If this whole entry seems a bit incoherent and unstructured, I apologize. The whole experience was a little overwhelming. There were so many things going on in my head and during the race, I experienced a little information-overload that I still haven't been able to organize completely...
The one thing I've been wondering about for the last two weeks: How long are you allowed to brag about your first marathon? A few days? A week? A month? Forever? Haha.
Well, long story short: I did it. Not fast, but I did it. On October 12, 2008, I dragged my tired ass over the finish line of the Chicago Marathon. Ha! Actually, that's not completely accurate. Yes, I was tired and exhausted, but I wasn't dragging, at least that's not how I felt. I felt pretty damn energized.
I cannot figure out how to illegally save the pictures off of the MarathonFoto website, but believe me, I have this huge grin on my face in all of the pictures.
I'm the one in all black on the right side. Oh, and I saw this the day before the race on Lake Michigan, and for some reason found it both fitting and hilarious:
The race was fantastic. A little too warm for my taste and for what I am used to here in the Netherlands, but because there were so many water/Gatorade-stations, it wasn't such a big deal...To me, it felt as if the whole city was in marathon-mode, even before race day. Pretty awesome.
I started out in the back of the huge crowd (Get this, after the race, I get an email that says I was finisher #14,000-something out of 31,000. Haha. It's like a town twice the size of my home town was on the move. Awesome.) and just tried to pace myself through the whole thing, trying not to freak out. The first 10 miles felt good and I just trudged along at a 10-minute-mile pace or so. Chicago is definitely a great city to run in and I loved the crowds...
Also, I have never had a very...well, let's call it 'strong' opinion on mp3-players during races (I do believe in following race-rules; so if a race organizer wants to ban them, I will abide. Easy enough, in my opinion...).
The Chicago Marathon has definitely changed that. I felt bad for the runners who decided to block out the rest of the race: Fellow runners, volunteers, the crowds. They missed out on my favorite part: The support of other humans who are passionate about what you are passionate about. Running. Moving. Testing your limits. Being out there and trying something new.
Anyway, I loved saying 'Thank you' to every volunteer who handed me a cup of water or sports drink. I loved commenting on other people's outfits. I loved wishing one runner "Happy Birthday" and congratulating another on her successful fight against cancer (Tons of people with messages/their names on their shirts or bodies - So much to see/read/take in...). Yes, I loved the whole thing. Being out there on my own and still feeling connected to my surroundings, the sea of humans out there with me.
OK, a little cheesy, sorry. It was just a great day.
So the first 10-15 miles went by, I was doing fine. Not going fast, but feeling fine. A little freaked out about getting 'food' in (The only refueling I had every tried was one packet of sports beans during my one really long run. Yes, I know. Not smart.) and just the whole craziness of actually doing a marathon. Me. A marathon. Argh.
My training all year had been sporadic at best, my weight hadn't been where I need it to be for running, I had had a hard time getting motivated. Wonderful. I had done one 3 1/2 hour run in September, figuring that that would approximately be twenty miles.
Yes, I know, lame excuses and all stuff that could have been fixed. By me. And me alone. Just trying to explain why I was a little apprehensive before and during the race and why this undercurrent of anxiety got more and more pronounced the closer I got to the 20-mile mark of the race.
I guess that while I hadn't actually been running as much as I had planned to at the beginning of the year (when I signed up for the race), I had read a shitload about running and racing. I had definitely heard too much about 'the wall'. Yikes. So at mile 15 I was getting a little freaked out. How was I going to deal with cramps or whatever else awful could happen? No way would I drop out after freaking flying to another country to run a race. No no.
Well, I came up with this strategy (That, yes, I might have stolen from one of the gazillion articles I had read on running. Who knows?) that I would 'dedicate' the last seven miles to my six closest family members and one other person I really care about.
Sounds pathetic and overly dramatic, but it worked like a charm. It took me a few miles to figure out how I would actually do it (Haha, seems like my mind was not working at top-speed anymore..); and I organized my parents, two grandmas, two brothers and my friend alphabetically. Seemed logical to me at the time.
So mile 19 started off with my paternal grandmother. I kind of ran through her life in my head. Date of birth, where and how she grew up, how she met my grandpa, etc. etc. This kept me busy and entertained.
Don't want to bore you with all the details, but my mom's mile almost had me crying already (What the?), Buemml's mile featured rock music (Really! It was almost too perfect. The mile marker came and there was a 'music station'. How fitting.) and I remembered Luke's "Go get them, tiger!", which has been a joke between the two of us for 15+ years. Dad's mile was mile 25 and I had to smile because there was no way I could walk or give up now, because he would kick my butt for not sticking with it. Right around that time, I knew I would have to give myself permission to cry a little at the finish line. And I knew that there was no way I wouldn't make it. I would freaking crawl it in if need be.
Anyway, mile 26 kind of went by in a blur while I kept thinking that one mile really isn't that far. Sure felt far though. Looking around, there were people hurting way more than I did, because apart from a little discomfort in the thighs, no wall. Ha! Must have been the slow pace or the mental games I was playing with myself...
The last bit of the race was just amazing. Tons of people on both sides of the 'running path' kept shouting and yelling...The course went uphill for a tiny bit, one last left turn and Yay! the finish line. Right then and there, I couldn't stop smiling. Must have looked weird, but I just couldn't wipe the grin of my face. And yes, I cried after I crossed the finish line. Just a little though. Here's a picture of my medal and the chocolate medal a co-worker gave me.
And yes, I hereby officially conclude my bragging about my first marathon. Time to set my sights on the next goal. Off to bigger and better --- no wait: Bigger marathon? - Not necessarily. Although I do believe that I'm more comfortable in bigger races. So much easier to blend in with the masses. Makes me less self-conscious.
Bigger Me? - Most definitely not. This whole experience would have been even more fun with less pounds to move across 26.2 miles.
Better time? - Hopefully.
Better experience? - Maybe not possible, because I had such an amazing few days and race in Chicago. We'll see.
Until then, thank you Chicago, it was fun.
