Chicago Marathon 2005

Jon runs through Chinatown during 2005 LaSalle Bank Chicago Marathon

Hmmm. Less is more. That seemed to be the lesson of my third marathon, which turned out my slowest but also by far most fun.

I had done a number of things that led me to suspect it wasn't going to be a good day. Loss of nearly a month (July) due to the Cornerstone Festival and a lengthy Montana vacation which included my 30th Fort Benton High School reunion (Rahrah FBHS 1975!). Then there were about three (!!!) bouts with sickness, along with a slip in the shower right after running my 18 miler! The latter knocked me out of training for nearly a week.

In short, none of my long runs had gone well, and I fully suspected I'd be doing a pretty slow and ugly LaSalle Bank Chicago Marathon.

I planned accordingly.

- Less liquid than last year. Everyone seems freaked about being under-hydrated, but my experience of the LBCM in '04 taught me that over-hydration is more to be feared. I was, to put it mildly, as sick as a dog after the race last year, even yakking on the L-train on the way home.

- Less speed than last year. I was doing 9 minute miles, nothing speedy to many runners, but my top long-range speed; it only lasted a bit past mile 13 or 14 last year, and then came long walking breaks and an eventual breakdown of my run altogether.

- Little to no focus on the clock. Last year, I wanted a 4:00 time or better. I got a 4:45, shocking to me in light of all the training I did which had indicated I would finish in the 4 hour to 4:15 range. This year, I said, forget time, I'll run gently and in take it easy mode.

Things started great. I was being passed by a lot of runners (some of whom I later repassed later; first year runners often go out way too fast and pay big-time for it). I skipped the first water/Gatorade station altogether and kept putzing along. Small children reached out with their tiny gloved hands, hoping to have a runner "slap five" with them. I obliged, smiling.

Four or five miles in, it suddenly felt a bit on the tired side. Uh-oh, wonder if this is the beginning of a worst-case scenario? But no, I worked past that feeling and got into what seemed a nice groove. By miles 9 and 10 (around Lincoln Park Zoo to Addison Street), I was feeling fine. Quick porta-potty stop at mile 8 or 9 didn't seem to faze the overall good feeling I was having.

Some guys held an anti-Bush sign up, irritating many of the runners but drawing a thumbs-up from me (sorry, fellow evangelicals!). And the music was everywhere, from punk to "God Bless America" -- the latter should have been next to the anti-Bush rally for maximum surreal effect, but instead was near the LaSalle Bank Building downtown. I was taking it all in, unlike last year when I was so bent on that impossible 4 hrs. that I didn't allow myself to relax and enjoy.

The day was perfect -- I doubt I'll ever see another day quite as perfect. High 50s with a touch of wind, enough clouds in the sky to keep the sun from baking us all... just idyllic weather for a run.

I did get one scare. Around mile 12 or 13 I suddenly stepped into what was a well-disguised pothole in the street. Not tremendously deep, only a few inches, but it sent a jarring bang up my leg into my thigh that I thought might have injured me for a moment. I actually yelled in surprise and pain, though mostly surprise. Thankfully, I didn't feel any lasting problem until the next day when my left knee and thigh ached quite a bit.

Other odd moments: A plaintive runner's voice saying, "Anyone got a band-aid? Anyone? A band-aid?" I looked to my right, where the voice was coming from, and spotted a guy with one of the most painful (though harmless) injuries a runner can get: chafed nipples! He had a white shirt on, and it had rubbed one of his nipples so hard that blood had streamed down the left side of the shirt. He really needed Nip-guards (no kidding, these are little jobs made for runners male and female to prevent this sort of thing). In fact, by the end of the race, my own white shirt had a less spectacular but similarly-caused stain on one side.

The best moment to me, other than finishing, was hearing a really strange voice at one point going "Goooooooooooo.... Gooooooooooo...."

I looked over, and a guy was standing on the sidelines with his small dog held in the crook of his arm. The DOG was the one making that noise! I started laughing. Truly surreal.

I can't really describe what it is like to be running with 33,000 other people (7,000 didn't actually show up, though they'd registered for the LBCM). At times, when I had a vantage point allowing me to see far ahead, the vision of those thousands of others running was overwhelming. Each runner with her or his own unique set of reasons for running... like the guy that passed me with a t-shirt reading "Triple bypass in 2002 -- LBCM in 2005." But the one that actually brought a tear to my eye was a thin, almost emaciated looking thirty-something woman. Her shirt read, "Running LBCM... Without my brain tumor." Wow. One quickly realizes how life-affirming a marathon -- even running itself -- can be for someone battling back against individual setback or heartbreak.

The crowds along the course were fantastic, estimated at over one million people. Cheering, shouting, waving signs and even handing out everything from bananas to beer (no thanks, but thanks!) and tootsie-rolls (yes, thanks), they really helped energize us.

Things continued well until I reached mile 22, where for the first time I had to really take some time walking. The pain had been slowly building for a while. Even then, however, I felt so relaxed about it all. I had hoped I would stay under five hours, but that began to look doubtful as my walking stretches got longer and longer. My legs were simply tired, my hips in particular feeling the length of the race.

Near the end I was again walking near another guy my size (around 6'2"). We laughed together as we limped along about how mile 22 had nailed both of us. But at his urging we once again powered up to get over that last bridge (it seemed a mountain, though the actual change in elevation is only a couple dozen feet). I ran ahead, and crossed the finish line at 5:08 plus a few seconds.

And I felt great. Last year, once across the finish line I'd fallen to the pavement, my guts really tearing me up and my energy completely depleted. This year, I found myself happily going through the line for my medal, my aluminum foil heat cape, my ice-cold green apple (man was that apple great!), and two bottles of water. I drank one bottle hiking to the Howard Red Line L-Train and another on the way home to Wilson Avenue.

It was a great race. And unlike last year, when I nearly said "never again!" to marathons, this year's race left me ready for more.

A final real blessing: I raised over $1700 for the Cornerstone Community Outreach Shelter, a homeless shelter run by Jesus People USA (the intentional Christian community where I live). My fellow TeamCCO runners and I had fun moaning around that night, eating pizza and alternately laughing and grimacing over our performances. All of us finished in over 5 hours, so at least I wasn't alone!

Now for wintertime training and trying not to let all that marathon trained muscle turn into couch potato fat....

Tapering...

My twelve miler last weekend went well. Cool weather helped, plus the shorter mileage during this final "taper" down to let the body revive before the marathon. I'm a little worried about my shoes, though. Tighter than they should be for 11 1/2 2W shoes. Hmmm. Another pair at the crazy prices running shoes go for? Sigh.

Time to get out there and do my six miler today. Guess I'd better stop typing and start running.

Bloodied, but Not Bowed...

Further setbacks. My apex week of training was supposed to consist of four runs. I got "the flu" (my name for something actually quite different involving migranes and sinus mess, and which has bothered me on and off for years) the first day of these four days, and lost all three of the "short" runs. Then came the 20 miler, and how ugly that was!

I did have fun for the first third of it, as I ran past the Y-Me Breast Cancer walkathon three day walkers who were just finishing up their charity walk. There were hundreds of them, and I couldn't help but clap and occasionally yell out, "My wife is a survivor! I thank you, my daughters thank you, my wife thanks you!" They often were quite cheered to hear such a thing, esp. the ones who were limping badly.

But alas, not even their presence was enough to keep me going in the 85 degree heat plus my own lack of preparedness due to illness (see previous posts) and other problems. The run degraded steadily into run/walk run/walk, and finally into walking with a bit of running tossed in. By the time I was done, and I was done at only 17 miles instead of 20, I could barely walk myself, and looked a lot like one of the more forlorn Y-Me walkers! Sigh...

I felt pretty hopeless about my LaSalle Bank Chicago Marathon, though unswayed in my determination to run it. A visit to Hal Higdon's V-Team running boards left me more encouraged. As Hal noted, at least I was out there. And that pretty much has been the story of my training this year.

Spiritual application? Sometimes you work toward a goal, only to discover your own limitations (temporary or permanent limitations). At that point, you either bail out or recalibrate your expectations. When I first started training this year, I hoped to be able to break a four hour marathon. At this point, I seriously expect to run over 5 hours, perhaps as slowly as 5:30.

My goal now? As in my Christian life, it is to finish. Just that.

Back Injury: Slip in Shower After 18 Miler

A grueling eighteen miler, and on a set of gravel and two-lane paved roads with plenty of hills thrown in, left me wiped but satisfied. Then came my step into the shower, and a mat that was supposed to stop slipping instead slipped itself. I didn't fall, but did jerk upright with a force I instantly knew wasn't good for me. By the next day, my back was very sore low down. Running acquaintances discouraged me from further training until the back is back to normal, or close to it.

Tomorrow I'll go out there again, how far to run I don't know yet. I'll see how it goes.

As usual, all sorts of spiritual applications I can think of for this, but I'll let that drop for now. Suffice it to say that we are far more frail that we think we are, a fact circumstance and nature occasionally inform us of in no uncertain terms.

Eight Miler Was... Well, Elegant

Overcast sky, mid-afternoon in Chicago... a breeze across my face. I ached, no doubt about it, helped along by having accidentally whacked my left foot against something in my room. The fourth toe felt bruised for sure. But the day was nice, and I eased into the run and began praying the Lord's Prayer. Slowly, pondering each word...

The pace was nice, and the coolness of the day really helped. I found myself praying the prayer over and over as the trees and lake stretched out, and as other runners and bikers passed or were passed by me.

I'll have to talk more about the praying... I've been doing the Lord's Prayer quite a bit lately while I run. But meanwhile, I will say this. The run went well all the way through... no pooping out at the end like I've been doing on medium and longer runs lately. I actually sped up the second half, and finished with a 1:15 time. That comes out to a tiny bit less than 9 Min 30 sec miles, which is faster than I've run some of my four mile runs lately!

Sixteen--er, SEVENteen Miler

Well, one week later after decent weekday runs of 4, 8, and 4 miles, I felt moderately prepared for the weekend run again. Sunday this time, as Saturday was filled with unavoidable work from early on. Cool out, supposedly, so I go for an after-church start time.

Cool, sure. For about five miles. On top of that the Chicago Air and Water Show is going on full-bore right in the center miles of my normal route (around North Avenue Beach). So I have to create a "new" course, using about a third of normal route going south on the Bikepath, then turning back at Belmont and running North past my origen point. I end up going way, way north past the end of the Bikepath and into Evanston.

I go past my daughter's apartment in Evanston, only one block off her street. And still keep going.

Finally, I turn around. And counting miles (a sort of iffy proposition, using my watch time plus the mileage I already have counted), I figure I've gone about 10 1/2 miles. And then I have to walk a little. I do adding in my head, subtracting... hmm. Okay, if I run back South of the point of origin again, turn around 2 miles or so past and come home to Wilson and home... that should do it.

I really start losing power. It's hot. The sun is burning down now. Did I mention I hadn't worn a shirt -- IDIOT! -- somehow thinking my skin had absorbed enough sun on shorter runs that I wouldn't burn even though I'm a redhead? Sigh...

I'm running shorter and shorter distances between walk breaks. The sun is coming down hard, harder now that the second hour of the run has started. Thank God for trees, their cool shadows offering brief respites between bright straightaways. Every fountain becomes an excuse to stop, except that I really am terribly thirsty.

Is this really supposed to be healthy? For crying out loud, I'm not that far from fifty years old here!

I keep going, even though in the last two miles things are more walking than running. I stagger into my room, and after recalibrating my times and known exact miles, realize I've run at least 17 miles instead of the intended 16. Sheesh. It sure felt that long...

15 Miler... Let It Rain!

In my continuing attempt to catch up to where I ought to be at this point in the training for the Chicago Marathon, I did the listed fifteen mile run today. Even if I didn't run all of it, I did run most of it... 11 1/2 miles I did straight running (w/ stops for water fountains a few times). After that I had to take a few thirty to sixty second walk breaks. I don't think any of the breaks much surpassed that, and the total distance was a mile or less.

The rain threatened to come for the entire run, but didn't catch me until I was two miles from home. Truth is, I wish it had been raining the whole time. It felt great, and I tasted the salt as it washed down my face. Pure rain, coolant and energizer all in one! Sure helped me clean up, and clean up the end of my run as well.

Sigh... next weekend, a sixteen miler! Man, am I achy.