Coming into this race I knew that I didn't have the training under my belt that would allow me to produce an earth shattering performance, at least in my terms. I did have the training to produce a solid and consistent effort that could yield a very doable personal best time. All I had to do is churn out consistent mile splits and manage my nutrition better than last year, hitting the fluids and gels earlier and more often, but in small measured portions.

I wouldn't be completely honest if I didn't mention that last year's race was the driving factor behind my race day strategy. I wanted to completely avoid blowing up as I did last year, walking off and on with severe leg cramps and 8 miles of road still ahead of me. You would think that this fear would drive me to train more, but unfortunately, finding the time to train doesn't get easier with a 15 month old and a wife who is also jockeying for training time. With all this in mind I settled on a goal pace of 8:00min/miles. It was conservative, but if everything held together it would get me towards my end goal of having a best time and finishing satisfied with my performance.

Right before the start, as we're making the gradual walk then run up to the start line, I looked at the back of a shirt a girl is wearing. It features two chickens where one states to the other, "We should run a marathon." The other chicken replies, "We should stick knives into our eyeballs." Cracked me up. The humor completely caught my state of mind off guard. OK, let's do this.

One reason why I love this race and why it'll be hard to run a marathon anywhere else is the continuous crowd support throughout the whole course. The start is no different, it's just so surreal and it makes you feel awesome to be a part of this big event. Moving beyond the shock and awe phase and onto running, the first 5,6,7 miles are going by slow. I'm having trouble, if you want to call it that, zoning out and running. I'm constantly assessing myself and asking, "can I keep this up?" Every time the answer is "yes" but my inner voice wants to know more. Will I still be doing this well 10 miles down the road?

I hit almost every aid station on the course. In the beginning, its mostly just sips of water to wash down the GU I've brought with me in my gel flasks. Later, I begin to alternate between Gatorade and water with just as much water now getting poured over my head to cool my skin from the unwelcomed October sun. Nice temperatures for the spectators, not ideal for a marathon runner. I pass the halfway point and I'm good. My time split shows that I'm roughly 5-6 minutes behind my pace from last year. I keep telling myself to hold steady and the finish line will come to me. Barring disaster, I knew what my time would be. I wasn't chasing an ridiculous PR time, if I was, I would be facing leg cramps and a long walk to the finish. Letting the finish come to me means I get my goals for the day accomplished.

When mile 15 comes and goes, the scene of last year's first indication of trouble, my worried inner voice calms down a tad. At mile 18, I hit a bit of a metaphorical speed bump. I have to use the bathroom. The #2 kind. I sure do wish now that I could have gotten in that pre-race restroom break in. At the next aid station I hit the bathroom fast. Somehow my body, aware that this isn't an opportunity to catch up on the latest magazine or to play some Nintendo DS, is a cooperative participant. I'm in and out in 90 sec. I'm right back where I left off.

From here on out the miles just tick by. There is no wall. There is no severe, debilitating cramps. I have only the fatigue of the day mounting up in my legs, threatening to turn my legs into stone pillars and stop me in my tracks if I dare to stop and walk more than an aid station. At this point I've realized that I've passed the 2010 version of myself. That guy, who was 7 minutes ahead of me at the 35k mark, is now walking and way behind me. At mile 23, my pace, which has been solid and consistent all day, has fallen off but not by much. My legs hurt and they want to stop. More and more people around me are walking, almost teasing me as if to say, "it's OK, you can walk too." But I can't walk because if I do then the finish line won't come to me and I don't accomplish my goals for the day. Come tomorrow, I won't remember this pain anyway. My time, I'll have a permanent record of that.

With one mile to go I run past the last aid station not even thinking of grabbing something. Nothing here will help me now, its all guts and determination from here to the finish line. When I finally reach Roosevelt the crowd is electric. Noise everywhere. I'm determined to power up this stupid, small, inconvenient hill and finish strong to the finish line. I move as fast as my legs will allow and cross the finish line. It took a while to get here, but it finally arrived.

Allow myself more time in the morning for that extra bathroom break. Today it cost me at least a minute and a half from my time.

Took every item I was handed from the volunteers. Walked forever until I could finally collapse in the grass and shade. Recovered some and then waited for my wife to finish her race.


For what tools I had in my arsenal today, I did the best I could've done. And while I initially felt very happy and satisfied, days later I feel unsatisfied and wanting more. I know I have a much faster time inside of me, I just couldn't/didn't train enough to pull it out of my body this time around. When my next marathon comes around I already know how I will go about changing my training regiment.


As I mentioned earlier, its hard to think about doing a marathon elsewhere with the crowd support and the overall venue that Chicago provides.