World Majors or Bust : Chicago

This race. 

Admittedly, I am writing this several months after running Chicago. In some ways, I am disappointed that I couldn't process the race immediately after and write the blog without the heartbreak of a failed relationship behind me. In other ways, I am glad for the perspective that time has provided.

I am no longer dating the person I traveled to Chicago with--he supported me through one of the toughest races of my life, passing me ice cold Summit Tea at the middle of the race, providing me pacing updates that I was too dizzy to decode for myself and carrying a bag of recovery gear to the finish line. But just like training seasons come to an end, so did that relationship. In many ways, the relationship was a lot like the race. I was dedicated, committed and worked through the pain. And despite my best efforts, it ended less than ideally; I was left completely broken.

Immediately after completing Chicago I said, "no more marathons," a statement quickly amended with "unless they're World Majors...or the Marine Corps Marathon." And in the same way I've made a pledge, "no more dating...unless..." and, well, I haven't found the amendment for that statement just yet. 

I could wax poetic for awhile about the similarities between marathon training, marathon running and all of the bullshit that life hands you, especially in relationships, but this isn't a heartbreak blog, this is a running blog. So, enough with the tissues (oh, that's just me?) and on to the pavement.

A great view from the hotel room!

I have the talent of photographic memory--I never forget a face or place. However, episodic memory is not my strength. I tend to black out memories, even if they are favorable. Here is where writing a blog months after the fact is a terrible idea. Because I don't remember anything, this post takes an interesting style--reflecting only via the photos that remain, rather than a typical narrative I prefer to write. 

Early morning meeting with some Eagles from across the country!

I had the pleasure of meeting with the Chicago Team RWB Eagles the night before at a pizza and pasta dinner. The morning of the race, we met at the Art Institute of Chicago for a quick photo. Here is where nerves set in and I settled into the memories of how difficult the training for this race had been, how much the relationship had been struggling, and how much I wanted to both to be okay. 

I puked right before this. 

I ate a peanut butter and jelly sandwich for breakfast but couldn't keep it down. Throwing up before a race is a pretty terrible way to start. Still, like always, I smiled and tried to convince myself it was fine.

Always add a bow.

With race temperatures expected to be 65 degrees at the start, I planned to wear as little as possible, stopping short of wearing a tank top. The heat would rise to nearly 80 degrees by the end of the race. It was muggy. It was uncomfortable. I don't think my feet have ever been as hot as they were that day. I purposely slowed down--I wasn't sweating (I almost never do anyway, but this was weird) and I decided to stop at every water station, drink the electrolytes and douse myself in water. I wanted to finish strong and slowing down was the only way to ensure I made it. People were fallin' out everywhere. It wasn't pretty.

Portrait mode FTW. 

This has been regrammed by the official Chicago Marathon page on Insta a few times already!

I remember seeing some great Chicago sights. I saw that infamous theater early in the race. I remember running through a beautiful park. I remember running over some bridges that were pretty painful unless you ran on the carpet. We crossed over the river several times. I remember passing through several neighborhoods that were very clearly Latin, hearing the cheers of "Viva Selina" and "Viva Chiquita" as I passed, and I thought to myself, "next time, I wear the Mexican flag." I also remember the immense pride I felt as I was given my medal. I remember the tears in my eyes, unexplainable at the time, and so salient now.

My people. I love you.

I was supposed to see some of these messages on the course. I did see the board, but didn't see any of my personalized messages. Thankfully, the race emails all the messages you were sent, and I am grateful to all my framily who sent me well wishes for race day. It brought me to tears then as it does now to know that I have people in my corner. 

A Goose Island Beer at the finish line!

Finishers got an an ice cold beer at the finish line--and another at the finisher festival! I am not one to be able to stomach much after a race, but in that heat, with that level of difficulty, I don't think I have ever guzzled a beer as fast. 

The hotel was so great! They even had snacks for finishers.

As one of the most superstitious people I know, I refused to put on this finisher shirt until I was done with the race. I am pretty sure I put it right back on after I showered.

This is why they say you shouldn't go out too fast. 

Welp. I went out really fast. There was no way for me to keep up that pace, between the heat and my terrible training season. In any case, I finished with a somewhat respectable 4:40:37 (10:42 average pace), a far cry from my 4:20 NY Marathon finish. But I guess I can only get faster from here! I didn't run a fast race. I ran a smart race. I did all I had to do to make it through. And I'm a better runner because of it.

I waited for this jacket for a long time. 

With Chicago done, I have only one more American World Major marathon to complete--Boston. I've got three World Majors to run internationally (Tokyo, London and Berlin). I'd like to return to Chicago once this big adventure is done and see if I can't take the course back. I need to make it mine. I need to be faster. I need to be stronger. I need to do it on my own.