Chicago Marathon

I'm sitting here on Dec 9 and it occurred to me that I didn't write a marathon post. It also occurred to me that I should be running 8-10 miles today. And finally, it occurred to me (as it does daily), that I may be insane for thinking I can train for a marathon by myself during the winter months in Chicago.

First of all, I'm running the Phoenix Marathon the first weekend in March with my soul sister in all things running, Miranda. This is her first marathon and I'm so excited we will be taking on the challenge. However, this challenge of training without a training group, in the dead of winter, seems somewhat impossible to me. I am going back to the start though .... back to when I thought running 13.1 was impossible, back to when I used this blog to help me through those "this is impossible" thoughts. More on Phoenix training later ....

Now, the Chicago Marathon ...  !!!

The day dawned cool, but not cold, with a cloudy start and a possible break though of the sun when I would be mid race. I am was thrilled. I fear heat and sun. I was ecstatic to be in a hat and gloves at the start.

My goal was to run under 5 hours. My wonderful training group pals wanted either to run like hell from the start (my two crazy fast friends), or take it super slow and finish around 5:15 (the rest of the group). I was in the middle and didn't know if I would run with either group. One of the Team to End AIDS coaches was standing with us at the start and overheard me proclaim "I want to run under 5 hours". He seemed slightly unsure I was making a smart decision, because I had trained at tad slower pace than that. I was certain though, that I would attempt to do this. So, we started off the race running together. This turned out to be one of the best race decisions I've ever made. Coach Ross was fantastic. He kept me on pace. He encouraged me, checked in with me, and helped me mentally plan out how I'd do it. We ran together for almost 20 miles. I am terrible at knowing things that involve time. Calculating, adding, subtracting, multiplying, etc., aren't things I have any desire to do while running. I'm much more of a zen runner. I just run. So, Ross helped me think though each stage, told me how I was progressing time-wise, and I didn't have to think about that stuff at all. Glorious.

I was amazed at how quickly the miles flew by. This marathon was different than my first. I was less emotionally swayed by the cheers, friends I saw, and family I hugged. I loved seeing everyone, absolutely, but I felt more focused and less reliant on the energy I got from other people. Perhaps this is because I've now run through cities many times during large races. I knew what I had to do to finish.

An issue arose around mile 6 that concerned me. My right foot, under my arch, began to hurt. This is most likely due to an old injury that flared up during my physical therapy for my IT band issues which started in May. Standing on one leg during PT exercises to strengthen my right side may have put too much strain on that old injury. By mile 14 it was killing me and I was FREAKED OUT. I knew I'd finish, but I thought I may be during intense damage to my foot. I stopped briefly to stretch and pressed on.

Seeing my Mom, Dad, and friend Kerry at mile 17 was amazing. I can't express in words how much it means to me that my family supports me, flies in or drives in for these races, and expresses such support  and love when I run. I am truly blessed. I sometimes feel like races aren't even that big of a deal (I have a problem with minimizing my accomplishments), but my family insists on making them a big deal and I love them for it.

So, the foot hurt, Coach Ross was fantastic, the weather warmed a bit, but it wasn't hot and I ran on. Around mile 19 Ross slowed to check on some struggling T2 runners and I continued on alone. And just like last time, mile 20 was where I hit the wall. Shit just started to hurt. But I had music and for the first time in the race decided to blast some hair metal to get me through. I cried a little. The pain, the people, the training, the day, my friends and family, the other runners, the desire to run for my friends living with AIDS, my time goal, it all kind of hit me at once.

I kept running, thinking, "This is more painful than the last time, what with my foot in extreme pain and my right side killing me (continued IT band issues), but it's easier too." At mile 23 I knew I could accomplish my goal and I knew my Dad would be at mile 26, where I'd turn the corner, run up the hill and finish. I didn't see him at mile 26 and I knew I wouldn't, but I waved and he saw me and that was enough to really push me to run through what was now the searing pain I felt on almost every component on the right side of my body. So, I crossed the finish. God, I was happy to be done, and I quickly learned that I didn't know if I'd be able to walk the distance it takes to get the medal, food, water, beer, etc. I almost fell over on the ground. I was in EXTREME pain, thinking, "I can't feel like this forever, can I? CAN I? This pain will subside at some point in my life, right? RIGHT?!"

It took me maybe 30 minutes or more to walk back to Charity Village. I ran into two other T2 runners and the three of us took tiny baby steps back. Agony. Back in the T2 tent I discovered the age old remedy for extreme running pain, a combination of sitting down and cold beer. Seeing my family, friends, and T2 training pals also helped, along with some intense painkillers.

In that tent, I got to sit next to my Mom and my Dad, that doesn't happen very often, and it was perhaps the highlight of my entire marathon. The day continued, with food and beers with family and friends, walking around the city with my badass medal, thinking I was too exhausted to continue to celebrate, then finding a second and third wind to keep the party going well into the evening.

I did it. 4:47:18. Under 5 hours. I was and still am ecstatic, thrilled, elated, joyous, exuberant, and any other word you want to choose. In 2009 I ran in 5:34:54. So, yes, I'm happy.

It was another day of being thankful for running. Thankful I can run. Thankful I can commit to something, progress, endure, fight the through the setbacks, and generally have the physical health and wellbeing to actually get out there and compete. Thank you, Chicago.

The Start. 

Coach Ross. 

                                                                           

Dad 

Mom and Kerry

Mile 26. On the right. 

The long walk back to Charity Village.

4:47:18