marathon details

For the real running nerds out there, or the morbidly curious, here’s a detailed recap of the race, mile-by-mile. This might make more sense with the map in front of you.

And a preemptive, general note: at no point did I wet my pants. Some of these pictures just reflect an unforunate sweat stain situation.

• Mile 0.3: I stopped to pee under the Wacker bridge just after the start. I was far from alone. It was mostly men, but there were a few squatting women, too. Our run coaches told us on a pre-race call that this practice was A Thing, and there was simply no way I’d have made the start on time if I stood in the pre-race port-a-potty lines. I thought about trying to make it to the first actual toilet stop on the route and knew I wouldn’t, so. Better there than at like State and Grand. I’m sure Streets and San comes out to hose that wall down after the race. Sorry guys, and thanks.
• 2: My hip starts hurting for real. From this point on, I was trying monitor how quickly it was deteriorating, and extrapolate from there as to how far I’d get before having to walk. Or bail.
• 4: The first album I’d put on to listen to before the race ended. I decided to run in silence for a bit before switching to my run mix. This is relevant because…
• Somewhere between 4-6: I lost an AirPod. No idea where. Damn thing just fell out of my sweaty ear. I didn’t even notice because I wasn’t playing music. I’m not sure I’d have stopped to get it anyway—that’s a formula for being trampled or causing a pile-up.
• 5: Coming up Cannon Drive by the zoo, I heard my friend Dave’s band up ahead in the distance. I had a mental map of where all my friends and family would be along the route, and I was excited to get there.
• 6: The band was playing “Running With the Devil” just as I was coming up. When the guys saw me there was quite a commotion. They were just coming to the second guitar solo and Nick offered me his guitar to give it a rip, but I had to decline for myriad reasons. Mild hypoxia and a heart rate over 160 bpm aren’t ideal conditions for small-muscle skills. And if I’d stopped for that long, I might not start again. Dave had a wireless link for his bass so he jogged with me for a bit until he was out of range and had to go back. His wife Lisa and son Leo gave me big high fives. A truly joyful moment. I forgot about my hip for a while.

• 6.5: A woman had taken a bad spill and was bleeding heavily from her head. Medics were running to her and I’m sure she’s OK, but that was a real wakeup call. You have to pay attention out there. It was never not crowded on the street, and there were points later where people suddenly cut in front of me or stopped running and there were near-catastrophes. I may have also almost caused some, too, idk. I wonder how often that happens. A lot, I’d bet.
• 7: In addition to my hip, my feet were killing me here, most likely due to the month off from training. My shoes were new-ish and I was counting on that time to finish breaking them in. I was trying to text Sharon using voice-to-text on my watch to ask her to have some Advil ready for me, but the fucking watch was in Spanish language mode, and it kept auto-correcting “Advil” to “advino” (“I guess”). I had to stop, pull out my phone, convert the keyboard, and resend the message in the right goddamn language.
• 9: Saw my friends Tim and Mary at their charity’s table on the way back down south after the turn. Hugs, photos, joy. I found out later that when I hugged Mary, my other AirPod fell out and stuck to some magnetic button on her coat. LOL. Net: I now had to run 2/3 of this fucking thing without music, though maybe that helped me hear the crowd and be more in the moment.¹

• 10: Drag show in Boystown! The crowds there were especially boisterous after a bit of a lull in the northernmost stretch.
• 12: I first saw my daughter Leah with the GO JOHNNY SHOW sign she had made. My heart just about burst when I saw her, Sharon, and my sister Julie². They’d somehow found the Advil I requested, and the ice cold water they had for me to wash them down was heaven compared to the tepid stuff in the cups at the volunteer tables.

• 14: My hip was really aching at this point, a hot, diffuse pain from my belt line down to about the middle of my outer thigh. I’d started out slowly since I was out of shape, but here I slowed down more because it goddamn hurt. Also I was pretty pissed because there was supposed to be a gel station around here, and either I missed it or it was gone. I’d stuffed a couple in my pockets before the race so it was OK, but if I’d been running at full pace, this would have sucked. Friends warned me to have backup plans for nutrition; they were right.
• 15.5, the westernmost point: found the family again here. The biggest possible spirit lifter. Hugs exchanged, and pictures taken, and we agreed it was fine for them to go home. Getting back downtown for the end party is a massive pain. I didn’t think I’d be able to hang for that anyway. And in any event, by this point I was sure I’d at least be well enough to drive my car home when I was done.
• 16: In addition to the aching left hip and sore feet, here is where my right calf started violently spasming and cramping. Pretty sure I was fully hydrated…I believe this was just it being angry at me for three hours of running after not doing any for a month, or possibly I’d altered my stride due to the hip and that asymmetry caused strife. From here on it was walk/run at about one-block intervals. The bitch is that walking made my hip tighten up, but running hurt my calf. There was no way to get total relief, and ten miles to go.
• 17: My friend Mary (not the one with the AirPod stuck on her) jumped in to accompany me on what was now an increasingly painful, music-less walk/run slog. I never came close to walking off the course; not sure that would be true if I didn’t have company for the last third of the race. One of the paradoxes of running this marathon, for me, is that it’s a comparatively lonely experience. Fifty thousand runners and about a million spectators, but you’re still fundamentally alone in the crowd. What she did was nothing less than heroic. And with my AirPods sacrificed, I at least had someone to talk to. <3
• 18-ish: The first miserable death march without fans. I hadn’t realized how sustaining it was to have the crowd cheering us on. And putting my name on my shirt was a great idea; hearing my name (“you’re a legend, John!”) was a boost. But here, it was like running on the moon.
• 19.5: Pilsen was SO LOUD! Too loud. I actually ran more than I had been through that part just to get past it. I appreciate the joy, but ugh. #old
• 21: Chinatown. I was actually feeling pretty good at this point. I’d found a run/walk rhythm that worked, had company, and it was clear now that I was going to finish, even if I had to hop or crawl the rest of the way. The weather had been varying a lot from cold/cloudy/windy to warm/sunny. Since I wasn’t running hard anymore, I really preferred the warm, which it was here. Great scenes with people in traditional Chinese folk costumes, the big dragons, the whole bit.

• 22.5: This southernmost stretch near whatever they are calling IIT these days was the toughest part, physically and energy-wise. My experienced runner friends warned me about this part. Yep. No crowd, nothing to look at, and a bunch of broken-down runners silently and miserably hobbling their way to their destinies. Somewhere down there I encountered the only negative vibes of the day: two drunk-ass yahoos were yelling at (the many) people who were walking. “You paid to run a marathon, not walk one! Get moving!” I don’t know if they thought it was funny and I don’t care. If I wasn’t so tired and sore I’d have kicked their stupid, drunk asses.³
• 24: The calf became a bigger issue than the hip here. Lots of stopping to do pole stretches, and curse this faltering meatsuit.
• 25.5: Some dude gave me a shot of Fireball. I asked him what it was, and he said “who cares?” which was the correct response. The burn actually felt pretty good. There was a woman just past him offering Malört shots; I passed.
• 25.7: The course marshals suddenly appeared and kicked Mary out for not having a bib. I’d be on my own for the last half-mile.
• 26: The Roosevelt bridge over the Metra tracks is the walk of the damned, man. So many struggling bodies there at this time of day, a far cry from the elites who crossed this bridge hours ago moving at 13 miles per hour. Woof.
• 26.1: I decided I was running, not walking, the last 300 meters with my calf and hip absolutely screaming at me. Coming up Columbus, I noticed the EMT/medic crews with their wheelchairs. I was not going to be needing their services, dammit. I was visibly limping but I could get a new leg later. The spotter/announcer on the grandstand said “way to go, John from River Forest, Illinois!” That would have been an especially terrible time to collapse.
• 26.2: I forgot to put my arms up in the victory pose at the line. I crossed the sensors, turned off my watch, walked slowly for a bit rubbing my calf, and that was where I let myself lose it a little bit, or maybe more than a little bit. A med team eyeballed me but I was physically all right. (Many other people were needing assistance here. May Shai-Hulud bless the doctors, nurses, and EMTs who volunteer for this event.) I recovered…got a water, a beer, and a banana. Got my medal from a kid named Max. Thanks, Max. I got a little emotional there, too. I toasted with another old guy like me who looked like he’d Been Through It as well. Nice job.

I drank my beer as I walked through the chaos to gear check. I wish I’d been more in the moment there, but in truth I don’t really remember much. Lots of people were spread out on the grass, stretching, eating and drinking, chatting. Clearly a lot of people do this in groups—couples, friends, run clubs, etc. Maybe that’s how you beat that paradoxical lonely race vibe.

I hereby direct you back to the other post for the post-race reflections.