Race Report: Chicago Marathon

On Sunday, I ran my 18th marathon in Chicago in 3:13:58.  I have a weird anxious feeling like maybe I accidentally cheated or something, because a 3:13 marathon seems A LOT faster than I ever could have run.  In fact, it's one hour and nine minutes faster than my first marathon.  I've come a long way, baby.  (Literally.  26.2 x 18 is 471.6 miles, and that doesn't include the distances I traveled training for them).

Pre-Race: TG and I arrived on Saturday morning, having decided to spend Friday night at home in New York, where I could sleep in my own bed, eat my own food, and freak out quietly in my own apartment.  We went straight from O'Hare to the expo, which was approximately 12 hours away by taxi.  I think realistically it was about 20 miles, way far south in Chicago, but it took forever.

Once we finally arrived, however, the whole packet pick up process was easy.  I snagged my bib, my shirt, and a couple of things from the expo I'd neglected to pack: Body Glide, a new SpiBelt, and a pair of Kinvaras, which I actually did pack, but when I find them on sale, I snag them because I hate the new model and need to hoard the old ones.

Sweet backpack. You look 12.

 

After a while, we got pretty hangry, and no amount of free samples of protein granola and Gatorade could hold us over, so we got back in a cab and headed to the Fairmont Millennium Park, our home base for the weekend.

 

(A note about this hotel: It was extraordinarily convenient to the race start at Grant Park.  There was also a complimentary shuttle between the Expo and the Hotel [which we discovered after we paid for a cab].  That said, this hotel was also sort of exorbitantly expensive without being particularly luxurious; our room had two double beds, and maybe smelled like smoke or mildew or something not that awesome.  The convenience factor can't be overstated, but I might look for another hotel in the neighborhood, as there are dozens within a couple block radius, rather than staying here).

 

We dropped off our gear and walked a block away to Sweetwater, where we grabbed a lunch of chicken fingers, tater tots, and other wholesome and nutritious foods and caught up on college football.

 

While many pre-race afternoons are spent napping, watching TV, and generally hanging about on dry land, Saturday afternoon found us on the Chicago River aboard the "Volts Wagon," a 21 foot electric boat my friend Nina had rented for the afternoon.  Though random, our afternoon cruise was actually a great way to unwind before the race while resting our legs. (my friends covered a lot of ground by bike on Sunday)

 

#goGarnets

 

After our sea voyage, Cate, Nina, TG and I headed to Osteria Via Stato for a pasta feast.  Go here and eat the bread.  If you're allergic to garlic, as I am, avoid at all costs the olive oil.

 

 

We ate dinner, we laughed, we made a plan to meet up after the race, and by 7:30pm, TG and I were in a cab headed back to our hotel.

 

I'd like to say this is the part where I calmly laid out my bib person, took a shower, and drifted peacefully off to sleep. 

 

Those are the Kinvaras I bought at the expo. Do as I say, not as I do.

 

This is actually the part where I laid out my bib person, burst into tears because I'm not great at managing anxiety, and blew my nose into TG's shirt.  I know that sounds dramatic, but I'm just being real.  It wasn't even that I was nervous about how I'd race the next day; it was more that, for 16 weeks, I'd been working very deliberately towards something, checking my progress off on my to do list day-by-day in seemingly manageable chunks, and it suddenly occurred to me that the something had arrived.  It was like I realized a big part of my life was coming to an end, even though the cycle can be repeated forever. 

 

Also, I was tired.  Sleepy, yes, but drained, too.  We all choose to do this because we love it and it fulfills us in one way or another, but that doesn't make it easy.  Juggling training and a job and a relationship and friendships and travel and Dorito is a lot (you try balancing all that while a cat is biting you in the Achilles; it is not easy). 

 

Also, the taper makes me super emo and introspective.

 

Eventually, though, I apologized to TG for being a lunatic and calmed down enough to get to sleep, and when I woke up the next morning, I was back to Level 10 excited about the race.

 

Race Morning: I was up before the alarm at 4:50 and started brewing coffee into the world's teeniest coffee cup (another knock against the Fairmont.  "What is this, a coffee cup for ants?").  I suited up, went to the bathroom a few times, played a couple T.Swift/Carly Rae Jepsen/Imagine Dragons/Ludacris jams, and kept glancing out the window at the street below to monitor the crowds headed to the park.  By 6:30am, I was ready to head outside.

 

Human Bib Person!

I tossed on some throw away clothes and TG and I headed downstairs (two small boys in the elevator in their footie pajamas said to their dad "Why is she wearing a garbage bag?"  Poor guy didn't know what to tell them).  By now, Michigan Avenue was flooded with runners and their loved ones, and progress was slow.  It was 6:50 when I kissed TG goodbye and entered the Park at Jackson Street, slogged through the security line, dashed over to gear check, and headed towards Wave 1, Corral B.  Promptly at 7:20, Wave 1 corrals closed, the National Anthem played, and everywhere around me, Garmins found their satellites.  At 7:30, the elites were off.  At 7:32, so was I.

 

The Race: My pace bracelet had me running even 7:35s for the duration of the race.  My plan was to go out at pace and run for five miles before I put any thought into making adjustments, etc.  This was more difficult than I anticipated because, from the get go, my Garmin was WAY off.  The race starts in the Loop, where the buildings that make up the Chicago skyline have their foundations.  Coupled with the short stretch through a tunnel at the half-mile mark, there was a lot of satellite interference. 9 minute miles, no 5 minute miles, no 6 minute miles.  Before the mile 1 marker was even in view, my Garmin clicked off a mile.  I tried to relax and find a comfortably hard effort as opposed to focusing on my watch.  At mile 3, I felt the pinching in my hip start up. "Goddamnit, this is going to be a long race," I thought.  But after a dozen strides during which I focused on my form (abs tight, hips squared), the pinching resolved itself. 

 

5k split: 23:13

 

My about mile 3 and a half, my Garmin seemed to be giving accurate paces, even if it was off on distance.  I glanced at the race clock at mile 4, and the pace bracelet on my wrist.  I was right on target.  "Maybe this is my day after all," I thought.  But 22 miles is a long way to go, so mostly what I did was put my head down and focus on running.  And I do mean "put my head down."  I spent the vast majority of this race looking at the ground 5-8 feet in front of me, cognizant of feet and potholes and steel grates and anything else that might cause me to step funny and tweak my hip.  Good thing I've been to Chicago many times before, because I saw almost none of it on Sunday.  I was so focused on looking down and staying upright that it took TG shouting in the loudest and scariest voice I've ever heard come out of his mouth at mile 5 to bring my attention back to the present.  I veered over to the left side of the road to say hi and give him a big smile and hoped he'd interpret that as the all clear. 

 

10k split: 45:53

 

I made my way up towards Wrigley, then through Boystown, and finally into Lincoln Park, where I knew I'd see my friends.  I glanced at my Garmin again.  The time of day was displayed.  Figuring I'd bumped it somehow, I pressed the button to get back to the timing screen.  It started searching for satellites.  I started panicking.  Without the first 8 miles worth of time, how would I know how I was doing against my pace bracelet?

 

Thankfully, I realized within the mile that the pace per mile feature still worked, so I could start my watch again, ignore the cumulative time, and still get an accurate reading on how I was doing as compared to those 7:35s. 

 

As I headed down Clark towards my friends, I saw that the total time clock on display at mile 9 read 1:08 - exactly the cumulative time I was targeting to have by mile 9 on my pace bracelet.  As someone who cannot do math (ask my CFO), this was a godsend to me.

 

And speaking of godsends, Cate, Nina, and TG were underneath the mile 9 clock screaming for me.  I relayed to them the Garmin woes but gave them a thumbs up.  I knew I probably wouldn't see them again before the finish, which was a bit of the bummer, but was happy to have spotted them all the same.

 

Cate also reached out to offer me a bagel with salmon cream cheese, which I declined, but thanks for offering, friend... But it was a good reminder to start taking some fuel of my own, so I reached into my SpiBelt and took out my Ziploc of Swedish Fish.  I fished out 4 and ate them one at a time, and stuffed the rest of the plastic bag into my sports bra.

 

At this point, my Garmin had been ticking of 7:25s with some consistency. (Also at this point, I had no more splits to go by, since my Garmin was effed, so you're not getting any more splits until the end, either.  Is that annoying and stressful?  TELL ME ABOUT IT). I knew I was a hair fast, but truthfully, putting time in the bank during the marathon has worked pretty well in the past for me (STOP YELLING AT ME), so my plan became to hold steady at my pace until the halfway mark and then reevaluate.

 

By 13.1, the race clock said 1:39 and my pace bracelet said 1:39:30, so I knew I was continually putting distance between my finish time and my goal.  That said, I was also working for it.  Not at an unsustainable level, but enough that I decided to hold steady yet again, instead of trying to pick up the race and aim for negative splits.  I decided to reevaluate again at mile 17, when I'd have fewer than 10 miles to go.  I ate a couple more fish.

 

I always think that the real heavy lift of the marathon, the meat of the work you're putting in, comes in miles 16-20.  Those are the unglamorous, slog-fest miles.  As I passed the mile 16 marker, I thought to myself "this is where you'll run a PR, or not."  Head down.

 

When I got to mile 17, I glanced down at my wrist again to see where my pace bracelet said I should be versus what the race clock said.  My Garmin was once again showing the time of day.  "Don't freak out," I told myself.  "Reset at the next mile marker and rely on the splits."  The 7:25s kept coming.  It was like I had found the exact sweet spot - a pace that I was just on the upper limit of what I could sustain.  A few times, I thought "I'm going to ease up on the effort, just five seconds a mile or so, until mile 20."  But by the end of each mile, I found myself back under my target pace.

 

At mile 20, I let myself imagine what it would be like to break 3:19.  I knew the race clock started a minute or two before I did - maybe I'd break 3:18, even.  I tried not to get greedy.  6 miles is still a long way, 48 minutes if I have to slow down now, maybe more.  I did some mental math.  Just thinking about it made it hard for me to breathe.  "Don't start crying, dummy; you haven't done anything yet, and also you need to breathe in order to finish."

At mile 22, some dudes were offering ice cold beer.  I grabbed a Dixie cup and gulped it down.  Ice cold it was (its provenance was questionable, however... is Schlitz still on the market?).  "Oh shit," I thought.  Am I showboating?"  I felt guilty and put my head back down, concentrating on ticking off the miles, which seemed to be coming faster than I expected.

 

At mile 23, I heard my name over a loudspeaker and was momentarily confused.  Can I hear the finish line this far away?  And how do they know I'm coming?  I realized it was Josh, out cheering on his team with a megaphone and taking photos.  I couldn't hide my excitement about my impending finish.

 

At mile 24, my left hamstring started tightening up, causing a hitch in my step.  It's a sensation I've felt before, most often when I'm doing tempo work on the treadmill.  It goes away immediately when I slow down, but until then, feels like my knee might give out with any step.  I put all my attention into my stride, making sure I was taking long, strong steps.  "Don't do anything stupid."

 

Mile 25.  1 mile to go.  800 meters to go.  Turn a corner, up a hill.  400 meters to go.  Mile 26.  I could see the finish clock. 

 

3:16:15.  

 

Beaming, I crossed the line.

 

I did it.  After so many seasons, I finally got my sub 3:20.  I had no idea what my finish time was, but I knew it was a substantial PR.

 

Having gotten choked up just thinking about a PR at mile 20, I was surprised I didn't burst into tears when I crossed the finish line.  Instead, I was practically vibrating, I was so excited.  I let out a huge whoop as I made my way through the finish chute. "You still have a lot left in the tank, eh?" said the finisher next to me.

 

I grabbed my medal, my food, MY BEER, and made my way through the finish line area to grab my bag from gear check.  (One of the wonderful perks of finishing much faster than your seeded time is that there is no line at all to get your bag).  I shuffled through the post race party, eager to find my friends.  Our plan was to meet back at the hotel, which seemed an interminable distance away.  I just wanted to find them, to thank them, to celebrate with them.  Also maybe for them to tell me where the hotel was, exactly, because it turns out I am not great with directions. 

 

As I made my way back through Millennium Park, I looked up and saw a blonde, a brunette, and a tall guy in a blue jacket, each with a bike.  MY FRIENDS!  (My incredible friends who gave up their weekends [and almost their bagel sandwiches] to watch me run by for 15 seconds.  My friends, to whom I owe so much.  Thank you, my friends.)

 

"3:13:58, that's incredible!" they said.  "Who ran a 3:13:58?  Me?" I was stunned.  "You guys, I'm like a legit fast person now!"

 

(As if on command, a random stranger in the park approached and asked to take my picture.  This is the second consecutive marathon after which this has happened.  Has anyone else experienced this?  It makes me feel equal parts like a celebrity and like someone who is going to be the subject of digitally edited revenge porn or something - what else do you do with pictures of strangers?)

 



Not strangers. Also my mom is on the phone in my hand. Hi mom!



The rest of the splits, which I found out from the surprisingly efficient runner tracking app:

 

15k: 1:09:03

20k: 1:32:23

Half: 1:37:11

25k: 1:54:57

30k: 2:17:53

35k: 2:41:06

40k: 3:05:10

Finish: 3:13:58

 

Average pace: 7:24.  Negative splits and everything.  Thanks Chicago!

 

As far as the Chicago Marathon goes, it will be my favorite, probably forever.  It's fast and flat and it's just a great city to go to and I love everything about it (except the Fairmont, as discussed).  Run this race.

 

As far as marathons in general go, they are also my favorite, definitely forever.  Yes, they are hard and scary, and take a lot of physical and mental strength, and even if you have that maybe sometimes they make you have weird crying fits, but there is not a single thing in this world more satisfying and fulfilling to me than setting a goal, even a big, scary one, chipping away at it, maybe falling short a couple times, and ultimately achieving it. 

 

I wish everyone could feel this feeling.  I am so, so lucky.

 

Here's to the next great adventure!