A Race to Remember

by Laurie Wells — May 28, 2007

Each year at this time, my town, Boulder, CO, turns into a zoo. Just as we are all beginning to enjoy the extra space left by the summer exodus of C.U. students, and the pace seems to slow for the warm weather and longer days, it's time to gear up for the city's biggest event. For weeks before Memorial Day weekend, bright-orange construction signs greet anyone headed into Boulder--north, south, east, and west--that the main arteries through town will be closed and an alternate route will be necessary. The streets and trails around town are even more packed than usual with casual joggers and serious athletes alike taking their final pre-race training runs. And friends and family remind each other not even to think about trying to get around town on Monday morning. It is time for the Bolder Boulder!

Every year I go back and forth trying to decide whether I want to participate in the 10K citizens race (there is also a professional road race, but I haven't yet been invited to join a team despite my amazing performance on my morning jogs). But in the years that I don't take part, I always feel like I cheated myself out of a great experience. In the past, I've run the race with the goal and focus of trying to get a good time; I've slowly jogged it with family; I've stood on the sidelines and cheered; and I've even walked it with my infant son strapped into a front carrier. Each time I participate, all the chaos of trying to get across town to the starting line and the annoyance of figuring out the logistics of where to meet family and friends at the end seem to diminish as soon as the race begins.

What makes it such a uniquely Boulder experience are the people. Participants and onlookers of all ages and athletic ability come dressed in crazy costumes, T-shirts that honor family and friends who have served or are currently serving in the military, outfits that promote local and national businesses, and, of course, attire that endorses an array of political/religious/philosophical ideologies. There are always groups of soldiers that run in formation--an inspiring site that receives applause all along the race route. The course is lined with belly dancers; square dancers; rock, reggae, and every other kind of band; families hosting brunch in their front lawn; revelers with kegs; and the wondrous people who hold hoses over the runners to help cool their sweaty heads.

As you run the streets of Boulder, you can enjoy its beauty as well as the craziness of its population. And just as you're starting to feel the burning in your legs and the novelty of the costumed group surrounding you begins to wear off, you race up the final hill and are met by a wondrous sound--you can hear the roar of the cheering crowd long before you see it, and then, the best part of running in the race--the finish line is at the end of a victorious lap through Folsom Stadium. Your face beams across the giant screen for a brief moment of glory. And then you get to cool down by joining the crowd in the stands and cheering on the rest of the racers.

It never fails: as I sip the ice-cold beer that comes in all the of-age runners' end-of-the-race refreshment bag, and ooh and ah at the American-flag-bearing skydivers followed by the military jet flyby, I always feel humbled and I'm hopeful for the future.