Everyone should be so lucky

“Woo Hoo!! Go Jane!!”

Loud whistles and cat calls. Someone nearby is bangin’ on a cow bell. I know its J. running below me on the trail, ‘cuz she’s wearing a hot pink running skirt, and as she runs by the volunteer at the bottom of the flight of stairs, the volunteer’s headlamp illuminates the pink something fierce. The moon is out, and the air is Granny-Smith-crisp, just my kind of weather. J. charges up the stairs, with D. & me cheering her on. She strips off the blue bracelet that serves as a relay baton, and I’m off.

I ran through the exchange point crowd, and was wide awake heading down the road alone. Oh, it felt so good to go downhill. The full moon was so bright, I didn’t need my headlamp. I thought about taking it off – would I get busted? Not worth it, I decided. The first of many magical moments on this second leg of mine came as I reached the end of the empty road, and was drawn to the bike path that started there by glowing lime green bread crumbs. “This way!” I felt that those glow sticks had been left there just for me, for this moment when I’d hit the trail.

I spotted a few runners ahead of me with their reflective vests bobbing up and down. I caught them. My legs felt so free. I forget how running fast makes me feel sometimes - light, wild, unstoppable. The mountain lake to my left reflected the moon and the stars, even. One waterfall on my left churned and roared in the darkness. Second waterfall, and I had to turn my head and catch a glimpse of the endless veil of water in the light of my headlamp. Magic. I looked down at my feet during this leg several times. The reflective strips would hit the pavement like a metronome. Keep them light - quick feet. You love it! Glowing bread crumbs dotted the bike path and I smiled at every one. I couldn’t stop myself from checking my pace. I was thrilled to see paces in the 7’s per mile. I felt like this was my forever pace – and I wanted to run forever. Yeah, I can run fast. Let’s go already!

I decended into fog, and the light of my headlamp reflected off of the tiny droplets and blinded me, then cleared, then blinded me again as I ran through the wisps. The big dipper directly in front of me kept drawing me forward. As J. said later, some constellations were hard to pick out – stars normally too faint to see stood out in the middle of them and confused the eye. The milky way snaked across the night sky.

This leg was rated “very hard” I think because it was 8.7 miles, on the longer side of the 30 relay legs, and because downhill sections can beat your legs up. But it didn't feel hard to me at this moment. I had estimated I’d run 10 minute miles. My team, and more specifically, M, who was the next runner, would be expecting me 87 minutes after the hand off. I was going to be early. For once I didn’t worry about something I couldn’t control – they’d find me. I trusted them. I started to dare myself to be as early as possible.

The bike path carved through some tight corners and steep descents, and I had to lean as I went through them, down them. I felt like a race car. Rounding a corner, I ran through a dark tunnel under I-70, the light of the moon lighting the pavement on the other side. The path ended on an empty road, nameless to me, but one that had been witness to both bike races and running races if the painted notes in the middles of the road were any indication. Still, my lime green bread crumbs pointed the way. A bicycle guide also leap-frogged me for this leg, keeping me and the other runners company and on track.

I was close now. My wrist GPS said so. Despite the cool air, I had worn too many clothes. I was hot now and kept pushing. I couldn’t see the exchange point. I thought it would be bustling with cargo vans, so well lit that I’d see it a mile away. Is my leg going to be a little longer?Maybe I won’t be as early as I thought…That’ll give me more time to pass those two ahead of me.

But then I rounded the corner and there it was. I started yelling my race number so the volunteers could alert my team. I heard them calling it out. I reached the check-in point, and gave the volunteer my initials. The 8.7 magical miles had taken me 68 minutes, 19 minutes faster than my estimate. Sounding worried, the volunteer said, “Your next runner hasn’t checked in yet.” I grinned. Heh, I am early!

Before that thought had even fully formed, here was M, giving his initials to the volunteer. I handed him the bracelet and strapped the reflective vest on him. “Go get ‘em, M!” The rest of the team led me to the van and they indulgently listened to me tell about my great run, repeating descriptions, raving about the path. Only other runners know the need to share and relive a great run. But I’ll spare you, dear reader, the description of my other two legs. Just know that I have written them out so I can relive, remember, and re-run them in my dreams.

Thanks, Van A!
Thank you, J. for organizing. What a race.

Colorado Relay
From Georgetown to Carbondale, CO
Over three mountain passes: Guanella, Georgia, and Vail.
10 runners, 174 miles, 28+ hours, very little sleep.
Adventure running at its best.
Sign me up for next year.