2010 Chicago Marathon Race Report

Chicago Marathon 2010

(Note, I planned to include pics from MarathoFoto, but their downloading is pooched right now. If interested, check back in the future to see if I add them, but I've waited too long to post this, so up it goes.)

Ok, here comes my full write-up. I’m not sure, setting out, how I’m going to format this. Right now, I’ve just dumped a bunch of thoughts into a Google Doc and Evernote and now I’m going to try to weave it all together, a few days (not a year) after the fact. Wish me luck. Interestingly, I really don’t remember many external details of this race - I probably recalled more about ‘09 a year later than I will about this one, even looking at the course map. I was SUPER focused, first on hitting my paces, then on not crashing completely, that I really didn’t take in much around me. In contrast, I’m really going to crawl around inside my brain, which will most likely only be of interest to me and the sadists out there. You have been warned.

Also, if you want to know about my race goals and motivations be sure to read this first.

With that out of the way, I’ll go to the format I adopted after the 2010 Illinois Marathon Beatdown in May: “The Good, The Bad, and The Ugly.” Most of The Good has been stated elsewhere, but I’m including it here for completeness. If you don’t want any spoilers, jump down to “The Narrative.”

The Good

- Ran (and finished) my 2nd fastest (4:03:24) of my four marathons on a day that tested, and beat, many.
- It turns out I just squeaked into the top 1/4 of finishers, my best placement by percentile to date! - Ran this 3 minutes faster than the god-awful Illinois Marathon this past spring (TWO sweltering marathons in one year? Seriously? But I'm staying positive here).
- Improved my overall, age, and gender standing over last year's Chicago by a few thousand to several hundred (as the categories get smaller), despite the 5 minute slower time. Evidence that I was not alone in getting beat up this day and that, perhaps, I handled it better than some.
- Ran the first half of the race nearly a minute faster than my current Half Marathon PR (1:55:09).
- On that note, first-half 5k splits were close to (and in one case, faster than) my one timed 5K to date (27:02) - not TOO hard since that was my first race ever, but still, not bad.
- Ran through the worst full-leg (both) and lower back cramping I've ever had (looking at the silver lining, I didn't crumple like a cheap folding table).
- Finished on a day many didn't (don’t know total start count, but I know there was some attrition).
- Got many compliments on and words of encouragement because of my shirt dedicated to my aunt and my friend's mom and their fights against cancer.
- Got TONS of support online, on the phone, and in person—offers of places to crash and car rides, cheering, etc. I couldn't possibly respond to everyone, but damn, do I appreciate you all. I AM going to give a special shout-out to Marty (@mjburian), one of my twitter/DailyMile buddies from Wisconsin, who not only drove down to cheer a few of us on, but also bought my family dinner on the way home. Good people.
- Met up with and briefly ran with some great buddies, new and old.
- Went BIG before I went home. I didn't back down until my body (and Garmin) told me in no uncertain terms that I had to - and I still dragged it through a little more hell, kicking and screaming.
- My hip, which had been an issue the last two weeks, warmed up during my pre-race walking around and didn't bother me one bit during the race.

The Bad

- There was little to no Illinois Marathon redemption to be had.
- The weather was rough. More on this later.
- Did not hit ANY of the goals I set out for myself. A) 3:45, B) 3:50, C) PR (3:58) or D) at least sub-4. Unless you consider the de facto fall-back goal of “Just Finish.”
- My legs NEVER felt into it. First sore, then heavy.
- Missed seeing my family in Chinatown, though this may have been a good thing.

The Ugly

- Cramping. Oh my GOD was there cramping!
- Entrance to the seeded corrals was FUBAR.
- WARM BEER! I know it was hot out, but holy crap was that finish beer WARM! I couldn't even drink it, it was that nasty. Yes, I threw out beer (I’m not really mad about the beer, more amused).

The Narrative

Pre-Race

After getting to bed later than I wanted, I woke up around midnight, after only about 2 hours of sleep. I tossed, turned, got up, had a half a bagel and some water, and went to the bathroom. I think I checked Twitter briefly and then turned the lights off again and lay in the dark for a few hours. Eventually I drifted off - less than an hour before my 5:00 alarm. As it turned out, I spent less time sleeping than I spent running that day - only about 3 hours total. This is why many say that the REALLY important sleep is what you get TWO nights before the race. I doubt anyone sleeps well the night before a race. At least it’s a chance to stay fed and hydrated.

I eventually got up, showered, Body-Glided, dressed, and waited for my cousin to wake up and graciously drive me down to Grant Park. I was feeling a little antsy, but pretty confident about how my legs felt, my hydration, the non-fullness of my tummy, etc. I was as ready as I was going to be. My hip was acting up as it had for the last 2 weeks, but I wasn’t going to worry about it. I’d been able to tune it out on past runs and I decided, like the weather, I’d not worry about it and adjust to it if needed. As it turned out, it worked itself out nicely on the walk from the car to the start line. Nice.

Kevin dropped me off on Michigan Avenue around Adams or so. I joined the line of zombies heading towards the start area and stopped at Michigan and Congress to check in on Tim (@timborb) and The Brothers Pokorny to see if we could trade fist-bumps before the race. This was going to be my first marathon where I wasn’t planning to run with Tim at all and at the very least, I wanted to meet up for a ‘good luck’ beforehand. As I waited and listened to my headphones, Kevin (@kgranato), who I’d just met at a tweetup the evening before, strolled by, hit me on the shoulder, and wished me well. Random. Sadly, the parking mess delayed Tim, the Pokornys were nowhere to be seen, and I was getting antsy waiting around, so I decided to head to gear check and carry on.

I stopped in front of a huge table of water and got my bag and gear ready to be checked. I put away the MP3 player I’d only used for about 2 songs, took off my warm-up jacket (it was plenty warm already), got my food and bottles all situated, put water into one of them with my Gatorade powder so I had some before the first aid station, and, most importantly, remembered to put on sunscreen. This is not a paid endorsement, but HOLY CRAP, do I believe in Banana Boat Sport spray-on SPF 50 sunscreen. That stuff lasted through nearly 5 hours of sweat and water-dumping before I was able to reapply, and you can hardly tell I was in the sun at all this weekend. I made my way over to the seeded gear check where I happened to meet up with Sarah and Josh, who I had planned on starting with anyway. Nice. Things were working out!

We ambled over to the seeded corral entrance (we qualified for Corral D, the last of the seeded corrals) and ran into a mass of humanity waiting to be allowed in through the gate. My one complaint of the whole operation of the Chicago Marathon (OK, I have one other - the runner tracking alert system SUCKS, especially without an e-mail option this year; not that THAT mattered since it sucked so much anyway - but I digress) is how this process was handled. The corral entrance was narrow and there were 2-3 rows (meaning you got checked 2-3 times, not that they were 2-3 times more effective) of marshals checking bibs to make sure non-seeded runners weren’t getting into the corrals. This is all well and good, but the process took a good 10-15 minutes. Further, they turned a blind eye to people who were VERY obviously jumping over the 10’ tall fence to avoid this huge delay. The final dagger was when a dude driving a gator started driving OUT from the corral area against traffic and demanding “MAKE ROOM!” He very nearly ran over a girl’s leg right next to me and I believe my yelling is the only thing that stopped him and moved her. It was a VERY bad scene. OK, blame us for not getting there a little sooner, but THAT was inexcusable.

Once inside the checkpoint, things became a little more laid back, but I was still in need of a portapotty and did NOT want to start the race without hitting one. As my luck would have it, I ended up in THE slowest line there - despite trying to pick the one with a higher percentage of guys in hopes their turnaround time would be quicker. The lines next to me turned over at least twice before I got my turn. One nice thing about the delay was that I met up with a runner who I knew of through a charity he did for a coworker’s grandson who had a terminal disease a few years ago. I recognized the nickname on his shirt, introduced myself, and we exchanged some pleasantries. He was gunning for a sub-3 finish that day. Amazing. Sadly, he missed it by just over 3 minutes.

I finally got my last pee out and got into the corral proper with about a minute to spare before the gates were closed. Not that that mattered much, as people just started streaming over the 4-foot fence - sometimes with the aid of the marshals standing there saying, “No fence jumping.” One girl got totally hung up by her shorts and had to be bodily lifted to be freed. It was a cluster. But I was in and found Lori, who I also had plans to start with (oh, Josh and Sarah were lost way back in the first gate area - though I did see Josh as I was leaving the portapotty area). Even though we met up just as the National Anthem was sung, after the barriers between the corrals were removed, just before the actual start, we were separated as well.

And, They’re Off!

I had heard of the wonder of the seeded corrals, but up to this point, I really hadn’t realized it. Until now, my experience was chaos on the verge of boiling over. But once the race actually started, the advantage was clear - we walked a little as a group, but the mass thinned out quickly and I was actually able to hit my full stride before I even hit the start mat. Last year I walked about a quarter mile to the start line and STILL was mashed in traffic. This year, I started just over 5 minutes off the gun, and was instantly running my own race.

The first mile was typical - try to take in the spectators, get the heart and breathing rates up, settle into a good pace, make sure the Garmin is started, shout to the Randolph bridge people, mug for video cameras, etc. The first turn pile-up was MUCH less pronounced than last year as well. Very nice. Right off, though, I noticed two concerning things. The first was that my shoes were too loose and my feet where sliding around a bit - much more than they ever had before. Part of this was due to some newer ultra-thin socks I was wearing (but had tested on 2-3 long runs before - nothing new on race day), but also because as I tied my shoes at Kevin’s house, I was conscious NOT to over-tighten them. Over-tight shoes KILL the bridges of my feet. In this case, though, I was overly cautious. For the time being, I decided I’d live with it and monitor the situation. The other problem was that, though my right hip was fine, the whole front INSIDE of my right leg was sore. This was a new, dull, but persistent ache. I tried to push both of these issues out of my head and looked for the first mile marker to check in on my pace.

Somewhere in the first mile, another twitter buddy, Joe (@joeknowstwiddly), caught up to me, wished me a P.R., and took off. It’s amazing how many people I’ve met through running and now run into at various races. In this stretch, I also passed the Eiffel Tower. Seriously.

I clicked off the first couple miles with my pace generally where I wanted it (9:45-ish), but not really settling. In this stretch, I got words of encouragement on my shirt dedicated to Aunt Jeanne and Linda P. “My thoughts are with your family.” Awesome. I felt like I was going to cry. “Thank you!” I soon found myself approaching Mile 3 and my first expected Rally Monkey sighting, Chris P. Like clockwork, I picked her up on the left side of La Salle Street and shouted “RALLY MONKEY!!!” She started waving it and yelling for me. I suddenly decided that though my right shoe seemed to have settled in, my left was still too loose and I needed to bite the bullet and stop and re-tie it. I pulled up to the curb by Chris and this threw her. As I bent over, I think she went to slap me five or something and smacked me in the head. Heh. I was able to quickly undo the double knot I’d put in there and got things snugged up in no time. I DID forget to re-double it, but luckily this didn’t affect anything. Chris was obviously in ‘cheer auto-pilot;’ she asked cheerily, "How's it going?" And I told the truth because that’s what I do when asked, "Eh, my whole right leg is sore." Her response was awesome, a cheery "Good job!" LOL. I know she meant well and the laughing actually made me forget my leg for a bit.

As Mile 4 took us north to North Avenue, I tried changing to the other side of the road to see if that would help my leg out. I generally stick to the left since I do 99% of my training runs on the left shoulder of the road and my legs are used to that camber. I tried the right for a bit and the change seemed to help a little - or maybe it was just in my head. Along here, I got another comment on my shirt, “Thanks for putting the apostrophe in the right place.” Heh. Then, “Good luck to them, and you.”

Once we entered Lincoln Park, either my leg pain went away or I just didn’t care any more. The jaunt through the park was nice other than the pavement being a bit sketchy. Just like last year, guys were attacking the trees with reckless abandon like a puppy class out for a potty break. To this point I had been skipping the aid stations since I had my own Gatorade, but I think at this one I pulled up for some water so I could take my next round of Shot Bloks (I had fit in two doses before the race to help keep my electrolytes up). I dumped the first bit of water on my hat in a preemptive cooling effort. Also along here, I’d modified my race plan a bit. I was trying to capitalize on the cooler conditions (shade, lake breeze, etc.) to bank some time for later - still staying on the slower side of my target 8:34 pace, but closer to it than 8:45 initially planned. This plan was going OK as long as I focused on it. Any distraction, and my pace would fall off.

1/4 Done

After the park, I started to zone out. Other than shouting “Go U!” to a few spectators in Northwestern gear, once I hit Sheridan road I checked out and focused on running. The turn onto inner L.S.D. around Mile 7 was when I really first became aware of the sun starting to heat things up. It was up behind us, beating down and reflecting off the buildings on our left. I turned my hat around so the bill would shade my neck and the opening would let more air in the front.

After the turn onto Addison, I started scanning the crowd a bit for people I might know. I didn’t have firm plans of seeing anyone up there, but you never know and I was starting to feel like it might do me some good to get some direct support. I had more firm plans of maybe seeing a friend further down on Clark, but all of my scanning proved fruitless and ultimately frustrating. The distraction caused me to fall off my pace a bit and I dug in to pick it back up. Eventually, just before Mile 9 near the McDonald’s, where I’d seen them and my wife and daughter last year, I spotted my cousin Kevin and his family. There was a vague possibility Amy and Em would be there, which I was hoping for, but Kevin announced, “Amy’s going to be in Chinatown.” Okie dokie. I slapped him five, gave his wife a half hug (coincidentally, she’s in a few frames of the movie, Spirit of the Marathon) and ran on.

I really started to dig in down the rest of Clark and through the annoying S-curve onto Sedgwick. I remembered an old joke my wife and I have about “The new Cure, Sedgwick album.” Say it out loud. If you don’t get it, you’re not as cool as us. This thought amused me for a good 5 seconds until some asshat cut me off and woke me from my daze. Up to this point, people really had been running comparable paces and giving each other room. But this guy pulled right in front of me, chatting happily with the two friends he had just met up with on the course, and the three of them proceeded to SLOW DOWN right in front of me. Bah. I loudly and deliberately passed them, probably without them noticing at all.

We hit Mile 10 and I started to get a little jazzed up for the Fleet Feet cheering and aid station. I popped my first gel, a Double Mocha Latte or whatever the heck it’s called, and drank down what water I had left. I also remembered to don my Fleet Feet Soldier Field 10 Miler headband in an attempt to win a free entry to that race. I’m sure I won’t win, but it was a nice distraction. One of my planned moments of fun in this race, which I had decided to make serious work of, was to high-five the Elvis impersonator that Fleet Feet has every year. I high-fived an Elvis in my first marathon, did the same last year at Chicago, MISSED the one in May (he was there, but way back from the course), and really wanted to get him this time. As I ran up to the stage, he was really into his song and not facing the runners at all. Damn. Then, just as I got to him, he turned around and I held up my hand. And Elvis left me hangin’. He just kept singing and dancing and flailing his arms like he had been - maybe his eyes were closed and he didn’t see me. So I slowed up quite a bit, yelled “ELVIS!” and on his next downward punch of the air, I did my best to make some contact with his hand. It wasn’t the high-five I wanted, but it would have to do. I ran on.

At the Fleet Feet aid station, I continued to douse myself with water. At some point I’d begun drinking the on-course Gatorade to supplement my own, which was not going to last the fist half, let alone the full race. I think also at this station or the next wet sponges were being handed out. I grabbed one, wiped down the back of my neck, and then tucked it up under my hat to try to keep a stash of cooling water on-hand . . . er . . . on-head. It stayed there for the rest of the race - being re-wetted numerous times.

When I got to Mile 12 and Orleans Street I started looking for Chris P. again, but I wasn’t really expecting to see her. I knew Tim and the boys would have a much later start than I did and were planning slower paces, so she would likely still be waiting for them, or at least not yet in position at 12. This was the case, it turned out. Not a biggie, but again, I felt like scanning the crowd took my head out of the game without the reward of actually seeing who I was looking for. I did spot a few signs, including one that said, “Looking slim and sexy, Mark!” or words to that effect, so I yelled, “Thanks!” The girl holding it laughed. There were also conflicting signs along the course regarding poop. One said, “Whatever you do, don’t poop your pants!” However, another said, “It’s OK to poop your pants.” Such mixed signals are not good during a major effort like a marathon!

I hit the turn on to Adams where I had done my ‘airplane fly-by’ of the crowd the year before. I thought about doing it, but I just wasn’t feeling it. I did wave my arms a bit and got people to make some noise, but mostly I was just focusing on running. Somewhere just after the Chicago River bridge, someone was handing out full bottles of water. Though not official course-sanctioned aid, I took one - DQ me - dumped about half of it on my head, filled one of my bottles, took a sip or two, and dumped the rest on my head. Before I realized it a few things happened in quick succession.

First, I noticed that my pace had slowed quite a bit again, so I dug in to pick it up. I then noticed that the 13.1-Mile post was up ahead, but I had not seen the Mile 13 marker. Further, while looking at my current split time, it seemed I had also missed Mile 12. Now I KNOW I had seen the sign, and pressed ‘near’ my Lap button, but apparently it didn’t take. So my splits in that area are all screwed. I immediately hit the Lap for the missed 13, which had to have been right behind me. Then in a fit of confusion, I hit it again at the 13.1 sign. Though this screwed up my system of checking my miles against the clock instead of trusting the GPS in the sketchiness of the city, I was now in an area where the GPS was a little more reliable and at LEAST I had a good split marked for the half.

So this was the moment of truth for my pacing plan. I was, roughly, 2 minutes off even-splits for a 3:45 finish. It had been hard to get to this point ,but as I told myself, “If this was going to be easy, I probably would have stayed home.” I thought of the two women whose names I had put on the back of my shirt, who I had told myself would drive me to 3:45, and I dug in to pick my pace up to the 8:24 needed to make up the planned negative split.

The Beginning of The End

Have you ever had a bad fuel pump or even just a clogged fuel filter in your car and when you step on the gas to pass someone, the engine just bogs down, and maybe even slows down a little? I think you know what I’m getting at. Trying to pick up my pace for the second half, I’d work it down to 8:30 or so, run without checking it a few strides, and the next time I’d look it would be back around 8:40. This was NOT the beginning of the second half I wanted, and I was only to Mile 14. Last year, the Charity Village was pretty uplifting. This year, it just annoyed me. YMCA came on as I hit the sound system, and many runners and most of the spectators broke into the telltale dance. I just wanted out of there. It’s not like me, but I just needed to put my head down and run on. Truth be told, part of my frustration was probably directed at my Garmin. For the last several minutes it had been telling me something I didn’t want to hear or admit to myself - I couldn’t keep this up much longer. The heart rate alarm was going off every minute, or however often it does, saying, “Hey, dummy, this is NOT the last 5k. This is NOT the time to cash in any reserves you have left for your final kick.” I went back to ignoring it.

I looked around and noticed, “Hey, I didn’t know we run right by the United Center!” The funny/stupid thing is I swear I made the same shocked comment to myself last year. The only difference was that this year I got to add, “And now there’s a another Stanley Cup banner hanging from the rafters!” The Blackhawks 2010 championship banner had just been hoisted to the ceiling the night before - we had listened to the ceremony on the radio just as my wife dropped me off at my cousin’s house. I got me some goosebumps.

I rounded the corner onto Damen just before Mile 15 and started looking for Marty, who I was expecting on the right side of the street. Marty is a runner from outside Milwaukee, and we’ve built up a friendship online (and I did run with him once) though comparing running notes, collected data, studies, etc. We’re both relatively new runners, Internet search hounds, and major data geeks, though admittedly he’s more organized about it than I am. We’re also very similarly paced runners, so there is some friendly competition back and forth (though we’ve never run the same race - maybe next year). Last weekend I went up to Milwaukee to cheer him and other friends on in the Lakefront Marathon, his second 26.2. When he passed me at Mile 23, he was clipping along nicely at a steady pace AHEAD of his stated goal pace group of 3:55. When he saw me, he confidently (though not smugly) said, “Bad news, buddy, 3:55 is BEHIND us!” He ended up bringing in a 3:52 time, which was a MASSIVE PR for him - and incidentally 6 minutes faster than my PR. I was, and am, truly happy for him, but I’ve got to tell you, I wanted to beat him. That’s why my stated Plan B goal was 3:50.

Anyway, I passed a few clumps of people and started to give up on looking for him thinking maybe he couldn’t make the trip down from ‘Tosa. Then just as I was zoning out again, I heard, “Mark!” Awesome, there he was! He and a friend were yelling and waving to me. I made my way closer to the side of the road and I yelled at him, “Your PR is safe today.” He responded something along the lines of, “You’re doing great!” Little did he know. . . .

“Your PR is safe today.” There it was, the very first shadow of doubt I’d allowed in since my wife had affirmed the day before that yes, I should stick with my plan to kick all kinds of ass. And I’d said it out loud. As I rounded the corner back east onto Van Buren, I reflected on the women I was running for. My heart rate monitor was still beeping at regular intervals, my legs were no longer sore but feeling much heavier than they should have, and I couldn’t help but remember the disappointment felt during the Illinois Marathon. There was another reminder of that race on 5/1 as well - a strange pain in my lung/chest/neck. I was breathing so hard to feed my pace with oxygen that I felt like I was straining my ribs. With that, another poignant thought came to mind, “A positive mental attitude only goes so far.” I had to slow down. 3:45 was most assuredly gone.

I turned onto Ogden Avenue and I had my first honest-to-god walk though the entire aid station, gulping Gatorade, dumping water, chomping another pair of Shot Bloks, and switching my watch from the pace screen to the heart-rate screen. As I walked, the alarm, of course, stopped blaring, but my heart rate was still in the upper 170s - too high for prolonged comfort. I decided I’d walk until it came back down to 175 and then I’d run again.

My walk continued on to Jackson Boulevard, but soon enough I cleared myself to run again, feeling a bit better and with the hope of holding a 9:00 pace. That was 3:58 territory and with my strong first half, I reasoned, I might still pull out a 3:55 PR. But my heart rate was soon back into ‘alarm’ territory and I felt crappy again. At that point I realized that my earlier prognostication was coming true. My legs, soreness and all, dictated the first half and did quite well. Now, in the second half, my heart was waving the yellow flag. Now, I’m stubborn, but I’m no dummy and I really like being alive, so I made the decision that on this day, in this race, given this heat, the race was no longer about numbers and times, it was about finishing to run another day. I put my watch back to the heart rate screen and slowed up until I found a pace that would keep me at 175 beats per minute. I don’t have any clue without looking at the downloaded watch data what that pace was - I never checked. For the time being, I was not allowing myself to worry about pace. I dug in and I ran on. For the rest of the race, I would walk all of the aid stations.

I ran down Halsted Street, yelled at a girl holding a “RunNerds” sign who recognized me from online running haunts, and then turned onto Taylor Street for the last jaunt west. I marked the general area where Tim and I had parted ways the year earlier, Little Italy. I wondered how he was getting along in his race - I hoped it was going better for him than it was for me. I knew he had an easier pace - and a more ‘enjoy the experience’ attitude - planned. I got really annoyed (as I did last year) by how my feet stuck to the ground from all of the Accel Gel packets that had been discarded on the street leading into the next aid station. I was a grumpy gus.

As I turned down Ashland Avenue, back to the south, I suddenly became aware of my buddy Josh, who I’d lost before the start. I honestly didn’t know if I was catching up to him, or he to me, but we seemed to become aware of each other around the same time. We asked each other how it was going and if either of us tried to be positive, we weren’t convincing. He said, “I don’t do well in the heat.” Word, man. Word. We trudged along together for a bit. I asked him what his clock offset was, and it seemed that he had been ahead of me from the get-go. We climbed the underpass or overpass or whatever is along that route and I pulled away from him. I heard some faint coughing from him, but when I next looked back, he was GONE. Like a ghost. Had I seen him, I would have stopped to check how he was, but he was just GONE. I pressed on and turned onto 18th Street, back to the east (it turned out he had to slow up a bit with some nausea and ended up finishing with Sarah, his wife, so that’s pretty cool given how much it must have sucked).

The Long, Dark Tea-Time of the Soul

I dropped that phrase in my race report for the 2009 Illinois Marathon and for those not in the know, it’s the title of a Douglas Adams book I have sadly never read (though I intend to). Many runners talk of “The Wall.” In my four marathons, I haven’t hit a well-defined barrier like that. Some, even I, might argue that that I did around Mile 15, but I think it’s different. What I hit at Mile 15 seemed like a purely physical limitation of what my heart was able to do. That was backed up by my heart-rate monitor and general state of crappiness. My mind and legs were still quite willing, and clearly I had the energy stores to press on. I could be convinced otherwise, but for now, I’m going to say I had never hit “The Wall.” Instead, I’ve taken side trips into “The Long, Dark Tea-Time of the Soul.”

In May, tea-time started much sooner than it did on Sunday, and whether or not it was darker is up for debate, but it was definitely tea-time around Mile 20. There I was, running, or jogging, or walking as needed, on auto-pilot, debating if I should run harder, questioning how I was going to own up to this failure of reaching my goals, trying to calculate just how much I was sucking. I swore. I shed a tear. I pressed on. Given that I had checked out, there isn’t much detail to tell over the next few miles. One thing I do know about the Archer Avenue stretch is that’s when the first leg cramps hit. Quick. Sharp. Gone. Also, to add salt to the wound, I had a side stitch, too.

Another memory out of the murk is the southbound turn back onto Halsted. Despite causing congestion, all of the runners huddled to the left side of the street trying to take shelter in what little bits of shade were offered by the low buildings. The sun was just that oppressive by that point. It seemed everyone was feeling the heat. Well, everyone but a 70-ish looking, wrinkled, shirtless old man who was cutting through the traffic and running for all he was worth. Humbling.

I hit Chinatown’s massive crowds both hopeful and fearful of seeing my wife and daughter. I felt like when I saw them, I would hug them and not let go. My words were ready on my lips, “I am dying.” Figuratively or literally? I hoped that seeing them would be the boost I needed to finish my biscuits and tea and kick the last 4 miles. I’ll never know. My wife had said they would be on the left side of the course, and though I didn’t expect her to be there yet, Chris P. was supposed to be on the left side as well, so I hugged the crowds and barricades along the left on Archer, then Cermak. I rounded the corner onto Wentworth and passed under the big red Chinatown arch desperately scanning the crowd for the telltale inflatable Rally Monkey. I was looking for my beautiful wife. I was looking for my daughter’s cute, goofy face. I was looking for our friends who were supposed to be out there as well - one of which has a very white, very bald head. Nothing. I faked a smile (at least I thought I did) as I passed one of the photographers, but as the crowds thinned, I slipped deeper into my tea. I missed them. They weren’t there. Shit.

One positive effect of looking for my family was that it kept my mind off the fact that every dozen strides or so, my legs had been cramping up on me. Sometimes a calf, sometimes a hamstring, sometimes both. Now that I was certain I was not going to see my girls, the next time a cramp hit, I walked. Nowhere near the aid station, I walked out the cramp with long deep strides to stretch out my muscles. I was really wiped, I was really hot, and I was fighting the same mental battle I’d fought the previous year on this same stretch of road. There were many more spectators this year since it was so cold last year, but they were doing nothing for me. I had my hands up on my head and was walking when a guy passed me and said, “Come on, cancer’s ass needs kicking!” I’d like to tell the story of how those inspirational words picked me up and carried me to the finish, but it just wasn’t so. I know they were well-intentioned words, but all they did was pour me more tea and serve me another bitter biscuit to remind me I’d let people, including myself, down. Eventually I started running again.

The next aid station wasn’t much further on, so I got another walk break and tried to eat a half a banana, hoping it would help with the cramping. All it did was turn my stomach for a bit. Just a bit beyond that, I saw Marty again - very energetic, very supportive, yelling for me to keep going. I waved, thanked him, whatever, and ran on. Soon after I heard him yelling again. He was running next to me down the sidewalk, “Need Gatorade?” he asked, holding up a half bottle of the stuff. “No thanks, I’m good.” “Sugar?” he asked, holding up a bag of something I later found out were gummy bears or worms or something. “No, I’m good,” I smirked.

The funny thing about tea time is that it doesn’t always have a definitive end and in that way the analogy might break down. On 5/1, the Country Club Hill and Matt and Kim’s “Daylight” were clear indications that the place settings had been cleared and tea time was over. Not so in this case, but I will say that that interaction with Marty definitely helped bring me back a bit, and for that, I am grateful.

As I turned on to 33rd Street, I stumbled into a big dude in a yellow shirt who was huffing and puffing away. I apologized for bumping him. I don’t know how much was annoyance and how much was humor, but his response of “Come on, I’m a big enough target!” made me laugh. Right after that, I saw/yelled at another “RunNerds” sign and slapped a guy a high five as he held his hand out to the runners. Tea time was breaking up.

Unfortunately, as I made my way down the decline after crossing the Dan Ryan Expressway, both of my thighs and my lower back cramped up. I let out a yell and somehow caught myself from falling. This, I thought, could be bad. Leg cramps, I could walk though. But if my back locked up, what could I possibly do? I refused to focus on the negative at that point and just pressed on. Luckily the back cramps never returned. Unfortunately, I found out, the leg cramps were just starting.

Mile 23 came and went, as did the major photo spots with the banners on the pavement. I managed to raise my arms in a V or give peace signs or something. I didn’t know what to do. I should have thrown rock horns. Or shockers. Or number 1’s. But I did whatever I did with the best smile I could muster. Amazingly, I managed the whole stretch down State Street without a walk break. It wasn’t fast by any stretch, but it was forward.

The Home Stretch

I turned onto 35th Street and I decided to try picking up the pace again for the last 5K - my heart rate had been down for a while and I figured it was make-or-break time on possibly matching my PR or at least still scratching out a sub-4-hour run. I ran the length of 35th and got my pace under 10-minute miles for the first time in AGES, it seemed. “OK,” I thought. “I can do this.” I set up to round the corner onto Michigan Avenue for the big push back north and BAM! My whole leg locked up. I can’t tell you which one, because it really didn’t matter. At that point it might have been both. I walked. I stretched. I tried to run again a few yards later. BAM! More cramps. “I am NOT going to walk it in 3 miles!” I screamed in my head. I took long walking strides again and got back to a ‘run’ at just over 10:00/mi.

I managed about a full mile with minor cramping and steadily pushed the pace again. I got through the Nike Power Song Zone and I think a Killers tune was playing. People were screaming like crazy for us to run. Aid-station workers were cheering us on. I was drinking all of the Gatorade I could, dumping whatever water I could grab on my head, down my back, on my chest, and even down my shorts. I will say, in retrospect, I’m VERY glad to have good running gear and Body Glide, because through all of this, the only chafing I had was a little spot under my left arm, which was totally inconsequential.

After the Mile 24 aid station, I tried for another push and actually achieved a 9:00/mi pace. It was taking everything I had and I could feel my calves cramping on every stride or three. I could not believe how hard a 9:00-mile pace was, a hundred yards at a time, when earlier I had run 13.1 miles under an 8:45/mi pace ‘fairly easily.’ I also really wanted to know what my legs looked like as these shockwaves were rocking through them. I imagined the muscles looked like snakes writhing around in a cloth sack “This,” I thought, “sucks, but is manageable. I can do this.” Right on cue, I cramped up HARD and almost went down to the ground. I yelled in pain. I gritted my teeth. I squinted my eyes. And I hobbled forward. Three more steps, and it happened again. I yelled again. A fairly large dude stepped off the curb to come grab me. I waved him off. The crowds were cheering like crazy. I honestly don’t know that they were cheering for me - I kind of felt like other than that one guy, no one even had a clue what I was going through. I did my long-stride stretching again, took the last two Shot Bloks I had, drank the rest of the water and Gatorade I had, and set off into a run again.

The next clear memory I have is of the “1 Mile To Go” sign. Spectators were yelling it. I was feeling it. I looked at the elapsed time on my watch (without the benefit of the seconds showing), did the math really quickly and I thought if I gave it EVERYTHING I might still have a chance at a sub-4. Looking back, that was ridiculous - I would have needed about a 7-minute mile, if not faster. But I believed it was possible. In my 3 previous marathons, even with calf cramping in the first one and the hot, humid weather of the third one, I’d managed a strong finishing kick (like 8:30, NOT 7:00). “I COULD still sub-4,” I told myself. I moved to an open area on the left side of the street and I ‘opened it up,’ and wouldn’t you know it, my lap average pace dropped below 10:00. Down to 9:45. Down to 9:30. The cramps were still coming and going, but I was running through them. Somewhere along here, a runner was down in the street and was receiving IV fluids from medics. I got down to an 8:30 pace and then about a hundred yards from Roosevelt Road, my hamstrings locked up again. I tried to run through it, but had to slow to walk it out one last time. More quick recalculation and I confirmed that a sub-4 time was not going to happen today. I did still have a few more minutes to pull out one last consolation prize, though - one I hadn’t even allowed myself to think about before the race in my fit of positivity. If I could keep from falling completely apart, I could beat my 5/1 Illinois Marathon time of 4:06. THIS, I could do. This, I HAD to do.

I hit the turn for “Mt. Roosevelt” at about a 9:30 pace and set my sights at the top of the hill. One thing I had confidence in was my ability to run hills. I train on hills a lot - just about every run from my house involves a decent hill (for Illinois) and I don’t shy away from them. I seek them out. Charging up this baby of a hill during the Shamrock Shuffle earlier in the year I came up with a mantra: “I eat hills for breakfast.” That mantra got me up the ‘big’ hill in the Illinois Marathon in the spring and broke me out of that tea time. I did NOT fear this hill. In the days before the race, I had visualized my final strong kick up this hill, rounding the corner, and seeing 3:4some-low-number on the clock, knowing I could go the last tenth of a mile and claim my sub-3:45 time.

I hit the hill with all of that confidence and the pent up frustration of the previous 12.9 miles knowing I could claim it. Dominate it. Destroy it. I lined up like I did last year, on the far left side of the field and charged up the open lane along the barrier holding back the massive crowds. I took a few powerful strides, and I was harshly brought back to reality by the searing pain of two legs that, goddamn it, had just about had enough of my nonsense. I gritted my teeth again. I yelled. I kept running. I would NOT allow myself to walk on ANY part of this hill. I ran through the cramps wondering if I was dong any major muscle damage. I don’t remember what I did exactly, but I found that if I leaned forward or backward in some way, I could lessen the cramping. If felt awkward and probably looked ridiculous, but damn it, I was moving forward and not walking. I got to the top of the hill and made the final left turn to the north. The clock, of course, did NOT say 3:4some-low-number. It said 4:07 or so. I set my eyes on the right edge of the finish line, where I expected a Twitter buddy I’d never met, Ed Schober (@edschober), to be waiting for me with a medal.

You know the stereotypical tale of the guy gritting and grunting to the finish line of a race - the ones that make non-runners, like I used to be, wonder why the hell anyone would do that to themselves? I think I was that guy on Sunday. Even down the home stretch, my legs would not give me rest. The cramps were continuous. Every stride was questionable if it would land securely or if my legs would finally buckle. But eventually I approached the finish chute and I raised my arms up in a V one last time. 4:03:25 showed on my Garmin. A Personal Second-Best. A Personal Faster Than That Other Terribly Brutal Marathon You Ran.

It’s All Over But the Crying

I spotted Ed right away - luckily he was one of the first people handing out medals and I recognized the U of I hat he said he’d be wearing. I called to him, he put a medal around my neck. I hugged him as I warned him I would and I used him as support to keep from falling over. He asked, “How did it go?” Again, I answer such questions honestly, “I couldn’t even PR.” He said something like, “Yeah, but you finished.” Yeah, but I finished.

I grabbed my mylar blanket (it’s amazing how you can get a chill on a hot day after such an effort) as well as some water, food and Gatorade and got my picture taken with my medal I wasn’t yet sure I liked. Behind my sunglasses, I let myself have a very brief, but very profound cry. I nearly passed out from the hyperventilation. I had failed to reach every goal I had set out for myself. In my mind, I had come up short of honoring the fighters whose names I had put on my race shirt.

And yet, that wasn’t entirely true. Though not a stated time goal, I had decided, before the race, that I didn’t like the question I was left with after every marathon I had done to date, “Could I have pushed harder?” I wanted to know, for certain, that I gave everything I had. I decided that I was happy, satisfied with the effort I had put forth, the pain I had endured, and yes, even the time I did it in. I decided at that moment that, yes, I had left everything that I had that day out on that course. I grabbed my warm Goose Island 312 beer, put a bag of ice on my head, and shuffled off to gear check to get my bag and phone and meet up with my family.

Afterthoughts

I like the poetic notion that I left all of my negativity and doubt about the day in the finisher’s area. I actually wrote that in my notes, but I realize that’s not true. After I found a shady place to crash by Buckingham Fountain, I called my wife, called my parents, and sent a few tweets still feeling a little sorry for myself. In those conversations, though, poetic or not, I was reminded that regardless of the time, and EVEN regardless of the weather, I still did a pretty amazing thing that day.

The fact is that the time really doesn’t matter. Sure, I would have liked a faster time and I’m pretty certain that had I run a more conservative race - by starting out at 9:00 miles, for example - I could have finished with a better time but what I REALLY wanted was to GO FOR IT. And in the end, that’s what I did. I didn’t focus, dwell, wallow, or rest on the excuse that my last few weeks of taper weren’t ideal. I didn’t take the opportunity to bail out on my originally stated goal. At the grass roots of motorsport racing is the saying, “Run what you brung.” It doesn’t matter what parts you’re saving up for, or what your last car was like, you race what you’ve got with you. And so it is with running. I ran the race with the legs I had powered by the fuel I had on the sleep I had wearing the gear I had through the weather I was presented with. I couldn’t have done any more. I could only have done less.

By the time my wife and daughter found me, I was at peace with this race. I was feeling better physically and in talking to other runners and getting feedback from spectators, much like 5/1, I realized I was NOT the only one to have a ‘bad day,’ and certainly my day was not as bad as some people’s. I was not in one of the many ambulances I heard constantly at that point. After hanging out for a bit and bringing me a shake, my awesome wife even commented, “You’re way less depressed than I expected.” She knows how competitive I am, especially with myself, and she knew from my phone call that I was not initially happy with the race.

In the days since the race, I’ve had a few more realizations - some more profound than others. Most of the following is edited from a conversation I had with my buddy/marathon mentor Tim. He really helps me figure a lot of shit out, as he’s been doing this a lot longer than me and he makes it FUN. One realization is that, despite having written on one of my pace cards, “Enjoy the ride,” I really didn’t. Other than brief, BRIEF moments, I did not ENJOY this race one bit. I don't regret or resent the race. I enjoy the hell out of being DONE with it. I'm proud of it. It was rewarding in ways I can’t measure. But it wasn't in the least bit 'fun.' I never once coasted. I still haven't decided if that's good or bad, but it's profound. On one hand, I LIKE that I was so focused on running that not much else mattered. I think it says I'm a badass mother-trucker. On the other hand, damn it, I should be able to enjoy the JOURNEY as well as the destination (as I have in the past), right? Or should ‘fun’ be reserved for 5Ks and half marathons and 26.2 be reserved for more solemn efforts? I don’t have the answers, and of course no one else does either - that’s for me to figure out.

Chicago was an experiment for me and I still need to analyze the results. The experiment was - run the hell out of it, no matter the conditions. I do feel like I was truly at my limit. Now that I know what that limit feels like I need to see if I'm satisfied now and if that'll LET me fun-run a full. Or at least have fun while kicking the shit out of one (like I did CM09 - first half fun, second half business).

Part of the ‘fun’ versus ‘business’ equation may be reliant on if I’m running alone or with someone. Other than the brief interlude with Josh after Mile 18, I ran this whole race at my pace, on my terms, according to my plan until I no longer could. I liked it. And yet, I did miss the camaraderie of running with Tim and his goofball friends. Perhaps the secret to my success is to run every race like I ran Chicago in ‘09. Run the first half for fun and run the second half for realsies. Again, I don’t have any answers at this point. Just collecting thoughts.

A few things to realize for any non-runners reading this is that heat DOES have a measurable effect on performance. One formula for the effect is “Daniels’ Running Formula,” which says that if run at 60F or below, my 4:03 finish time SHOULD have been 3:58. I’d wager the difference would have been even greater, but I’ll never know. Even accepting that at face value, I would have at least matched my PR and race time from last year’s Chicago Marathon. That’s a 5-minute difference attributable to heat alone.

The other important thing about heat is that it CAN be trained for. It’s called heat acclimatization and training over the summer should have had me in good shape for this race. Except just like it takes about 2 weeks for your body to adjust to increased heat, the benefits of heat acclimatization also dissipate in a couple of weeks. The problem here is that the last few weeks of my training were cool or I wasn’t running (due to resting my hip). So though many said, “Don’t worry, you trained during summer,” there was still grounds for worry.

One thing I noticed from talking to people after the race and reading race reports is that it seems like if a runner was able to finish in under 3:30, the weather effects were minimal. Slower than that, and you paid more and more with each 10 minutes out in the sun. This is understandable since it didn’t really warm up until 2.5-3 hours into the race, but still worth noting. Sadly, I am not that fast - though that is certainly motivation to get faster.

So, it was hot, but I stuck with my plan. Even with the severe cramping, I didn’t allow myself any excuses.

Aftermath

As an indication of how hard it was to stay hydrated during the race, despite all of the Gatorade and water I drank during and after, including the half cup of warm beer I’d choked down, I went about 6 hours from my pre-race pit stop until I finally had to pee again. I didn’t even really HAVE to go at that point - I made myself. Luckily the color was good, but the delay was a bit worrying.

The day after the race, my adorable daughter, Em, asked me, “Daddy, are you gonna keep movin’ slow, like a turtle?” I love that kid. Recovery is going well. My legs aren’t TOO bad, though my quads have been sore, as expected, and Tuesday was by far worse than Sunday or Monday. Good ol’ DOMS. Also, I seem to have soreness only in my muscles. My joints all seem happy. My feet avoided any substantial blisters. I had tiny ones on my middle toes and one under the callus on the bridge of my left foot that seems to have been absorbed already. It seems I didn’t get to run these legs completely into the ground due to the heat limiting the rest of me. One thing I’m VERY grateful for is that the cramping had no lasting effects. I was really concerned about muscle damage or at least lingering charlie horses, but really they’re about the same as if they hadn’t cramped up.

I did a 1-mile walk on Day 1and nothing the next 2 days but got back to short, easy runs soon after.

The Numbers (unofficial 10/29/2010)

(WTH is with the huge space before the table???)

Finish time: 4:03:24	Splits	Time	Pace
Overall Place: 8,935/35,931 (24.87%)	05K	27:09	8:45
Gender Place: 6,533/19,865 (32.89%)	10K	26:46	8:37
Age (35-39) Place: 1,188/3,378 (35.17%)	15K	27:06	8:44
	20K	27:13	8:46
	First Half	1:54:22	8:43##
	25K	27:43	8:56
	30K	29:31	9:31
	35K	32:18	10:24
	40K	32:30	10:28
	Second Half	2:09:02	9:50##
		(+14:40)

This is data I got from my Garmin. The exact numbers are a little dubious due to GPS errors, especially early, but I’ve got to think they’re pretty close, or at least comparable to last year’s race. Based on the speed zones I have set up in my SportTracks software, I:

Walked (16:40 avg. pace) 0.15 miles 2:26 (1%) - It sure felt like so much more. 14 (or so) walk breaks. Mostly in aid stations. A few for cramps.
Jogged (11:08 avg. pace) 3.52 miles 39:14 (16.1%)
Ran (8:33 avg. pace) 22.53 miles 3:21:45 (82.9%)

Compared to my other marathons, in this race I did the LEAST walking, most jogging, and LEAST running. I’m going to guess that some of my walks were brisk enough to be classified as ‘jogging.’

Funny Addendum

Once the race photos were posted by MaratonFoto, I sent a few links to my wife, including the shot I mugged for in Chinatown. She instantly realized she HAD seen me. In fact they were pretty much right across the street from where that picture was taken. She said that at first she thought it was me and started to yell, but then had second thoughts. I looked too skinny and she thought I had shaved off my whole beard the day before the race (I had left my customary goatee and she had seen me with it all day Saturday). How sad is that - my own wife couldn’t even recognize me. I guess we both run too much and don’t see each other often enough!

Here are the few photos I have from the race and race prep.

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2010 Chicago Marathon Race Prequel

(Cross-posted from/comments at DailyMile)

Some quick thoughts on the eve of the 2010 Chicago Marathon. I'm in the basement bedroom of my cousin's place on Dayton street on Chicago's North Side. Amy and Em dropped me off after we had a nice family dinner at Leona's. God, I love my family. I really enjoyed it. And the red wine. My clothes are laid out, my pace tattoo, Rally Monkeys, “Go Dad” bracelet to remind me of Em are all on, and I've put a list of spectators to look for on my hand in Sharpie. Meetups are in place for the morning, as well as my ride to Grant Park (thanks, Kevin!). I'm as ready as I'm going to get.

So, the race. I'm being kind of stubborn about it. At some point in my training, I decided I could run it in 3:45. WHY I thought that is lost to me right now, but it's too late to start second-guessing. The fact is, I had a very strong training cycle (with a few down weeks, but good recoveries) and was in great shape and confident. Then the taper happened. The taper is supposed to be rest and recover time. Not a total rest, but an easing up of training. In my second week of the 3 week taper, my leg started bothering me, and it hasn't settled fully since. I scrapped most of my runs since then hoping that rest would fix everything. It hasn't. BUT, it seems, my leg only hurts when I'm NOT running. So we'll see how that plays in tomorrow.

As for the layoff, theoretically, it shouldn't affect my fitness too much, but it's certainly not great for confidence. Add to that the fact that they are calling for tomorrow to be the 3rd warmest Chicago Marathon in 20 years. Not good. So what am I going to do?

I'm going to run. I'm sticking with my original plan. The nagging leg, the layoff, the weather – they're all just excuses at this point, and I'm not willing to cash in on them yet. I let the weather get in my head and crash my party in Illinois on 5/1 and I'm not ready to give in to it.

One thing I did learn in Illinois is that weather is a factor, for sure, but the trick is how you adjust to it. One major difference between 5/1 and the prediction for tomorrow is that 5/1 STARTED hot and humid and got hotter, though the humidity got better. Tomorrow, the picture is normal morning moisture and around 60, then getting up to 70, but not humid, around 10 (start is at 7:30). So a decent part of the race can be run before it gets too nasty. Thus, I'm sticking to my plan to start with an eye on 3:45, and if I have to adjust, I'll address that as needed. But I am NOT planning to fail.

Maybe that's bold of me, and maybe I'll pay for it, but I've got a chip on my shoulder and I'm still out for redemption.

Not only is this about redemption for 5/1, but I'm running, for the first time, with a pair of names on my shirt. “Aunt Jeanne,” and “Linda Picchi.” I don't want to get into too much personal information, but both women, dear to me, are fighting the fight of their lives against cancer, for the 3rd time each.

Aunt Jeanne is the woman who taught me how to snow ski, cross country and downhill, had a hand in teaching me to water ski, introduced me to soccer, and has taught me that trying new things is what keeps you young. She's a strong, tough Irish woman, a runner, and I'm proud to run this race for her.

Linda Picchi, or Mrs. Picchi as I usually call her, is the mother of one of my dearest friends, Art. Art is the kind of friend you call when you need to move. A body. So you can imagine that his mom is pretty important to me. Not only have I spent a lot of time with her and consider her like extended family (she used to cut my hair when I had some, in fact she gave me my last haircut ever, for my wedding), but she's a wonderful person beyond that. She has worked, for years, with the National Association for Down Syndrome organizing, raising money and awareness, and lobbying the government on their behalf.
If these two woman can keep fighting and fighting, day in and day out, I can run 26.2 miles on an unseasonably warm Chicago day, right? Damn straight. So no excuses. Let's do this.

There's more to say – about the Expo, and meetups, and awesome people on twitter and Facebook, and of course family – but now it's time for bed, and hopefully I can give that some proper due on Sunday afternoon.

Half-assed Chicago Marathon 2009 Recap a Year Too Late

I can’t believe it, but apparently I never did a write-up for #CM09, my second full marathon, 10/11/2009. I think I wrote a lot of e-mails and tweets about it, but never a proper write-up. At least not one I can find online or on my computers anywhere. Here it is, after 1 a..m. on 10/7/2010, and #CM10 is in just 3 more days. I figured I’d better get down what memories I have of last year before they get crowded out by this year’s.

First, the random:
I PR’d. 3:58 and change. Awesome. I was SPENT at the end. Gave it all, I felt like. I had a few ‘down’ spots on the course - right around the Half after Tim and I swooped the cheer zone on Adams, later on through Pilsen where I think I walked for the first time NOT at a water stop, on Wentworth after Chinatown, and even on the way up Michigan on the home stretch. Despite those, however, I had a strong last mile, passed tons of people on the Roosevelt Road ‘hill,’ and sprinted to the finish. But, I’m way ahead of myself . . . .

I stayed at my friend Sameer’s after spending WAY too much time walking around the expo with a 50# (it felt) backpack. Rookie Chicago mistake, but met a lot of cool twitter peeps. I rode the el downtown in the morning and joined the zombie mass headed to Grant Park. Got there plenty early, checked my bag, and waited for Tim and the Pokorny brothers. Holy crap, what nuts they were! Repeated portapotty stops, pushing into the Open corral just before the gun, and STILL having to piss into a Gatorade bottle. THOSE guys know how to make running fun. At one point before the start, they hoisted me up on their hands/shoulders, and I got an AWESOME view of the field ahead and behind me. Fantastic.

It was in the low to mid 30’s before the race. I had gloves, hat, an UnderArmour long sleeve base layer top, a regular dri-fit long sleeve shirt (from my first half marathon), shorts, my Nathan Speed 4 fuel belt, my Garmin 305 and chest strap, UnderArmour socks, and Saucony Progrid Guide 2 shoes. I also had some thrift store warmup pants and sweatshirt which kept me warm until just before the gun went off when I tossed them out of the start corral. I think it got up to the mid 50s by the end of the race, at which point, I was still pretty comfy in all of my gear, but starting to get a little warm. I heard many complaining about the weather, and it was a little chilly before the start, but man, I loved it throughout.

Eventually, there was the National Anthem, the gun, and the shuffle - the actual start was SO anti-climactic. It took us about 9 minutes to get up to the starting line - I should have been a mile down the course by then! Thank god for chip timing. The start energy was amazing. Settling into a pace was tough, both because of the SHEER energy and the massive crowd. I loved yelling up at the bridge people up on Randolph. Fun stuff. Then, all of a sudden, you’re underground and the crowds are gone. Odd. Then bridge grates. Then the first, majorly bunched up, turn. Mile 1 clicked by before I knew it. So did the next few miles. We lost the Pokorny’s in the first 3 or 4 miles. Believe it or not, they had to stop in an alley to pee. Yes, already. I was overwhelmed trying to keep my pace steady, pick through the throng, and take in all of the magic.

The next thing I remember was being up by North Avenue and heading into Lincoln Park. I regretted not hitting the HUGE bank of portapotties at the beginning of the park, as I’d overhydrated. Seems I wasn’t alone, because I remember more than a couple guys peeing on trees through Lincoln Park. I pointed out to Tim where Sarah B. lived, and where my cousins got married (The Peggy Notebaert Nature Museum).

Another blur, and we’re headed back south already, passing by the Boystown cheerleaders, and before I know it, my first spectator spot - McDonald’s on Clark. I spotted Kevin, Mary (?), Kerry, Ben, Amy, and Emily. When I ran up and gave Em a kiss, it startled her. Quick hugs, and Tim and I were off again. I ran a few strides and let out a HUGE “Wooo!!!!!!!” Seeing family on the race course is AWESOME. Before or after that, I forget where, we saw Tim’s entourage, too. Then the Fleet Feet Elvis (who I got a high 5 from). Good stuff.

Next solid memory, other than crossing back over the river, was finally pulling the plug and having to hit a portapotty to pee. I hated having to do it, but couldn’t ignore it any longer. I waved Tim on, but he waited for me. In (I may have jumped the line, I only realized on the way out, oops), out, gone. I remember having some chafing issues in this stretch - something I’d never had a problem with. We pressed on to Adams where Tim and I swooped the crowd with our arms outstretched like airplanes (Tim's traditional spot to do this is earlier in the course, at Mile 2, but I wasn't settled in and feeling it when he did it then, so I stole the idea here). It got a great response and many high-5s. Unfortunately, it brought my first mini-crash, as I’d really sprinted a bit and in the next few minutes, I felt it.

From there, right at the half, heading west, the crowds really died out and it REALLY felt like a whole new race was starting. The first half was rock star. The second half was grit. I took my first gel around then, and I think that got me back on track. Tim tuned into his headphones. I looked for a friend working one of the cheer stations, but never did see her. Next stop, Malcom X College and heading back East. Sparse crowds, adding water to my Gatorade powder on Ogden Ave., pressing on.

Just before the Halsted turn after Mile 16, Tim needed a pit stop, I jogged and walked waiting for him. Right around Little Italy, heading west again, he waved me on. Luckily, I remembered I was carrying something of his in my giant pockets before we parted ways. And like that, I was on my own.

University Village and Pilsen alternated between dead zones and pockets of spectators with drums. Lots of food smells.

Underpasses. Overpasses. Archer Avenue and stopping for my first walk. Psyching myself up but realizing my ‘pie in the sky’ goal of 3:55 was slipping away. Sub-4 was still looking good, though. Legs and neck/shoulders getting sore. Chinatown. HOLY CRAP, what energy!!! Dragons, drums, massive crowds.

Then the desolation of Wentworth Ave. This was the most profound memory I have of the race. The crowds in Chinatown were awesome, but died away abruptly and suddenly I was feeling very LONELY. Not only were there very few spectators, but runners were no longer chatty, either. There were also a few people in distress in this stretch, despite the still-cool temperatures (though the sun was rather bright). I saw a few either leaning against walls or sitting on curbs stretching out cramps. One runner was down getting medical attention. I know this was not the reality, but in my memory, I was the only one running within a hundred yards, and newspapers blew across the road like tumbleweeds. Again, NOT reality, but damn, that’s how it felt. Luckily, that stretch was barely a mile, though it felt like 3.

Right after that stretch is Sox park, where my wife, cousin, and her boyfriend were waiting to cheer me on. Amy missed me on the way by but I saw the big sign Kerry had made, so I ran back and gave Amy a big hug and kiss. It gave me a great boost and got me back on track.

After that, the Avon Breast Cancer banner many of us had signed at the Expo. Soon, we were headed north for the second to last time. I hit the Nike PowerSong zone, and the home stretch. I remember trying to pick up the pace with about 2 miles to go, and my legs did NOT want to do it. I was looking for Amy’s coworker at this point, she lives right on Michigan, but wasn’t out cheering when I went by. Would have been nice.

My motivation to speed up finally came in the form of a smell. Shit. I smelled shit very strongly. I eventually figured out it was coming from a woman in front of me who was essentially being dragged along by her male running companion while shit ran down her leg. I’m all for dedication and finishing the race, but damn, when shit calls, it might be time to stop. I moved WAY over to the left side of the street and put on the power to pass them and the smell. I remember having another false start at taking off when I saw the Mile 25 sign. I picked up the pace, but it wouldn’t stick. I slowed up a little again, and then finally was able to pour it on for the end when I got to the 25.2 sign - one mile to go.

I hit the penultimate turn from Michigan to Roosevelt on the outside of the bend and in full stride. I powered up the hill passing people agonizing over this cruel trick the race planners play on us runners. Chicago is flat and fast. Until the end. But I’d run my hills in training and never shied from them. I was flying. When I turned north for the last .1 mile or so, I was on the inside barrier and pumped my arms and legs with everything had left. I have no idea if people were cheering for me, but they cheered like mad. I crossed the finish line with my arms in a V over my head, I pulled up to a walk, looked at my watch, and I cried. Just recently I said, “If you don’t cry at the finish line, you did it wrong.” I’m not sure if I stole that from someone, but I like it. A lot.

I negative split the race by about 4 and a half minutes, a little faster than planned. I didn’t make 3:55, but there’s not much I would change about how that race was run. It was a 10 minute 14 second PR over my first marathon 6 months earlier. 3:58:08. And boom goes the dynamite.

I was elated. I was spent. I was chilly. My legs nearly buckled under me twice. I got my medal, all of the food and water I could carry, a Goose Island 312 beer, and eventually met up with Tim and the Pokorny boys in the finisher’s chute. As I stopped at the gear check tent, my wife and cousins tracked me down. Hugs. Kisses. A few pictures. And eventually, lunch. Awesome, awesome stuff.

If interested in the minutia, you can find splits and such here.

My from the build-up, expo, finish, and lunch. I got some official photos I should scan.

Tim's Chicago Marathon 2009 Flickr set.

If you'd like to comment, might as well throw 'em on DailyMile if you're a member. If not, I don't know what to tell you.

2010 Illinois Marathon

Note, if you'd like to comment, and you're a member, you can comment over at Daily Mile.

The 2010 Illinois Marathon from My Perspective in Excruciating Detail

The Nitty Gritty:

(These numbers have been fluctuating - results are not official at time of writing.)

The Good:

The Bad:

The Ugly:

Pre-race:

Mile By Mile:

(For a given mile, the text and pace describes the events leading up to that number mile marker. It gets confusing in my head around the middle of the race, so I might be off one way or the other, but I think I've got it sorted.  Also note that paces were tweaked in a few cases were I was late to press the Lap button at a mile marker so numbers might not strictly add up.)

Mile 0  

Mile 1 - 9:01/0:09:01

Mile 2 - 9:01/0:18:02

Mile 3 - 9:02/0:27:11

Mile 4 - 9:03/0:36:15

Mile 5 - 9:05/0:45:21

Mile 6 - 9:10/0:54:31

Mile 7 - 9:30/1:04:02

Mile 8  - 9:00/1:13:02

Mile 9 - 9:02/1:22:04

Mile 10 - 9:34/1:31:38

Mile 11 - 9:05/1:40:44

Mile 12 - 9:16/1:50:03

Mile 13 - 9:07/1:59:10

Mile 13.1 - 9:02/2:00:06

Mile 14 - 9:21/2:08:32

Mile 15 - 9:17/2:17:49

Mile 16 - 9:24/2:27:14

Mile 17 9:36/2:36:50

Mile 18 - 9:25/2:46:16

Mile 19 - 9:36/2:55:52

Mile 20 - 10:10/3:06:03

Mile 21 - 10:13/3:16:16

Mile 22 - 9:47/3:26:04

Mile 23 - 10:09/3:36:13

Mile 24 - 10:17/3:46:30

Mile 25 - 9:08/3:55:38

Mile 26 - 8:45/4:04:24

Mile 26.2 - 7:40/4:06:07

A few links:
The Wedding Proposal: http://www.news-gazette.com/news/university-illinois/2010-05-02/finish-marathon-start-life-together.html
Note, if you'd like to comment, and you're a member, you can comment over at Daily Mile.

Get yer Yassos off!

INTRO

As usual, I'm no expert, but I've done a few sets of these Yasso800s now, so here's what I've learned from experience and these links. If you don't know anything about Yasso800s or why you'd want to subject yourself to them, visit those links. This is not intended as a primer on Yasso800s. This is just one guy with a Garmin Forerunner GPS watch explaining to another guy with a Gamin Forerunner GPS watch how he goes about running these.

My take on a Garmin Forerunner/Training Center workout is here (right-click and save-as): Oblivs_Yasso800_workout.tcx
If you'd like to see what the splits of this workout look like, here is an example on RunSaturday.

PREMISE:

Your 800m target = your marathon goal as minutes. For a 4 hour marathon, you get 4 minutes to run 800m and 4 minutes to recover (more detail below, but in my experience about 400m). Build up until you can do 10 sets at a certain pace, and theoretically you can run a marathon in that time.

GOTCHA

Since the 800 is roughly a half mile, the PACE is going to be double that - or in this case 8:00/mi. I KNOW that's stupidly obvious, but it's easy to get confused going between race hours, interval minutes and pace per mile. The sanity check on the 800m PACE is that at our speeds, it's going to be around 1 minute per mile FASTER than marathon pace. MP ~ 9:00/mi., 800 Pace ~ 8:00/mi. NOT 4:00/mi. :D

MY TRAINING CENTER FILE:

The Warm-up and Recoveries are open-ended so you hit the Lap button to complete them. I did this so I'm sure I'm in a good spot on my road to kick off the next set since I don't do them on a track. You could optionally automate the starts.

Goals (WarmUp/CoolDown distance, target pace) are in the "Custom Name" for each leg. They are only guidelines, of course, and do not affect the execution of the workout.

Take a look at the "Targets" for the steps. Setting HR zones for the WU/CD/Recoveries sounds like a good idea to me, but in practice is pretty useless. For the actual 800s (well, half miles), I have a Speed Zone defined as "Yasso800." You can set this in your user profile, or you can remove the "Specific Target" for this step. All it really does is chirp at you if you're too fast or too slow - which neither of us can hear anyway. FYI, I have a 10 second cushion on both sides of my target, so that speed zone is 7:40-7:20 (for a 3:45 marathon goal).

THE WATCH:

I think my IDEAL screen setup would be:

      LAP AVG
lap dist | inst. pace

That said, my current is:

     LAP AVG
lap time | lap dist.

It's workable, but knowing my instant pace (to know if I was WAY too fast or flagging) would be better for me. You kind of get to know the pace, but fatigue makes all cloudy by the 5th or 6th one. The lap time IS useful on the recovery lap, so I may stick with this layout after all. I don't want to be switching screens per leg. Let me know what works for you.

If you use the 'workout screen' and you have set the pace target, that might be good enough, but 'In desired Zone' is too vague for me.

REMEMBER to press Lap when you kick off for your sets. Again, the 800 is auto-lapped, but the warm-up and recoveries are manually advanced.

THE 800 (or Half Mile):

Don't get lulled into a false sense of security. The first 2-3 won't seem so bad, in fact you may be tempted to push your recovery cycle a little short. You can do that if you're stupid. ;) It doesn't matter much, actually, because even with full recoveries, it won't take but a few sets to get into oxygen debt. THAT is where the workout really starts and you'll have to keep a close eye on your pace to make sure you hit it. I get into full-on huff and chuff mode to finish each 800 after the first couple. If you don't want to puke, you're doing it wrong and may need to adjust your marathon goal pace.

Pace will yo-yo a bit - again, especially if not on a track. Over such a short distance, it might not be so bad to go out a little quick and bank some time for when you start sucking wind. I've played these both ways, and I've got to say THAT way is a touch easier than trying to dig out of debt at the end. No negative splits here! That's how I missed #5 today - I started conservative, got behind and could not catch up.

THE RECOVERY:

Strictly speaking (The Word According to Yasso), you have as much time as the interval took. E.g. A 3:45 interval at 7:30/mi pace means you also get 3:45 for your recovery jog. Some have refined that to allow a max of 2-3 minutes recovery arguing that any longer is too much rest. _I_ think THOSE people are full of shit. :D Whichever school of masochism you choose to follow, take all of the recovery time it allows (see above re: sucking wind).

THE COOL DOWN:

The Runners World marathon plan I use calls for 2 miles each, warm-up and cool-down. I think this is the first time I've stuck to that (or very close), and though I had to walk a few times on the way home (I mostly jogged (10:00/mi +/- :15)) my legs are feeling GREAT now, so I believe there's real benefit in those miles. I don't know if they squeeze out the lactic acid or what, but I'm a believer.

ENJOY:

If I know you, you'll learn to love to hate these. Remember, they're not so much intended as a workout themselves, but more of a 'test' of where you are and what you're capable of. Given that, it's OK to 'fail.' Up until the last set of 10, anyway. :D

HTH. Ask questions: oblivion at ratula dot net.

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