Chicago Marathon Meltdown

I really don't even know where to begin with a race report. You already know how the story ends, but I'm going to try and take you back to the beginning. Follow along, I'm going to try paint a vivid picture for you...yes, it's long (and I'm not apologizing for that either).

The morning of the race, I was amazingly calm. I'm not sure if it was because of the happy little calming pill I took, or because I found my inner marathon zen. Or perhaps I'm a psychic and subconsciously knew I wasn't going to be going the full course and that there'd be nothing to worry about because of it. Who knows. But there was no pre-race vomiting at all. I was able to eat a good amount of breakfast and overall felt really good.

We made our way to the start line, wished a handful of our TNT mentees good luck and headed for the corral. I met my pace leader, John Boyle who was going to be running a 5:45 pace at 2:2 run:walk intervals. John is quite the character...he's completed 75+ marathons, cycled across the U.S. thrice and walked across it once (incorporating marathons along the way). Everyone was in good spirits and excited to embark on the 26.2 mile journey with him. Pace leaders and the corral captains stressed the importance of keeping hydrated and cool. Me, in my ultimate paranoia, opted to carry 4 bottles with my on my fuel belt, plus a bottle of Gu...and sent my parents packing with 2 bottles to switch out.

It took us just under 25 minutes to cross the start line. Within 1 mile our pace group was passing people.


First water stop?


Nothing.


I took some water from my fuel belt and kept on. The energy from the spectators was great. Everyone was so encouraging and excited for the race. We turn to go down LaSalle...over the river...and to the next water stop.

Nothing.

A few blocks later I run by my parents. I didn't even stop. All I could do was yell to them "GET GATORADE FOR MILE 11. THEY'RE OUT OF EVERYTHING." And with that I was gone. I knew the miles ahead were going get ugly quickly.

I rejoined the pace group and ran next to John. He commented that there was no way we were ever going to stay on pace if there were no resources on the course. Every race official, police officer, and volunteer we passed, he told them about the lack of water/gatorade and asked them to call ahead and make sure the next station was adequately stocked. Time and time again we were assured there were supplies waiting for us.

I didn't trust 'em.

When the pace group took the next walk break I called ahead to mouse and let her know there was nothing available. She immediately sprung into action and assured me that they'd have water and ice waiting for me ahead.


Around this time, a TNTer came up next to me..."Hey...I read your blog!" Which of course, made me smile...so hi Adriana!! ...or was it Audrina...or Adrienne? My apologies, things are a big hazy.

Ten minutes later, we arrived to find Mouse, Dice and Corey, a friend from college. They filled me up with more water, passed off bottles and sent me on my way. Upon another limited water station...I shared my water again with John.

Around mile 6.5 I was walking next to a course official/medic on a bike (there were actually 2 of 'em). He had just been radioed saying that there was talk about them closing the course. I asked him if they'd really do that...he didn't see how they could with the sheer number of runners, but anything could happen.

And then it happened...I heard the first ambulance siren. The first one of many that I'd hear that day. By mile 7.5 I felt myself fading from the 5:45 group. I pulled myself together to keep on pace with them. At the northside turnaround, more sirens were heard. Many people were walking. A few neighbors had sprinklers out to help us cool off. A handful of athletes jumped in a fountain...others filled water bottles up from the same fountain...some simply dunked their heads in it.


I found this on YouTube earlier that does a good job describing the mayhem...

I soon re-evaluated my game plan. "Just finish, Barb...who cares if it's a personal worst. You've got no business effing with these conditions. Slow down and keep moving to simply finish in one piece."


I pulled back away from the 5:45 pace group. Under normal circumstances, it would've been a piece of cake sticking with them, but I didn't want to injure myself in the process since I'm arguably the biggest sissy in the heat.


Boystown was fun as always. Anytime I heard someone cheer "Go Barb! You can do it!" I'd start running again. By now, the spectators were really coming to the rescue. To them, I say thank you. I saw a 20-something year old guy putting ice in a ziploc baggie from a yellow Best Buy bag. I ran over to the side and begged for a single piece of ice.


He gave me everything he had. I was so thankful for his generosity. Ice went in my sports bra, tucked in my hair, in my mouth, and even down my pants. I immediately turned to the runners around me and began offering them ice. They came swarming. The bag of ice lasted all of 2 minutes before every last cube had been shared.


Somewhere between miles 9 and 10 I ran into Mouse, Dice and Cory again. I was shocked to have learned that they had purchased 20-something bags of ice and had been distributing it to everyone with a bib. They saved part of a bag of ice for me and another bottle of water. I immediately filled up and stuffed the ice bag down my sports bra. It was the only way I was able to keep my core at a managable temperature. I told them all I wanted to do was finish.


It was time for a new race plan. "Forget about finishing...let's focus on staying in one piece and simply not dying in this heat. Let's be smart and keep moving, but with the intent of survival."


By now my pace group was out of sight. I kept up with the 2:2's but at a much slower pace. I was surrounded by folks wearing pace bibs of 4:30's and 5:15's. Everyone was slipping.


I found my parents once more, exactly where they promised they would be. I was sopping wet. It was ugly. I learned that Mike was keeping a pace about 2 minutes slower than he had anticipated. My heart broke because I know how much he wanted to break 5 hours, but was relieved to learn he wasn't pushing himself to a dangerous level in the given conditions. I chatted with my folks for a while...told them the new plan was to simply "not die" and then eventually kept on.


Physically and mentally, I felt fine. The heat sucked, we were baking on the streets, but after doing a body check from head to toe...nothing ached and I wasn't miserable.


I don't remember the first time I actually had water in an aid station on the course, but the first time I was served Gatorade was mile 10.5 by a cross country team. I wanted to hug all of them.


I ran with a joggler for a while, who was desperate for Gatorade...so I shared. I saw Lauren's cheering section who valiantly screamed life into my stride.


I turned the corner onto Adams and knew the halfway point was right around the corner...I was there about 10 minutes behind schedule. Totally awesome. I was okay with that (a time that is my personal worst for a half), I was just glad that the beast was halfway done.


Mother nature was relentless. She held us all at her mercy. That is, until we were held at the mercy of the race director. Just after I crossed the halfway point I was notified that they had called the race. We were instructed to walk, not run, to mile 16, where we would then be boarded on air conditioned buses and shipped back to the start line.


Brilliant. I was absolutely dumbfounded. No one knew what was going on. And so...whatever. I ran. By mile 14 we heard from a police office that there had been "a major medical emergency," which we later learned was the death of a fellow runner, and then I started to believe that the race had indeed been called off. I chatted with a gal named Robin whose hubby went to KU, so she proclaimed that I adopted her for the next few miles. Fine by me. I welcomed the company.


I called my mom. I started to cry. I didn't know how to feel. I started to focus on the chaos that surrounded me. A chaos that had been occurring for the first 13 miles, but I had just elected to be oblivious to it all to stay in good spirits.

There was a symphony of sirens. Runners being carted off on stretchers. On the side of the road vomiting out their insides. Sitting on the curb crying. Calls of "Runner Down" in an attempt to notify race officials. Some laid on the side of the road cramping up. Others screamed expletives in agony. Some just stood there, completely deflated and confused. A few flagged down cabs a block or two off the course. Everyone was on cell phones calling loved ones, making arrangements for new meet up plans. It was like you'd just look at someone and they'd fall over. Medical tents did not have enough staff to treat the runners as they came in--there were lines of people waiting to be helped at almost every station I saw.


The Chicago Marathon had become a war zone...a war that felt like everyone was losing. The carnage was clearly evident.


I called Mike to see if he made the cut. No answer. Straight to voicemail. Again and again and again I tried. Nothing. I called Mike's mom...she hadn't received a split from him since 25k. I called my mom to see if she could reach him. No one could get a hold of him. I started to panic.


I called Mouse and Rae. They couldn't believe what was happening. Rae informed me that the marathon site was down and she could no longer track Mike. I called Juls and Ryan to see if they were okay. No answer. I reached Bridgette and Dawn, who had vowed to run with me in the back half...both were standing in their positions ready to go...both were relieved to learn they had called it off. I know they didn't want to be running in such conditions, but they were prepared to support me if it was the last thing they did. So thank you, ladies, for being out there when you simply could've gone home and vegged in air conditioning.

When I hit mile 16, there were not enough air conditioned buses for everyone. New plan folks...you're walking back to the start (another 2.5 miles away). No problem. I felt fine. The bus spots were needed by runners who were in bad shape.


And so I walked.

Down Jackson I headed east...the CPD uncapped every fire hydrant. You couldn't stay dry if you tried. My feet ended up soaked, and as a result, I've got some mighty sexy blisters. Painful, but sexy, nonetheless. That's really my only battle wound aside from some moderately sore muscles and a bruised ego.


When we reached the start line we were congratulated for completing the "Chicago Fun Run." Uhmmm..fun run my ass! There was nothing fun about what had happened. I felt dejected. Deflated. Belittled. Annoyed. I had my chip removed and received a bull shit medal. I couldn't look at it. I was half tempted to throw it away. In fact, it's still in the plastic wrap. By this point I had covered just under 19 miles. Announcers gave us a constant reminder that we didn't complete the marathon.


Gee. Thanks. Missed that one, assholes.


I grabbed a banana and headed towards gear check and to find my parents. I ran into one of my mentees and I just hugged her. She was visibly upset. She had been rerouted right along with me. We cried together. I wanted nothing more than to take away her disappointment. She had such high hopes of a wonderful marathon for a great cause as she ran in honor of one of her dear friends. I wanted to give her the debut marathon she deserved. And I could do nothing.


My heart simply broke. For her. For everyone who trained for months to race and weren't even given the option to finish. For all those who will never get back their first marathon.


On my way to find my parents, I received a 35k split time from Mike (we never received a 30k time from him). HE WAS ALIVE! I had visions of my husband laying in a medical tent hooked up to an IV swirling through my head. Finally, some sense of relief.


I eventually find my parents at the finish line. I went up to my dad and hugged him from behind. I don't think he realized how much snot and tears I wiped on his shirt. I was with them for less than five minutes...I debated whether or not to go out into the field and find our mentees who made the cut off, mike, and any other friends who needed a helping hand.


I did a self evalutation. I felt great. With 19 miles behind me I knew I could handle another chunk. A few blisters couldn't hold me back from helping folks out, I just felt a little guilty for going back out there.


It wasn't my race. I wasn't sure I deserved to be back out there.



Then my mom said something along the lines "I think he'd be happy to see you." And with that, I gave them everything I had on me, strapped on my fuel belt once more and went to find a gap in the railings.


At the top of the hill at Roosevelt I stepped back on the course. I walked down the hill offering motivational bits for everyone making their trek up the seemingly huge mountain.


I can't lie. I was terrified for them and where they came from. There was an army of zombies were coming at me. Eyes were glossed over. Runners limped. People were dragging their feet behind them. They looked pained...moreso emotionally than physically. The heat at drained every ounce of life them. Every once in a while you had someone with a jolt of energy who could will their body into a stride...you weren't sure if you wanted to hate them, envy them, or be happy they were able to move like that.


Anyone in TNT gear, I rushed to. Everyone seemed to be okay. I first found E, one of our fastest mentees, walking with a friend. She looked sad and confused. But she was okay. I ran with another mentee, L, who seemed in great spirits. Her family had met her down on Michigan avenue and was running her in. She smiled like a champ. Being a Jayhawk (by the way, did you know we have a ranked football team now, wtf?! #20! woo, 5-0, baby!!) I went to the aid of a young collegiate in a Kansas shirt...and really, anyone who grabbed my attention. I shared salt packets with strangers, high-fived men with bloody nipples, and encouraged everyone as best I could.


About 40 minutes later I spotted Mike. I have never felt so much relief in my life. He was limping. And luckily, he was happy to see me (I was honestly afraid he'd be in a "bite me" zone and basically say "screw you...go away"). We got to mile 25. We walked together. We ran together (as best he could given the circumstances). And he used me as a balance brace. I was so glad I was able to be there to help him.


When I suggested I leave him at Roosevelt, he instructed me that we were finishing the race together. Are you sure, this is your race, hun?? Yes, I'm sure.


Eventually we are in close proximity of the hill. There was a huge sprinkler and it sort of created a mirage effect with the turn on Roosevelt. I'm not sure he remembers it or not, but Mike said some pretty funny stuff during that last hazy mile...he must have asked me "Is that it?" about 8 or 9 times before I actually convinced him we were at the end.



We walked up the hill to save energy to run the final stretch in. I called my mom and his mom to let them know we were drawing close to the finish.


Mike set the pace for the final straightaway. Each time he cramped up, I felt his pain. Everyone around us was struggling in those final marathon moments. The finish line was so close, but so very, very, very far away. I wish I could've taken the cramps for him, because it really seemed agonizing. But at that point, if I had to, I would've carried him across the finish line. We walked, semi-hobbled and then settle into a jog. At one point, he clenched my shoulder tightly and we stopped completely, and then the next thing I knew...we were flying across the finish line. Together. The only marathon we'll ever complete as a couple. We're buying the photos regardless of how terrible we look.


I was so proud of him. He finished the beast (and I am sooooooo living vicariously through him). He persevered. Mike received his medal, and one was draped around my neck as well. I accepted it. Yes...I have two medals. If you have a problem with it, bite me (insert smiley face here). That was the medal I deserved and earned. That wasn't a bull shit medal. That was my marathon medal. Today I had it engraved with the phrase "Only Race I'll Ever Finish With Mike." It's funny cause it's true.


All in all I calculate that I covered just over 23 miles in the end. And for all intents and purposes, I finished the marathon...unofficially.

The real heroes of the day were the amazing spectators who came out in droves to help bring relief to the runners. They weren't just our cheerleaders. They were our live savers.

Children created makeshift water stations of dixie cups. College kids handed out bags of ice in Lincoln Park. Homeowners turned on sprinklers. Others handed out band-aids. Strangers massaged cramps out of runners legs. Older folks walked with those feeling dejected and offered encouraging words, trying to inspire them to never give up. Cases and cases of bottled water were purchased by spectators and handed out willingly and without question. Signs and cheers willed each one of us to continue putting one foot in front of the other. When the marathon itself had failed us, the city of Chicago truly came together to make the best of this unfortunate situation.



For everyone who was on the sidelines and for those cheering us on in spirit...thank you.


So. Do I agree with the decision to cut the race short? Judging from what I saw I honestly have to say yes. Sure, I'm disappointed that the cards fell the way they did. But witnessing runners drop like flies, it was necessary. There are no excuses for the lack of preparation at the aid stations, no matter how much they blame it on the runners using water to cool off (oh come on! you know that's how we make ourselves cool down). I was hydrated and felt great, but I can't speak on behalf of everyone in the back of the pack. If they didn't have the resources to sustain everyone, they had to call the race. I just wish they were taking some responsibility for the mayhem and gave a sincere apology for everything that went down.


Yes, I've got a bitter taste in my mouth and some mixed emotions...but ya know what? It'll only make my revenge run that much sweeter.