finisher

sunday's mileage: 26.2 (that's a marathon!)

time: 5:47:41

I'm not for certain that things could have, or ever will be, better. Everything seemed to be exactly perfect for my first marathon. That's not to say that I wasn't absolutely hating life somewhere around mile 24, but from the depths of my soul I've never felt the way that I did on Sunday, October 10th, 2010. I'm a finisher.

We flew out of Northwest Arkansas with incredible energy. There were other runners on the plane that shared stories and suggestions, goals and times, laughs and smiles. Being surrounded by runners would continue throughout the weekend, as we talked to people from all over the country and the world who were converging on the streets of downtown Chicago for the very same reason. On the subway, in the hotel, at restaurants; no matter where we went, runners were there. I felt like I was surrounded by instant friends.

Saturday morning found us at the race expo to pick up our bibs and swag bag. On the shuttle bus from the Nike Store on Michigan Avenue, I sat next to a guy from Scotland who was in town to finish his quest of running the five world majors -- Berlin, London, Chicago, New York, and Boston. His advice was to run hard but ultimately have fun. The expo was huge. Every running company imagineable had a booth. We walked around and bought some gear, stopped at the booth for the Little Rock Marathon and gawked at the really large finishers medal, watched a video of the course, and simple enjoyed our surroundings.

Lunch was in Bucktown with my friends Jason and Sarah who live in Chicago. They're so great. We met at local place, Feast, and were seated outdoors along the sidewalk. We had the best table in what was an obviously popular hangout, as the place was full with revelers. The neighborhood was vibrant in the crisp, sunny afternoon. After lunch and beers, we walked to two local running shops nearby and talked with more runners, all heavy with encouragement for the marathon. As the hours passed, I realized that my impending goal was getting closer. Anxiousness arrived, but in a good way.

After dinner downtown, we retreated to the room to prep our gear and get some sleep. Over the months I've become such good friends with my training partners, Mrs. Murie and Mrs. Pugh. We laughed and talked long after the lights in the room were out. It was good.

We awoke before the sun came up and slowly came to life. This was it! Our hard work was about to pay off. I must be honest and admit that the morning didn't feel like I had expected. I was much more calm and subdued as we dressed and made our way to Grant Park for the starting line. We followed the throngs of athletes and found ourselves quickly surrounded by thousands of runners. As daylight approached, I still felt bizarre and a bit out of sorts.

In fact, Mrs. Murie and Mrs. Pugh would both comment after the race that I seemed to be not myself that morning. They recalled races we'd done before in training where I was excited and passionate with adrenaline pumping through my veins. According to both of them, I was usually the life of the party in those runs, feeding off the energy around me and contributing back to that energy with full gusto. Looking back on the start, I now realize that my bland affect was coming from being scared. Not just of the enormity of what was going on around me, but also scared of being done. I wasn't ready for it to be over, this profound journey that i'd been taking for the last four months. Probably a bit sad and melancholy as well, I waited in the corral for the race of all races to commence. I wasn't ready, but it was time.

As the race began, I used the first four of five miles to get my bearings with the sheer magnitude of being surrounded by 45,000 other runners. That first section of the course is a total blur. I remember running by spectators that were obviously looking for friends and family, because they weren't really clapping or yelling as we past by. They were just looking. Crossing the Chicago River for the second time and heading back into The Loop, however, things began to change. The crowds got larger and much louder. They were cheering. For everybody. It was a great feeling. And then I heard it for the first time: "Go Puckett!"

Instantly my eyes darted to the right, in the direction of those amazingly energetic two words. "Go Puckett!" But my efforts to see my first personal cheer section were fruitless, as the crowds were thick and crazy with movement and noise. Regardless, at that very moment the race changed for me. I found my inner runner and let him run like hell!

Many friends had told me that it was a great idea to write your name on your bib with a sharpie, so that people would read it along the course and yell your name. I took it a step further and had my name screenprinted in big black letters across my chest. Best idea ever. It wasn't 30 seconds before I had heard it again. This time I saw the encourager in advance. A big, robust, jovial black lady with her two kids in tow. She had a pom pom in one hand and a Big Gulp in the other. We made eye contact as I was approaching and she let out the biggest "Oh, yeah, look at Puckett!" that i've ever heard. True story. From that point forward, I must have heard any number of variances on encouraging phrases that included my name. Literally hundreds of times throughout the 26.2 miles. It was sooo helpful. Chicago natives are the best. Hands down.

As we passed through neighborhoods the fans got greater and louder. I think alcohol may have been involved. Okay, so I know alcohol was involved. We saw everything: cheerleaders, drag queens, church choirs, people dressed up like rabbits, superheroes, families, frat kids, kegs of beer, posters, bands, babies, buffet tables, water hoses, parties, lawn chairs, geriatrics, even a few nuns. Really. We saw nuns! The atmosphere around this event was in and of itself another event. It was like a marathon was going on in a three-ring circus. Not the other way around.

Around mile 8, we realized that Mrs. Pugh was having some issues with her hip. The problem seemed to be stopping and starting as we went through water stations. If she stopped even for a moment to take a drink of water, it was incredibly painful to start back running. As the miles increased, so did her pain. I felt great sadness for my friend, as it was evident that she wasn't at her peak. Like a trooper, though, she never quit. Not for one single minute. She's a finisher, too.

But her hip issue weren't without a price. It meant that we wouldn't finish together. Mrs. Murie selflessly decided to stay at Mrs. Pugh's pace and encouraged me to press forward and run the race that that was ahead of me. That was a hard reality for all of us around mile 13, when I kept pushing forward, ultimately going it alone.

Having replayed the scenario and possible outcomes over and over again in my head, and feeling guilt for leaving my friends, I realize that splitting up speaks volumes about our character. And not in a bad way. We could have stayed together for the second half of the marathon, but that wouldn't have been in the spirit of our friendship. I continued to push forward and gave every ounce of energy I had to do the best that I could in that moment. Mrs. Murie gave up the chance to run her very best race, deciding rather to make sure a friend crossed the finish line for the first time. And, or course, Mrs. Pugh. She battled and fought and overcame the pain to finish strong and proud. I'm not for sure which of them is the bigger hero, but I do know it's not me.

The sun began to beat down pretty hard as the temperature was in the low 80's in miles 14 through 18. This is by no means ideal running conditions, and people were starting to struggle along the sides of the course. I began to see injured people, vomiting and wheezing. My own energy level was stable and good, though I realized that the heat was slowing me down as well. I continued to feed off the crowd, eating chocolate chip cookies that a fan was dispensing. Jason and Sarah were waiting for me around mile 19 in a Latino neighborhood called Pilsen. I stopped and hugged them, eating a banana that Sarah had waiting and taking some pictures. They were excited to see me and provided a great, but quick, respite before I headed out for the final miles.

Shortly thereafter, somewhere in the 20's, my legs began to cramp. I also had very little energy, so I began to alternate walking and running. As the cramps got worse, it never dawned on me to stop and stretch them like so many runners were doing around me, rather I just wanted to finish. I wanted to be done as soon as possible. I didn't want anymore water, gatorade, bananas, or gu chomps. I felt awful and just wanted to finish. I had hit the wall.

The final mile was a mixture of pleasure and pain. My cramping calves had yet to subside, but I knew that I was so incredibly close to the goal of a lifetime. As I walked, I found myself proud of my accomplishment and wondering if i'd be "one and done", meaning not training for another marathon. I could cross it off my list and move on to something else. In that final mile it sounded pretty good. That's what I would do.

I mustered up enough energy to stave off cramping and run the final 100 yards. I don't remember much about crossing the finish line, there was no real profound experience attached to it. One would think that crossing the finish line would be the apex. But it wasn't. I just kind of crossed it. I do recall thinking back about how much fun the first half of the race had been. I was happy. I drank a beer in the park, alone, surrounded by thousands of runners and their families, and waited for Mrs. Pugh and Mrs. Murie at our designated spot, the American Airlines inflatable hot air balloon.

Suddenly and without warning, sitting on the grass in the bright sunny afternoon, listening to bands play and watching people celebrate all around me, my emotions finally took over and I cried uncontrollably. I had been holding it in all weekend, too embarrassed to allow myself to feel these human, primal feelings with reckless abandon. No more. The emotions happened.

I had packed my cell phone, some money, candy, and other stuff in a checked bag that I retrieved after the race. Looking at my phone, I had exactly 47 text messages from friends and family that wanted to congratulate me and wish me well on my accomplishment. That doesn't include the facebook postings. My friends and family had been following the race online. I read every single one of them, but it was too much to call or respond, because I knew that I would lose control of my emotions again. Especially with my mom. I desperately wanted to talk to somebody. Anybody. But I knew that it wouldn't be a good idea, so I sat there and waited, reading the texts over and over and over again.

Mrs. Pugh and Mrs. Murie crossed the finish line not too far behind me and we celebrated in Grant Park. In fact, we continued to celebrate the rest of the day and into that night. And the next day. And we've been celebrating ever since.

I've changed my mind about being "one and done" in terms of running marathons. I very much want to run another. I knew that I would. Running has become such a seminal part of my identity and passion about life. It won't be long before I find myself laced up again on an early Saturday morning, training for something that is bigger than my comprehension. It won't be long before I find myself laced up again at a starting line, focused on finishing, but doing it out of love for the run.

On October 10th, 2010, I ran the Chicago Marathon. I'm a finisher.