his goal was to learn to ride his bike without training wheels.  He practiced really hard and now he is a confident cyclist.  "Goals make us better people and that is why it is important that we set goals and finish them to the best of our abilities."

Trying on my race clothes.  The boys thought I looked like a tiger.

Then he asked, "Mommy, why is is so important to you that you finish this goal, running so far?"  I've never teared up or put myself on a pedestal when I refer to my goals towards running.  I run for me.  I have never pretended to run for my kids or anyone else.  I like to run.  It is fun and good for my health.  Period.  But my vision started to blur as I told him, "I set this goal because I wanted to see if I could do it.  I want to know what my body is capable of and I want to be strong.  And now that I have set this goal, I have to reach it.  Quitting is not an option because someday I want you and your brother to look back at your childhood and think of Mommy as a strong woman.  If I quit, you won't see me that way.  And what will that teach you?"

"Okay, Mommy.  But I want you to know that you are strong.  I knew that already!"
 

Road-Burned

On Sunday I will run the Colfax Marathon.  Today, I ran my final 2 miles before the race.  I wish I could say it was an exhilarating finish, but it wasn't.  I flew off a curb and into the middle of the road, flat on my face, like Wonder Woman, but not so graceful.  My stupid dog, Tucker, pulled me into the street as I flailed in the air and couldn't regain my balance or my dignity.  Sadly, it was a fitting end to my marathon training.

Hahaha!  I love to find humor in every situation.  Training for a marathon hasn't been my most graceful moment, but it has been a worthy journey. 

Everything went well up until April.  We conquered our 17 and 18 milers like they were nothing.  Don't get me wrong, I was clearly tired at the end, but I felt strong and unstoppable.  Those annoying little doubts that plagued my head weeks earlier, asking whether this was a realistic dream to cover 26.2 freaking miles, curbed themselves in beautiful silence.  If I could run 18 miles, avoid a nap, hide hundreds of Easter eggs throughout my neighborhood for a party later, and be up until 10 with great friends and feel fine, I had it in the bag!

After our 17 Miler

After 18 Miles

Then we moved.  My kids were sick one week before the move with the most horrific respiratory infections we've ever had.  Poor Ethan was on 6 breathing treatments a day, steroids, and antibiotics.  My husband and I were bound to get it, so we buckled down with lots of Emergen-C packets and probiotics.  We fell sick a few days before the move and were miserable on moving day.  The boys got a second round shortly after, Owen suffered from pneumonia, and I was graced with Pleurisy.

Sunrise views from the trails by our new house.

Pleurisy is the most painful lung condition I've ever had, and I was scheduled to run 20 miles that weekend.  A virus causes inflammation in your lungs, which then causes the lining within your lung to blister.  Breathing, coughing, sneezing, all hurt.  I am now three weeks in and I still feel a sharp pain in my right lung when I run or sneeze.  So my training partner, Monica, and I took a break for a week and I returned to running with our 20 miler only one week after being diagnosed.

At the start of our 20 Miler.

The first 8 miles, I felt great.  The route we chose was predominately downhill or flat as I knew my lungs couldn't tolerate large hills yet.  By mile 13, my stomach started to turn.  I had 3.5 miles left until a bathroom break and I buckled down to get that far.  As the Platte River restrooms came into view, I told Monica, I am seriously going to vomit!  But nothing came, so I drank some water, and lumbered forward.

Miles 16 to 20 were the most miserable miles I've run to date.  I had to stop almost every half mile to dry heave in the grass like a pathetic cat passing a hair ball.  It was humbling, humiliating, and I thought it would never end.  Poor Monica, stayed quietly by my side, stopping when I needed and offering help when she could.

Finally, we turned down a long dirt path and sitting at the end was the last road we needed to take before finding our car.  I looked down at my watch and it was 19.something miles and I thought even a tenth of a mile would be too much.  Monica ran ahead to make sure it was the proper street.  I stayed back to throw my head between my knees and the second my feet hit the grass, I finally threw up.  A poor kid rode his bike behind me and screamed, "AHHHHH, MOMMY! SHE IS SO SICK!"  I didn't mind.  My dignity was long gone.  I kept puking until I could finally stand up straight again.

After walking to the car, we found humor in the situation.  No, I am not puking here.  Just poking fun.

Returning upright, I glanced at my watch to see how much I had left to run.  It read, "20.0 miles."  Somehow my body knew I was officially done.  I was so sure I had at least a quarter mile left before I got sick.  But my watch said I was done and I wasn't in the position to question.  We walked back to the car and as we walked, I felt infinitely better.

Thankful our 20 Miles are done!  Monica looks happy.  I am sick and relieved! 

For the last week, I have been tapering and the lung pain is still bad at times, but I got the all clear from my doctor to race.  Today is the best run I've had in a month.  My lung didn't hurt, my legs felt fresh, and best of all, my stomach finally cleared all the anti-inflammatories that wreaked havoc on my 20 miler.  Feeling adventurous, Tucker and I saw a new entrance to the open space on the other side of the road.  I signaled him to turn, caught my foot on the curb, and as he continued leaping foward, I splayed out on the pavement.  My knees and elbows are road-burned, but I figure it is a fitting end.  I am the Roadburner after all!