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2007 Chicago Marathon

Yes, it was hell, but a certain degree of hell was expected, so it wasn't *that* bad. Of course, I say that now, 24 hours later. Maybe it was that bad. I found the aid stations fully stocked, but apparently some later waves did not, and that would change my opinion considerably.

Some stats to illustrate:
45,000 registered
36,000 started
4,000 finished before the race was canceled, for the first time in its 30-year history.

I was one of them, and praise jebus for that. I can't tell you how pissed I would have been to have the cops block the course and tell me to walk (under threat of not recieving a medal), but that's what happened to many of the 20,000 people that followed me across the finish line. I've since received mixed reports...some were able to complete the race at their own pace without interference, while others were told to walk, even a 1/2 mile from the finish line.

There's a lot you probably heard from the news: it was 88 degrees with the heat index of 90ish, all of the city's ambulances were dispatched and they had to send more from the suburbs, 300+ people were treated or hospitalized, and somebody died. What you don't get is the surreal feeling of sitting at the finish line of a race and hearing NOTHING but ambulances in the background for an hour and a half. Seeing people who looked like experienced marathoners - maybe college athletes or triathletes - walking in packs, while it was still a race. Seeing "Official" pacers walking, target time signs still in hand, obviously well off the pace they are supposed to be leading.

As for the pace groups, those runners wear their targeted times on their backs, so they can all spot each other and stay together. Some people, maybe the 4:00 or 4:30 groups are probably optimistically hoping to achieve those times, but more experienced runners seem to know their abilities better. So when I saw pace tags all around me from 3:00 all the way up to 3:30, at first I thought these people were dreaming when they signed up for those tags...but then I realized, these are some very experienced marathoners, and they are all falling apart. I was hoping not to have to "do any math" on the course and just stick to a group, but I realized early that I couldn't trust anyone's signs, so Math it was. With that said, here's the breakdown.

Wake up

Weigh in at 151, drink 4 pounds of water and optimistically apply a temporary tattoo with my split times for a 3:10 finish.

The ride in

It's pitch black, but a sign on Clark already says 78 degrees. Not a good sign.

The start

Sometime I look at marathoners and other type-A amateur athletes and, to the tune of "Shiny Happy People" I think "Skinny Cranky People." I always thought the hardcore triathlete and marathon types were wound a little tight, and when I see myself like that, I try to loosen up, remind myself that this is what I do for fun. It doesn't usually work for very long. We're all wound up and ready to get sprung. We jostle, invade personal space, adjust our crap...at least at the head of the Open corral. I have to pee already, but I'm not giving up this spot. Through some serious organizer faux pas, they remove the corral gates and we all swarm up alongside the A and B groups. They couldn't have been happy about that. I was, because I crossed the line 2 minutes after the gun in a pack of fast runners, instead of 15 minutes back in a densely packed group of walkers.

Mile 1

I latched onto a tiny Russian-looking woman in a blue running two piece. She'd remarked at the start she was going for 3:10 so I thought I'd try to keep pace with her for kicks. We did the first mile in 7 minutes. Too fast, I know, but I was happy to get out of the crowd.

Mile 2

I hear the unmistakable sound of a porta-potty door slamming and jump off course for what seems like an eternal pee, giving me an 8 minute mile. Better pace, but I need to even it out to 7:29 miles to qualify for Boston (3:15:59). I know it's a longshot, especially for my first try, but some of my recent runs lead me to think I might be able to pull it off if everything goes right. "Everything" includes a temperature between 55 and 65, but what the hell.

Miles 3-5

I am feeling ok. Tense, but ok. I look ahead, see runners to draft, and pick them off, moving up in the pack without using too much energy. Occasionally someone picks me off, and I try to match their pace. Sometimes it works, but I let a lot of people go.

Miles 6-8

Oh, there's a city out there. I hear cheering, and while I thought I'd be soaking up the crowd experience on race day, I'm not. I've got tunnel vision, always trying to figure out who to pace, pick off, and let go. I'm vaguely aware of the cheerleading squads in drag and the raucous crowd. I'm fairly certain I was catcalled in Boys' Town.

Miles 9-12

This is starting to suck, but not as badly as I'd feared. I try to run and drink at the aid stations, and nearly swallow my own tongue. Note to self: drink while walking from here on out. Feeling good, a little plump from carbs and water, so I skip one of most frenzied aid stations and it feels nice to pick off a hundred people. My pace is slipping. I realize there's no way I'll make my Boston time, but keep fighting nonetheless.

Miles 13-15

Take a Gu packet at the midway point. Take a tootsie pop from a spectator and realize I'd forgotten to say thank you. Can't do that again. Starting to Glaze, the dirty cousin to Bonk. Surprising little hill coming west out of the loop. Rapid little baby steps over picks up a bunch of spots, then this wierd gait I invented on the downhill. It looks silly, but it feels so economical. Long, low strides, like I'm racewalking or about to do a triple jump. I'm sure I look retarded, like a slow-motion robot, but I pass bunches and cross the halfway point. 99 minutes in, and the run west is long, dull, and hot. There are some spectators that are trying hard despite the heat (viva mehico!) and a bunch of cheerleaders in from Libertyville suffering on a West side sidewalk. People are starting to look at us all like "What the %^# is wrong with these idiots?" I don't know myself.

Mile 16

Almost 2/3 done, and it's getting ugly. I officially fall 6 minutes behind my 3:10 split time. No Boston. Despite my tunnel vision, I miraculously spot Tresa and the kids, which was lovely for a moment. The look on the kids faces tells me I am not looking so good. It's what I'd expect them to look like if they saw me in a hospital bed. I put my iPod in one ear, one of my reserves. It doesn't help much.

Mile 17

The caffeinated Gu must have kicked in, because the long marching drums of Led Zeppelin's "How many more times" builds up, and despite knowing better, I let it take me on a 6:30 mile. I'm back in Boston by 45 seconds, though I know it can't last. I'll pay for it, but it feels so good, and it slingshots me a hundred spots ahead. I sprint past bunches of racers, a couple of them give me a "woo!" but mostly they probably think "THERE'S a guy that's going to the hospital." I ditch a ton of people I've been cat and mousing for miles, including 'yellow bike jersey guy' and 'runtri.com' guy and Celtic tattoo woman. For a long time, I was afraid to run fast in my training, thinking I'd pull something or have nothing in the tank later, or just plain die. I realized at some point that I was going to be miserable late in the run no matter what, so why not quit being scared? I think when I realized I wasn't making Boston time, I gave myself a lot more freedom to light it up.

Mile 18-20

Mile 18 has been marked wrong because it's at least twice as long as any I've done before. Mile 19 is even longer. I have a few mini iPod sprints again (Public Enemy), but Runtri.com guy catches me, and so does Celtic tattoo woman. Apparently my family is a few feet away, yelling at me, but I don't notice. I must be in Pilsen because there's a Mexican street party. I thought it would be more fun here, but it still sucks. Someone hands me a slab of orange and I want one eight feet tall, to slip inside it and get that cool tingly feeling over my entire body. A small woman in Mexican flag shorts asks me if we've hit 20 miles yet, and after pondering for a long time, I reply "I have no idea." Seconds later, we hit mile 20, and she ditches me up over a bridge.

Miles 20-22

Another iPod sprint through the turn in Chinatown (Prodigy or some such amphetamine-fueled 90's eurodisco), but they are getting shorter and harder to recover from. I choke back another Gu packet, but I know it won't help like the last one. I'm on a 3:24 pace, but moving backwards. Lots of concrete, the heat is starting to be a major factor. Up until now, I've been throwing down 1 gatorade and 2-3 waters at every aid station, plus 1-2 over my head, but I start to double everything. It's getting ugly. I start to see Official pacers walking, and after the aid stations, the rest of the crowd takes a lot longer to start running again.

It's worth mentioning that growing up in the South, I learned about one critical cooling element that you don't see much elsewhere: the dew rag. You can go to an athletic store and buy a $30 Coolmax breathable cap, but it ain't no dew rag. It should soak up water, it helps if it's white, and you should be able to stuff ice into it if need be. I used the cut-off short sleeve from a t-shirt, and around mile 22, I noticed the medical tent staff were running out on the course with handfuls of ice, so I loaded about a pound of it in my headband. This was especially nice because late in the race, the pre-filled water cups had been sitting in the sun, so we were gulping down hot water and splashing it over our heads, not exactly a refreshing experience. However, pouring it slowly into the icy dew rag gave me a freezing shower, and the ice lasted for miles.

Miles 22-23

The creeping leg pain that I've been trying to ignore since mile 18 has turned my legs into wood. Not solid, but the green sappy limbs that you see straining and bending in the wind: lots of effort, lots of resistance, little action. Many people are starting to pass me, but I get some satisfaction out of dropping lots of walkers. I just keep turning them over, in little steps that are getting smaller and slower. To say I regretted not taking ibuprofen with me would be the understatement of the year. I thought I'd shoot for a "natural" experience (nevermind the Gu and gatorade) but to hell with that. I'd take an epidural at this point.

I knew I would at some point (I did so a lot in training) but I was thinking about my mom turning a corner in mile 22. A couple things in particular: no matter how bad this was, it was my choice, and it couldn't compare to having chemo one, two, three times a month, or sometimes daily. How she'd keep track of the good days, the "ehh" days, and the bad ones. How a couple years ago, she was grateful for her 6-7 good days every month, and how later, she was happy with one good day in a month, even if was just an hour or two to go shopping or cook for her family. I thought, this SUCKS, no doubt, but it's a freaking race, for crying out loud. THAT really sucks, so quit bitchin' and finish up.

I also thought "why am I here doing this idiotic thing?" I am here because a tough, strong, amazing woman raised me and put me here. I almost lost it, but I thought about the fact that despite spending 11 of her last 15 years in treatment, I never saw her cry about it. I thought, I'll just redirect it to my legs. They need it more right now.

So FINISH this goddamned race.

Mile 24ish?

I zig up over a bridge and off in the distance, to the north, I see a banner above the street, the finish. I look at my watch. I have 9 minutes to make 3:30. No problem. I dig deep, not for a sprint, but for a decent pace. I pick off Mexican flag shorts girl for good. Celtic tattoo woman is stopped, bent over and heaving. I pass Runtri.com guy walking.

Mile 25

That wasn't the finish banner, it was an overpass with Marathon ads on it. I see the 40 km banner somewhere but I can't do the math anymore. My iPod is blaring "It's a long way to the top if you want to rock and roll" but it's not doing a damn bit of good, so I wind it up and put it away. I try to latch on to some runners who aren't going much faster than me, but I can't. It seems like dozens and dozens of shirtless men pass me. I am pissed, but I can't do anything. For the first time, I feel failure shadowing me. There's nothing left. I always finish my runs strong, but I can't today. I *look* like I'm running, but I don't seem to be going anywhere. For most of the day, for every ten people I passed, 1-3 would pass me and I would size them up and either let them go, or try and match them. Now.every.single.person.is.passing.me. I can't stop the bleeding.

Mile 26

Turn onto Columbus drive to find a disheartening hill. I pass a couple people, and a few, including a guy in a green shirt, pass me. My "quick little steps" climbing method isn't working anymore. Turn the corner after the hill and there's the true finish. Green shirt is 50 yards up on me, waving his hands to get the baked and depleted crowd to cheer a little harder, but they sound like they are over it. There are a dozen or so people between me and the line. I won't catch them all, but I must catch him. I build up and kick hard through the finish. I pick off a handful, including green shirt. The racers don't give a shit, but the crowd gives it up. That's how you make them cheer, green shirt.

Post

I got my medal, my superflous silver heat sheet, and two bags of ice. I tried my best to give a thumbs up for my "finisher" photo, and volunteers asked if I was ok. I had to think about it for a second, but I was. I saw a slew of people in wheelchairs, but a surprising number seemed to just change their shoes and walk off chatting on their cell phones about what to eat for lunch. I stumbled in a daze to a patch of grass. I felt stiff but fine, until I got a couple of excruciating cramps trying to kick off my shoes. I laid there immobilized in pain, thinking "what if they don't go away? I can't even reach my own phone." They went away. I could walk, but I couldn't manage stairs very well. I got back to my bike and was elated to discover that it didn't hurt to ride.

I tracked down Tresa and the kids near Buckingham fountain, laid in the shade, listening to the endless caravan of ambulances and the announcements every few minutes: "The 2007 LaSalle Bank Chicago Marathon is no longer a timed event. It is now a fun run." I thought there could not be a more ironic term. Insulting, even, to those who were still out there. A few minutes later: "The Marathon has been canceled and closed. All participants will be bussed to the finish."

I rode home, fast and pumped (though I could scarcely go up or down stairs). I weighed 146, nine pounds lighter in nine hours. My legs were stiff as hell, but when I saw that someone had died, and a handful were still in critical condition, I realized I wasn't that bad off. I attribute it all to the dew rag. (Just kidding. The training log was brutal: in the last month, I went from thinking about "just finishing" to "finishing fast" - Maximum effort 10k runs a few times a week, 1/4 mile and 1/2 mile sprint repeats, sub 6 minute 1-mile (treadmill) repeats, swim/run bricks, 5 open water half-mile swims every week, hill circuits, a 93 minute half marathon and a bike race. It wasn't, as Ella would put it, "Easy Peasy Lemon Squeazy.")

Post Script

The most important part of this race report is that I would not be able to do any of this if not for Tresa...putting up with the long runs, the stinky clothes, the scientific diet that severely diminished her appetite for my cooking, occasionally falling asleep at 8 (missing out on trash duty or cleaning up the house), and just letting me have some time to obsess over some idiotic athletic endeavor. So I guess I'm here because of two amazing women, and so a big chunk of this medal goes to her.

	5K	10K	15K	20K	HALF	25K	30K	35K	40K	FINISH
	0:23:43	0:46:31	1:10:05	1:34:16	1:39:29	1:58:51	2:25:38	2:54:07	3:22:44	3:34:38
Cumulative Pace:	7:38	7:28	7:31	7:36	7:36	7:39	7:49	8:01	8:10	8:11
Overall: 1333				Gender: 1117				Division: 210 (M 35-39)

UPDATE

The ranking information was emailed to at least one person when the race finished, and while it was pretty high, I didn't expect it to last because a lot of people could have come in behind me with better chip times. Plus, they seemed to pull all ranking information off the site a little later on race day. However, it's back again, and it looks like I did pretty well. The time I'd hoped for would have put me in the top 2,200-2,500 spots, so 1333rd (210th for men 35-39) is fine with me. I realize the rankings are not totally valid, but they should be valid against at least the first 4,000 runners who crossed the line before they started forcing some/all runners to walk. Plus I get to start in the "B" Corral next year!