We Took the Race We Were Given

These were earned, not given.

If you haven’t heard or read about the Oven in October (as I’m dubbing it), here are some quick stats from Sunday’s Chicago Marathon, before I get down to the play-by-play report.

Registrants: 45,000
Runners who didn’t even show up: 10,000
Runners who didn't finish: 11,000
Runners who did: About 25,000
Temps: High 80s with heat index of 91
Runners treated for heat-related issues: 300+
Deaths: One (35-year-old man from Michigan; I hope he’s lacing ‘em up in a better place now)

Members of Team Wuori who finished: Two, in a mind-numbing 5:38:19.

I wrote earlier this week that we were going to take the race we were given. What we were given on Sunday was heat and a lot of it. It was an incredibly unbelievable day from start to finish. Stay with me:

Start and miles 1-5: Temps were already warm and humid for the 8 a.m. start. We hit the starting line about 8:15 and cranked out an effortless first mile in 9:30. Energy was high and the atmosphere was electric, especially as we hit the financial district on LaSalle Street. You could almost smell the money. . .

Next couple of miles passed by at about 10-minute pace and things were looking good. However, once we moved out of the canyon of skyscrapers and into a bit of sun, things began to get tougher.

Miles 6 to 8: We took our first water/Gatorade break at mile 6 and at that point, we weren’t feeling that great. People had already started walking during these early miles and, mentally, we were feeling incredibly down at the prospect of 20 more miles in what we knew was going to be steadily-rising temps.

Miles 9 to 12: Jen began to struggle around 10 miles and we took our first PowerGel at the mile 10 aid station. Right before the mile 12 mark, Jen pulled a Brandi Chastain (soccer fans will understand that reference) and tossed her shirt to the street, getting down to just a sports bra; she was soaked with sweat and her shirt was simply getting too heavy to wear or carry.

Huge props go to my good friend Jodi, who lives in Chicago now, and met us right after mile 12 with some cold water and words of encouragement. After we left Jodi, Jen and I got separated at the next aid station. Her lack of a hot-pink running shirt made it hard for me to find her but I finally did after a couple of tension-filled minutes.

Miles 13 to 15: Strangely enough, I felt energized right around 12 or so, as the caffeine-laced PowerGel seemed to give me a boost. I was entertaining thoughts of finishing strong and Jen actually asked me if I wanted to go on by myself. Absolutely not. She was suffering and we were going to do this together.

However, not two miles later, the gel must have worn off because then I began to struggle. We were both in misery as we willed ourselves to the 15-mile mark. Tons of people were walking and we were joining them, off and on.

Miles 16 to 20: This was probably the toughest part of the race for us. Getting through 15 is great but not that great when you still have 11 miles to go. We were hydrating as much as we could, but then we’d have that “sloshy” feeling for a bit that came with its own set of problems.

We continued to shuffle along and were picking out landmarks to run to just to make the run go by a bit faster. Jen would stop to walk for a bit and I’d join her. Then, I’d initiate the walking a ½ mile later or so and we’d rest up before the next push.

Around mile 18, things got weird. A man on the side of the street yelled out that “the race is cancelled.” Couple of women next to me wondered what he was talking about and I made the universal gesture for “he’s probably been drinking.” We laughed and kept on going.

Turned out, he was telling the truth. At an aid station about a ½ mile later, a woman said the race was being cancelled and the clocks were turning off. Confusion was rippling through the crowd but we kept going.

A little bit later at the aid station near mile 20, they were making official announcements that the race was being ended and that people were being told to walk. So, we all basically stopped running and started walking. However, soon, there was the “we have to walk all the way back on the last 6.2 miles of the course?” We weren’t sure if they were going to divert us back or just keep us on the course.

Turned out, we stayed on the official course. We wanted that medal, damn it! And, the more we’d run, the sooner we’d be done, right?

Miles 20 to 26.2: The suffering wasn’t really ending despite our walking from mile 20 to 21. I think we both realized that at least running slowly was going to get us done quicker than just a straight walk. And, my legs were cramping and it was more comfortable to run. So, we’d run for a bit, make it to the next aid station, walk a bit and repeat it. About 75 percent of the runners were walking.

Finally, we hit South Michigan Avenue, the home stretch of the race, and it was a sweet sight. I was feeling good but Jen was still struggling. Aid stations were still functioning and we kept taking water, even with about 2.5 miles to go.

We hit the 25-mile mark and, for the first time since that opening mile, actually began to enjoy ourselves. The final right turn on to Roosevelt is a cruel trick, as you head up a 1/8 mile hill that crosses over the commuter rail tracks. But, it was lined with spectators and that made it OK.

We hit the final 300 meters on the left turn on to Columbus, hardly believing we were going to finish after over 5.5 hours of suffering. We crossed the line together and savored the feeling of placing that medal over our heads.

As I watched some of the news coverage Sunday on WGN, out of Chicago, it really dawned on me what we’d accomplished. I’d been saying to Jen on the El out of Chicago and then the drive home, that I really could not believe that we’d finished in those conditions. It’s something that's going to power me for at least a few weeks before I come back down to earth.

Looking back, the prep for this was a great experience. We had some incredible training runs; the best was probably the lakefront 20-mile run we did in 3:22. And, I know that in optimal conditions like those which are normally the case for Chicago in October (50s and 60s), we would have had a great race and a much better time.

However, we took the race we were given and we made the best of it. I’m probably as proud of this accomplishment as any athletic endeavor we’ve ever attempted. And, I know that there are about 25,000 people out there who finished the race, are looking at their medal, and are thinking the same thing: “Chicago gave me a blast furnace in October and I cooled it off, damn it.”

Odds and ends from my mental notebook

*The crowds in Chicago were amazingly dedicated and provided a huge lift to us along the entire course. Even as we were finishing, after more than 5.5 hours, the corner of Michigan and Roosevelt was packed, as was the final 300 meters to the finish line. Such a huge thing to have people cheering for you and it was definitely my favorite part of the race.

*Right after the 18-mile mark, well before the next aid station, where Jen told me later she was in the most distress, a man on the side of the street handed her an unopened ice-cold bottle of water. Out of the blue. A random man with one bottle of ice-cold water. Just for her. Very weird.

*Signage is big in this race, both from members of the crowd and the runners themselves. Tons of runners put their first name on the front of their shirts. It’s a little off-putting at first, but very cool to hear people yelling, “Go Wester!” in the middle of thousands of runners. And, runners write things on the back of their shirts as well.

On our shirts, we'd written“Alex and Kristen’s Dad” and “Alex and Kristen’s Mom.” We had at least three different people ask “Who’s watching Alex and Kristen today?” Saw three women in their early 20s with “Big Sis,” “Middle Sis,” and “Little Sis” on their respective shirts. I sure hope they finished together. And, another woman had written “85 degrees in Oct? WTF?”

*Much has been written about the aid stations and lack of water. I think the bigger problem was that the spacing of the aid stations, about every 1 to 1.5 miles, was simply too far in this kind of heat. By the time you hit an aid station, you were so desperate for water and Gatorade and cooling, that you were grabbing as much as you could and it was just a madhouse. The worst aid station we saw was between mile 20 and 21 before the turn on to 35th street. It was decimated, with hardly anything left, and there were aid workers, surrounded by desperate runners, pouring water directly on to people. Surreal.

*Jen is wicked strong. She had a bad day on Sunday and really summoned some internal strength to cross that finish line. She told me afterward that she thought seriously about quitting at least two times but pushed past the pain and didn’t let up. She’s a machine.

*Finally, my Dad has posted a wonderfully articulate essay on us crazy marathoners on his blog, which you can read here. It’s a great piece of writing, as his stuff always is.

*Despite the pain and the suffering, a small part of me wants to do this again. Jen thinks I'm nuts. She's probably right. . .