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Blog Entry 46 of 623 What's Going On
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I didn't vomit at the Colorado Colfax Marathon

Contributed by: Brendan Leonard/YourHub.com   on 5/22/2006

At about 5:50 a.m. May 21, my girlfriend and I were driving north on Picadilly Road, wondering if we'd actually find the Aurora Sports Park before the Colorado Colfax Marathon started there in ten minutes. I had Band-Aids on my nipples, a zinc oxide compound called Body Glide smeared on the insides of my thighs, and butterflies in my stomach.

At 5:54 a.m., we found the entrance, blocked off by the Aurora Police. I'd have to walk about a half mile to the starting line from there. I said goodbye and jumped out of the car. At 5:56 a.m., I heard someone singing the national anthem. Did they do that at the start of marathons? I started running.

This is cruel, I thought. I have to run 26.2 miles today, farther than I've ever even walked in one day, and I have to run just to get to the starting line. Fortunately, I made it to the start before they said, "go," and settled in near the back of the pack, where the folks who were hoping to finish in under five hours were. There were a little under 1,400 of us at the start, including those running the full marathon, the first runners in the relay teams and the wheelchair racers.

Just before we started, they also played the main theme from Chariots of Fire, fitting, of course, for those of us who would be running the entire race in slow motion. Some guy behind me said, "I'll probably make it about a mile before I have to stop and take a crap."

The starter yelled, "Go," and the fast folks up front took off. Everyone else started walking, waiting for the traffic jam up front to clear. Then we started to jog, and I thought, "Here we go. Run slow. Don't get out of breath." Then we jammed up again and everyone had to walk a few more steps until it let up.

My strategy was to jog, just above a fast walking pace, for five hours. From my training runs, I knew that if I got out of breath, I was going too fast. I let anyone pass me and jogged my pace, and the sun came up as we left the park and got on Colfax.

At the two-mile mark, the first water station appeared. Volunteers stepped out onto the road, holding out cups of water and Gatorade. I tried to keep jogging and drink a cup of Gatorade, only to spill most of it down the front of my shirt. I cannot run and drink at the same time.

After the first water station, I started running with Joe Phillips, owner of AAA Emergency Tree Service in Denver. He asked if this was my first marathon, and I said, "This is my first road race," which was pretty much true, not counting a two-mile fun run I did with my mom when I was 8 years old.

Joe said when he turned 54 last year, he decided he should do something really stupid. That stupid thing was to run a marathon. Without training. This is a mentality I can appreciate, I thought. Joe had the right combination of determination and stupidity that I pride myself on, except about ten times mine.

I believe after about five miles, the crowds and the bands started appearing along the sides of the road every couple miles. Just before we left Aurora at the intersection of Colfax and Yosemite Street, a jazz band played and Aurorians (?) lined the street, cheering everyone on. Later, near Colfax and Jersey Street, five people jammed on African drums in front of Urban Jungle. Before the race was through, I'd see rock bands, blues outfits, a violin septet, a bluegrass band, a Johnny Cash Cover band called A Band Named Sue and a lady playing an actual harp in a parking lot somewhere in Lakewood.

We never went more than a block without hearing cheers or clapping from folks standing on the route. I don't know what type of person gets up early on a Sunday to watch a marathon, but I love all of those people.

I kept bouncing, stopping for a hurried bathroom break in a plastic box just before we entered City Park. In the park, I counted three different marathon runners talking on cell phones. I chugged water and Gatorade at every water station, and felt pretty good. My old neighbors, John and Lyle, were standing in the shade near the Ogden Theatre on Colfax, and I ran up onto the sidewalk to high-five them. I felt okay.

That all ended right about the 18-mile mark, near Invesco Field, when the course took an uphill slant towards Federal Boulevard. It was hot. I had been running for more than three hours, and still had eight miles to go. After the water station at 20 miles, I started noticing folks yelling, "You're almost there!" as we jogged by. Although they meant well, I was beginning to feel like a car breaking down in the middle of the desert, and I wanted to stop and tell them just how much further 6.2 miles was to a non-elite athlete like me.

I also wanted to find some shade and curl up in the fetal position and weep.

But, the water stations started coming up every mile, and my attitude improved slightly. My thoughts for the last six miles went like this: "I gotta stop and walk ... I gotta stop and walk ... No, I don't ... I gotta stop and walk ... I gotta stop and walk ..." Also, for no reason, the lyrics from "A Groovy Kind of Love" kept repeating in my head. And not the original version; the crappy '80s Phil Collins remake.

My legs were broken and I was pretty sure the asphalt was melting my shoes. Everything hurt except maybe my tongue. With two miles left, we approached the last big hill, as everyone said -- "It's all downhill from here." Of course, when we got to the top of that hill, we had to run uphill into the Colorado Mills parking lot. This, I thought, is not "all downhill."

The finish line could not appear fast enough. For a second, I thought about trying to wipe the white crap from the corners of my mouth so I wouldn't look so disgusting in the finish line photo, but then I looked down and saw the sweat bib soaking my shirt halfway down to my waist and decided against it. I could almost see the finish when my girlfriend, Emily, yelled my name and snapped a quick photo of me running past before screaming a sarcastic "Go, Pre!"

I bounced across the finish at 4:55:05, and the pain went away. Someone handed me a cup of cold water, a girl stopped me and took my timing-chip ankle bracelet off my ankle, and someone else put a finisher's medal around my neck.

Then I went home and spent the rest of the day finding comfortable places to lie down in my apartment.

I will never do that again.



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Showing 1-6 of 6 comments
Submitted By: Brian Topkoff
posted on 5/24/2006 @ 9:18:26 AM
Rated Blog Entry
Thank you for the mention and link to A Band Named Sue! We had a blast playing for all the folks who dared to run past us!
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Submitted By: Jim McAllister
posted on 5/22/2006 @ 8:28:37 PM
(Not Rated)
Congrats on beating 5 hours, Brendan, way to hang in there!
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Submitted By: Bill Boucher
posted on 5/22/2006 @ 4:23:13 PM
Rated Blog Entry
Congratulations, Brendan! Though I don't really know you personally, I feel I know you well enough to say I'm proud to know you. By the way, I also had bandaids on my nipples and body glide on my thighs at 5:50 am on Sunday, but for entirely different reasons.
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