What started as the 30th edition of the Chicago Marathon soon morphed into a group of walking - and sometimes collapsing - Nike-clad refugees, dazed, confused and tortured by the searing heat. I knew the big day was destined for trouble when, on Saturday night, Jackie, Murph, Aubrey and I waited outside our favorite restaurant, Giordano's, for a table. The sun was down, but perspiration poured from all of us as we waited by the fountain in the courtyard.
Early the next morning, I wait in my starting corral amongst the 50,000 or so other runners for the race to begin. Jackie, Murph and Aubs are to see me on the course at Mile 3 and 12. "Hot and humid," I text Jackie. "Be careful out there and load up on the fluids." Good advice for them - and me.
Things are different from the start. I've run this race many times and no matter how fast you run, the Chicago Marathon has always had a parade-like quality - a sea of runners all pulling in the same direction, celebrating with the million or so boisterous spectators that line every mile. Within the endless pack of participants surrounding me, on this day there is little joviality. We all feel the heat beginning with our first few strides. At Mile 2, I'm already frantically dousing my head and body with water, trying to get comfort and relief.
Typically for me, the first half of the marathon - 13 miles or so - is on cruise control. A little effort and just getting prepared for the second half of the course. But on Mile 8 my legs are stiffening and I eagerly anticipate every water stop. People around me - and I am in an experienced group – stop and begin to walk. I shoulder on but warily eye the signs of heat exhaustion that are already overwhelming many of those around me.
At Mile 12, I enjoy one of the best presents I've ever received when I am greeted by my family displaying a beautiful, huge sign (made possible by treasured family friend, Charissa - thanks, Charissa!) cheering me on! By my wife's worried expression, I know I don't look myself. But it is the inspiration I need to continue on. And I make a decision at that point that I would not stop, no matter what. This is to have consequences later in the race! (By the way, Murph shot some truly unbelievable shots of the race and our trip - watch for some of them coming on Wednesday's post!)
By Mile 15, we lose the shade of the skyscrapers and are on the open streets. Jackie had handed me a visor at the halfway point, and it is a Godsend, protecting me from the relentless rays of the sun, beating down without mercy. Everywhere around me, veteran runners are reduced to a stop - the walking wounded. At every water stop, the first aid tents are overflowing with runners sprawled on cots with IV needles and tubes dangling from their arms.
I text my wife at Mile 16 - "Hot! But I am okay and will continue on." Mile 18 and there are people sprawled on curbsides and even on the course as medical personnel rush through the onslaught of runners. Reduced to a snail's pace, I check my pulse and evaluate my mental condition. I am moving on. But never have I been challenged but something so overwhelming in any race or athletic endeavor.
Mile 22 and police with bullhorns rush toward us pulling runners off the course. "The marathon has been cancelled," they scream. "Exit the course immediately and rides to the finish will be provided." A policeman takes me by the arm and instinctively, I pull away. Another runner grabs me and pulls me back into the pack. I continue on. At this point, with all the carnage around me, I figure I am safer moving toward the finish line than trusting my fate to the overworked - and overwhelmed - medics and race personnel.
Mile 23 – A police helicopter buzzes from around a building and hovers just barely above us, ordering us to walk if we will not stop. Reduced to a slow trot, we still continue onward. I've never been in a war zone, but this was a small taste of how I always pictured one. There just aren't enough medical personnel and race officials for the thousands of runners around me. We all stick together and shoulder on.
Mile 25 - Runners around me walk arm-in-arm, complete strangers helping one another to the finish. Rumor spreads that a person has died on the course. Very easy to believe this tragedy is true, especially based on the conditions I have seen all around me on the course. The race clock at the mile marker is set on 0:00. A garage band on the side of the road blares, "Highway To Hell."
Finish Line - I trot across the line within a mass of sweaty, tired and exhausted people. The medal placed around my neck feels like less of a symbol of accomplishment and more of a feeling of safety as I eye the triage units around me that appear well organized and ready to help those in need. I pull out my BlackBerry but it is fried. The result of pouring water on myself at every aid area and running through countless misting stations and open fire hydrants along the way. A policeman on horseback loans me his phone and I call my family now back at the hotel - I am safe.
Hailing a cab back to the hotel, my legs seize up with baseball-size cramps, throbbing to the beat of my pulse. I yell out in agony, frightening the cab diver who speaks little English. Limping out of the cab, I take the elevator up and knock on the door of Room 1414. Then I am greeted by a sight that calms my nerves and soothes my soul - my family! I am home.
Watch for more photos and stories from the big Chicago weekend, coming Wednesday, only on Roberts On The Run.™ And for more national coverage of the event, visit: http://www.cnn.com/2007/US/10/07/chicago.marathon.ap/index.html
and http://www.foxnews.com/story/0,2933,299956,00.html
Talk to you soon. Until then, pick up the pace and run your own race.
- Jeff
It's on! My best buddy, George and I have decided to cycle a 100-mile or so route from the St. Louis area to our hometown of Mt. Vernon, Illinois and beyond. We leave at sunup, first thing Saturday morning.
