Chicago Marathon: Week #0

"I'd rather race another ironman than run another marathon" - me. #2017chicagomarathonentrant #eatmyownwords

In honour of getting into the 2017 Chicago Marathon, let's kick off with a funny, witty race report (Source: Let's Run). Happy reading!

This is a hilarious, well-written piece from a guy in Iowa. True Story.

Its Time To Run A F#cking Marathon Chicago 2006

I was flying into Chicago at night

Watching the lake turn the sky into blue-green smoke1

3:00:47. Forty seven seconds. Youre probably thinking to yourself: over the course of three hours you couldnt find a place to shave forty seven seconds and go under the magical three hour barrier? Dont you feel like you lost? The answers to those questions, and many more, are no and no. Long suppressed is my burning desire to prove something. Im happy, no ecstatic, that I was able to put together a solid effort to the finish, something that I havent been able to do for a few years. Besides, whats the difference between 3:00:47 and 2:59:59, 200 meters? For that matter whats the difference between say 2:57 and 2:56:03? To be quite honest as Im sure Seth, Tank & TC can attest quite a bit.

The decision to run Chicago meant my eight year Twin Cities Marathon streak would come to an end. There probably wasnt a lot left for me to accomplish on that course. Id run the gamut. Not to mention, Ive been humbled by those hills more than I care to remember. By comparison, Chicagos course is so pancake flat it hardly deserves to be called a marathon. You should have to run a couple of extra miles to make up for the hills it lacks. Regardless, I was willing to accept their charity and set a 2:55 goal for myself which included no miles faster than 6:30, through the half in 1:25 1:27 then roll the dice and see what I had left.

To give some idea about the months leading up to Chicago you have to go back to February of this year. In my mind, in the running scheme of things, February is not the time to be hammering out your hardest miles. An entire year lies ahead to inflict that sort of punishment on yourself. February is a time for maintenance, a time to enjoy the outdoors and sling a few snowballs. This past winter was atypical. Somehow the SCRC2 had increased not only in numbers but also in speed. By February we were absolutely flying while the first races were still months away. All this led me to the bold announcement: If I dont PR3 or injure myself this year I dont know how Im going to explain it. The speed could be attributed to a couple of former collegiate runners whod joined the ranks. One in particular hereafter, to protect his identity, Ill simply refer to him as Death was intending to lose his marathon virginity with me in Chicago. I had no visions of grandeur; Death was the better runner between the two of us. One other important tidbit, through a former CNA4 employee whos now a member of the SCRC, Death and I would be running on a team that has been contending for the year-long Chicago Challenge Cup, a competition for teams who run in the big three Chicagoland races. More important to Death and me was that in exchange for our efforts toward the team we would get access before and after the race to a secured, fully serviced and heated circus tent.

Cindy5 and I again stayed in Oak Park with friends and perhaps thee greatest marathon hosts, Mary, Kader & Franklin. Saturday afternoon Cindy and I rode the El to the expo, picked-up our packets then rode the El back to Oak Park for a relaxing dinner. Rain came Saturday night including a little thunder and lightning. By Sunday morning the rain had stopped but a blustery northwest wind had taken its place. The temperature was around forty. Mary and Kader chauffeured Cindy and me downtown and dropped us off a short walk away from our tent where Id arranged to meet our CNA contact who gave us the wristbands to gain access to the tent. Death hadnt yet arrived and I was a little concerned I wouldnt be seeing him that day. Sure enough though, like clockwork, Death came swooping in in time to use the kybos, check his bag and walk with me to the Competitive start corral.

Based on prior race results, Death and I had earned a place in the top 1,500 runners which may not seem like an advantage until you consider there were 38,000 runners lined up behind. Death and I had twenty five minutes to kill and try to stay warm before the start. There was plenty of room to move around yet the majority of runners felt compelled to push their way to the front like cattle eager for the slaughter. One runner walked past wearing a Luther College singlet and said, I know you. Youre Death. Apparently this unfortunate soul had faced Death in college. Death later said hed beat this poor soul every time. And to Deaths credit, he couldnt even remember the runners name. Victory: Death.

The guy who used to I dont know if he still does sing the National Anthem at the Cubs games sang. This I know from all of the middle schools summers I spent watching Cubs games on WGN and keeping box score at him. His style is unique in that when he gets to the part: And the home - of the - brave, he doesnt go down but goes up an octave which I now always come to expect.

Without much build-up a horn sounded and we were underway. A couple of Spanish runners came up the side of Death and me jumping around and high-fiving like theyd just escaped from prison. What a waste of energy. I thought to myself: If they only knew Death was so close at hand.

Prior to the start Death and I had made a deal: run our own race, avoid getting sucked in too fast. I was to pace Death through the half. There the proverbial gloves would come off and wed see what each had left. Deaths challenge was to stay with me, to see if he was capable of a foreign concept to him: a slow Death.

Both the crowd of runners and spectators were quite overwhelming those first miles. I found myself getting sucked into tight corners which slowed me down some and made me vigilant about avoiding getting tripped. A couple of lefts followed by a couple of rights, across the Chicago River and we were headed north away from downtown. An occasional gust of wind forced us to tuck in behind other runners or spectators for protection, but I wouldnt say it affected my day. After a couple of miles the excitement of the start wore off and the reality of what lay ahead began to set in. Im guessing those Spaniards from the start werent jumping around anymore.

Past the Lincoln Park Zoo reminded me of visits there in years past. I didnt remember the area being so park-like. The city becomes almost a surreal place when youre running through it. Just past mile five, Death and I took the first of our planned walk breaks to make sure we rehydrated well enough through the early water stops. A little strategery [sic] is to make a mental note of the runners around when I enter the water stop, walk while I drink, then slowly reel them back in. Death and I did this with little effort and continued on our way.

Around six miles Death dropped a bombshell by:
1) announcing he had to stop to use a kybo
2) assuring me, Ill catch you. (In other words, Death will catch you.)

I must say I was a bit surprised. At that point I didnt think it wise to tell Death that before a marathon you make sure your bladders empty6 and during a marathon you only stop to pee if your bladders about to explode and youre incapable of peeing your shorts while you run. All those thoughts translated into a simple, Okay and I continued at my current speed assuming Id seen the last of Death for the day. Shortly thereafter, a spectator yelled, Only twenty more miles to go! I fought the urge to yell back, F#ck you!7

As promised, Death did catch up to me and we turned south again toward the city center aided by a slight tail-to-crosswind. By this point it was pretty clear which runners were going to be around for the long haul. I told Death, This is it for me. Im just hanging on to these people for as long as possible. Death, in his stoic way, acknowledged what I had said but gave no indication of his approval or disapproval.

The course took a quick right then left again and we were on a street lined with gorgeous walk-ups, the corner house blasting some deafening song that brought a smile to my face and memories of a similar house in Brooklyn during the NYC Marathon, practically pulsating with the beat of The Beastie Boys No Sleep Til Brooklyn. A couple of miles later Death and I slowed to eat the first of our PowerGels. A spectator yelled, Welcome to the Windy City! Again I fought the urge to yell back, F#ck you! 7

Youd think among the 40,000 runners and 1.5 million spectators itd be statistically impossible for me to run into someone I knew, yet as we approached the Merchandise Mart there were Ulf and Anthony8 jumping up and down and screaming like it was 1985 and Rob Houghtlin had just kicked the game winning field goal to beat Michigan. Death and I turned south and crossed the Chicago River again passing a corner Starbucks and Indian restaurant Ive visited on more than one occasion. I nudged death and pointed out a couple of runners gates: believe it or not, one like Movics9, the other likes Wells10. Death responded by stopping to use a kybo but assuring me before he did that again, Ill catch you. And again I thought I could shake Death. And again I was wrong. I was beginning to realize that Death possessed within him some undying force.

The course was again packed with spectators as Death and I headed west near the Sears Tower toward the halfway mark. Everything to this point had gone as planned. I still felt like I had plenty left in the tank as we hit the half in 1:27:29. I slapped Death on the back and told him, My job is done. Youre on your own. In return, again, Death gave me that stoic glare.

The thick crowds wed been enjoying quickly vanished past the half and we were left with a stiff headwind. Well, I cant say we because Death had left my side and was about thirty meters ahead looming like a dark cloud over a pack of thirty or so. I had to make a decision. Run solo into a headwind or choose Death. I chose the latter. The surge I made to close the gap wasnt all too taxing, but still I wondered if I was burning some matches Id most certainly need at the end. My decision to join the group was a good one. As I said, there were thirty or more running all about the same speed. We were rolling like a well oiled machine. I was amazed at my luck to hook-up with such a huge group so late in the race and thought to myself, this is my ride to the finish. The group rolled through a couple of miles which wouldve otherwise been pretty desolate. We reached a water stop and I cant ever recall seeing bodies fly all over place like that. From the center of the road each person lunged in a different direction for cups. Then, like an orchestrated dance, everyone returned to swarm in the middle of the road. It was a thing of beauty. And yet, serving as a constant reminder, Death loomed nearby.

Things started to come apart for me in the upper-teen miles. I didnt experience catastrophic failure but it was becoming apparent that I wouldnt be able to maintain my current pace to the finish. Not to worry. That sort of thing happens more times than not. I simply slowed my pace a little and kept things rolling as best I could. That large group of runners Id been lounging in was slowly dissolving. I was one casualty. Death was not. In fact, the last time Id see Death until after the finish he was you guessed it emerging from a kybo, running to catch-up to the group ahead.

Although my legs didnt have the snap they once did, I was still in good shape. More encouraging was the stretch of the course that parallels the Dan Ryan Expressway. Marathons, Im sure, take advertising dollars in about any way they can get them. This means things like PowerBar sponsors the Power Zone (where PowerGels are handed out to runners) or and this one still stumps me New Balance sponsors the Last 5 Miles (probably because they know thats where the majority of runners are going spend the most time). Anyway, the stretch along the Dan Ryan must have been the Midol Cramp Zone because everyone, everyone was standing on the side of the road trying to stretch the cramps out of their legs.

I (because I no longer had Death on my shoulder) crossed the Dan Ryan and went through The University of Chicagos campus. I thought, hey, theres that El tube architecture that was featured in the NY Times a couple of years ago as I ran past. Things were starting to become a little blurry for me and I switched on the reserve tank. I wasnt in panic mode. Ive had worse legs at that point. At mile 20 I did the math for sub three hours and figured Id need roughly a 46 minute 10k. Very realistic. It was at this point too where I stopped trying to keep my heart rate reasonable and threw caution to the wind. Id switched from merely surviving the distance to, strange as this may sound, running.

I lost my sense of direction and concentrated on getting to the next mile marker because it was there, I told myself, where I could walk and recover a bit. Times like these a mile can last a lifetime. But to my surprise the miles kept coming. In fact, it was hard to believe I was already so close to finishing a marathon. Ive run faster marathons, but none where the time has passed so quickly. As I reached each of the next miles I avoided walking and readjusted my goal, setting it for the next mile mark. Through Chinatown and past the cheap, sugary bakery Cindy, Sam Lars and I had visited last Christmas. The crowds were strong again. I saw Ulf and Anthony jumping around and yelling like theyd just won the lottery. Ulf screamed, Well see you at twenty five! If I had the energy to burn I wouldve screamed back equally as loud, My hearing is just fine! Its my legs that are having trouble!

Each mile I reached I did the sub three hour math: 32 minutes, 24 minutes, etc. One other trick Ive learned over the years is to make sure your expectations are in line with how long its realistically going to take to reach the finish. Rather than thinking, God when is this going to be over? Please be over soon. I found its better to tell myself, best case Im going to be out here at least thirty more minutes so adjust accordingly. If nothing else, my minds preoccupation with all of those crazy thoughts distracted me and before I was expecting to be I found myself on Michigan Avenue for the final two mile drag race to the finish. Sub three hours was still on my mind and I knew there was no way it was going to happen with my heart rate pegged the way it was and my legs full of lactic acid. I stopped at the next water stop, walked a bit, ate my last PowerGel and made the final push to the finish. It didnt work. My legs felt like I was running through molasses. A week ago a friend had sent news that during a local cyclocross race he stood on the steepest section of the course and yelled at the riders as they passed through a bullhorn: YOURE HAVING A HEART ATTACK!...WHY DONT YOU JUST QUIT? The week before I thought it was funny. Now I was seriously wondering to myself, am I having a heart attack? Quitting though. That was never a consideration. The other thought that crossed my mind came from a friend whod run 2:30 at the Chicago Marathon practically a lifetime ago11. I emailed him a couple of days before my race asking him to share all of his marathoning wisdom. His only advice was, and I quote, Dont be afraid to jack-up the pace at mile 20. Maybe it was a self-fulfilling prophecy, but as I read that email and when I was actually running those last miles I knew it was, for me, not possible.

A couple of small pace groups blew past. I moved to their wake hoping to get sucked along in their draft. Nothing. Another couple passed. One said to the other, We need to do two seven thirties (to go under three hours). Me too. I mustve been the only one not passing someone. The walls were starting to close-in and my eyesight was becoming a bit blotchy.

At the 1 mile to go I needed to run a seven minute mile to stay under three hours. I thought back to the Drake half marathon and needing to run a final six minute mile to hit my goal. I did it at Drake, but not here. As promised, Ulf and Anthony were there waiting and ran alongside me, Ulf screaming again as loud as possible: COME ON RYAN! DEATH IS JUST UP AHEAD. YOU CAN CATCH HIM! COME ON RYAN! In truth, I doubt there was anything anyone could have calmly said or obnoxiously shouted over and over that could have made me run faster. The one bit that startled me was that out the corner of my eye I could see how easily Ulf and Anthony were running alongside me in their street clothes. It felt like a mirror was being held up alongside me as I ran with a sign above it that read: INDEED. YOU DO LOOK THAT BAD. Ulfs screaming lasted an uncomfortably long time. I knew the final seven minute mile wasnt going to happen which, in all honesty, didnt disappoint me in the least. My thoughts shifted to: I cant believe it. Im going to finish a solid three hour marathon! Pure bliss.

800 meters to go, up and over the Metra tracks. Nothing left in my legs to pick up the pace even for a flashy finish. Believe me. Im not embarrassed to sprint the last two tenths of a marathon no matter how slow I ran the previous 26 miles.

400 meters to go. Nothing.

200 meters to go. I dont know if I did have a tiny burst of energy or if it was the thrill of finishing.

For you junkies who can only understand an effort in terms of numbers:

avg avg

split HR split HR

----- --- ----- ---

mile 1 - 7:05 153 mile 14 - 6:36 167

mile 2 - 6:31 160 mile 15 - 6:40 168

mile 3 - 6:36 165 mile 16 - 6:41 166

mile 4 - 6:34 163 mile 17 - 6:44 168

mile 5 - 6:33 164 mile 18 - 6:50 169

mile 6 - 6:51 162 mile 19 - 6:55 168

mile 7 - 6:39 164 mile 20 - 6:57 170

mile 8 - 6:40 165 mile 21 - 7:05 170

mile 9 - 6:43 164 mile 22 - 7:08 171

mile 10 - 6:40 162 mile 23 - 7:22 170

mile 11 - 6:36 163 mile 24 - 7:56 165

mile 12 - 6:36 163 mile 25 - 7:36 171

mile 13 - 6:38 165 mile 26 - 7:45 169

.2 - 1:40 169

------------------------------------------

3:00:47 166

In the finish area I came dangerously close to ending another marathon streak which is to look so malign and unstable that a medical volunteer asks if Im okay. Thankfully someone game through. The sun reflecting off of all those Mylar blankets is always blinding. I moved away as quickly as possible to the side of the finish area that wasnt yet being used. If for no other reason, I highly recommend everyone try to finish a marathon as quickly as possible because theres nobody yet using all of those great finish services. Its like having Disneyland all to yourself.

I started stumbling in the direction of an exit. My legs started hurting in a way unlike while I was running, the kind of hurt that makes you want to cry. I wondered how far back Cindy was. I wondered where Death was. I couldnt possibly have beaten Death, could I? I wasnt permitted to slip through a section of fence nearest the circus tent but was made to walk a half mile farther in the secured finish which meant Id have to backtrack another half mile to the circus tent. At the tent I easily retrieved my checked bag, put on my dry clothes and asked volunteers manning and womanning the computers to look-up Cindys splits. Shed been through the 40k and was set to finish very shortly. Good news. Death appeared out of nowhere, we high-fived and traded finish times. As I expected, Death had the upper hand that day. Even so, as happy as I was about my effort, I was very much looking forward to a blow-by-blow account from Death. Theres nothing like that first time. Again, like he did during the race, Death shut me down opting for his quiet stoicism. I thought, another day Death. You and me.

Cindy finished. We shoveled-in cups of probably some of the best chicken noodle soup I can remember, hobbled to the El and rode it back to Mary and Kaders. The end.

I should probably add that Death and I along with the others on the CNA team were the third fastest team in the marathon for the Chicago Challenge Cup series and earned enough points for CNA to take top prize in the yearlong competition.

And the meaning behind the title/subject of this? That was my reply to Cindy marathon morning when she woke-up and asked me what time it was.

Special thanks to anyone whos ever run or ridden a mile with me and, as always, thanks for reading.

~Ryan


1 The opening lyric from Liz Phairs Stratford on Guy which plays in an endless loop in my mind whenever Im in Chicago.

2 An initialism for the Serious Coin Running Club. Trust me. Its a story longer than you care to hear. Suffice it to say, its the group with which I run 99% of my miles.

3 Personal Record or personal best.

4 I still dont know what that initialism translates to.

5 Yes. She too ran the marathon. I wont speak to how her race went.

6 Unfortunately, this sometimes means you have to discretely pee in a water bottle while you wait at the start

7 I dont mean to sound rude or insincere. But if you havent run a marathon, your mind switches into an almost animalistic state. The slightest annoyances can be unmanageable.

8 Two fellow SCRCs from Des Moines.

9 Mark has self described curb feelers whereby with each stride his heals kick outwardly rather than straight behind

10 Don probably doesnt realize he has a distinctive gate so I wont embarrass him by describing it.

11 [smile]