Rodney and I register for the Chicago Marathon on 10-10-10 when registration opens in February. Our friends, Holly and Derek, who live in the city, offer to watch Taia while we run. For eight months the plan is four days away, three for the road, and two for the marathon.
Thoughts of qualifying for the Boston Marathon never enter my mind until my 35th birthday in July. A short while after the Lincoln Marathon, someone mentions that I am within 2 min. from BQ. From that day on, Rodney and I train and prepare to run together to finish 3:45 in Chicago. It is a goal that is realistically doable yet challenging for the both of us.
After struggling with injuries during training, Rodney decides it’s best not to run. I feel guilty about the cost of registration and the trip, wasting his vacation days, missing his cousins Colorado wedding, and claiming the Chicago Marathon as my race. It wasn’t supposed to be this way. I offer to fly out solo, but he wants to be there for me; he even dabbles with running the first few miles together.
On Saturday morning, we wake up early and run from Holly and Derek’s place to the to the starting line in Grant Park. It is a little over a mile, straight down Jackson Blvd, so perfect that you’d think that I planned it that way. Running with Rodney in Chicago makes me happy, even if it’s not during the marathon, and for only a couple miles. But he feels discomfort in his legs and during the Expo he decides not to run at all.
Race day I’m up at 5 AM and into my typical prerace regimen. For the first time ever, I am wearing a red Team Nebraska singlet. I am proud and ready to run. I wear my Garmin, but change the settings because the tall buildings in the city interfere with the GPS and cannot accurately record distance and pace. I contemplate two Pace Tats from the Expo – I’ve got one for 3:40 and another for 3:45 goal time. Considering the warm weather forecast, I choose the latter and apply it to my right forearm. I am deliberate and logical (for once).
I consider taking my phone, but Rodney assures me that he’ll track me and be there for me when it’s over. Derek’s really cool, expensive camera consoles Rodney as his new marathon goal is to chase down his wife amid the thousands of runners and spectators who have taken over streets of Chicago.
We jog to Grant Park and it’s already warm (mid-60s). The lines for the portable toilets are long and the Open Corral gate closes at 7:15 AM. I am forced to start the race without going pee, but I need to get as far up as possible within the corral. Minutes before the official start, I meet Jack (Jaclyn from San Francisco) moving up in the crowd, looking for the 3:40 pace group. Because we both want to be ahead of the 4:00 marathoners we weasel our way up as far as possible and eventually start the race together, 6 min. after the gun.
There are hundreds of thousands of runners surrounding me. I am in the middle of a stampede of people. There are hundreds of spectators lining the streets, hanging on lampposts, up on newspaper stands and along planters. The bridges, balconies, and anything with steps have people. They are screaming, waving, ringing cowbells, holding signs, and waving like maniacs. The energy of the crowd is uplifting. There is no other feeling better than this; this is as good as it gets. The spirit of the marathon really is in Chicago. I’m here.
I am disciplined, like never before. Even though I’m running with Jack, I am the pacer. We run each of the first 17 miles within 10 sec of a 8:26 pace. We drink water from every aid station; consume gels on schedule; and talk, smile, and laugh as though we’re out on our first (running) date. We talk about running negative splits, picking it up after 20, even sprinting the last 5K. We are those annoying runner people.
I see Rodney (with Derek’s camera) at Mile 2, 13, and again with Holly and Derek (and Taia somewhere) in the crowd at Mile 17. Those are the best of times. People cheer “Go Nebraska” and I know it’s for me. I make it a point to lift my head, look around, take in the atmosphere, live in the moment, and be thankful for the gift. My chronic hip pain and tight piriformis are hibernating and in appreciation, I run the flattest parts of the roads and make wide turns. There are no signs that I am slowing down.
After the half, it warms up. We leave the shelter and shade of the city’s buildings, where the sun is hot. Each aid station routine gets a bit more complicated: a drink of Gatorade, a drink of water, and another cup for my head. Residents in the neighborhoods try and help as they stand on the curb with their garden hoses spraying down runners. The temporary relief evokes my need to pee, and I leave Jack before the 18th Mile marker for a row of portable toilets. I tell her “Run your race”. After my stop, I am still on track for my BQ, having built up a good 2-min. cushion. I take off again, now solo, and prepare to run the last eight miles.
I am at the corner about to turn left in front of a bank. The sign says “10:30…85ºF…29ºC”. It’s Mile 20 and there’s no possible way I can pick up the pace, in fact, I am off pace for the first time, and by a lot. Boston is out, but at this point in time thoughts of running another marathon feels like torture. Mile 21 is by far the longest, hardest mile, both mentally and physically that ever existed in Jodyland. This is harder than childbirth (as I knew it). My calves cramp, then the hamstrings, I stop running so I don’t fall over. Suddenly I can’t catch my breath and begin gasping erratically, like a fish out of water. I grab onto a recycle bin and hold on. My present goal is to prevent being pulled from the course by the EMTs, who are asking people all around me if they’re okay. I am not okay. Mentally, I am busted. I feel like such a weakling. Distraught, embarrassed, and crying, I strip off the Team Nebraska singlet and pin the bib to my belt. I can’t represent Nebraska like this. I wad up the wet shirt and begin to walk. I’m looking for my family - if and when I find Rodney I am going to quit.
And then…something comes over me. This is not The Wall. I am in the best shape of my life. I run five hilly miles with BOB and Taia at these temperatures on an easy day. Get a grip on life Jody! Get that D-tag/timing device over the next mat so people at home who are tracking you don’t worry. Get your ass to the finish line because someone in this family is bringing home a finisher’s medal.
Rodney and the gang almost miss me at Mile 23 when I turn onto Michigan Ave. Without the red shirt, smile and wave; I just blend in with the rest of the rundown, tired, hot runners just trying to finish. Rodney snaps a photo of my backside running in the distance, so thankfully there’s no evidence of my marathon meltdown. Right now I’m on a mission: I have 5K left and although I can’t sprint it, I’m moving.
But it’s brutal out there.
Participants fall to the ground, holding onto their firing muscles, rolling in anguish. Pace groups pass with more pacers than runners. I pass runners from previous pace groups bearing 3:30, 3:40, 3:45 on their backs. Aid stations seem shorter in length and further apart. Runners around me everywhere are openly suffering. My swollen feet and toes are shredded with each step, my Imodium has worn off because my stomach is upset with me (you know what I mean), but despite that, I don’t stop until I cross the finish line.
My second breakdown occurs after the finish, which is a big blur. All I want is my medal and some cold water. When I finally get to the water table about a quarter mile from the finish, a teenage boy pours an entire bottle of warm water on my chest singing, “body-wash”, as I’m about to grab it as a drink. (If I had the energy, I’d punch him out). I bypass everything at the refreshment table: bananas, bagels, cookies, Gatorade, and beer. My stomach is in distress. Photographers take my picture as I stumble around trying to find my way out of this finisher’s cage. After walking a mile, I finally make it to the Family Reunion/Post Race Party and see the Canadian flag waving at the end of a broomstick. It feels like years since I last saw my friends, husband and child. These are tears of joy.
Holly gives me hug and a cold, sugary, high-calorie Starbucks treat as we walk the mile back to their place. I’m aware that these actions are probably going to hurt me later, but I don’t care. Derek and Rodney stop to purchase ice for my bath; I use a safety pin from my bib to drain two major blood blisters on my right foot; I pass blood when I use the bathroom; I don’t start sweating again until 9 PM; but I eventually recover in time to eat a home-cooked Canadian Thanksgiving Dinner.
FAQs:
1) What was your time?
3:56:30 (11:30 more than my goal and 9 min more than my PR)
2) Is there anything in training that you would have done differently?
No
3) Is there anything during the race that you would have done differently?
No
4) Will you do another marathon?
Yes
5) What did you think of the course?
Amazing experience, flat, great crowds, fun city (but only if you like big races and big crowds)
6) Would you do it again?
Yes
7) What did you learn?
· Even if you do everything right, there are things that you just can’t control. You need to adjust and persist, or die.
· The number on the clock isn’t a reflection of the experience.
· I need my family aka Rodney & Taia. I’m nothing without them.
· The heat affected quite a few people that day, including Team Nebraska athletes. There were 3 DNF’s and I was not one of them.
· I earned this medal, and it means so much to me because I struggled so badly.
Thoughts of qualifying for the Boston Marathon never enter my mind until my 35th birthday in July. A short while after the Lincoln Marathon, someone mentions that I am within 2 min. from BQ. From that day on, Rodney and I train and prepare to run together to finish 3:45 in Chicago. It is a goal that is realistically doable yet challenging for the both of us.
After struggling with injuries during training, Rodney decides it’s best not to run. I feel guilty about the cost of registration and the trip, wasting his vacation days, missing his cousins Colorado wedding, and claiming the Chicago Marathon as my race. It wasn’t supposed to be this way. I offer to fly out solo, but he wants to be there for me; he even dabbles with running the first few miles together.
On Saturday morning, we wake up early and run from Holly and Derek’s place to the to the starting line in Grant Park. It is a little over a mile, straight down Jackson Blvd, so perfect that you’d think that I planned it that way. Running with Rodney in Chicago makes me happy, even if it’s not during the marathon, and for only a couple miles. But he feels discomfort in his legs and during the Expo he decides not to run at all.
Race day I’m up at 5 AM and into my typical prerace regimen. For the first time ever, I am wearing a red Team Nebraska singlet. I am proud and ready to run. I wear my Garmin, but change the settings because the tall buildings in the city interfere with the GPS and cannot accurately record distance and pace. I contemplate two Pace Tats from the Expo – I’ve got one for 3:40 and another for 3:45 goal time. Considering the warm weather forecast, I choose the latter and apply it to my right forearm. I am deliberate and logical (for once).
I consider taking my phone, but Rodney assures me that he’ll track me and be there for me when it’s over. Derek’s really cool, expensive camera consoles Rodney as his new marathon goal is to chase down his wife amid the thousands of runners and spectators who have taken over streets of Chicago.
We jog to Grant Park and it’s already warm (mid-60s). The lines for the portable toilets are long and the Open Corral gate closes at 7:15 AM. I am forced to start the race without going pee, but I need to get as far up as possible within the corral. Minutes before the official start, I meet Jack (Jaclyn from San Francisco) moving up in the crowd, looking for the 3:40 pace group. Because we both want to be ahead of the 4:00 marathoners we weasel our way up as far as possible and eventually start the race together, 6 min. after the gun.
There are hundreds of thousands of runners surrounding me. I am in the middle of a stampede of people. There are hundreds of spectators lining the streets, hanging on lampposts, up on newspaper stands and along planters. The bridges, balconies, and anything with steps have people. They are screaming, waving, ringing cowbells, holding signs, and waving like maniacs. The energy of the crowd is uplifting. There is no other feeling better than this; this is as good as it gets. The spirit of the marathon really is in Chicago. I’m here.
I am disciplined, like never before. Even though I’m running with Jack, I am the pacer. We run each of the first 17 miles within 10 sec of a 8:26 pace. We drink water from every aid station; consume gels on schedule; and talk, smile, and laugh as though we’re out on our first (running) date. We talk about running negative splits, picking it up after 20, even sprinting the last 5K. We are those annoying runner people.
I see Rodney (with Derek’s camera) at Mile 2, 13, and again with Holly and Derek (and Taia somewhere) in the crowd at Mile 17. Those are the best of times. People cheer “Go Nebraska” and I know it’s for me. I make it a point to lift my head, look around, take in the atmosphere, live in the moment, and be thankful for the gift. My chronic hip pain and tight piriformis are hibernating and in appreciation, I run the flattest parts of the roads and make wide turns. There are no signs that I am slowing down.
After the half, it warms up. We leave the shelter and shade of the city’s buildings, where the sun is hot. Each aid station routine gets a bit more complicated: a drink of Gatorade, a drink of water, and another cup for my head. Residents in the neighborhoods try and help as they stand on the curb with their garden hoses spraying down runners. The temporary relief evokes my need to pee, and I leave Jack before the 18th Mile marker for a row of portable toilets. I tell her “Run your race”. After my stop, I am still on track for my BQ, having built up a good 2-min. cushion. I take off again, now solo, and prepare to run the last eight miles.
I am at the corner about to turn left in front of a bank. The sign says “10:30…85ºF…29ºC”. It’s Mile 20 and there’s no possible way I can pick up the pace, in fact, I am off pace for the first time, and by a lot. Boston is out, but at this point in time thoughts of running another marathon feels like torture. Mile 21 is by far the longest, hardest mile, both mentally and physically that ever existed in Jodyland. This is harder than childbirth (as I knew it). My calves cramp, then the hamstrings, I stop running so I don’t fall over. Suddenly I can’t catch my breath and begin gasping erratically, like a fish out of water. I grab onto a recycle bin and hold on. My present goal is to prevent being pulled from the course by the EMTs, who are asking people all around me if they’re okay. I am not okay. Mentally, I am busted. I feel like such a weakling. Distraught, embarrassed, and crying, I strip off the Team Nebraska singlet and pin the bib to my belt. I can’t represent Nebraska like this. I wad up the wet shirt and begin to walk. I’m looking for my family - if and when I find Rodney I am going to quit.
And then…something comes over me. This is not The Wall. I am in the best shape of my life. I run five hilly miles with BOB and Taia at these temperatures on an easy day. Get a grip on life Jody! Get that D-tag/timing device over the next mat so people at home who are tracking you don’t worry. Get your ass to the finish line because someone in this family is bringing home a finisher’s medal.
Rodney and the gang almost miss me at Mile 23 when I turn onto Michigan Ave. Without the red shirt, smile and wave; I just blend in with the rest of the rundown, tired, hot runners just trying to finish. Rodney snaps a photo of my backside running in the distance, so thankfully there’s no evidence of my marathon meltdown. Right now I’m on a mission: I have 5K left and although I can’t sprint it, I’m moving.
But it’s brutal out there.
Participants fall to the ground, holding onto their firing muscles, rolling in anguish. Pace groups pass with more pacers than runners. I pass runners from previous pace groups bearing 3:30, 3:40, 3:45 on their backs. Aid stations seem shorter in length and further apart. Runners around me everywhere are openly suffering. My swollen feet and toes are shredded with each step, my Imodium has worn off because my stomach is upset with me (you know what I mean), but despite that, I don’t stop until I cross the finish line.
My second breakdown occurs after the finish, which is a big blur. All I want is my medal and some cold water. When I finally get to the water table about a quarter mile from the finish, a teenage boy pours an entire bottle of warm water on my chest singing, “body-wash”, as I’m about to grab it as a drink. (If I had the energy, I’d punch him out). I bypass everything at the refreshment table: bananas, bagels, cookies, Gatorade, and beer. My stomach is in distress. Photographers take my picture as I stumble around trying to find my way out of this finisher’s cage. After walking a mile, I finally make it to the Family Reunion/Post Race Party and see the Canadian flag waving at the end of a broomstick. It feels like years since I last saw my friends, husband and child. These are tears of joy.
Holly gives me hug and a cold, sugary, high-calorie Starbucks treat as we walk the mile back to their place. I’m aware that these actions are probably going to hurt me later, but I don’t care. Derek and Rodney stop to purchase ice for my bath; I use a safety pin from my bib to drain two major blood blisters on my right foot; I pass blood when I use the bathroom; I don’t start sweating again until 9 PM; but I eventually recover in time to eat a home-cooked Canadian Thanksgiving Dinner.
FAQs:
1) What was your time?
3:56:30 (11:30 more than my goal and 9 min more than my PR)
2) Is there anything in training that you would have done differently?
No
3) Is there anything during the race that you would have done differently?
No
4) Will you do another marathon?
Yes
5) What did you think of the course?
Amazing experience, flat, great crowds, fun city (but only if you like big races and big crowds)
6) Would you do it again?
Yes
7) What did you learn?
· Even if you do everything right, there are things that you just can’t control. You need to adjust and persist, or die.
· The number on the clock isn’t a reflection of the experience.
· I need my family aka Rodney & Taia. I’m nothing without them.
· The heat affected quite a few people that day, including Team Nebraska athletes. There were 3 DNF’s and I was not one of them.
· I earned this medal, and it means so much to me because I struggled so badly.
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