In October 2012, I (Max Jackson) was 20 years old, a sophomore at Florida Atlantic University studying political science and economics, and I showed up to photograph The Color Run in Miami with my college photography club. It was approximately their seventh race. I ended up on stage. Somehow, I got on the roof. Great shots.
A few days later, The Color Run’s photo director contacted me through Facebook and asked if they could use my images on their social media pages. In exchange, they’d credit me wherever my photos were used — my name, my website, on every image. I xsaid yes. I was a new photographer, and this fast-growing company was offering to feature my work. That felt like a win.
It wasn’t.
The Sports Authority Flyer
Eight months later, I walked into a Sports Authority in King of Prussia, Pennsylvania, and someone handed me a promotional flyer. It had The Color Run’s logo on it. Sports Authority’s logo. And one of my photographs. No credit. No watermark. No mention of my name anywhere.
Then I looked up. The same image was on a display hanging above a clothing rack.
I went home and ran a Google reverse image search. Ten of my photos were in worldwide circulation — on The Color Run’s international websites, in Coca-Cola advertisements, U.S. News, and the Baltimore Sun Times. My images were everywhere. My name was on none of them.
The way I understood the agreement, it was photo credit wherever they were used. That promise was broken millions of times over.
The $500,000 Promise
I contacted The Color Run to resolve the situation. My first conversation with their general counsel was civil and productive. We were moving in the right direction.
Then the founder got on the phone. I was told they would rather spend five hundred thousand dollars on lawyers than pay me a cent.
I was a college student with no money, no lawyer, and student loan debt. He ran one of the largest 5K race series in the country. The math was supposed to scare me.
It didn’t.
They Sued Me
Rather than resolve the dispute, The Color Run filed a lawsuit against me in Utah Federal Court — their home state. The claims were trademark infringement, false advertising, and unfair competition. The basis? I had listed The Color Run as an employer on my Facebook page. They sought at least $75,000 in damages plus attorney fees.
There was one problem with that argument. I had actually worked for them. I traveled the country that summer staffing their events. I had the staff badges. I had the tank top that said STAFF on the back.
I sent a demand letter — $100,000 as an opening negotiating position, which is exactly what it was. Negotiations went nowhere. They sued me.
A lawyer friend of my stepfather’s called it what it was: “a strong arm tactic, and a good one at that.” Filing in Utah meant I’d have to travel across the country to fight it. The financial burden fell squarely on me.
100 Pages
My dad and I sat at the kitchen table and figured it out.
I need to back up for a second, because this part matters. When I was a kid, I watched my father lose his pizza business because of people lying in court. That experience put something in me that never left — a conviction that the legal system should not be a weapon that only works for people who can afford the ammunition.
In high school, I took an Understanding Law class taught by a former practicing attorney. He’d left the profession because he didn’t like how dirty it was. He taught us how to read court documents, how lawyers construct arguments in writing, and how to prepare a counter-argument from the papers in front of you. I joined the Mock Trial team the next year. I took the lead for my team, and we won.
So when a process server knocked on my door to hand-deliver the lawsuit — a move that wasn’t required by law, just chosen for dramatic effect — I didn’t fold. I read through every page of the filing from Stoel Rives. I saw what the suit actually was.
I was away at college. My dad was on the phone with me constantly. Together, we prepared a reply to the complaint, a counter-complaint, a motion to dismiss, and a motion for a change of venue. One hundred pages of paperwork. We sent it all via certified mail to Stoel Rives, the judge in Utah, and Sports Authority. I forgot to sign the papers I sent to the judge the first time because I was used to doing everything online.
I was 21 years old, away at school, and I was fighting a federal lawsuit without a lawyer.
The Story Goes Public
On February 14, 2014, Fstoppers published the story. The same day, PetaPixel covered it. Broward Palm Beach New Times ran their own reporting. FroKnowsPhoto dedicated a full episode of their RAWtalk podcast to the dispute, and later conducted what became the first exclusive interview I gave after the settlement. The story hit Reddit. It became a cautionary tale across the photography community.
The Color Run’s founder publicly called the situation a “genuine misunderstanding” stemming from a “poorly worded, semi-verbal, semi-written contract”. He said they had offered financial compensation and exposure, and that my requests went “far outside professional compensation and credit for photography work.”
We settled that weekend. The terms are confidential. What I can tell you is what I said at the time: they said they’d rather spend half a million dollars on lawyers than pay me a cent. I’ll let you guess whether they ended up doing both.
What It Taught Me
People ask me sometimes how I ended up doing what I do — cannabis operations consulting, policy advocacy, testifying before state legislatures. The path from college photographer to Cannabis Wise Guys is not exactly linear. But it is connected.
That experience at 21 taught me something I carry into every room I walk into: a company with more money than you will use that money to make the problem go away. They will assume the math is on their side. They will assume you cannot afford to fight. And most of the time, they’re right — most people can’t.
I could not afford to fight either. I just couldn’t afford not to.
If I had folded that day — if I had looked at a federal lawsuit filed by a company worth orders of magnitude more than everything I owned and decided it wasn’t worth the trouble — I would have stopped standing for anything. That was not an option then. It is not an option now.
Why It Matters Now
Today, I run Cannabis Wise Guys, and a version of that same fight plays out across the cannabis industry every day. Large operators with capital advantages use those advantages to dominate markets that were designed to serve communities, not consolidate wealth. Small cultivators watch the rules get written in rooms they weren’t invited into. Operators who built real businesses from scratch get squeezed by companies whose primary competency is access to a balance sheet.
When I testify in front of state legislatures against market structures that protect incumbents at the expense of everyone else, I am doing the same thing I did when I was 21 — standing in a room where the money isn’t on my side and saying what I see anyway.
The Color Run dispute was never really about the photographs. It was about whether I was the kind of person who would back down when backing down was easier. I found out I wasn’t. Everything I’ve done since has been built on that answer.
If you’d like to read the original coverage, you can find articles from Fstoppers, PetaPixel, Runner’s World, and Broward Palm Beach New Times. The full interview I gave after the settlement is still on YouTube.