Bolder Boulder - 2010
Moab Multisport - 2010
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Bolder Boulder - 2010
Founded by Frank Shorter, gold medal winner of the 1972 Munich Olympic Marathon, the Bolder Boulder 10k road race was first held in 1979 in the area around North Boulder Park. The course has varied over the years, but has long finished at Folsom Field, making a turn past the statue of Shorter himself just outside the stadium. From the first-year field of about 2,700 runners, it has grown into the fifth-largest road race in the world, with over 50,000 finishers in 2010.
Besides being America’s biggest timed race, the Bolder Boulder is also one of the best-organized races around, hosting everyone from world-class athletes to young children in strollers. The elite (professional) men often finish in under 30 minutes, but many choose to walk the course instead, enjoying the sights and sounds along the way. The race draws crowds of thousands to line the streets as spectators, and the whole city seems to shut down to join in the party. Dozens of musicians and performers set up and play along the course, with annual fixtures like the “Blues Brothers” at the 1k mark, and the belly dancers on Folsom as landmarks along the way. Veteran runners can almost leave their stopwatches at home and time themselves just by the songs being played as they pass the regular bands along the way! Costumes for participants are encouraged, adding to the festive, celebratory atmosphere.
In order to allow for a large and wildly divergent field, the race is run in staggered waves, with the fastest runners leaving first, at 7:00am. Throughout the morning, each wave starts about a minute or two after the last, until the last wave leaves around 9:30 This year, there were 88 waves in all. The last several waves are devoted strictly to walkers, so that those who wish to keep a less vigorous pace are not run over by faster participants. This arrangement allows for maximum inclusiveness, and encourages people of all ages and fitness levels to come out and join. In its 32-year history, seventeen people over the age of ninety have completed the 6.2 mile course!
I first witnessed the spectacle of the Bolder Boulder in 1987, the year I moved to Colorado. I was twelve years old and we sat on the grass at my grandmother’s house, watching as thousands of people jogged by. It felt like a gigantic parade in fast-forward, and I remember being amazed to see a man on 4-foot stilts stroll by dressed as Uncle Sam.
The following year, I decided to run it. I’d never done any distance running before, and my training was woefully inadequate. My friend Jesse and I had once seen previous winner Arturo Barrios running hill repeats on Jesse’s street, so we tried to emulate him. We made it up the hill once before we called it a day and went inside to watch MTV. On race day, I picked out my favorite pair of Jams to run in (if you don’t remember this particularly atrocious late-‘80’s fashion, be thankful). Unfortunately, the waistband didn’t have much elastic left in it. Running through every sprinkler along the way only exacerbated the problem, so I ran most of the race with one hand holding up my pants. If memory serves, it took me an hour and 25 minutes.
My second encounter with the Bolder Boulder happened quite differently, one early morning ten years ago, as I lay in bed. It started with the surreal sound of thousands of feet pounding the ground. What on Earth could that be? A herd of buffaloes? And did somebody just yell “Gatorade?” My head felt like a railroad spike after John Henry got done with it. My stomach felt like I’d swallowed a brick. My mouth tasted like cobwebs.
“GATORADE”, there it is again. Am I hallucinating? No, somebody is definitely yelling, “Gatorade.” And what is that thumping sound? I looked outside to find the mile 5 aid station of the Bolder Boulder no more than 20 feet from my throbbing head. It’s 7:36 am. What is wrong with these people?
Feeling shaky and weak, I slowly shuffled down the stairs and out to the sidewalk, where a team of high school volunteers were handing out Gatorade to runners passing by.
“Excuse me,” I said hoarsely, “You guys woke me up…can I have some Gatorade?”
“Sorry, it’s only for the runners” said a young woman with her back to me. She turned around to look at me. My desperation must have been obvious. “Go ahead” she said with a look of pity, gesturing to the table. I picked up and quickly downed as many cups as I could, then went inside, flopped down on the couch, and vainly tried to remember how I got home. That was ten years ago, before I got back into running, before Phoenix Multisport existed. Before I got sober.
In January of this year, Phoenix Multisport began hosting three training runs per week to give Phoenix team members ample time to train for the race. In spite of a long, snowy winter, a small but devoted group showed up regularly to work on all aspects of running, from cadence and form drills to strength, flexibility, and speed-training work.
When Memorial Day came, the windy laps around Crown Hill Lake, and the cold jogs on the Boulder Creek Path were behind us. We were ready for the big race. A few of us met in the parking lot before the start for some dynamic stretches and warm-up drills. Then before we knew it, the gun went off and it was go time! Phoenix staffer Ben Williams and I ran most of the race together, doing our best to keep our goal pace. When we crested the hill at mile four, I knew I had a personal record in my sights, and I repeatedly chanted our oft-used training mantra, “free speed,” as the next downhill mile flew by. Before I knew it, I was running into the stadium, greeted by thousands of cheering fans. I finished with a new PR, just two seconds behind my goal time.
Over a dozen Phoenix Multisport team members completed the course this year. Many other members celebrated in the stands, and cheered us on. In the days leading up to the race, PM offered discounted T-shirts to team members who were racing, so it was easy to find our friends. Ben and I ran in our Phoenix gear, and were amazed by the number of people who shouted their support to us during the race. Every time we heard “Go Phoenix!” Ben said, “OK, there’s another kilometer!” and we had more than enough cheers to last us through the ten kilometer race, from team members and strangers alike!
Ever since I moved to Colorado, the Bolder Boulder has been an important event for me. For years it has served as an informal barometer of my physical and mental health. If I fail to even sign up, something is probably wrong. If I train hard and run well, things must be going pretty well. Now it’s also a metaphor for my sobriety. While it’s often difficult, it’s worth the effort, because I don’t ever want to feel the way I felt on that Memorial Day ten years ago.
Besides being America’s biggest timed race, the Bolder Boulder is also one of the best-organized races around, hosting everyone from world-class athletes to young children in strollers. The elite (professional) men often finish in under 30 minutes, but many choose to walk the course instead, enjoying the sights and sounds along the way. The race draws crowds of thousands to line the streets as spectators, and the whole city seems to shut down to join in the party. Dozens of musicians and performers set up and play along the course, with annual fixtures like the “Blues Brothers” at the 1k mark, and the belly dancers on Folsom as landmarks along the way. Veteran runners can almost leave their stopwatches at home and time themselves just by the songs being played as they pass the regular bands along the way! Costumes for participants are encouraged, adding to the festive, celebratory atmosphere.
In order to allow for a large and wildly divergent field, the race is run in staggered waves, with the fastest runners leaving first, at 7:00am. Throughout the morning, each wave starts about a minute or two after the last, until the last wave leaves around 9:30 This year, there were 88 waves in all. The last several waves are devoted strictly to walkers, so that those who wish to keep a less vigorous pace are not run over by faster participants. This arrangement allows for maximum inclusiveness, and encourages people of all ages and fitness levels to come out and join. In its 32-year history, seventeen people over the age of ninety have completed the 6.2 mile course!
I first witnessed the spectacle of the Bolder Boulder in 1987, the year I moved to Colorado. I was twelve years old and we sat on the grass at my grandmother’s house, watching as thousands of people jogged by. It felt like a gigantic parade in fast-forward, and I remember being amazed to see a man on 4-foot stilts stroll by dressed as Uncle Sam.
The following year, I decided to run it. I’d never done any distance running before, and my training was woefully inadequate. My friend Jesse and I had once seen previous winner Arturo Barrios running hill repeats on Jesse’s street, so we tried to emulate him. We made it up the hill once before we called it a day and went inside to watch MTV. On race day, I picked out my favorite pair of Jams to run in (if you don’t remember this particularly atrocious late-‘80’s fashion, be thankful). Unfortunately, the waistband didn’t have much elastic left in it. Running through every sprinkler along the way only exacerbated the problem, so I ran most of the race with one hand holding up my pants. If memory serves, it took me an hour and 25 minutes.
My second encounter with the Bolder Boulder happened quite differently, one early morning ten years ago, as I lay in bed. It started with the surreal sound of thousands of feet pounding the ground. What on Earth could that be? A herd of buffaloes? And did somebody just yell “Gatorade?” My head felt like a railroad spike after John Henry got done with it. My stomach felt like I’d swallowed a brick. My mouth tasted like cobwebs.
“GATORADE”, there it is again. Am I hallucinating? No, somebody is definitely yelling, “Gatorade.” And what is that thumping sound? I looked outside to find the mile 5 aid station of the Bolder Boulder no more than 20 feet from my throbbing head. It’s 7:36 am. What is wrong with these people?
Feeling shaky and weak, I slowly shuffled down the stairs and out to the sidewalk, where a team of high school volunteers were handing out Gatorade to runners passing by.
“Excuse me,” I said hoarsely, “You guys woke me up…can I have some Gatorade?”
“Sorry, it’s only for the runners” said a young woman with her back to me. She turned around to look at me. My desperation must have been obvious. “Go ahead” she said with a look of pity, gesturing to the table. I picked up and quickly downed as many cups as I could, then went inside, flopped down on the couch, and vainly tried to remember how I got home. That was ten years ago, before I got back into running, before Phoenix Multisport existed. Before I got sober.
In January of this year, Phoenix Multisport began hosting three training runs per week to give Phoenix team members ample time to train for the race. In spite of a long, snowy winter, a small but devoted group showed up regularly to work on all aspects of running, from cadence and form drills to strength, flexibility, and speed-training work.
When Memorial Day came, the windy laps around Crown Hill Lake, and the cold jogs on the Boulder Creek Path were behind us. We were ready for the big race. A few of us met in the parking lot before the start for some dynamic stretches and warm-up drills. Then before we knew it, the gun went off and it was go time! Phoenix staffer Ben Williams and I ran most of the race together, doing our best to keep our goal pace. When we crested the hill at mile four, I knew I had a personal record in my sights, and I repeatedly chanted our oft-used training mantra, “free speed,” as the next downhill mile flew by. Before I knew it, I was running into the stadium, greeted by thousands of cheering fans. I finished with a new PR, just two seconds behind my goal time.
Over a dozen Phoenix Multisport team members completed the course this year. Many other members celebrated in the stands, and cheered us on. In the days leading up to the race, PM offered discounted T-shirts to team members who were racing, so it was easy to find our friends. Ben and I ran in our Phoenix gear, and were amazed by the number of people who shouted their support to us during the race. Every time we heard “Go Phoenix!” Ben said, “OK, there’s another kilometer!” and we had more than enough cheers to last us through the ten kilometer race, from team members and strangers alike!
Ever since I moved to Colorado, the Bolder Boulder has been an important event for me. For years it has served as an informal barometer of my physical and mental health. If I fail to even sign up, something is probably wrong. If I train hard and run well, things must be going pretty well. Now it’s also a metaphor for my sobriety. While it’s often difficult, it’s worth the effort, because I don’t ever want to feel the way I felt on that Memorial Day ten years ago.
Posted on: July 29th, 2010 @ 11:59AM
