The Chicago Marathon - A Run Unlike Any Other

As many of you know, this past Sunday, October 7, I participated in my second career marathon, the 30th running of the LaSalle Bank Chicago Marathon. Here is my story.

Race Day, 5:00 AM – I’ve been up for 15 minutes, eating a banana, a bagel with peanut butter, and drinking coffee and water. It’s my typical pre-run meal: banana, coffee and carbs. I sit looking out over downtown Chicago, thinking about the culmination of a tumultuous training period over the last 3 months, one in which I suffered a back injury, a bad fall, and finally a fever and sinus infection. I pinned my hopes on the fact that Chicago would be cooler than the Texas heat I trained in. Alas, as the day dawns, record high temperatures for Chicago are forecasted. I’m not surprised; it’s the way things have gone this summer.

6:15 AM – I’m leaving the lavatory for the third time this morning, recycling carbohydrates. If that’s any indication, it’s going to be a long day.

6:30 AM – One more trip to the lavatory to recycle my water and I’m out the door, walking to Grant Park for the 8:00 AM start of the race. I feel right at home…its 78 degrees, 86% humidity, just like College Station. Ringing in my mind is the fact that I’m going to START this marathon at 8:00 AM, roughly the same time I have FINISHED up my training runs all summer long. That doesn’t bode well for me.

7:30 AM – I’m in the start corral, my crew (Sara) waits outside the corral fence for the start. 45,000 people who have chosen to take vacation time, pay exorbitant hotel prices, and compete to the point of over exertion for the next 3-6 hours are packing in all around me. The variety of odors is horrific, as if I have chosen to start my race from inside a toilet bowl which is located inside an armpit which is sitting in a sauna. We better get going quickly before I pass out. A guy wearing nothing but a pink Speedo and running shoes just pushed his way beside me. Whoa, that Speedo is riding up way too high in the back. I’m just glad I didn’t see him from the front. I’d have quit on the spot.

7:40 AM – Jo Dee Messina belts out the national anthem and chills race up and down my back. I know it’s not the cold weather so it must be my patriotic pride. I love hearing that anthem sung. The race announcer lets everyone know the wheelchair division will be leaving at 7:55 AM, 5 minutes before the rest of us. For once, it would be great to be in a wheelchair…those folks finish in about 1 ½ hours. Oh well, I plan to finish in a little over 4 hours and those folks have overcome a lot more than I have…they deserve to finish quicker than me.

7:55 AM – I stuff my Ipod head phones into my ears. It’s about to be go time. I’m feeling good, hyped up, will feel a whole lot better when I get away from this foul smell. My water and coffee have run through me and I need to use the bathroom but once I get going, I’ll probably forget about it for a while.

8:00 AM – The race is underway, I trot to the start line with 45,000 other runners. It’s going to be a good day. Hope there is a bathroom stop coming up soon.

8:05 AM – As the expression goes, I need to “pee like a racehorse”. I’m not sure how far I can make it. Many of my fellow runners are pulling off underneath overpasses and going on the walls but I saw one of them re-directed back onto the course by a police officer who looked none to thrilled and stopped him “mid-stream” so to speak. I guess I’ll wait until the first port-a-john stop.

8:10 AM – I’m over a mile in and I am going to wet my pants. Still no restroom in sight.

8:30 AM – I’m beside myself now. Every stride is agony on my bladder. I pass the first water station. I know I need to hydrate but hydrating is the last thing on my mind right now. I take water and Gatorade anyway.

8:45 AM – Finally a port-a-john stop. I’m not planning on winning this race so stopping to use the bathroom is of no consequence to me and my time. I pull off, only to find out the port-a-johns are all full. Out of desperation, I go on the shrubs behind the port-a-johns. I feel much better…now I can run in earnest.

9:30 AM – I’m in my rhythm now, feeling good. We are running along Lake Michigan. The only draw back is that for a city known as the “Windy City”, nary a gust off the lake to cool us down. It’s pretty hot but I’m feeling good here at about the 7 mile mark.

9:45 AM – I’m somewhere passed the 8 mile mark and I’m in trouble. I have already had to walk. As we ran north along the lake, the sun to our east beat down on us since there were no downtown buildings to shade it. It sapped my energy immediately. I’m thinking, how many more miles do I have? Already, I have revised my finishing goal to 5 hours. It could be a long day.

10:30 AM – I’m somewhere around the half way point. I just passed my brother in law who is observing the proceedings from the crowd while my sister in law also runs. Somewhere next to my brother in law is my lovely bride, whom I’m sure is worried. I shout to him to tell everyone not to worry about me, it’s going to be a slow day today.

11:30 AM – I’m in a full on walk now. I’m somewhere around the 15 mile mark. The water stations are nuts with people cramming in to get water, Gatorade, ice, whatever. I’m starting to see a few people here and there stepping off the course and collapsing. Medical personnel look busy. Since 10:30 AM, I’ve walked quite a bit, passed a guy dressed like a woman, passed Elvis singing (who knew he’s alive in Chicago), and pass two rather feminine looking men running together with shirts that designate them as “Thing 1” and “Thing 2”. Scary. I start running again.

11:45 AM – I will find out later that my sister in law just finished. She’s also scary…scary fast.

12:00 PM – I feel a pat on my back. My brother, who has also come to Chicago to observe this spectacle, is jogging along side of me, asking me how I’m doing. I’m around the 17 mile mark. It makes me feel good to know that I am walking and he has to jog to keep up with me. Hey, in this heat, I’m looking for little victories. I tell him I’m fine but to let every one know I’m not going to finish much before 5 ½ hours.

12:30 PM – My 5 ½ hour goal is much in doubt. I’m walking entirely now, no more running. All around me, people are walking, talking on cell phones. I’m told the race has been canceled, one person is dead, and hundreds are in the hospital and being treated for heat exhaustion. Rumor is that there are no more medical personnel available to assist. That’s trouble considering all around me, people step off the course and collapse. Policemen on the course are on their radios, telling the runners the race has been canceled and that they should pull off at the next aid station and buses will take them back to the start. I’ve come too far to quit now. All those 4:00 AM runs, all summer long, in 95% humidity in College Station! I’m not pulling off now unless someone arrests me. I make one final revision to my time goal: forget 5 ½ hours, just finish, alive.

1:00 PM – I am passed by a guy running in a full body Elvis suit, made out of what looks to be cotton, wearing a black wig. With the humid conditions, think wet t-shirt contest gone horribly wrong. How he’s still running, I have no idea. Who knew Elvis was in such great shape?

1:15 PM – I walk past cotton body suit Elvis, who has stopped on the side of the course and is bent over. I don’t actually see him throwing up, but that’s my guess. I’ve got two miles to go. I spend part of the next two miles talking with a guy from Indiana. It’s his first, and according to him, last marathon. I try to encourage him to try one at a cooler time of year but, if I was him and it was my first, I’d feel the same way. For the last 10 miles, every fire hydrant has been open, blowing water onto the course for runners to cool themselves. Water stations are running low on Gatorade and water, aid stations are packed full of heat exhausted folks. The course is a mess, between the fire hydrants and collapsed runners. On a small scale, I think it looks like New Orleans after Katrina.

1:45 PM – The end is in sight. I can hear the crowds cheering at the finish line. I start to run, stiff legged, but as full on a run as possible after 26 miles. The last 0.2 miles are very enjoyable as I cross the finish line. I have finished in 5:47:02, 21,972 out of approximately 45,000, about 20,000 of whom did not finish. I feel fortunate to have finished, alive, on my own two feet. A smiling race volunteer puts a finisher’s medal around my neck and congratulates me on a job well done.

1:55 PM – You see and do a lot of crazy things when you run a marathon. As I receive my finisher’s medal, I walk past a table with bottled water. It’s been sitting out and is a lukewarm. I pass a table with bananas and grab one of those. On my way to leave the race area, I pass a station handing out beer. It’s ice cold. I’ve run 26.2 miles and I’m drinking warm water, eating a banana, sipping a cold beer. What a memorable experience, one I will not soon forget!

I want to take this opportunity for some thank yous. First, I thank the Lord that I am here today, that I finished the race, and that I can look back on it as a memorable experience in a good way. For many people, it did not turn out that way. Second, I want to thank my lovely wife. She made as many sacrifices as I did this summer, giving up family time, shouldering more of a burden with our son so that I could run and rest. Sara, I couldn’t have done it without you. I also thank little Sam, who gave up time with Dad so that Dad could prepare for this run. As many of you know, I ran as a charity runner for the American Cancer Society and raised money for that organization so third, I thank those of you that donated on my behalf. The one thing that kept me pushing to finish was the knowledge that those we know who have had cancer or still have cancer have gone through a battle much more difficult than my 6 hours in the heat. They are the true winners and I thank you for your partnership with me in raising money to beat that disease. Finally, I thank all of you that prayed for me, supported me and encouraged me throughout the training and over the race weekend. Your support means so very much.

I’m already looking ahead to the next marathon. I don’t know which one I’ll do next but I’m sure that no matter which one it is, it will never be as memorable as this one, a once in a lifetime experience.