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!

Running: the Addictive Ugly Truth

Before today, I hadn't run in a week because my kids kindly shared their colds with me.  Coughing and running just don't get along so I sidelined myself until I could walk up the stairs without hacking.  Meanwhile, my training partner ran the Dallas Rock 'n' Roll Half Marathon on Sunday.  I sat at home awaiting updates, wishing I could run too, but even 1 mile would have been too much.

That got me thinking.  The last time I ran, my calves burned like I was literally giving birth again, but in all the wrong places.  Why do I miss this so much?  What exactly is the appeal and why am I aching to get back out there, pronto?

Marathon training has brought on a whole host of discomforts that I rarely experienced while running sub 13 miles.  And while all these ailments are hilariously painful or embarrassing, I miss them desperately...

1. Mangled Calves. Each week I think, oh man I can't do this.  "26.2 may be more than I can chew!" But then I complete the distance and change my running mantra to something more encouraging, "26.2 I'll get you!"  However, the instant I finished my 17 miler, my calves reared up in such tremendous pain my mantra screamed, "26.2 I freaking HATE you!" Stretching didn't work, walking didn't work.  It just hurt.  Monica, my faithful running buddy, informs me, "We need salt.  Next time, I will bring some salt packets and the pain will vanish instantly!"
2. Salt packets.  As if contracting pain in your calves isn't enough, a dedicated runner who wants to look like a real athelete and not a drunk person, who was thrown off of the electric bull at the local sports bar, has to eat a tablespoon of pure salt granules to stop writhing in pain.  Gross.
3. Peeing.  Port-a-potties are never conveniently located.  I've read that's why some girls wear running skirts as it provides instant privacy, but I know I would fail miserably and be left wearing my pee for 10 miles. 
4. Gu.  It tastes like flavored mucous.  I have yet to find a flavor I can take down in one or two solid gulps. 
5. Running Drunk.  Somewhere between miles 12-20, I loose the ability to think/walk straight.  It doesn't happen every time but the crooked walking gait, combined with slow processing speed are a dead give-away!
6. Exhaustion.  A couple of weekends ago, I ran 15 miles.  Exactly 45 minutes later I found myself in a Chuck E. Cheese's kids restaurant surrounded by bad pizza and screaming kids.  No distance produces enough endorphins to handle that. 
7. Running Knees. This is a new one for me.  I'm a relatively injury free runner.  But for a week, I joined the injured roster.  Walking down stairs was excruciating and I could only think, "Heal you stupid knees!  I need to run 8 tomorrow!"
8. Snot. Enough said.
9. Nasty feet.  I would love a pedicure, but I don't want to embarrass myself.  The bottoms of my feet are not pretty.  
10. Salt Face. After a long run, all the salt in my body somehow ends up on my face.  When I am done running, I wipe the sweat from my cheeks to be greeted with billions of fine salt granules.  
11. Chafing Anywhere. Thank goodness for Body Glide because there is nothing like showering after a long run and instantly discovering all the chaffed spots on my feet, back, chest, or legs with fire water!

After all that happy reminiscing, why am I giddy to run 18 miles this Saturday?  Running is a drug.  And ladies and gentlemen, I am addicted.  While some miles admittedly hurt, most miles I find myself grinning like a dog, lips flapping in the wind.

Marathon Training Miles 12-17

Amidst training for the Colfax Marathon, my husband and I decided to sell our house and move a whopping 2.1 miles away.  When we started this process, I thought it was great timing.  "Running would provide a release from all the stress and keep me centered."  Sure.  When I made that comment I had only reached 12 miles in my training regimen and things were going extremely well.

Keeping a clean house, caring for 2 very rambunctious boys, and running over 30 miles per week has provided a new lifestyle that I would call anything but stress free.  During our 13 mile run, I told my running partner, that I wasn't motivated to run anymore.  It wasn't that I didn't enjoy running, I just didn't think I could make the time.  The house wasn't selling and everyone seemed to be working against me in keeping it clean.  I was exhausted and running on fumes.

However, a week later Monica and I escaped our kids once more and ran a very hilly 14 miles.  I'd never run that far before and it felt like such an accomplishment.  Not only did I complete a new distance, but I ran the first 13.1 miles faster than I'd run it 6 times before.  Maybe this stress was the fuel I needed to center my training.

Since then, I haven't struggled lacing up my shoes.  It feels good to get out of the house.  We are under contract to sell our first house and are scheduled to move into our new home in less than 3 weeks.  My house is over 2/3s packed; an empty shell awaiting a new family.  It doesn't feel like ours any more and I am ready to move on. 

A week ago, we ran 17 miles.  Monica and I began at Chatfield Reservoir and ran the entire Platte River Trail to North Downtown Denver.  My mom was in town, so she and my husband drove to Denver with my boys and surprised us at mile 15.  I've worried throughout training for Colfax that I am putting my family aside too much on the weekends and early mornings.  It is a demanding schedule and my kids often ask, "Why do you have to run every morning?"  Seeing my family encourage my training confirmed this isn't only my goal.  Ethan ran with us for a hundred meters and his smile radiated pride.  Secondly, I am sure I am much more pleasant when I run.  Each weekend I get to spend 2-3 hours with a good friend talking, planning, and well, bitching.  We get it out of our system and return to our families better women.

Immediately after completing 18 miles.

The weekend I move, I will run 20 miles.  It is going to be a stretch, having the energy to make this work.  But I have found when you have strong priorities in life, you make it work. 

Scared of the Dark

As the Colfax Marathon looms closer, my weekly mileage continues to rise.  We are in the middle of trying to sell our house and the opportunities to run are becoming much more difficult to finagle.  This week I found myself running on pitch black trails without my dog at 5:30 am. 

I knew I needed a good hour to run on Wednesday morning and had to return in time to clean the house, shower, ready the kids and husband, and get out before 8:30 for our scheduled house showings.  That left no time to wait for the rising sun.  I layered my clothes in reflective gear and topped off the look with my ultra-stylish LED baseball cap.  It doesn't light the way very well, but I figured it would alert cars, or wild animals, of my existence. 

It was freaky quiet outside and every little crack of grass caused me to whip my head around in fear of some unknown creature, most likely Bigfoot.  I sprinted across the open space behind my house to escape the murkiness of night and safety of porch lights a few hundred yards ahead. 

Repeatedly telling myself to relax, I tried to settle into my stride.  By the time I crossed over into another open space that was surrounded by darkened houses, I thought I felt better.  "You are an adult.  Remember that book you read to Ethan a few months ago?  Sid the Science Kid says, 'Nothing changes in the dark.'  Nothing changes in the dark, Jen.  No, but wild animals come out in the dark, and you can't see them before they nip at your heals!  Highlands Ranch is known for coyote attacks on humans..."

As these ridiculous conversations distracted my brain from the stress of selling our first home, I came to a bridge.  On the near side of the bridge was a set of green glowing eyes.  They were crouched low to the ground and looked large enough to be a good sized animal.  As I moved closer, it held its ground.  I opened my pocket and fingered my mace.  I always carry mace with me, but because I usually run with my dog, I've never felt the urgency to hold it so close, or learn how to use it. 

With every step, the animal watched me and refused to back down.  I remember watching Duck Dynasty with my husband this weekend, where Willie and Jase hunt for frogs in the middle of the night.  Eyes glowing red mean alligator, green eyes mean it's a frog.  These eyes are green, I should be good, right? 

I figured the animal had to be more afraid of me than I was of it, so if I charged forward with all the speed I could muster, mace in hand, I would scare the crap out of whatever it was, coyote, fox, puma, Sasquatch, the usual.  In the last few inches before running into it, the homicidal bunny leaped out of my way.  A bunny.  I am a warrior.  I can face my fears and take on rabbits. 

Feeling like a wimp, I decided to stop freaking myself out and enjoy the rest of the run.  When I reached the farms at the furthest point south in Highlands Ranch, I saw two large coyote.  They smelled me before I caught any sight of them and ran off a safe distance away from me.  I stopped at the side of a dirt road and watched them run.  One coyote was bothered by his spectator.  He kept turning around looking at me like, "Go already!  Leave us alone!"  It was comforting to see this Bunny Warrior posed a real threat to two large pack animals with fangs.  I held my head a little higher and finished my run under the beautiful pink Rocky Mountain sunrise.