Chicago Marathon

What I learned from running my first marathon.

I competed in the 2010 Bank of America Chicago Marathon, which was my first marathon.  First and foremost, it was a fantastic race and the crowd support and volunteers are amazing.  Any thanks or congratulations should be extended to all of them because without their support, the race would have thousands fewer runners and far less finishers.   As I saw across many banners, you are no longer a runner, you are a marathoner.  However, it should also be noted that one banner stated that “Chuck Norris cannot say he is a marathoner.”  In addition to those, other funny signs of runners or spectators included one guy that stated “Eyes up here ladies” across the top of his back, and two women who had “Six weeks ago this seemed like a good idea…”  In considering these, people often ask what drives people to decide to run a marathon, to punish ourselves for twenty six plus miles.  Terms such as “chicked”, “pronate”, “kt tape” and “foam roller” all become part of our daily conversations.  Before I get to the race though, let us look at the trip…

It all started with Kansas City International Airport.  Interestingly enough, TSA officials apparently find the following, among others, to be anomalies in a carryon bag:

1. Entire roll of duct tape;
2. Empty zip lock bags of varying size;
3. Gauze (like one would use to put chloroform on);
4. KT Tape
5. Very thin gloves
6. Vaseline
7. Nipple protectors

Based on these items, it is not surprising I was one of the randomly selected travelers for bag inspection.  I have never been inspected quite as closely as I was after Shirley began rifling through my bag.  I am pleased to announce that I had no bomb making ingredients on myself or anywhere throughout my bag.  I was also delighted that Shirley had a very tender touch, not anything like a jack hammer operator, while she frisked me for any other “contraband.”  She was not convinced with my explanation that duct tape prevents blisters and that the gauze is cut to squares to prevent duct tape from becoming a permanent fixture of my body.  Clearly, Shirley is not a runner.  In considering this, it is obvious that she thought I was likely a felon on a spree.  I had to resist the urge to tell her to be careful with my Brooks Ghost 3 shoes because that would surely provide an opportunity for me to go behind a closed door for a more thorough review.

After Shirley and I exchanged numbers and parted ways, I headed to the gate.  Not surprisingly, the gate was changed, but thankfully I would not have to go through security again.  Upon my arrival, I decided to take the orange line instead of a cab.  This was my first opportunity to help others that do not often travel to cities with trains.  I assisted three women in acquiring the tickets and finding the appropriate stop for their hotel.  They were all running the marathon, and provided advice on what I could expect.  Once I reached the hotel, I decided to go for a quick jog to see how my leg would hold up.  I had been nursing an injury for several weeks and was not sure how it would react.  My jog did not go successfully and this was the first I began to believe the marathon may not go as easily as I hoped.

The expo was held several miles away and in an attempt to conserve energy I took a school bus, which was provided free of charge to the expo.  Included at the expo were Oompa-Loompas, two men dressed up as gorillas, and one dressed up as monkey.  Dean Karnezes was there signing autographs and various tents with goodies were also around.  The horde of people making their way towards packet pickup and the t-shirts was overwhelming, but considering the number of runners the next morning, this was a light number of people.   Either way, it must have been terrifying to be a vendor in a tent, especially one of the first tents that had posters.  Free posters people, out of my way.  I watched an elderly person, no doubt one that passed me in less than twenty four hours, get mowed down like a running back that gets between Ray Lewis and the quarterback.  The other big site was Nike and the “Wall.”  The “Wall” contained everyone who was signed up for the run.  At first, I acted too cool to care about seeing my name on the board, but quickly turned juvenile and shoved people out of my way in an attempt to take a picture of…my name on a damn board?  It may seem ridiculous, but I was proud my name was there, among 45,000 others who would become my friends over the next day.

After departing the expo, I and my running partner, Heather, headed to dinner to “carb up.”  Heather’s mother, Pam, made a great dinner including spaghetti, a lasagna mix, and garlic bread.  All of it was extremely tasty and I enjoyed talking about the insanity that would occur the next day.  Finally, we departed back to downtown for some well needed rest.  Of course we first had to ensure that everything was properly laid out and ready for the next day.  I had approximately twenty items on my checklist, but based on the projected weather, many of the items would not be needed.

After a restless night’s sleep, race day had finally arrived.  Getting dressed and prepared makes me think of Jiffy Lube.  There is a lot of checking of the different systems, digestive (not good), respiratory (elevated), endocrine (hormones were higher than a teenager), immune (no hints of anything wrong), muscular (beginning to tighten faster than a waistband after Thanksgiving dinner), nervous system (see digestive system that was ‘not good’), skeletal system (bones all seem to be in the proper place), and urinary system (I feel like an eighty year old with an overactive bladder that just polished off his twelfth beer).  After checking and rechecking, I applied copious amounts of Vaseline to places most civilized people would never consider, attached the wristband representing my goal pace, my watch, and applied KT Tape much like a child would to a “booboo”.  Finally, I grabbed my XXL long sleeve t-shirt and an empty wide mouth Gatorade bottle that may prove useful in the corral.  According to multiple runners, a wide mouth Gatorade bottle can be used as a urinal and the XXL t-shirt apparently provides a cloak of invisibility to all runners who may happen upon my aforementioned eighty year old bladder.  After nearly thirty minutes of prep, we were ready to race.  Okay, not race, but we were damn sure ready to walk slowly to the start corral, where we would check and recheck everything all over again. 

Leaving the hotel looked like lower Manhattan in the movie Independence Day.  Mass hysteria was everywhere with people making their way towards the start.  As I told Heather, if I were ambitious, which I am not, I would start my own rickshaw business during the marathon.  You can get exercise while avoiding the streets and force runners off the road…you know, like someone with a stroller that evidently owns that entire sidewalk.  Every time I run in Kansas City I re-enact the scene from Footloose where I play chicken with the stroller.  And every time, Kevin Bacon (aka the stroller) forces me off the side of the sidewalk as I secretly scold myself for being a pussy.  Admit it, I have the Footloose music now firmly in your head…either way, I digress.  Once we walked through Millenium Park we began to understand the gravity of the situation.  Thousands of people were everywhere, most of who did not have the look of sheer terror on their faces like I did.  This is noticeable in the picture a camerawoman took of Heather and I pre-race.  Heather looks calm and composed while I look like I might have just had an accident, and not in my Gatorade bottle. 

We quickly made our way toward the open corral, but stopped at the restroom one last time.  The lines for the porta-potties were lengthy, with various shapes of people stretching, talking, and otherwise occupying their minds from the coming hours.  Eventually, after the poorest selection of lines to stand in, we were close to the front.  Regrettably, the man in front of us came out shouting that there was no toilet paper.  His wife quickly reached in her bag and provided him some.  This is another example of how women are far more prepared for things, whether it is resources prior to a marathon, or a nuclear arms race.  Most people looked like they were considering grabbing some leaves before going.  We watched the man disappear behind the blue door again for what seemed like an eternity.  Relativity is a funny thing as the time standing in the line would seem very short to the hours ahead.  Mercifully, we were now prepared for the race.  Everyone had their iPods on, bibs ready and muscles loosened.  Before we knew it we heard those great words “The Chicago Marathon is underway!” 

Quickly we realized that many men decided to ignore the porta-potties and reaching the bridge on Columbus Drive, men everywhere lined the walls to relieve themselves.  Modesty is out the window at this point…  Miles one through four were extremely uneventful, with only the rising temperature as a memory.  The term “unseasonably warm” will, from that day forward, send me into a near psychotic state.  How the hell is Chicago going to have an 87 degree day in October?  The alert level was still at the green level, but yellow was fast approaching.  We first saw “Sma’s Crew” around mile 4, along with other friends of Heather’s.  Heather’s family was all sporting lime green t-shirts with “Sma’s Crew” across the front.  It had to be very exciting for Heather to see the support shown by her family.  We happily glided along through downtown Chicago.  Around mile 8 I noticed my first issue, my KT Tape, was starting to release from my leg.  Why had I shaved my leg so it would stick if 8 miles in it already started to peel away?  While this, to most people, is not dramatic, I began to question why the universe was out to get me.  I was convinced my foot was being held on exclusively by the KT Tape only.  I should have recognized the error in judgment pre-race by using the Rock Tape with skulls and crossbones on it.  That tape instantly makes me a badass, but I did not bring scissors (KT Tape is pre-cut) as this would have made Shirley at the TSA even more “thorough.”  I rationalized that this was not a big issue through the tears welling up in my eyes.  I asked Heather how she was doing which she happily returned a “fine, you?”  I was able to manage a shrug, but realized at this point that I should feel far better knowing I still had eighteen miles ahead.

We ran through several aid stations and had perfected the art of running with water.  It was probably comical watching some of us at aid stations who treated our cup of water like a grenade.  By mile 9 I was beginning to think that I was not getting the liquid that I needed.  The next few miles went along without issues and we saw “Sma’s Crew” again at mile 11.  There was a lot of screaming and yelling, which was beneficial in pushing us along.  We continued to run pleasantly until the half marathon mark.  This is when, as Heather once told me, we are in the woods and there are two paths.  I took the path that nose dived into hell, while Heathers was more of a glide.  Past the mile 14 marker and next aid station, I begrudgingly gave Heather her GU’s and she ran on.  I decided to take a quick walk break, get some fluids into my system, and then see after a mile or so if I could catch her.  Funny right?  I walked through that aid station and then started out again, albeit at a much slower pace. 

By this point my systems were shutting down quicker than a guy when asked by his girlfriend “where is this relationship going?”  I felt a twinge in my calf, where my pre-race injury resided, around mile 16 followed by a tingling feeling at mile 17.  At mile 18 my hamstrings and calves began to cramp which I am sure is always an interesting site from behind.  After stretching and moving even slower, I received some much needed relief from AccelGel at mile 19.  This stuff is like crack for a runner.  Aside from my shoes sticking to the asphalt from the packets (I still question whether it was the chocolate or the fact we were essentially running on the sun), I took one to see what would happen.  I should point out that I had not trained with Gatorade, GU’s or anything but water, electrolyte caps, and Stingers (energy gels).  The caffeine from the AccelGel turned me into Hammy from Over the Hedge, and I took off like a bolt.  The term like a bolt may be an exaggeration, but I was definitely moving faster than what I had been.  Mile 19 got me back on the path toward my goal and for a moment, I thought I might still have an outside shot at finishing close to goal.  Unfortunately, I was the victim of what I believe were multiple gunshot wounds at mile 20.  I am not taking this lightly as I have never been shot, but feel the pain is somewhat similar.  All around me everything started moving a lot faster and I was looking for the sniper that just took me out.  My calves and hamstrings were very tight and even the slightest walk irritated them more than a woman getting a poor response to a question like “does this make my ass look fat?”  I tried to stretch and then run again, but my lower half was working on a different frequency than everything else.  I walked, fast-walked (think the mall during holiday season), and jogged a bit through mile 21 and then ran from mile 21 to mile 22.  Sadly, I was starting to feel pain in spots I was not sure were part of my body.  I was relatively certain that my pinkie toe was on the verge of falling off and I was equally convinced that the gunshot wound had left shrapnel in my ass, which explained why it was dragging behind me. 

Mile 22 and 23 were much of the same, I jogged at a pace that was similar to watching a slow motion re-enactment.   I played leap frog with a woman that had on plaid shorts for those miles.  I would pass her while she would walk, then she would pass me.  Clearly, I was going to need to end her race in the near future so as not to get “chicked” for the 12,000^th time in the race.  But at that point, all things seem not to matter.  I struggled even entertaining the simplest thought, like “where the hell am I?”  All I knew for certain was that I started to become extremely paranoid.  It started as a thought about how crazy I must be for doing this.  However, that quickly turned to how crazy all the other people must be.  If there are 20,000 people (I guessed that 25,000 people were far ahead of me) behind me that would intentionally do this to themselves, what the hell would they do to me?  I quickly moved to the far side of the street expecting a person to lose their mind and stab me in back, choke me, or tackle me Terry Tate, Office Linebacker, style.  But I believe my paranoia was resolved when an angry mob of people swarmed some poor stupid bastard in the crowd that yelled “You’re almost there, only three more miles…”  Clearly this person was a complete idiot.  Spectator 101 states “never tell a person they are almost there.”  The last three miles felt like it had taken at least a month and the thought of three more was verging on the comical.

Mile 23 through 24 was much of the same, just trying to slowly put one foot in front of another.  Once I made it to mile 25 I decided to jog a little faster to see what worked.  I noticed for the first time my Garmin was apparently not working because I was moving at warp speed, but it indicated I was going at an 11:20 pace.  What the hell? Could this be right?  After I accepted warp speed of 11:20 was legit, I noticed that most people were running.  The idea of a little more than one mile away was too overwhelming and thus we began our final push toward the mirage that was the finish line. 

Towards the end of the race, you begin chatting with anyone to take your mind off how badly you feel.  I met a man who had run the Chicago Marathon seven times.  This and the “fun run” year were the only two he crashed at.  I met a man who said it was hotter than his hometown of Dallas and that his calves have quit working.  He told me he had simply lost the spirit to fight.  And I met a woman from Arlington that was also completing her first marathon.  She was questioning her sanity and at one point, I thought about reaching out to see if she was real.  But the amazing spectators, which numbered in the thousands near the finish, made all other things immaterial.  This was when I made one of my dumbest moves of the day, but one I would do over and over again.  While all others kept their heads down and pumped away, I ran over to the crowd and gave them high fives and thanked many of them.  They obviously thought a lunatic had entered the final half mile and I was lucky I was not tackled by event security.  However, they cheered even louder.  They had stood out in the hot sun for hours to see people run, which is like watching paint dry.  That they were there was awe inspiring, but the fact they were screaming and cheering for people they did not know was a sign of how spectacular the marathon is.  I turned the last corner, and in my opinion, looked like Michael Johnson striding down the final stretch.  I crossed the line gave some woman I did not know a hug, gave a guy a high five and went on my next journey to get my medal.

I found Heather and her family and we exchanged stories and showed our battle wounds from the day.  Most revolved around a blister that virtually took up a quarter of the ball of her foot.  We finally garnered the strength to get up and shuffle away.  I had a bathtub and bed that was calling my name and others no doubt had recovery plans.  Each person has a different way of dealing with the end and I am no different.  I am not very excitable so finishing was great, but the realization that the four months of training for something was now over, was difficult.  But as quickly as that occurred, I received a text from a friend that said “Ready for another one?”  A smile crept across my face and while in considerable pain, I thought “Hell yes!”

People question “why run a marathon?”  Is it for weight loss?  So you can drink and eat whatever you like?  To relieve stress?  To share something with people of similar interests?  It is probably a mixture of them all, but the real reason is because it is fun.  I have competed in basketball, football, and other competitive sports where there is a clear winner and loser.  I run because as I crossed the finish line, I was a winner.  Not because I accomplished my time goal, as that had passed almost fifty minutes prior.  Not because I finished ahead of some number of people, but because I finished.  Almost anyone that runs distance has injuries.  Most of us have stress which running alleviates.  Some have a family at home that running takes them from while others do not.  Some are heavy while others are thin.  Some have the lung capacity of a three pack a day emphysema patient while others can hold their breath for four minutes.  But one commonality occurs between us all.  We get up and drag our asses out of the house to willingly run.  We do it for the camaraderie, for the enjoyment, for the fresh air, but mainly we do it for ourselves and for others.  As I told my new friend from Arlington as we crossed the line, we are no longer runners, we are marathoners.  At the end of the day, I am happy with that.

~ by ejharrington on October 15, 2010.