Tag Archives: Chicago Marathon

Marathon No. 3 in the Books

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Today I am hobbling around with two badly bruised toes bearing toenails with questionable futures. Also taking a beating from Sunday’s Chicago Marathon was my ego when I saw my finish time. (My results had me starting at 7:30 a.m. when I actually went out around 8:20 a.m. I estimate my finish time was about 4:52, which means I FINALLY cracked the five-hour mark after FOUR attempts.) The fact remains, however, that I finished my third marathon. I ran strong and on pace until about the 30K mark, when my leg cramped so badly I almost rolled an ankle. Things could have fallen apart at that point, but I remained determined to see my daughter, who was volunteering at Mile 25, and to cross that finish line. Between the heat and intermittent leg cramping, the last eight miles of the race were pretty brutal, but I kept running. I remembered my conversation at dinner the previous night with a Boston Marathoner who said she walks through all the water stops to prevent her legs from locking up, and that’s what I did. I forced myself to run through the cramps and used the walking breaks as motivation, knowing I could make it “one more mile.” And it worked. I did it. I crossed that freaking finish line with tears streaming down my face knowing I had never fought so hard physically in my life. I woke up Monday morning still feeling disappointed about the finish time inaccuracy, but it doesn’t matter what the clock says. I know I ran my best marathon ever on Sunday. 

Congratulations to all the other finishers, and thank you to everyone who supported me during the race, whether in person or in spirit (especially my poor husband who couldn’t figure out where the heck I was half the time because my tracking was so screwed up). I know most of you think my running obsession is nuts, and it means so much to me that you encourage me anyway.

Marathon Update: I’m 65% There

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17 miles: done

17 miles: done

It was a big day for this running mama. I ran 17 miles, my longest training run ever despite the fact that I have one marathon under my belt. I both dreaded and anxiously anticipated this long run because it represented a huge not only physical but psychological hurdle for me, one I wasn’t entirely sure I had the strength or stamina to cross.

Here’s the back story in case you are new here: When I ran the Chicago Marathon in 2011, I never made it past 16 miles in training due to an injury. I managed to finish the race despite my lack of adequate training (it’s incredible what adrenaline and crowd support can help you achieve), but I wasn’t particularly pleased with my time. Running the Portland Marathon in October, for me, is about seeing what I can do in a healthy, injury-free state (I’m frantically knocking on my particle-board desk as I type those words).

With that in mind, I have approached training entirely differently this time around. I feel as if I have found a good groove in terms of balancing running with cross training, stretching, yoga, resting, etc. I’m running much faster than I was in 2011, thanks to finally giving up smoking (duh!). I feel as if I’m starting fresh this time and have a second chance to prove myself. Each long run brings me a step closer to knowing what I will be capable of on race day.

I am proud to say that not only did I finish today’s 17-miler, I rocked it. My average pace was just a few seconds shy of my goal for Portland. I owe much of the credit to a fabulous — and really fast — new running buddy who inspired me to keep pushing forward today. Training without my hubby, who was supposed to run Portland but suffered an injury, has been tough. I am so thankful to the local ladies running this year’s Chicago Marathon who have welcomed me into their training fold. Let’s face it: Long runs kind of suck when you do them alone — at least they sure do for me. I want and need that kick in the butt from someone else to keep moving. I was extra grateful to have it today.

Reaching the 17-mile mark felt like a major victory. It means I’m 65% there. If I can run 17, what’s another mile next week or even an extra 9.2 (gulp) on Oct. 5? I made it past the milestone that scared me most, and I am reveling in my runner’s high right now.

I could also really use a nap.

Happy Friday, peeps! And cheers to the running community at large. What an awesome group of positive, supportive and inspiring people! I am lucky and proud to be a part of it.

With or Without You

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I started going without him a month or so ago. The first few times, the guilt outweighed the pleasure. I would think of him and wonder if he was upset that I had left him behind. I tried not to talk about it afterward, even though he knew full well where I had been. He never appeared sad, disappointed or jealous. In fact, he encouraged me to go.

Before you start speculating about the state of my marriage, let me clarify that I am not hitting the singles bar with my girlfriends; I am training for a marathon without my husband. It might sound crazy, but I feel as if I am cheating on him every time I lace up my Sauconys. I know how much he misses running, and heading to the trail without him seems like a selfish, insensitive betrayal. I remember how bittersweet it was for me two years ago when both of us signed up for our second Chicago Marathon, but only one of us crossed the finish line. As happy as I was to be there to support him, I envied him and all the other runners as I watched from the sidelines. I also know firsthand what a frustrating letdown it is to get injured while training for a marathon, which is what happened to my husband this time around.

Although I feel guilty running without him, this next race means a lot to me. I hurt my foot 11 weeks into training for my first marathon back in 2011. I ran it anyway, but my time was nowhere near what I had anticipated because I missed so many of the long training runs. Since then, I have quit smoking and gotten smarter about incorporating strength training and yoga into my workout schedule to prevent injury. I am healthier, stronger and faster. And I am ready to prove it at the Portland Marathon, or at least I will be when race day gets here in October.

As much as I want to run this race, I offered to skip it when my husband learned that he won’t be able to join me. It will be a big expense for us to travel from Chicago to Portland, and we are trying to be (at least somewhat) more budget conscious with college just three years away for our oldest child. Plus, it is not my nature to spend a large amount of money on something that will benefit only me. A family trip to Europe? A must. A weekend in Portland for me to run a race? An extravagance.

I am happy to say that my husband did not see it that way. When I mentioned us canceling the trip, he insisted we go. “You are running for both of us,” he said. And that is my plan. I remember how happy I was when he finished his second Chicago Marathon and set a new personal record. It may not have been my year, but I was thrilled that it was his.

I am sure I will feel a little sad when I enter the start corral without my running buddy on race morning, but I also know how much he wants me to finish and do well. Yesterday, when we were planning dinners for the week, he offered to make a meal with pasta on Thursday, the night I usually rest and carb load in anticipation of a long run Friday morning. We may not be able to run together for a while, but I appreciate how lucky I am to have his love and support as I head out the door on my own. It makes what I initially perceived as cheating feel a whole lot more like winning.

My running buddy and me in Sedona this spring

My running buddy and me during a trail run in Sedona this spring

Meet You at the Finish Line

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I wasn’t one of the 37,455 runners who crossed the finish line of the Chicago Marathon this year. I registered for it. I even started training. But I couldn’t do it. Not this time around.

The year since my husband and I ran the 2011 marathon has been challenging for our family. We lost my aunt, the woman who raised me and was a grandmother to my children, and then I wound up out of a job. After two pivotal life changes within seven months, running another marathon moved to the bottom of my priority list.

My husband, meanwhile, stuck with it and ran the Chicago Marathon a second time. Even if I didn’t have the desire or motivation to run myself, I wouldn’t have missed being there to support him. I even dragged both our puffy-eyed, half-conscious children out of bed at 5:30 a.m. so the four of us could make the 45-minute journey from the South Suburbs to the city together.

I was excited for him as we piled into the car and he did his final gear check. But once we hit I-80, a lump of regret swelled in my throat. Why hadn’t I kept up with the training? Why had I given up so soon? Why had I let myself fail without even trying?

I had lots of excuses for dropping out of the race, some more valid than others. Before I lost my job, we planned two summer vacations, which meant I would miss a total of three weeks’ training and some of the longer, and most crucial, runs. But lots of marathon runners skimp a bit on training and still finish. A bigger problem was my foot, which started nagging me as the training schedule ramped up. After rupturing my plantar fascia 11 weeks into training the previous year, I worried the same or worse would happen again. What if I hurt my foot so badly that I couldn’t run anymore?

If I had truly wanted to run a second marathon, I would have ignored my aching foot with the help of a cortisone shot as I had done the previous year. My primary reason for quitting this time was that I no longer had the energy or the passion. When I lost my job six weeks into training, I knew it was over for me.

The morning of the race, dropping off my husband and watching him and thousands of other runners head toward the start line, was bittersweet. I wanted to be there to see him finish, set a new PR and feel the rush of personal victory. But I also itched to be out there with him, to experience the singular pride and joy of crossing that finish line one more time.

Before the 2011 race, my husband and I signed up for text alerts so we could track each other’s progress. I run much slower than he does normally, but because of my injury we weren’t sure if I would even finish. My longest training run had been the 16-miler when I hurt my foot.

We parted ways shortly after the race started, and I took it slowly and mile by mile. I didn’t have a time goal; I just wanted to finish. Right before mile 20, when I was exhausted and beyond doubting myself, I got a text that my husband had crossed the finish line. It was one of the best moments of the race for me; knowing he had made it carried me through my last six miles. When I crossed the finish line an hour after him, he was right there waiting for me.

This year I was determined to do the same for him.

I signed up for his text alerts so my kids and I could follow his path — or at least trace part of it. We met him with shouts of encouragement and a homemade sign near mile three and again just before the halfway mark. I wanted him to feel our support, but I also enjoyed reliving the thrills of the race.

About 20 minutes before his estimated finish time, we pushed our way through the crowd to the bleachers near the finish line. We needed just the right vantage point, and this was it: The kids could see over the adults in front of them, and my husband would be able to find us in the crowd.

When we spotted him after that final curve, my heart raced as we screamed his name. The look on his face when he saw us was pure joy, and it was as if I were experiencing those last 400 meters — the best part of the race, if you ask me — right by his side.

I wasn’t one of the 37,455 finishers at the Chicago Marathon this year. In fact, I don’t know if I’ll ever cross that or any other finish line again. Sometimes watching the person you love win and sharing in his happiness is enough. This year it was a victory for us both.

That guy in the blue shirt with his arms in the air is my marathon man husband, just before he crossed the finish line and set a new PR of 4:24:32.

Chasing the Dragon: A Runner’s Story

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My husband and I after our first marathon, Chicago 2011

A wise and talented writer once told me, “I hate writing, but I love having written.” I think Dorothy Parker coined the actual phrase, but in any case there are definitely times when I would apply it to running. Some days I procrastinate for hours because I just can’t bear the thought of putting foot to pavement. And when I finally do drag myself out the door, every step is tortuous, every breath labored. Even the halfway point seems unreachable, and I basically cannot wait for it to be over. Sometimes, like today, running downright sucks.

But other times it is a life-affirming, incomparable experience. All your negative thoughts and energy drift away, and you become perfectly in tune with your physical self. I’ve actually cried during runs…and not from pain. There is singular joy in letting go; it’s the high that keeps runners coming back for more. Those perfect moments are the dragon we can’t stop chasing.

Last year, at age 43, I ran my first marathon. I had only been running for about three years, but I had a few races under my belt, including two half marathons. I am by no means a fast runner (my finish time was 5:32.34), but that wasn’t the point for me. After suffering a foot injury 11 weeks into training, I just wanted to cross that finish line.

I took it mile by mile because I honestly didn’t know if I could do it. My longest training run before I got hurt had been 16 miles, and 26.2 seemed unfathomable. At mile 13, I was thrilled to have reached the halfway point. At mile 20, I started to think I might make it. But it wasn’t till those last 400 yards — when I could actually see the finish line — that I knew I would finish. The elation of crossing that finish line ranks up there with giving birth. Seriously. (Don’t tell my kids I said that.)

As runners, the thrill of finishing the race is our reward for all the tedious hours we spend training. Sometimes we hate running, but we love having done it. So even though today’s huff-and-puff fest of a three-mile run felt like a complete waste of time, I know for a fact that I’ll be back on the trail tomorrow or the next day…or maybe both. I can’t help myself.