I have gone from a 6.3 mile "long run" to finishing my first marathon in a mere five months. It's been a long journey of the soul, not to mention a journey on my feet. Along the way I have:
- worn out a pair of shoes
- bought a second pair of identical shoes and put over 100 miles on those
- suffered some IT band pain on both legs, though never simultaneously
- pinched a nerve in my left foot
- visited doctors twice
- taught myself that pain is relative, and in my case, transient
- found a determination in myself I haven't known
- developed a deeper gratitude for the three most important people in my life: Ellen, Alex, and Mark
- accomplished something that can never be taken away
Yes, I finished my first marathon yesterday. I had hoped to finish it in less than 4 hours. Things went sour very early in the race. Around 5K (3.1 miles), my left IT band flared up and my pace crashed from 8-9:00/miles to 11, 15, even 20 minutes/mile at one point. I walked a great deal of the course, with intermittent jogs. I iced the injury around mile 7 (in Lakeview, where a very kind man let me use his cell phone to call Ellen and tell her what was going on), and a little later tore up my hand towel to improvise a support strap that did a little good, but not what I needed. Around Mile 14 or so, I stopped at another medical tent and got some tape and that was better, but I was in some pretty bad pain. Later, some kind spectator was handing out ibuprofen and Dixie cups of water. God bless her.
The spectators were wonderful hosts, with their encouraging words, their funny signs ("Channel your inner Kenyan," "Free beer in 15 miles," and "You're all crazy" were among my favorites), and their wonderful patience with this huge interruption to the city's routine. Lincoln Park and Old Town were beautiful with their streets canopied with trees. At the westernmost point of the course, near Damen and Jackson, I saw a short block of absolutely gorgeous traditional row homes, and on either side of that block was much more modern and stark Malcolm X College and a grittier commercial area. Of all the neighborhoods, I loved Pilsen the most, I think. The neighborhood's vibrancy, the residents spraying us down with their garden hoses (many people along the way did this), and the loud, frenetic music kept my hope alive. Chinatown, too, didn't disappoint. I saw two people wearing dragon heads, and I knew I was getting close to the State St.-35th St.-Michigan Av. turnaround. I knew I was getting close to the end.
The volunteers and the workers for Chicago Events Management who made sure we could get our fluids, our bananas, our Power Gels, and then raked all the cups and debris off the streets so we wouldn't slip on them--I'm so touched by their effort, their enthusiasm, and their dedication. I couldn't thank them enough, and I am so happy they were there for the 45,000 loonies out there on a hot Sunday, doing something that only a nut would think to do.
I started in a "seeded corral," meaning I was in the first 9,000 or so runners of the 45,000 in the race. My injury took me so far off-pace, that I took my pace time tag off my shirt and gave it to a kid on the sidelines as a souvenir. I was the only seeded runner I saw for most of the race (though I'm sure I wasn't the only one who crashed).
One wheelchair athlete who I saw first around LaSalle and Goethe (near the church where Ellen and I were married) wore a shirt that said, "Start slow and then taper off." With my own delays and surges, he passed me a couple of times. Wheelchair marathoners are my greatest heroes, and this guy especially. Not only did he have severely atrophied legs, he was in a plastic neck brace, and I assume he had suffered a broken neck that led to his chairbound existence. Yet instead of counting his opportunities missed by his injury, he embraced the challenge and did the marathon himself--at his own pace.
Going down Ashland from Little Italy towards Pilsen, my friend Tom drove up, rolled down his window, and yelled, "Run, you fatass!" I can't believe he found me (granted, I was wearing my day-glo orange shirt, so once you're in my vicinity, I'm pretty visible--and for the record, that line is an old joke in his family). He coordinated with Ellen who was getting data on my progress from her mother and predicted where I was. At another point, he jogged alongside me for a block or so (in a sweatshirt and jeans in 85 degree heat). He surprised me again around mile 25, where I was walking, fearing any more pain in my knee, and he gave me the inspiration to run it in. So I did. I ran it in as hard as I could, pain be damned.
Michael, a physical therapist I know, found me in my foil blanket, looking for a medic, and he got my knee iced and chatted with me about other runners we know from the Dick Pond group we've run with this past year.
My official race results, by checkpoints as indicated in the picture above:
5K: 0:27:15
10K: 1:00:01
15K: 1:49:51
20K: 2:31:31
13.1 miles: 2:40:23
25K: 3:19:32
30K: 4:02:53
35K: 4:42:16
40K: 5:19:21
FINISH: 5:34:26
I did it. With the support of Ellen, the patience and understanding of my two wonderful kids, and the support of countless organizers and volunteers, I did it. Corny as it sounds, they're the wind beneath my wings. I'm so full of gratitude today, I'm at the brink of tears.
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