What a great time I had in Chicago, a city I've often described as my favorite large American city. It still is. I afforded myself some extra days in the Windy City, on either side of the main event on 10.10.10 and was fortunate that my sister Brenda could also be there for some museum hopping, a concert by the Chicago Symphony Orchestra, and some chowing down on Chicago specialties such as deep dish pizza and Chicago "dogs." This would normally be too many calories for me to consume with a healthy conscience, but one burns through plenty of calories in a marathon, so I enjoyed the moment to eat and eat and eat.
We found a reasonably priced hotel about 3 miles south of the "loop" and then invested $28 apiece in a Chicago Transit Authority (CTA) pass. The Chicago South Loop Hotel sits right on the State Street bus route and is within an easy walk of both red and green lines trains. Of course, a great city is also a city made for walking, and we did a lot of that, too. However, I had come to Chicago to run and was happy for a couple of evenings to get out and run the streets of Chi-town in anticipation of the main event. My spirit soared as I ran near Soldier Field, imagining Gale Sayers and Walter Payton as my running partners.
Race day dawned, as is often the case, much too early. A cup of coffee and a bagel later, we were headed to the Grant Park starting line. First the bus to catch a redline train to downtown. Half hour later we were funneling toward the starting line. Excitement was palpable. Brenda branched off to observe and report on the race. I had managed to get media credentials for us both. As I waited in the predictably long lines for a final toilet break, she scoped out the media tent and enjoyed a nice breakfast.
Even before the sun had opportunity to heat up the day, it was obvious this would be an unseasonably warm day for Chicago in mid-October. The normal range is 44-61. Today, we were starting at 61. The saving grace was that the air was dry. Of course, the electricity of the event would distract everyone for the first 10 miles or so. It is for this collective energy of 75-80,000 feet on the pavement that so many of us love a big race. The numbers in Chicago were huge. Over 45,000 had entered. 38,132 actually crossed the starting line, while 36,159 eventually finished the race. I find that astonishing. Astonishing too was the mass of runners on the course. Astonishment expressed a 3rd time describes the fans and supporters who lined the entire course. This was a race to remember.
My goal was 4 hours 40 minutes. I had trained pretty diligently for this and honestly felt a 4:40 was within me. However, by the half marathon mark it became apparent that this would not be a day for achieving lofty goals, despite the fact that 4:40 was still within striking range. My gut feeling played out as the temperature climbed and the pack of runners slowed. At times I had to slow my own pace to that of the numerous walkers, especially through the water stations. It was obvious there were a lot of first time marathoners here and that many were falling victim of the warm weather. I passed numerous runners from the 4 hour and 4:30 pace group while giving thanks for having pressed through the summer training season in South Central Texas. This served me well through the tough miles from the 18 mile marker onwards and also spared me "the wall" which most runners hit at around 20 miles or so. I kept my feet in motion, walking only through the water stations. But none of this was good enough for the 4:40 goal or even for a new personal record (PR). I finished in 5 hours 7 minutes 10 seconds with still another 12,000 runners behind me. For the record, the race was won for the 2nd year in a row by Sammy Wanjiru, who finished in 2:06:24.
There is, of course, a degree of disappointment in not achieving my goal. On the other hand, it was such joy to spend time in Chicago and then to run as part of such a large field. For me, running is a physical challenge but also an emotional experience. I am moved knowing that so many people struggled through months of training to get to the starting line, then left it all on the streets as they tested their will and physical determination. My eyes were filled with tears through the first mile. At the end I was too exhausted for such emotion, but the experience will live on in my memory until I die.
Now. About that unrealized goal. That's why we continue to train, to run and to race. There's always that next time. Next time for me will be November 14, 2010 when I line up for my hometown race: the Rock'n'Roll San Antonio Marathon. Could this be my 4:40? Vamos a ver.
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