Slow and steady wins the race...unless there's Kenyans

I'm chafed between my butt cheeks and still feel good.  It's a runner thing; you wouldn't get it.

Actually, the chafing is mostly gone now, but my legs are still incredibly sore.  So I sit here on my couch writing this post on my experience at the Bank of America Chicago Marathon before the memories (and pain) fade away.

The weekend started with a nice drive to Chicago, accompanied by Arcade Fire's Neon Bible, Elliott Smith's XO, and a conversation with my beautiful wife about where we see ourselves in five or ten years (we still have no idea). We stopped for lunch in Hyde Park right by the University of Chicago at an excellent restaurant called Medici. (try the pesto/goat cheese calzone if you get a chance)  Jamie was convinced it was an Artesian restaurant, because she's bad at spelling and misread "artisan" on Yelp.  (I guess an Artesian restaurant would serve French food?)

From there we darted over to McCormick Place for the Health and Fitness Expo, so I could pick up my race packet. Free event, yes; with parking for $15.  I am a bit of an atypical marathoner.  Most runners walked around proudly sporting their running shoes, athletic shirts, and jackets, while checking out the latest trends in running merchandise.  I was wearing a flannel shirt, jeans, and my duct-taped Birkenstock Milanos, while I was only interested in checking out the booths with free samples and SWAG.  (and the Goose Island booth)

It was at this Expo that I think Jamie finally got a complete appreciation for my minimalist style of running.  When she contrasted my use of nothing but the human body, shorts to stay "decent", and a bandana to keep the sweat out of my eyes, to the materialistic gear acquisition that others feel they need to run successfully, she saw where some are missing the point.

Signing the Runners' Wall

We left the Expo and decided to go check into our hotel.  The drive was horrendous.  It took us over an hour to drive 18 miles due to traffic and construction.  About 30 minutes into the drive, we decided that we would eat dinner near the hotel and not go back into the city that night.  After checking in, we decided to deny conventional marathon wisdom and eat pizza instead of carbo-loading on pasta for dinner.  After all, we were in Chicago, home of the triumvirate of stuffed pizza: Giordano's, Gino's, and Lou Malnati's. 

Looking through Marathon packet

Since we knew we weren't going back into the city, we returned to our hotel following dinner, hoping to catch the Walking Dead marathon, in preparation for the fourth season starting Sunday night.  Alas, the Westin O'Hare does not have AMC.  So on our last hurrah before becoming parents of three, we were in bed at 8:30.

The alarm went off at 4:00, and we grudgingly got out of bed.  I walked down to the hotel cafe hoping to grab a bagel only to find it didn't open until 6:00.  We checked out at about 5:05am and made the trek over to the Blue Line Rosemont Station, where we got bagels from the attached Dunkin Donuts.

We were the second stop on the Blue Line, and when we boarded the train, it was already standing room only.  Marathoners, you should be ashamed of yourselves for not giving up your seat to a pregnant lady who looks like she's going to pop any day (even though she still has 2 months or so), although Jamie said she was fine and refused to ask for a seat.  It was about a 45 minute ride to the Jackson stop, where I walked to Grant Park, and Jamie transferred to the Red Line to watch with the Team World Vision group.

I walked 6 blocks or so to enter the impromptu gates to Grant Park, runners everywhere.  The security guard was a bit too thorough when searching my bag and had to get approval from his supervisor to allow me to bring in the pocket knife from my brother's wedding.  They relented, as it was in my jeans pocket in the very bag that I would be checking.  After that ordeal, I found my way toward the port-a-johns, before checking my bag and ditching my shoes.  (I did not want to use a port-a-potty barefoot.  Ew!)

When the guy at the bag check saw me walking toward him shoeless, he said, "Are you doing this barefoot!?!?  I'd be honored to check your bag!"  Thus started the first of many compliments received throughout the day for running barefoot.  Clad only in my shorts, bandana, and iPhone, I shivered through the next hour and a half with the mercury reading in the upper forties.

Item by item, the annoying radio announcer started introducing events, beginning with a 30-second moment of silence to remember the tragedy at the Boston Marathon, an awkward national anthem with the microphone cutting out, and the wheelchair marathon.  When the first wave of the marathon started (fast people), everyone in wave 2 started moving forward, and then we were more crowded as we had to wait another 30 minutes for our wave to start.  Finally, the announcer told us we had just a few minutes left, and people started tossing all their warm clothes, which afterward were donated to a homeless shelter in Chicago.

The clock struck 8:00 and we slowly jogged across the starting line.  This was it; a bucket list item I've been wanting to do for about 2 or 3 years, happening right now.  I meant to follow the pace group to finish at 4 hours 10 minutes, but when we bottle-necked on one of those underground streets (think lower Wacker), I lost the pacer and never saw him for the remainder of the race.

I didn't care about that though, I was thoroughly enjoying myself.  Chicago remains one of my favorite cities, and I enjoyed taking it in amongst this massive group of people.  The spectators were a large part of that as well.  People lined the sidewalks for the entire 26.2 mile course.  All along the way, I kept hearing "That guy's barefoot?" "He doesn't have any shoes" or "Go barefoot guy!"  I received several high fives and fist bumps from fellow runners who were impressed with my lack of shoes (especially the further along I got in the race).

Several spectators make motivational signs to cheer on the runners. Any time a sign was generic, or to another Danny or Daniel, I imagined they were written for me to cheer me on.  (There was one that said "Sutter" too!) Some of the signs were motivational, but my favorite signs were funny.  Here are my top 5 favorite signs I saw during the marathon:

5)You're running more than the government today.
4) Take your time, you're not gonna win this.
3) If a marathon were easy, it'd be called your mom
2) My arms sure are tired from holding this sign
1) Hurry up, the Kenyans are drinking all the beer!

 Throughout my training this time around, I skipped several runs.  Mostly short runs, but a couple of the long runs as well.  As such, I think my body wasn't quite prepared to run the whole distance.  I started to notice I was getting tired around mile 17 or 18, and I was slowing down pretty significantly.  I was hungry too.  Lucky for me, we passed a group that was handing out protein drinks and Rice Krispie Treats, which was enough to keep me going, although making me slightly nauseous.

Around 11.5 miles in

We passed through 29 different Chicago neighborhoods throughout the run, and I seldom knew which was which.  But when we hit mile 19, I knew we were passing through Pilsen.  Pilsen has the reputation for being the most excited crowd on the course, and they live up to that reputation.  I got a bit of a lift and was able to run through most of mile 19.

Mile 20 hit, and I started taking several walking breaks.  Prior to the race, I didn't want to take walking breaks (other than the aid stations) this time around, but I don't regret doing so.  I'm not the type of runner to run at all costs.  I run because it feels good.  I walked quite a bit of my last 6 miles, but enjoyed it the entire time.

As I hit mile 25.2, I started running again.  Not because I was determined, but because some guy who had seen me throughout the race saw me walking and shouted, "Come on barefoot, you can do it!"  So I ran across the finish line, exhausted, at 5 hours and 2 minutes, beating my first marathon by 5 minutes.  (11:30 per mile;  Runkeeper showed that I ran 29.85 miles at an average pace of 10:09 per mile.)

As finishers, we were herded from the starting line like cattle, receiving cellophane capes, our medals, and a 312 Urban Wheat Ale from Goose Island.  I like 312 okay, but yesterday, it was the best beer I ever had.

I caught up with Jamie, and as happened at the end of my first marathon, I said, "I'll never do that again."  Well, as I sit here reminiscing on the day, I am looking forward to my next one (maybe New York?).  No regrets about the walking; I had a blast.

Bonus:  I ran a marathon barefoot without getting a single cut or blister.  Jamie walked about 3 miles in her boots and has 3 blisters.  Take that, naysayers!