online diary for the masses

I awoke from my restless sleep at the motel eight minutes before my alarm was to sound at 5:00am on April 26th. I walked over to Colby’s room, where the milk and cereal were being stored, to down a pre-race meal. As I crossed the stairway between our rooms, one of my greatest fears for the day was realized: the forecasted strong and steady wind from the south was in fact very present.

Within 40 minutes of waking, we had all eaten breakfast, donned our running attire, attempted to squeeze out one last twosie, and piled into the Saab en route to the starting line. Despite showing up with time to spare, I still felt hurried as we made our way from our parking spot to the starting line, several blocks away. Part of this uneasiness spawned from my packet not containing any safety pins with which to attach my bib to my person. When I finally reached my appropriate place in the starting line, a sweet woman who stood in queue beside me heard of my safety-pinless situation, and graciously gave me two of hers. Shortly thereafter, the race began.

The first eight or so miles were about as effortless as a run of that length could be. Mile markers seemed to come frequently and quickly, and the spirits of the runners were high. Around mile ten I met a man named Lloyd, alongside whom I’d been running for a while before either of us said a word to the other. We talked about our pace goals (which happened to be the same), and about other races we’d run in. Before I knew it, I ran over a “20K” spray painted on the pavement below my feet. I crossed the half-way mark at 1:55:10, right on pace to meet my goal.

Then, the course took a horrible turn for the worse: up until that point, we’d been facing north, enjoying the 20-30(-40?) mph wind in our backs. Miles 14 and 15 were not only southbound, they were on a lake, further hurting our cause. It was the kind of wind that would readily carry a sailboat. It was on these miles that I uttered the first curse words of the marathon to myself. It was, in a word, awful.

Up until that point, I’d stayed between the 3:40 and 3:50 pace groups. Somewhere along those dreaded miles I felt a mass of runners approach me from behind. It was the 3:50 group. I tried for a while to at least keep the leader’s yellow balloons in site, but it simply wasn’t happening. The wind was too harsh, and my body was far too mad at me.

Starting at mile 16, I hurried less through the refueling stations than in previous miles. I’d take two cups of Power-aid instead of one. I’d normal-walk instead of power-walk while I drank. I made it my goal to reach each mile marker/drink station without stopping, and I’d take mini-walking-breaks while refueling. From that point on, I was miserable.

Miles 17-19 were primarily eastbound and residential, providing a welcome break from the relentless wind. Still though, my body was nearly done. I took some solice in knowing that I had less than 10 miles remaining, but considering how I felt at the time, that was hardly comforting. I asked myself over and over, “Why would anybody sign up to do this? This is such a stupid thing for a human to do…”

Enter miles 20-23: In these moments I pushed myself harder than ever before in any athletic endeavor I’ve undertaken. The wind was blowing directly into my face, I was averaging a 10:30 minute mile, and hating every minute of it. The 4:00 pace group passed me, and I didn’t even care. Near the end of mile 23, with a mere 5k remaining, I wanted to walk. I knew that 5 kilometers wasn’t too much farther, but I could barely run to the next light pole. My refueling breaks went from a normal-walk pace to a slow-walk. I was mad at myself for ever committing to such a ludicrous activity.

Just then, my friend Lloyd — who I’d been separated from for miles now — slowly approached me from behind. He was as exhausted as I was, but through his heavy breathing he uttered the much-needed words, “You wanna do the rest of this together?”

While I loved the idea of powering through the last 3 miles with my new bestie, I just didn’t know if I could do it. I told him I’d try, but that he needn’t wait on me if and when I started holding him up. We ran together for a while before he started walking. (Note: While “a while” could mean several miles during the first half of the race, “a while” at this point could mean as little as 400 meters.) I clapped at him and told him to come on, but he never did. That was the last I saw of Lloyd.

Fortunately, almost immediately after I left Lloyd, I saw my friend Austin for the third time along the course of the race. He’d gone out there to cheer on his friends, and somewhere around mile 24 he came through in the clutch. He ran beside me and even let me draft off of him as I struggled to run back south towards downtown. I cannot express what an encouragement that short encounter was.

I finally reached the point where I had less a mile remaining. I wasn’t about to quit now. Despite my body screaming against it, I ran (read: jogged) through those city streets longing just to catch a glimpse of the finish line. I can safely say that I’ve never been so excited to see something as when I finally saw that gorgeous green banner. From that point on, through the pain, misery, and self-loathing, I ran on to reach that blessed banner.

I heard the announcer say my name as I crossed — 4 hours, 6 minutes, and 57 seconds after I’d crossed the starting line. I was indescribably happy to be finished with that God-forsaken event. I stumbled around the finishers area, got my medal, shirt, and most importantly free food. I was so caught up in actually finishing that I forgot to stop my watch timer. Oh well. It didn’t matter. I was done. I finished.

I later found out that I got 441st place out of the 2,405 finishers, and that the average time for the course that day was 4:50:55.

So while I missed my goal by a solid 17 minutes, I left that dreadfully windy city with no regrets, other than the fact that I’d ever committed to running a marathon in the first place. But now it’s done, and unless I want to, I’ll never have to do another one again, and for that I’m eternally thankful.