Back aching, legs and feet heavy. Stomach sloshing in time with Lady Gaga, reassuring us all that we were born this way. Just a few more steps to the next stop sign, the next lamppost, and then I’ll walk a little. Walk a little, run a little, what I’d been doing for the last eleven miles. But the run intervals keep getting shorter and the walking a little longer. The turn onto Roosevelt is coming, yet it seems farther away than in the past. I pound the pavement, determined to finish this marathon.
Because I’ve struggled too hard this season not to quit.
My running has slowed down a lot this summer. I completed a half marathon this summer, and afterwards a friend commented that my lips were blue. Normal in January, yet that day was seventy degrees. She suggested I see my doctor. And as a typical healthcare professional, I dismissed it. These things happen and they go away on their own.
Until Labor Day. I was in an air-conditioned building and became diaphoretic. I broke out in a cold, goose-fleshy sweat. I was told I looked pale. I sat down on the chilly concrete to relax. I texted my husband with a selfie, informing him of my state.
His response: Your lips look blue.
Finally taking my friends advice, I saw my doctor, who ordered a chest Xray and an ECHO. Both of which were normal. Before I could smugly say nothing was wrong, my bloodwork came back. My iron saturation levels were in the single digits, and the two other iron values (UIBC, TIBC) were elevated. I was instructed by my doctor to start iron pills immediately and follow up with a hematologist (blood specialist).
I asked about running the marathon. Since my hemoglobin was in normal range, and I wasn’t having any shortness of breath or chest pain, she reluctantly agreed. She cautioned that a marathon is quite taxing on the body (luckily she couldn’t see my smirk) and encouraged me to take it slow. As if fast was an option for me! I promised her I would comply, and then I promised myself that I needed to plan for race day.
That plan became to have fun every step of the way.
Race morning dawned and I picked up my longtime runner friend Tammy. I drove us to the train station, where other runners and spectators had already gathered. We chugged up to the Windy City. I found my gate and made my way through security and towards my corral, H. The lines for the port a pots were already wrapped around the corner, and I knew I’d be needing a bathroom break later anyway so I held off.
As we slowly made our way to the start line, runners started to peel off layers, discarding their items over the fence (the city collects and distributes to homeless shelters post-race). The Jumbo-Tron broadcasted the elite runners, who were already 36 minutes into their race. Little did I know that one of them would be making history that day.
The start line greeted corral H, and off we went. The air was cool and crisp, the skies slightly overcast. This was PERFECT running weather! My body warmed up easily in the first few miles. I was looking forward to mile 5, as the local running club was volunteering there. As I approached, an Irish pipe band played. I quickly found my friend Erica and gave her a quick hug. Lisa, the photographer, snapped this photo of me as I passed her and her husband Ed.
Mile 7 was the first bathroom break. Quickly, I got back on course again. We were heading towards Lake Shore Drive, and I could already feel the wind coming off of Lake Michigan. A few times I had to adjust my visor, and several people held onto their caps for them to not blow away. Boys Town welcomed us with two stages of drag queens and rainbows everywhere. Suddenly, I heard my name, and it was my friend Julie and her boyfriend Ermin. I hugged Julie, noting her parka and beanie as I was in my tank. My eyes welled up with tears as I left them. I wasn’t expecting to see them, and it meant the world to me.
I reached the halfway point, 13.1, and was still feeling pretty good. I told myself I would keep running and walking through water stops as long as possible. Which wasn’t too long, because by mile 15, I started to run two minutes and walk thirty seconds.
After experiencing the energies of charity row and the University of Chicago campus, my two favorite neighborhoods were up next: Pilsen and Chinatown. I stopped for my second bathroom break in Pilsen, not thinking that most of the stalls would be out of toilet paper by then. I finally located a stocked stall, and upon coming out, I reassured the next runner that it was adequate.
Pilsen had all the trimmings of a race, a dance club, and an early Dia De Muertes celebration. DJs blasted tunes as spectators handed out orange slices and pretzels. Confetti rained from the rooftops. Special “hydration” stations with alcoholic beverages beckoned.
Chinatown was next. Coming in under the historic arch, I took in the roar of the crowds. The dragons weren’t out, but there were plenty of musicians cheering us on. I took in the sights of the signage in Chinese. By this point I’d I stopped timing my intervals and ran by feel. And what I was feeling was tired.
I knew I had about four more miles to go after Chinatown. Taking back my smirk,
Dr. Martin was right. This WAS taxing on my body. And I wasn’t the only one. I noticed one young woman puking, and several others to the side of the road stretching out, their faces pained knowing it wasn’t over yet.
Crowd support is critical for the last stretch of a distance race. Chicago did not disappoint. I absorbed every single positive word those last few miles. Us runners reassured each other that we were almost there; our collective suffering was nearly over. One spectators sign reminded me, “At least you’re not at work!” True, yes. But at work I could at least sit down (post race I was cautious to sit down; getting up would be a chore).
Finally, we made the turn onto Roosevelt. Happy tears pricked my eyes. I felt a tap on my shoulder. A woman about my age informed me that she had been trailing me the entire race, and we needed to finish strong. How I managed to move my legs into a semi-sprint was nothing short of a marathon miracle. I crossed the timing mat, remembering to smile for the post race photos. I high-fived my motivator, grabbed a space blanket, and a a volunteer presented me with my medal.
After taking a few sips of a post race beer, I exited Grant Park and hobbled down historic Michigan Avenue. The city felt so alive. Runners reunited with their families, taking pictures and smiling. Everyone congratulating each other on a job well done. A far cry from how we’d felt those last few miles. I ordered a PSL from Starbucks and relished its warmth.
I slowly descended the stairs to the Van Buren station, one step at a time. From a distance, I saw a girl who looked like my dear friend Heidi. I was confused, as I knew Heidi started earlier than me and would finish in about three and a half hours. And in my post marathon fog, it was entirely possible that I was seeing things. But I wasn’t. She’d missed the previous train. I was ecstatic to see her!
And after a chatty train ride home, a shower and a Mexican dinner with my family, I settled my aching body on the couch. Covered by a blanket and our cat (Meb), I cruised Facebook and enjoyed others posts about the marathon. Even non runners were thrilled by the new world record of 2:00:35!
Nearly 48,500 people finished the marathon on Sunday. I think of all the stories they could tell; mine is just one of many. When I started my running journey, I never thought one marathon was possible, let alone 17. And after a summer of slow running, frustration, fatigue and tears, I was able to smile throughout my entire marathon this fall. I’m not sure about my future as a marathoner. Right now I need to focus on my health, reset my goals, and enjoy my running.
🏃🏼♀️Coach Carri A 🏃🏼♀️ 
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