Chicago Marathon 2008 – Hot Time in the City

My lovely wife, Liz, and I just ran the Chicago Marathon.  We expected it to be warm, so we chose our lightest-weight running costumes.  I don’t remember how it was that Liz came to refer to running wear as “running costume”, but I love the description and we both use it.  We were in our costumes and had left our hotel room on our way to the start.  Once again we were in a pretty nice hotel pretty near the start/finish, so we weren’t surprised by the number of runners already in the elevator when the doors opened.   We were delighted to hear some of the elevator’s occupants talking about it being “kinda cold” out.  Stepping out of the lobby, though, we immediately took issue with the “kinda cold” assessment.  The Chicago Tribune reported a temperature of 65 degrees F at the start of the race and 84 degrees F three hours later.  I’d say it was kinda hot.

 

We had packed a recovery drink and clean clothes in our gear-check bag.  Liz’s sister, brother-in-law and an old friend planned to meet us at the finish, and we thought clean clothes might be worthwhile.  Our gear-check bag also included sun screen and an old pair of my glasses – the ability to read might come in handy, too.   Unfortunately, gear check required us to walk about a mile out of our way.  We both had spots in the seeded start corrals, and we had a special gear-check tent very near the finish – not so near the start corrals.  I like to walk a bit after the race, so I’d prefer the gear check to be near the start rather than the finish.  Oh, well, nobody asked me.  We dropped off the gear bag and took the recommended path to the entrance to the seeded corrals and entered the special area where we hoped to relax a bit before the race.  There were surprisingly few porta-potties inside the special area.  Lines weren’t too long, though, and we were able to visit the facilities pretty quickly.   With about 45 minutes left before the start, we got in line for a second/final visit to the potty.  The seeded corrals are closed 15 minutes before the start, so we really had only 30 minutes.  It didn’t look like we’d make it through the line in half an hour, so we nervously left the seeded area and ran back to some potties we’d seen out in the less special world.  The line was much shorter where we ended up, but it was still nervous-making.  After about twenty anxious minutes we got our turns in the precious plastic booths, and, yes, they were out of toilet paper.  We ran back to the seeded area and both got to our corrals in time.  As I passed through the gate to enter my corral I heard an official say the gate would close in 30 seconds!  I cut that a little close!

 

I’d frittered away too much energy already, so I spent a few minutes calming myself down.  I looked for an acquaintance from Bend who runs about the same pace as I do and who had qualified for the same corral, but I didn’t find her.  I positioned myself a little ahead of the 3:10 pace group and waited for the start.  I hadn’t spent a lot of time thinking about a goal pace or finish time, but had a hunch I could beat 3:10 if the heat didn’t mess with me too much.   There were three starts.  At 7:50 the wheelchair racers were sent on their way.  At 7:55 the elite racers took off, and the rest of us started at 8:00.  I was in Corral A – which put me very near the front of the crowd.  I was across the start line and running within 30 seconds.  I started my watch and tried to find my pace.

 

The first mile was pretty crowded, and it seemed to me that we were going pretty slowly – maybe a 7:30 pace.  I wanted to go faster, but knew there was no point in trying.  I stayed in my slot and was careful not to trip or step on anybody. We crossed the Chicago River but I didn’t notice – too busy watching the ground right in front of me.  It was too crowded to do any sightseeing.  At the first mile marker I glanced at my watch and saw 6:46. Well, good thing the crowd had held me back and protected me from myself!  I eased up a bit and worked carefully through a couple corners as we headed back across the river and into the Loop.  The crowds of spectators were amazing!  I guess that’s a good thing that comes with warm weather.  There weren’t nearly as many spectators when I ran Chicago in cold, windy conditions in 2006.  At the second mile marker I was pleased to see 13:45 – a 6:59 mile.  We headed north out of the Loop and across the river again.  The long straight section of wide road gave us room to spread out and settle into our own races.  I clicked off a number of comfortable 7-minute miles.  The sun was low enough that buildings and trees kept us in the shade until we reached Lakeshore Drive at about the 7^th mile marker.  I saw Liz’s old friend and waved to her and her sweetie in a sunny section in front of their condo building.   After just a few blocks exposed to the sun I was very happy to turn a corner and get back in the shade.  I was in the shade and comfortable most of the way back into the Loop, and the miles kept passing at a 7:00 pace.  Just before the halfway point we passed the Sears Tower and turned west.  Shade ended as we left the tall buildings.  The temperature was 75 degrees F by the time I hit the half at 1:31:40.

 

The first half had been comfortable and fun, but it was starting to feel like the fun was about to end.  My quads had started complaining a little at 10 miles, and that was not a good sign.  The neighborhoods were interesting, but the heat was working on me and my pace started to slide.  I wasn’t struggling yet, but my legs hurt and I wasn’t very springy as I passed through the Italian neighborhood.  The download from my Garmin says I’d dropped to a 7:10 pace by mile 18.  In Pilsen, the colorful Mexican neighborhood, I saw my acquaintance from Bend.  She asked how I was doing, and I replied that I was more tired than I’d hoped to be.  She said, “Me, too.”  I had dropped to a 7:15 pace and was surprised to pass her.  The discomfort in my legs had leveled off – it wasn’t getting any worse – and that was encouraging.  My elapsed time at 21 miles was very nearly the same as it had been in Portland in 2007.  I realized that I could have a new personal best if I could just hang on and fade less in the last 5 miles than I had in Portland the previous year.  I was feeling better than I’d felt in Portland at that point, so I decided it was possible – despite the heat.

 

After passing under the gate into Chinatown, we headed south and there was a bit of shade on the east side of the street.  I nudged over as far as I could into the shade and focused on technique.  The focus helped and I felt surprisingly strong.  In the middle of Chinatown I heard “Go, Dave” and saw Liz’s sister, Susan.  I knew she planned to be somewhere on the course, but had not expected to see her.  Her encouragement gave me an extra boost.  South of Chinatown there’s a long, empty section next to a freeway.  It’s a little like a sensory-deprivation experiment: very hard for me to stay focused in that section.  After the empty section there’s a little green space as we pass the Illinois Institute of Technology, then we get to make a turn and start back north toward the finish.  I had a bit of brain fade in the freeway section and got excited when I saw a left turn coming up.  I thought it was the turn that marked the southern-most point on the course and enjoyed a moment of personal celebration.  But then I wondered why I couldn’t remember passing by IIT.  About the time I reached the corner I realized I’d celebrated prematurely and IIT was still ahead of me.  IIT offered a bit of shade and a break from concrete, so my disappointment passed quickly.  Shortly I’d passed the 23^rd mile marker and reached the real southernmost point and made the turn onto Michigan Ave. for the long haul north to the finish.  There were a few trees here and there, but most of the final three miles was in the sun.  The little bit of breeze was from the south, so it was a tailwind and blew at about the speed I was running.  It was worse than still air and it was pretty hot.  My pace between the 35K and 40K chip mats averaged 7:38 minutes per mile.  I was definitely feeling the heat.  I had increased my effort about halfway through that 5K – thinking I could hold a higher effort for the final three miles.  I was working harder and going slower – but I didn’t know how much slower because I was consciously ignoring my watch.  I was working hard, but I wasn’t struggling.  I was pleased by that.  With two miles to go I resumed thinking about time.  I could see that I’d faded a lot.  If I wanted a new personal best, I’d have to notch it up another level.  I thought about it a little – I knew it could be dangerous to push too hard in the heat.  I concluded I was OK, but thought it would be prudent to reevaluate when I reached mile 25.  When I reached that point, I was feeling the effort, but didn’t feel any worse than I’d felt in Portland last year.  So I decided to push a little harder still.  It was, I think, about as well as I’ve ever felt so near the end of a marathon.  I was tired and hurting, but not struggling.  I didn’t want to stop.

 

The Chicago Marathon ends with a right turn off Michigan to a small climb up an overpass to mile 26 followed by a left turn and a short downhill to the finish.  I was searching for any sign of that right turn and was excited to see heads bobbing off to the right!  I stepped it up again as I turned the corner and charged up that little overpass as hard as I could.  It’s amazing how tall an overpass can seem!  Finally, though, the road leveled off and the left turn came into view.  I kept pouring it on through the corner and charged at the finish – though “charging” is a relative term at this point.  I was eager to be done.  The clocks showed the time from the start of the elite race – five minutes and something before I crossed the line.  I couldn’t remember what my start delay had been and didn’t want to glance at my watch.  The clock showed 3:13:39 as I crossed the finish but I wasn’t sure I had a new personal best until I stopped my watch and saw 3:08 on my wrist.  The preliminary results on the Chicago Marathon website say I finished in 3:08:22 – 59 seconds faster than my previous best from Portland last year.  I was delighted – and still am!  The status box that pops up when I click on my name (in the searchable results) says I was 685^th overall and 18^th in my age division (M50-54).

I got my medal and turned in my chip.  A nice volunteer handed me a bag of ice to put on my head, and I made my way to the gear check tent.  As I got my bag I heard Liz’s friend, Chris, calling my name.  She’d been in the bleachers at the finish, had seen me go by and was able to track me down.  She led me through the maze back to the bleachers and we waited for Liz.  I’d carried my cell phone with me. It’s a well-travelled phone – it has finished several marathons with me, including Chicago (twice), New York, Boston, and Portland (at least twice).  I was thinking of calling my darling daughter to see if she could check the website to tell me how Liz was doing.  I stepped behind the bleachers to a quieter spot and discovered my daughter had already left a message.  In her message she congratulated her old dad and told me that Liz had passed 35K at 3:22.  My hot brain (with ice hat still in place) took a while to figure out that Liz was not likely to finish with a Boston-qualifying time as she’d hoped to do.  She needed to cross the finish in 4:05:59 to get to go to Boston.  When she came by she was obviously hot and working very hard.  She ended up missing her goal by three minutes and forty-five seconds.  She was disappointed, but I was in awe of her strength, stamina and perseverance!  She’d been out in the heat for an hour longer than I had and she’d kept pushing even when she knew she’d not make her goal time.  In addition to time she lost because of the heat, gastro-intestinal distress sent her into porta-potties three times during the race.  It is disappointing that circumstances slowed her down, but her effort was inspiring to me.  I’m lucky enough to have lungs and legs that can carry me around the course faster, and that saved me from the worst of the heat.  I’m sure my race was a lot easier than hers, and my hat goes off to her for an awesome performance!  She’s amazing, and I’m very lucky to be married to her.

Working on the Average

The weather forecast for Chicago for Sunday is warmer than I’d like: low around 60 and high of 76.  The Chicago Marathon has issued an alert to let us know the conditions will be less than ideal.  I agree.  But I had a run of cold marathons, so a warm one just keeps me close to a good average.

2003 Portland – Nice.

2004 Portland – Nice again.

2004 Albuquerque – Cool at the start, warm by the end.

2005 New York – Warm. Upper 50s at the start, mid 70s at the finish.

2006 Chicago – Cold. 38 degrees at the start with a few rain drops.

2007 Phoenix – Cold. 28 degrees at the start.

2007 Boston – Cold. The Nor’easter!  46 degrees at the start with rain and a kickin’ headwind.

2007 Portland – Perfect temperature!  In the 50s the whole way.

2008 Chicago – Forecast says warm, but way better than last year

My little sample suggests the weather is usually pretty good for the Portland Marathon.  Well, it is usually pretty good.  But I don’t enjoy Portland.  And this year it rained.

Emerging from the Malaise?

My summer was spent in a soggy-feeling slump.  I felt physically depleted a lot of the time, and my poor old brain was pretty useless, too.  I haven’t raced since the 4^th of July, and that was a 5K that left me dragging for weeks afterward.  I used to bounce back right away after a 5K.  It was weird.

The good news is that I think I’ve emerged from the malaise.  Training runs aren’t knocking me back like they did, and I’ve been able to solve a few problems at work.  It would be fun to test myself in a little, local race this weekend.  But, as it happens, my lovely wife and I are flying to Chicago this week to test ourselves in the Chicago Marathon.  I don’t much know what to expect from myself.  It’s liberating in a way.  It might turn out to be a very fun day!

 

Good end to the season – Portland 2007

We were in a pretty nice hotel pretty close to the start/finish for the Portland Marathon.  So I wasn’t surprised to find other runners in the elevator when the doors opened to let me on.  It was still too early to head for the start – we were all on reconnaissance missions to check the weather and decide what to wear.  It was dark out, and there was a bit of a breeze whipping around the corner of the building.  It felt like a pretty good temperature for running, maybe even a bit too warm.  It wasn’t cold enough to require more than a garbage bag overcoat for waiting at the start.  Portland air has a softness that always surprises me – something like the smell of flowers – even in October.   I had on my lightest shorts and lightest top, and decided I was perfectly dressed.  I went back up to the room with nothing to do but wait.  I was ready.

Liz was finishing her preparations.  She would be a spectator, but her preparations were more extensive than mine.  Liz likes to appear in as many places as possible when spectating.  She’d worked out a plan to see me in nine locations.  She’d developed her route when I last ran Portland – in 2004.  But I was hoping to be 45 minutes faster this time, so she knew the timing would be tight in a couple spots.  She had her timing charts, maps and cow bells ready.  It’s a huge treat to have Liz cheering!  She was a marathoner before I was, and she’s resumed training for her own marathons.  In the future she’s likely to be in the race with me, so it might be a long time before I again have the pleasure of looking for her along the sidelines.  Perhaps I’ll be her cheering section one day soon.  For this race, though, we had complimentary roles and we were both ready.

I headed out into the darkness.  The start had been changed to accommodate construction, so I gave myself a few extra minutes to figure it out.  The start area turned out to be better organized than when I’d last run Portland, so the extra time was not needed.  Pace group leaders appeared and each was holding a stick with a balloon attached.  Each balloon was printed with the target finish time for the group.  I was hoping to beat 3:10, so I kept an eye on that balloon.  I spotted a couple familiar faces , Tim and Dru from Redmond.  In races we’ve run together I’ve always finished behind them, so I was surprised to see them quite a ways behind where I planned to line up.  It was explained that it was Tim’s first marathon and they had decided he should start out conservatively.   About 15 minutes before the start it was suddenly getting crowded in the start area.   I made my way to the 3:10 balloon and tried to stay relaxed.  It seemed most of the crowd was as nervous and excited as I was.  After a bit the horn blared and off we went.

The new start had three 90-degree turns in the first four blocks.  Those turns caused a lot of jostling and crowding.  It was still pretty dark out so I was intently focused on not falling underfoot.  After the tortuous turns, we straightened out for a long downhill stretch on Broadway.  At this point I was able to look around for my balloon of choice.  The only balloon I could see was half a block ahead of me.  I knew I’d been slowed through the turns, but the size of the gap surprised me.  I picked it up a bit and started gaining.  It was still too dark to see my GPS/heart-rate-display/watch so I didn’t have a clue what the pace was.  I felt loose and relaxed and it felt good to be cruising, so I figured all was fine.  About this time I saw my lovely wife jumping and cheering on the sidewalk.  I caught the balloon as we reached the bottom of the hill on Broadway, and I could see that I’d been chasing the 3:00 balloon.  Well, I knew that was wrong!  I had no business keeping up with that group, so I eased off a bit as we turned a corner, leveled out and headed into the wind.  The 3:00 balloon slowly pulled away, and I lost sight of it after a couple of miles.  Before it was out of sight, though, I heard cow bells and spotted Liz for the second time on Naito.

After a noticeable climb into the wind there was a hairpin turn at about 3.5 miles and we were heading back downhill and with the wind.  As I neared the bottom of the hill I noticed I was closing again on the 3:00 balloon.  I realized they must be running even pace where I was running even effort.  They pulled away on the uphill and into the wind and I gained it all back on the tailwind-aided downhill.  I still felt great but knew I shouldn’t expect to stay with that balloon.  There was now enough light to see my watch and I was right at my target heart rate.  I did very well at ignoring the 3:00 balloon and running my own program, but found myself staying right behind the 3:00 group.  I started to believe I belonged with the 3:00 group.  I was tucked in with my newly-adopted group when I saw Liz for the third time.

I was still with the group when I saw Liz again just after mile 7.  At about 9 miles there was an aid station and another hairpin turn.  I slowed for water and found the 3:00 group had gapped me a bit.  We were headed back into the wind and I realized how nice it would be to be tucked-in with the group instead of by myself 30 meters behind them.  I increased my effort a little to close the gap.  The wind was really making a difference and I wasn’t closing on the group.  So I pushed a little harder.  I really wanted the shelter of the group.  I was definitely above my target heart rate, but felt it would be worth the effort to catch the group.  Somehow I kept myself in a state of denial as I chased them for a couple miles without closing the gap.  I’d been above my target effort for 15 minutes.  I had been seduced by a balloon!

I came to my senses a little after mile 11 – easing up and letting the balloon pull away as I passed Liz for the fifth time and just before I turned and headed uphill again.  After a few turns and another short downhill, I saw Liz for the sixth time and entered the last, long downwind stretch.  I passed the half marathon chip mat at 1:29:02, and could see the 3:00 group quite a distance ahead of me.  They were a little ahead of pace, but that made sense with the tough section coming up.

The next few miles went by easily and I was feeling very good about the race.  At mile 16 or so the road heads up a short but pretty steep climb to the St. Johns Bridge.  The bridge spans the Willamette River and is the start of my least favorite section of the Portland Marathon.   It’s a 150 foot climb to the center of the bridge (which is lovely by the way).   After a gentle descent to the bluffs on the east side of the river there’s  a steep 100 foot  drop to a hard left turn and a climb right back up to the top of the bluff.

I made it to the top of the bridge just fine and still felt well.  The view was great and the wind was actually refreshing – cooling me off after the effort of the climb.  Starting down, though, I felt the first hint of trouble.  My legs didn’t have the easy, springy feel I expected on the gentle downhill.  My troubles vanished, though, when I heard the cow bells and saw Liz’s bright face at the end of the bridge.  But the subsequent drop, turn and climb back up reminded me I was in trouble.  By mile 19 I was fading fast.

I was paying the price for chasing that darned balloon.  My legs were getting heavier and thicker.  Turnover was becoming more and more difficult.  It cheered me to see Liz again at mile 22, but then I realized she was running alongside me shouting encouragement… and she was keeping up with me pretty easily.  Uh oh.  A gentle downhill should have helped, but it felt like an uphill.  I couldn’t get my legs to turn over.  I was having trouble with arithmetic, too, but my calculations were casting a doubtful cloud over my 3:10 goal.

More and more people were passing me.  There were a few sad folks having an even tougher time than I was, but there was no joy in passing them.  On the climb toward mile 24 a tall, strong looking guy came by.  I realized it was Tim and was momentarily delighted to see how well he was doing in his first marathon.  I told him he was looking great, and he replied that he must look better than he felt.  He lingered alongside me a little, and it looked like he might give in to an urge to slow down.  Happily, though, he snapped out of it and pulled away.  He inspired me and I tried to match his surge.  I couldn’t stay with him, but I had a tiny bit more energy.  When I reached the top of the hill I knew I had only two miles left, and that helped, too.  After one more bridge across the Willamette I saw the sign for mile 25.    With a mile left to go I had given up hope of finishing under 3:10.  It was starting to feel like I might even miss a P.R. (I needed to beat 3:14:48 to get a new personal record).  I realized I needed to get positive.  I rallied my energy with the idea of a new P.R., and that was enough to keep me going.

I quit looking at my watch and just focused on moving forward.  As I approached mile 26 I saw Liz for the ninth time and she was really animated!  I realized she was saying, “You did it!”  I was confused and wasn’t sure what I’d done.  Could I still beat 3:10?  I gave it all I had up the last hill and was delighted to see 3:09:15 when I turned the corner with one block to go.  I heard the announcer call out my name as I approached the finish, and enjoyed hearing him say “53 years young.”  I crossed the mat with a chip time of 3:09:21 and felt relieved and happy.

I found Tim and was happy to hear he’d finished in 3:07.  Dru was right behind me with a 3:10.  Liz was waiting for me at the exit from the finish area.  I hobbled back to the hotel with her and got cleaned up.  We were out of the hotel by check-out time and Liz drove us back to Bend.

I really got my money’s worth from that marathon.  I’d felt the highest highs and the lowest lows.  I’d enjoyed an hour or so of thinking I was going to run a 3:00 marathon.  I’d suffered through a period thinking I’d blown my 3:10 goal.  I’d managed my way through the huge sag.  I had the joy of seeing my lovely wife all over the course, and the extra bounce when she told me I’d made the 3:10 goal.  It was the most emotional race I’ve run.

More worrying about the weather – Chicago 2007

I signed up for the Chicago Marathon in 2007.  I had a hunch that 2007 was going to be a good running year for me.  I’d run my best marathon ever the previous fall in Chicago, and I kept my mileage up through the winter in order to be ready for Boston in April.   I was optimistic that a return to Chicago would give me a good shot at a new P.R.

That optimism faded as race day approached.  I felt fit and ready, but the weather forecast for Chicago was looking grim.  And it got worse each day.  It was really going to be hot.  I was getting worried.  I didn’t want to “waste” my possible P.R. run on a horribly hot day in Chicago.  Appended to the National Weather Service’s scary-hot temperature forecast was a note also predicting “humidity will be unusually high.”  I couldn’t imagine how high humidity would have to get before Midwesterners would call it unusually high!  Worry went off-scale.

I converted my worry into action.  On the Wednesday before the marathon I cancelled our flights and hotel.  Next I checked the weekend forecast for Portland, Oregon (by happy coincidence, the Portland Marathon was being run the same day as Chicago).  The forecast for Portland looked great!  I booked a room.

My wife, Liz, and I drove to Portland Friday afternoon and went directly to the expo to register.  Saturday was a relaxing day in the lovely city with my lovely wife.  Sunday morning was a little warmer than forecast, but still about 30 degrees Fahrenheit cooler than Chicago was that morning.  It was good weather to try for a P.R., but that’s another story.

Worrying about the weather – Boston 2007

I was already exhausted when I lined up for the start of my first and (so far) only Boston Marathon.  The weather had been fierce, and I’d been foolish enough to tune in to the local news to see what I could learn about the forecast the night before.

The news program showed us a live shot of a reporter standing ankle-deep in water.  The reporter told us that she was standing where the marathoners would be huddled against the storm prior to the start.  She was wearing a yellow rain suit that you might expect to see in a documentary about whalers in the 19^th century.  She reported being cold and wet and then reminded us how miserable it was going to be for the poor runners in the morning.

The weather segment told us to expect inch-an-hour rain and sustained headwinds of 30 mph during the race.  “Gusts to 50,” they said.

Before I turned on the TV I was nervous about the weather.  After watching the local news I was well beyond anxious.  I should not have turned on the TV.  I didn’t sleep a wink.

I had obtained many bits of advice from the internet before setting out from home.  I’d been following the weather forecasts and had prepared myself.  For my wait in Hopkinton I had several layers of old coats and rain gear from a thrift store.  For the race I had a full rain suit and a Gore-Tex hat with ear flaps.    I had packed old shoes and socks to wear while waiting in Hopkinton.  My race shoes and socks would be dry and comfortable when I slipped them on just before the start.  I had plastic bags to help keep my feet dry if the fields were really wet.  But I hadn’t considered the possibility I’d be standing ankle deep in icy water for a couple hours.  My imagination painted a vivid picture of how miserable and cold and stiff I might be before the race started.

When I left the hotel in the morning, the wind was howling between the tall buildings.  I lurched and stumbled along the sidewalk as the wind knocked me about.  It was raining pretty hard.  I worried that the fields in Hopkinton may be knee deep by the time I got there.   I joined a large, surprisingly quiet crowd waiting to board buses to the start.  I imagined many other runners had watched the local news and were as tired as I was.  The crowd was quiet, but the wind was not.  Just as I was stepping onto a bus, a large sheet of metal peeled off a building across the street.  The piece of façade crashed and banged its way down to the street.  It was going to be an interesting 26 miles.

The bus ride was a lot longer than I expected.  The windshield wipers were sweeping back and forth at a furious pace, but the rain was way ahead of them.

By the time we reached Hopkinton, the rain had eased up considerably.  It was still windy, but nowhere nearly as bad as it had been while waiting for the bus in Boston.  And, much to my relief, I found that the TV reported had clearly made an effort to report from the small portion of the field that was actually flooded.  It was certainly wet, but nothing like I’d been imagining.  My feet got a little wet, but not too bad.  My multiple layers of thrift-store outerwear performed flawlessly.   I dug out my cell phone and called my lovely wife to let her know I was comfortable.

It frustrates me that I worry about the weather – after all, how can my worrying make anything better.  I’m prepared or I’m not.   All that worry for nothing.