Chicago Marathon 07 - How I Beat the Heat...Almost.

In early July of this year, with my 30th birthday looming, and a desire for a healthier lifestyle on my mind, I decided to run in the 2007 Chicago Marathon. As an added bonus, I decided to raise money for a worthy cause, and settled on Memorial Sloan Kettering Pediatric Cancer Research Center in New York City, my hometown. This would become a challenge on three fronts. Fundraising, marathon training, and a job that sometimes requires 80 hours per week combined to make for an interesting 3 months leading up to the day of the race. Somehow, I managed to pull it all off. I raised upwards of $2000 for cancer research, ran over 250 training miles, and was able to not get fired :) I was all ready for the big race on October 7th. The following is my attempt to put the whole experience in words. Even though I'll never be able to truly express all the emotions, both uplifting and depressing, I want to share as much of this with you as possible.



1 Week Before the Race - The week before the marathon is a very difficult one for most runners, especially us inexperienced ones. This is a week where you're not supposed to do much running at all, after weeks and weeks of averaging 30 miles. For those of us accustomed to cramming for a test as it approaches, the marathon week is the complete opposite of that. As the day of your big test arrives, you're supposed to do less and less to store up as much energy as possible. Add that to the natural jitters that are going on, and it's not the most relaxing time. I pretty much spent the whole week trying not to think about the marathon, which proved to be impossible, as it was all any of my friends and colleagues wanted to talk about. In addition to trying not to think about the task that lay ahead, weather reports kept rearing their ugly heads. Temperatures in the mid 80's with high humidity were expected...horrific conditions for running. I put that far back in my mind, filing it with other difficulties that probably lay ahead, but that I couldn't spend time worrying about.



24 Hours Before the Race - The day before the race gets interesting, as that was the day where the whole thing became real. I was going to run a marathon. I went to the McCormick Place convention center around noon that day to pick up my race packet, which consisted of a lot of free stuff that I threw away, but it also contained the most important item: the runner's bib which had my official number on it. I would be runner 42368 and I couldn't wait to get home to attach the bib to my shirt.

That same night, the charity team I was running with hosted a dinner at a restaurant downtown. It was to be a traditional pre-race pasta dinner. The dinner was a great experience, as a good percentage of the other runners were first-timers. Many of them were from out of town, and it was really interesting to hear all their stories. There was a woman from NY whose last race was in South Africa, A man from Detroit - Lee, who was running his first race and had set some ambitious goals for the race (more on Lee later), and a 55 year old named Paul, from Delaware, running in his first ever marathon. All of us were nervous, but it was really comforting learning that we had all been through the same training, had the same fears, and shared the same hopes. We could not have all bonded any quicker than we did. Collectively, the runners at the pre-race dinner had raised over $300,000 for cancer research, which is another thing all of us could be very proud of.

The charity team's coach, Jeff Rochford, gave all of us a pep talk at the dinner, and reminded us all of the dreaded weather that was to be on tap the next day. Forecasters were now predicting temps in the high 80's, and absurdly high relative humidity. To give you a sense of how bad that is: ideal marathon temps are in the high 40's to low 50's, with very little humidity. Jeff told us to make sure we walked through all of the aid stations (there were 15 on the marathon route map), making sure we drank as much water and gatorade as we could get our hands on. After dinner, it was back home to try and get some sleep. We were to meet in the charity village tent at 6:15 the next morning, to get ready for the 8AM race start.



The Day of the Race - My alarm was set for 5:15AM, but I woke up before 5, jumped out of bed, and starting preparing for what was to be one of the most unforgettable of my life. I re-checked my shoes for the 10th time, made sure my bib was secure, drank some extra water, popped a couple of ibuprofen (a wonder drug for runners), and I was out the door. My plan was to walk to the start area, about a mile away from my apartment, but I was able to catch one of the only empty cabs downtown, and I happily got in. Any energy I could save at this point was very welcome. When I got to the race area, I headed towards Charity Village, where I was to meet my team and my racemates. This area is specifically set aside for all the charities that have runners participating in the marathon. Every charity has their own tent, where they provide a variety of services to their runners...everything from a bag check to pre and post-race meals. It's a great way to avoid the 40,000 or so folks that are meandering around the start corrals all trying to use the same facilities, and its a great place to get focused, do some stretching, and prepare your body for the day ahead.

When I got to the tent, Paul and Lee were already there, as well as most of the others . Paul was worrying about whether or not his calf would hold up during the race, and Lee was talking about completing the race in under three hours and thirty minutes, an extremely ambitious goal, considering this was his first marathon, and considering the weather conditions were so bad. My goal was to simply finish the race, no matter what it took. I didn't care if it took me 5 and a half hours. The goal was to get to the finish line. For a first timer, I believe that's all that matters.

At about 7:30AM we all started making our way towards the start corrals. The start corrals are divided into 6 categories: Elite (the Kenyans) A, B, C, and D (runners with experience who are targeting specific finish times), and Open (those of us just wanting to complete 26.2 miles). I was in the Open corral, which means I was in the back. With over 35,000 runners (there were supposed to be 45,000, but 10,000 dropped out b/c of the weather conditions), it takes about 20-30 minutes for those of us in the back just to get to the starting line once the race begins. (We all have chips tied to our shoes so that the extra time waiting is not added to our actual race time.)

While in the start corral, I was hanging out with Paul, a man almost twice my age, but who was also running his first marathon. Because we were both rookies, we stuck together to try and calm our collective nerves. At 8AM the gun went off, and the race began. Paul and I made our slow trek to the start line, about a half mile from where we lined up. Our nerves were set aside by the adrenalin of the race, the cheering crowds, and the realization that all of our hard work was about to finally pay off. The race was our moment to shine, our reward for the countless hours spent running all summer long. As we approached the start line, the crowd was in a frenzy, and we were almost delirious with excitement. When we got to the start line, I shook hands with Paul, wished him luck, told him I'd see him at the finish, and took off. While Paul and I both had the same goal of merely finishing, I was planning on running at a faster, more comfortable pace for me, and I knew Paul had his own pace in mind. I got about three-tenths of a mile out, and decided that I didn't want to experience this by myself, that it needed to be shared, and would be so much more enjoyable if it was. If I had to run a bit slower than planned, so be it. Besides, the weather dictated a slower pace anyway. I stopped right where I was, and I waited for Paul. He came up beside me, and I told him my thoughts, and we went off together. It was a decision that might have saved my life.

As we started out, it became immediately apparent that this was going to be a difficult day. Having arrived at the race pre-dawn, when temperatures were still very comfortable, we didn't really notice how the temperature had climbed and humidity had risen until we actually started running. When the humidity is high, there's nowhere for perspiration to evaporate, so within the first mile I became a gigantic wet mop. Not pretty. We got to the first aid station, walked through it, got our water and gatorade, and kept going. Business as usual. About a mile and a half after that we came to aid station #2, only to find that there was no water or gatorade left. The volunteers who hand out the cups were standing around with nothing to do, and no precious replenishment to dole out. Paul and I were dumbfounded, as we were in the middle of the pack, there were 10,000 less runners than were supposed to be, and the race organizers still had managed to run out of supplies that early? Needless to say, I was really worried, as there are a lot of obstacles one can overcome while running, but lack of fluids isn't one of those. Paul and I did the only thing we could at that point. We kept going and hoped for the best.
The next aid station had some supplies, but no cups, and the station after that had plenty of cups but no gatorade and only some water. So it went on for the first 8-10 miles of the race. Unbelievable spectator support, but apparently terrible race organization (we later found out that the race organizers blamed runners for hording water. This couldn't have been further from the truth. Throughout the day I only witnessed people looking out for one another and acting selflessly). When we got to the Lakeview neighborhood, we were welcomed with many residents who turned their hoses on us, providing us a hugely important temporary drop in body temperature. At this point, it was 88 degrees out, and almost unbearable.
We got to mile 11, and started to make our way back through downtown. Not a lot of residential buildings in that area, so there weren't any hoses to cool us, but we did find a semi-prepared aid station in this area. What kept us going this far were all the phenomenal people who lined the streets and shouted words of encouragement. We passed several live bands, an Elvis impersonator, a dance troupe, and a group of men in drag who were out giving their love in women's clothing.
The halfway mark is one of the most welcome sites on the course for the runners. At 13.1 miles there's a giant archway that one runs under, and mentally it's a huge boost. At this point, I knew I was on my way back, and the hardest part was over. Paul and I both felt a big rush of energy. We were both feeling great, and on our way to a strong finish. The heat wasn't bothering us, we were able to scrounge enough water to stay healthy, and all the miles of training were taking over and were going to give us a lift all the way home. This feeling didn't last very long.
By the time we got to mile 15, it was apparent that supplies were severely depleted, and the amount of runners who were lying on the ground on the sidelines was rapidly growing. We saw many runners who were receiving medical attention, and who looked ghastly. It was a very scary scene, and those of us still running could sense that things had taken a decided turn for the worse.
It was at this point that a rumor started to circulate amongst us that the race had been cancelled and that we were to diverted back to the start line. Paul and I chose to forge ahead, and not stop until someone physically made us. We had come too far to be told we couldn't finish. As we got to mile 16, the rumors turned out to be true. As we came up to a right turn on the course, a police officer tried to close a gate and make us go straight, which would have led us back to the start line. Paul and I chose to ignore this attempted interference. Paul walked around the gate; I jumped over it. We kept going. As far as we were concerned, the police would have to shoot us if they wanted to stop us. By now, however, the sounds of ambulance sirens were very prevalent, and we all knew what the implications of those sounds were. We were worried and scared for our fellow runners, but we were equally determined.
We approached mile 18, and were repeatedly told by race volunteers and police officers that the race had been cancelled. They tried ordering us to walk, figuring that the more people they can order to walk, the less people they'd have to come pick up by ambulance. At this juncture of the race, there were no aid stations in sight. There were spectators who realized the need for water amongst the runners, and came to our aid as true guardian angels. I have to also give proper credit to Paul at this point. He made sure we found and utilized every water source we could, made me focus on cooling down when I needed to, and he helped push me along when the going starting to get tough. It's for this reason that I believe my decision to run with him may have been a life-saver. Who knows, if I had been on my own, if I would have been as disciplined with hydrating, or if I would have recognized that I needed to walk a bit to cool down? I tend to over-do things a bit, and had I over-done it in this instance, this story might not have a very nice ending.
During mile 19, there were more and more people walking, and very few running. The cops were becoming a bit more aggressive in their commands for us to stop running. There was even a fire department helicopter shouting orders at us from a loudspeaker. The entire scene was surreal. With runners limping about and laid out on the sidewalk, the police and firemen present, the constant sound of sirens, and the helicopter overhead, it was as close to a battle zone as I've ever been in. To describe the scene as chaotic might be an understatement. Paul and I kept going, determined to walk the rest of the course if we had to. Either way, we were going to go 26.2 miles. That dream died very quickly. We got to an intersection, and we were blocked by cops who closed the course and diverted us onto school buses. There were already about 40 others on the school bus, and once we the bus was full we were driven back to the start line where we were awarded our finisher medals and left to wonder about what we had just been through.


Post Race - Paul and I went back to the charity tent, and immediately noticed that Lee wasn't there. Knowing his goals were set so high, we were naturally worried for him. After an hour of not knowing, we ran into his wife, who told us that Lee had passed out at mile 21, and was in the medical tent receiving fluids from an IV, but that he was going to be ok. We were told by a team member of ours, a physician, that he had visited one of the medical tents, and that they were running low on supplies. He told us he'd be surprised if several people didn't die that day. It was a short time later when we learned that a 35 year old father of three had died on the course that day. All of us in the tent were dumbfounded as to how the race could have been planned so poorly, and how supplies could have been depleted so drastically, even with 10,000 people less than the race organizers had expected.
Race organizers tried blaming the volunteers for not knowing how to pour water quickly enough, and they tried blaming runners for hording water, and they even said that any runner who was past the halfway point when they cancelled the race would be allowed to go on to the finish line. There are thousands of us than can refute all of these claims very easily, but it won't matter. Money determined that this race start, and start when it did. With the weather known in advance, the race should have either been postponed or given an earlier start, but there's far too much money involved for that to have happened. The water and gatorade fiasco should have and absolutely could have been avoided, and it could have and probably did cost at least one man his life, and a family their husband, father, and son.
My emotions from this day were and are still all over the map. I'm extremely grateful to have met so many wonderful people, to really feel as part of a community on the course; both with the runners and the amazing spectators. My pride swells at the fact that I kept going until I was physically forced to stop; that I competed under extremely difficult conditions and lived to tell about it. But I'm also deeply saddened for my fallen comrades. I grieve with the family of Chad Schieber, and I pray for the recovery of all those that took ill. Most of all, I thank Paul, who showed me that true friendship can be found in only 20 miles. I can't wait til the next marathon. I can't say for sure if I would want to run the Chicago Marathon again, but I definitely want to run somewhere. I've got it in my blood now, and after going through this, I may be hardened enough to compete for the win. Probably not, but being allowed to finish would be a good start.