on the iPod: "one more time" -- daft punk
I figured out quite some time ago that the training portion of running distance races can be equally as enjoyable at the actual event itself. Training provides structure and discipline, goals and objectives. Not to mention that it's incredibly social and interactive, which is something that almost everybody can understand as being a good thing. I'm an introvert by nature, often content to not make plans and preferring to get plenty of time holed up alone, so training is a great outlet for human interaction, especially for me. It feels safe.
Having said that, there's nothing quite as exciting as a race weekend, which is exactly why I didn't really give a rip that I boarded a plane in the middle of a hotter-than-hell summer, one that has been bone-achingly dry and somewhat exhaustive from the lack of rain. It had been three months since i'd run a good distance race and it was time for the Rock-N-Roll Chicago Half Marathon. Heck, yeah!
Up until this weekend the summer has been really nice, particularly some time at the beach with a great guy, but because of injury it's been a summer voided of real mileage. I had only run a handful of times, some of which didn't go so well. But under the auspices of my amazing sports therapist that I affectionately call Painful Patty, I'm slowly getting back into form. Painful Patty is my new best friend -- she's a miracle worker. I've never had somebody dig with their thumbs so hard into my feet, but please understand that the torment and suffering and tears leaves them feeling like soft pillows when it's all said and done. I've got another appointment to see her tomorrow and it'll most likely be the best part of my day. I digress...
Landing at O'Hare may as well have been landing back in Fayetteville, because it was just as hot and miserably humid as it was in Arkansas. Save for the fact that I was in my favorite city in the world, nothing had changed and I knew I was in for a sweat-fest of epic proportions. It didn't matter. Not one single bit. I was too excited about lacing up with 20,000 other runners and hitting the streets of the Windy City for 13.1 miles. On top of that, my friend Sarah Rack would be running her first half marathon along with me, and I was happy to spend the weekend with she and Jason. I was clearly anxious to get out and log some miles, so much so that I went for a short training run Saturday morning, leaving out from their Logan Square condo and heading to the shores of Lake Michigan in the north loop. Traversing through the city streets with no real plan felt outstanding.
Saturday afternoon found us at the Fat Tire Bike and Beer Festival right around the corner. It was a hot mess of all things bacchanalia fashioned after a old school traveling caravan circus, leaving no stone unturned: they had barkers, oddities, freak shows, food trucks, marching bands, and plenty of Fat Tire beer on hand. The atmosphere was palpable and salty, as urban hipsters from all over Chicago mingled in their skinny jeans, vintage clothing, and moustaches. It was a great way to spend the afternoon: people watching and swilling.
Race morning came sooner than later and there was absolutely no grace from Mother Nature. I'm not even kidding when I say that I was sweating with minutes of being outside, and this was at 5:45 in the morning! Downtown Chicago, regardless, was electric with runners ready to pound the pavement and give it hell, and Sarah and I were right in the middle of it. After a bag drop and a bathroom break we gave words of encouragement and parted to our respective corrals, nervousness hovering above in anticipation for the gun. I knew that Sarah would do well in her first half-marathon, and even though I didn't see her again until the post-race party, she came through with flying colors.
Bang! The gun goes off, and, per usual, I started out fast, though not as bad as i've done in previous races. Controlling the adrenaline rush at the beginning of a race is next to impossible, but smart runners learn how to do it. One of these days i'll be that guy, but it hasn't quite happened yet. Immediately I was surrounded by friends i'd never met, live bands, cheering crowds, volunteers, and really tall skyscrapers. By mile marker two I was already covered in sweat and loving every minute of it. The course mimicked a part of the Chicago Marathon that I've now run twice, so it was somewhat familiar to cross over the river, pass through the financial district, and see the famous Chicago Theater. We also got to run on Michigan Avenue which was really cool. Jason and Sarah's parents were spectating in front of the Congress Hotel in mile six and I immediately spotted them holding up signs and clapping amongst the throngs. The skies became overcast which helped a bit with the temperature, but only enough to make me wish it were early March instead of late July. I didn't care, however, running on and loving the sport that has embraced me wholly. It's become my life.
The final miles included amazing views on Lakeshore Drive and Soldier Field, home of the Chicago Bears. The unmistakeable downtown skyline was straight ahead as the race finished in the heart of Grant Park. With about a half mile to go, I pushed hard and picked up to the quickest pace that i'd logged the entire morning. I felt like a runner again after taking the summer off and I wanted the finish line to somehow move forward so that the feeling wouldn't have to end. It was a great moment, despite the fact that I was soaking wet.
After immediately hydrating with water, gatorade, two chocolate milks, a smoothie, and one not-so-cold-but-really-good Goose Island beer, I met up with everybody in the main field and watched the winners get their checks, one of which will run the marathon in the Olympics for her home country of Poland in a couple of weeks. Rock bands got the party started as a really awesome race turned into a really awesome outdoor party. Jason's sign was a huge hit on the course and I made him pose for a picture. He graciously obliged. The morning was ideal.
That night, over sushi and noodles, I couldn't help but think about the race. There's simply no other way that I'd rather spend my time, energy, and focus than run distances, and race days are the best. Hands down. I was reminded that i'm blessed to be able to do what I love and that every day I should show grace and thanks, in my own way, that I can. Summer is fast coming to a close, but training season is just getting started, as I know that New York in November is just around the corner, even though it seems so far away. I'm not for sure when I'll be back in Chicago to lace up again, but I know that it will happen. I'm not ready to rule anything out, but instead enjoy where I am today and let tomorrow worry about itself. That's all we can do, right?
One final note: While waiting for my return flight home I couldn't seem to get away from a disturbingly pungent and foul odor that burned my nose. I got up and moved, thinking that some poor soul, most likely from Europe, wasn't wearing deodorant. The smell lingered. It wouldn't go away. Desperate for fresh air and unable to concentrate, I finally realized that the assault on my senses was coming from my running shoes. They were producing an unbearable, sweaty stank that had never been experienced on planet earth before. It was so aversive and disgusting that I considered leaving them in a corner of the terminal, never looking back.
But, alas, I shoved them in my bag and hid my head in shame, afraid of the masses that were clearly as offended as I had been. They're currently sunning on my back deck, and, at last check, were just as funky as they've ever been.
Run.
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