26.2

I should have posted this earlier than Thursday night/Friday morning, but it took a while to write. I'd like to recount the events of Sunday morning...

After a somewhat restless sleep, Jeff and I awoke to our cellphone alarms at around 5:30. We both went about our preparations, walking around Jeff's half-lit apartment like ghosts. I had some cereal and a banana for breakfast, and after dressing and lacing up, Jeff's parents (who were in town for the weekends) wished us well and we went to catch the train.

There were runners on the train platform, more on the train, and larger volumes on the streets, tributaries and rivers joining to seek the ocean at Grant Park. We probably arrived at the park a bit past 7:00 and milled around for a bit. We made one last pit stop at the wall of port-o-lets and then headed for the 8:00 minute pace section, stretching along the way.

Once we had settled on a starting spot, any nervousness kind of melted away. It was replaced by the simple knowledge that I would be running for a long time and that running is something I am okay with. It was a very festive atmosphere, music playing over the loudspeakers and runners getting loose. There was a sense of belonging. Running a marathon might have been a crazy idea, but I was surrounded by people who were just as crazy as me. At least as far as running was concerned, these were my brothers and sisters.

The announcer came over the speakers to start the wheelchair participants, then the elite marathoners. Around 8:00, the line began to move forward and we began our march towards the starting line.

Jeff and I crossed the line and began jogging. And although we weren't thinking about it, the chips on our shoelaces activated and began their communication with some computer somewhere, recording our split times.

Let me start by saying that the first ten miles were great fun. We made casual conversation, Jeff pointing out notable Chicago sites as we weaved through the crowds (which weren't all that bad where we were). We were both in high spirits. Jeff threw a cup of water in my face at one of the initial water stops and when we saw our families at mile five I felt moved to blow them theatrical kisses. This sort of activity was maybe a bit naive considering the distance we had left to run, but we were at least enjoying ourselves. Also, during this first section of the race, I believe I logged my 500th mile of running for the year. Yikes.

After taking the first few miles pretty slow due to the heavier traffic, we settled into a nice rhythm, maybe a shade under 8:00 per mile. I was feeling very good and said as much to Jeff after we had gotten the first two of miles under our feet. He laughed because of how early in the race I was saying this, but my point was that in the last month or so, something in my legs, be it the knees or ankles, was usually in some level of discomfort even after a short distance. That wasn't the case Sunday, all systems were "go". Anyhow, by the halfway point, we were both cruising and on pace to hit 3:30.

I should mention here that the fans were incredible. I have always liked Chicago, the sprawling metropolis that retains a Midwestern charm, but after the 2008 marathon it will always have a special place in my heart. The marathon's slogan was "twenty-nine neighborhoods, one world class race" and the course indeed provided a good tour of the different areas of the city and their personalities. The one thing that was consistent was the enthusiasm from the spectators. Countless people lined the course, shouting, cheering, waving. Speakers were put in windows and pumped past advisable volume levels. A saw a guy with a garden hose in his front lawn, offering water to anyone who wanted some. There were cheerleading teams who sang to the runners. Paper dragons were held aloft in Chinatown.

Most impressive were the abundant handmade signs. A few of my favorites:
Chafe now, brag forever!
You are all Kenyans in my eyes. (there were a bunch of signs based on this general theme)
Your feet hurt because you're kicking so much ass!

The fans also provided encouragement and a sort of accountability as the race began to get tougher. After the halfway point Jeff and I both started to tire and became much less talkative. He at one point told me to go on ahead, though slowing down a little seemed much more appealing than forging on without an ally. However, we lost each other at one of the next water stops, probably between miles 16 and 17. I wouldn't end up seeing him until much later in the day.

Wayne had remarked maybe a month ago that I might find it challenging in the marathon to be running without music, since I had my iPod with me on most of my long training runs. At the time I figured that there would be enough external stimuli during the event to keep me pumped up, and while that was mostly true, Wayne made a good point. The running was definitely easier when I would pass by a band or a soundsystem (Icky Thump and Uptown Girl were highlights), though these occurrences were less frequent than the water stops. I guess the point of this paragraph is just that I really like music.

So I was less than ten miles from the finish line and feeling a bit overwhelmed. No Jeff, scarce amounts of music, and really I had no idea exactly where I was.

Also, I was getting tired. The Power Gel distribution zone at mile 18 was a welcome sight and this time I had no problem ingesting said substance. I needed it. I began changing my behavior a bit too. After generally alternating between water and Gatorade at the handout locations, I started making sure I snatched cups of both, and walked through the stops to make sure I was getting all of it into my body (and to try and reassure my flagging spirit). I tried to stride out and push any pain into the recesses of my mind, and for a while I think it worked, though it soon became too real to just ignore.

From the 20 mile mark onward, a lot of my memories run together. The night before the race I had written my donors' names down my arm. I tried to devote a minute or so of thought/prayer each mile for a particular donor (there were 27, which was convenient), but at this point it was difficult to read from my sweaty arm, concentrate enough to think about anything besides the race, or even to do the math to find out whose name belonged to the current mile. Bananas made their appearance around mile 20, cut into easily opened sections. This was a welcome development, but my water breaks became increasingly drawn out. I had started the race cheerfully hopping on any nearby non-crushed empties, but now just walked disheveled through the fields of discarded cups, with more of an effort required each time to start running again. At one point I halted my progress for a bathroom break, more because I wanted a rest than out of necessity. I also tried stretching for a few seconds, but it was a halfhearted attempt and I didn't want to lose much time, so I kept going.

By the time I reached the 22-23 mile range, I had slowed down significantly. The course made one of its last turns onto Michigan Avenue, a grueling, nearly three mile stretch. My feet felt like shredded tires and once in a while my left quad felt as if it were starting to seize (this was a very unfamiliar pain). I don't recall ever feeling that broken. I tried translating the remaining distance into lengths that I was familiar with back home, but it still felt so distant, like the finish line was one I would asymptotically approach but never reach.

I began taking short breaks to walk, just because. There couldn't have been many of these and they couldn't have lasted for very long, but I really don't remember. Despite all of the logic and motivation remaining in my brain telling me how sweet it would feel after the race if I just kept running, there were times it felt impossible. And I was by no means the only one that had slowed to a stroll. It had by this time become a very hot day in Chicago. The one thing that I was able to repeatedly use to get my feet running again was the almost primal need I felt to get past the line in under four hours.

And somehow, the remaining mileage kept dropping, from four, to three, to two (though the encouraging shouts of the spectators sometimes conflicted as to the exact amount). Around this time, a runner nearby called out, "okay boys, shuffle it in," which at least got me to smile. I kept shuffling, almost oblivious to the growing number of spectators (this was truly the homestretch).

I was walking as I saw that the course was about to turn off of Michigan Avenue onto a slight incline. If I had studied the map more closely beforehand, I would have been aware that I was about to hit 26 miles. At any rate, I felt that I should try to run up the hill, so I picked my feet up and made the turn. I am glad I did because halfway up I caught sight of my family (I must have looked like a shell of my mile 5 self). As the road crested, the course made a 90 degree left and I turned to see the red finish banner and nothing between me and it but a gentle downward slope.

I think my face must have visibly brightened when I saw this. I looked around at my fellow runners, as if to say, "look, there it is, the finish line does actually exist!" I crossed the line at 3:53 and tried to manage a cool pose, but it probably didn't work.

So I had finished the marathon, but the finishing runners were encouraged to keep moving. As I walked I collected the following items: bottled water, a banana, a bagel, my medal, a strawberry cereal-type bar, and a bag of ice (which I placed on my head cause I saw others doing the same). For those who felt cold rather than hot, volunteers were passing out those silver emergency blankets.

I found a spot on the curb and watched people walk by as I ate my bagel (this took around twenty minutes). There were times I felt close to breaking down emotionally, and had I seen a familiar face I probably would have lost it. After finishing the bagel I stood back up (it should be noted that standing and sitting were now Herculean tasks), took a moment to make sure I had my balance, and kept walking. Past the runner equipment drop-off tent, past the fire engine that was spraying a cooling mist, until I finally reached the G-H kiosk at Butler Field, site of the after race party. I sat in the grass, with a view of the Chicago skyline, and continued to eat.

At one point I felt I should make an effort to stand up again. After doing so, I found myself back on the ground a few seconds later, with only a vague recollection of the intervening moments. Now, going in, if I had known I would have walked short sections at the tail end of the race, I probably would have been a little disappointed. But the fact that I nearly blacked out was a good indication that I left it all on the course, as the saying goes. I decided to keep sitting, even when my parents and sister arrived a couple of minutes later. They understood.

We shared some nice family time as I continued to not move, besides shifting the ice pack to different parts of my body. I told them about the race and they shared the experience of being spectators (which sounded pretty entertaining). Eventually Jeff's parents found us, but there was no sign of Jeff. It was not until I took the train back to his apartment (when my family and I parted ways) that I saw him. He had evidently come in about 12 minutes after me, and had been whisked off to 20 minutes of pampering by concerned aid volunteers after he showed some signs of fatigue after crossing the line. I am 100% sure there were people that needed assistance more than Jeff, but it made for a good story.

Back at the apartment, Jeff and I happily swapped tales for a while. I then showered, wolfed down some Quizno's that his parents brought back for us, and packed my belongings so that I could make my way to the Goetschs. I said my goodbyes and walked to the CTA station wearing my medal, like a giddy, satisfied dork.

So the statistics: I ran 26.2 miles in 3:46:37 (my true "chip" time based on when I crossed the starting line). Out of 31,401 finishers, I placed 4047th (which is hard to take in fully because I did not at all feel like I was that close to the "front" of the race). I am happy as a clam with how things turned out and glad I committed back in the younger days of 2008 to this experience. I am sure in the days and months ahead I'll be able to reflect more on the marathon, but for now I am content to have run well and finished. Marathon complete.