Striding across the Columbus Drive Bridge, the reality finally hits me: I’m actually running in the Chicago Marathon. The surging crowd of runners in front and behind, and the deafening roar of fans on either side, make it obvious that this is the real thing. “No mere out-and-back this morning,” I tell myself. “Its race day, and you get no second chances today.”
Like one-third of the runners at the 2006 Chicago Marathon, I was a first-time marathoner. I’d worked hard in training (Pfitzinger 18/55, with added miles) and felt that I could run a strong race if everything went well. My half-marathon PR from August (1:42) put me at a 3:36 according to McMillan, so I set my “secret goal” time at 3:35. Working backwards, I figured a 3:45 was a nice safety goal — giving me some cushion in case things weren’t perfect. So friends and family were given the 3:45 goal. The only living soul I told my secret 3:35 goal to was the Nike pace-band worker at the Expo, and I don’t think she blabbed to anyone.
After a semi-sleepless night, I make my way down to Grant Park by 7 am. Although the start/finish area in Chicago is world-class in layout and organization, you just can’t suppress the natural welling of nerves and adrenaline that come with immersing yourself into a mob of 36,000 runners plus their family, friends, supporters, spectators and race volunteers. The energy drifts up from the crowd like steam from the downtown Loop streets in Winter — an appropriate Chicago metaphor, considering the cold and blustery conditions on race day.
The Start
Having earned a Preferred II start, I make my way to my starting coral around 7:30 am. I’m anxious and nervous. Everyone around me looks like a serious, experienced runner, and I’m sure that it obvious I don’t belong. I’m convinced that any minute, a race official is going to come by and snatch my blue bib number away, telling me that “only real runners” belong in the preferred corals. Mercifully, the time passes quickly, and we are finally ushered into the gap behind the faster corals as the start approaches. Looking ahead and behind, I get my first real glimpse of the enormity of the field. I shed my warm-up sweats, check that the Garmin is ready, and wait for the horn.
The official Chicago Marathon website had a few dozen race photographs posted showing the massive crowd of runners awaiting the start. Amazingly, I found myself in one of the pictures. I’m very, very tiny in the original photo, but I prepared a zoomed-in version so you can actually see me in the crowd.
I'm the only runner checking his watch before the race even starts.
In case you’re curious, yes that is a multi-colored hippy bandana on my head. I wanted to be easy to spot in the crowd for a few friends who were to come out and spectate, so I donned something fairly eye-catching:
Early Miles
About two-and-a-half minutes after the official clock starts, I’m across the line and running. My plan was to start out on pace for a 3:35 (8:12/m pace), but not to be upset if the first few miles were a little slow. Maybe it was nerves, or maybe the dense crowds of spectators lining both sides of the course, but I miss the Mile 1 marker entirely (not an impressive start for my race logistics). The course is packed with runners, and the Garmin gets wonky in downtown streets, so I’m trying to hit my early stride by feel alone. I find the next couple mile markers without problem, and the good news is that I’m right on pace and feeling good as we head out of the Loop for the northerly out-and-back part of the course.
Mile 1 8:18 *
Mile 2 8:18 * average of miles 1-2
Mile 3 8:03
5K 25:26 (8:11/m overall pace)
In Mile 4 I see the first of a few friends who have come out to see the race and cheer me on. It truly is energizing to have someone yelling at the top of their lungs for you and you alone (for a few seconds, at least). I’m also heading into very familiar neighborhoods, insofar as I live in the Lincoln Park area and have done countless runs down the same streets on which I’m now racing. The running is effortless at this point, and unintentionally, I’m going slightly faster than goal pace. I clip off my first sub-8:00 in Mile 5, but reel myself back in Mile 6.
The next 5K of the race has some of the best crowd support in the entire race. From Boystown back down to Lincoln Park, the sidewalks are literally stacked with supporters braving the chilly weather. My second set of friends spot me in Mile 7, and my buddy practically runs onto the course screaming my name to get my attention. I finally see him, and I give my friends two thumbs up. Approaching Mile 9, I’m literally two blocks from my house. I could go home and nuke myself a Hot Pocket, and still not lose more than a few minutes. I forgo the snacking option, obviously, and press on. The familiarity of the streets breeds confidence, and I log three very speedy miles.
A hearty “thank you” to the home owners at Webster & Sedgwick who put their stereo speakers in their windows and rocked us through Mile 10. Your neighbors may hate you, but I think you rule. With a little tailwind, more great crowd support, and another sighting from my first set of friends, I’m cruising and the gas tank is still feels 90% full. I take my first gel after Mile 10, just to top off the reserves. Mile 11 comes in noticeably faster than plan (7:48), for which I blame the cute young woman in the black tights who I followed closely — for purely strategic reasons, I assure you. In any event, I come back to a more reasonable pace in Mile 12 as we approach the Loop and the halfway point. I’m still feeling strong and reserved, and I’m confidently aware that I have several minutes in the bank for a 3:35 finish.
A crazy, insane notion enters my brain around the half-way point of the race. “Goal C.” The goal that wasn’t even a real goal. My super-secret goal: 3:30. I luxuriate in the thought for a few moments, and then push it aside. I know I’m heading into a long, lonely stretch into the wind, so I gather in the psychological boost of crossing the half-way point, and I try to remain steady as I embark on the second half of the race.
Half 1:45:23 (8:02/m overall pace)
The effortless cruising is now over. I’m working harder to maintain a steady pace — I’m not exactly struggling, but I’m definitely starting to tap into the endurance reserves. The headwind and the relative dearth of crowd support exact a toll on the long stretch down Adams Street. It also doesn’t help that between buildings you can see the faster runners a block south on Jackson Blvd. already zooming away towards Little Italy. I’m supposed to take a gel at Mile 14, but my stomach gets queasy at the thought. I knew it had to start getting tougher at some point, and now it has. Yet, my splits remain steady, so I take that as a positive sign.
Coming back towards downtown on Jackson is the opposite of the run down Adams. The wind is at my back, I’m feeling a bit warmer, and the sight of the runners behind me on Adams gives a small boost. Plus, the cheers of spectators swell again as we head into Little Italy. I get down my second gel, and I take advantage of this “second wind” to easily hold a steady pace. During this stretch I see that we’ve been on the course around 2 hours and 10 minutes. I joke with the runners around me that someone has already won this race, so we might as well stop. I get a few laughs, and count it as a small victory: things can’t be too bad if I still have a sense of humor.
The “second wind” has blown away, and I’m now battling to keep pace. My Garmin becomes my best friend, because I can’t run by feel anymore. In fact, I feel like slowing down and spending some of my bank time. Its getting harder to notice the crowd or even the other runners around me. I haven’t actually hit “the wall,” but I’m certainly burning through my endurance reserves at a brisk clip. I’m worried that I’ve blown my first marathon by going so far into the race ahead of my 8:12/m plan. The wall could be just around the next corner. I’d still love that 3:30, but a DNF (“Did not Finish”) would be devastating. The right side and left side of my brain reach a shaky compromise: just try to run 8:00′s or close thereto until Mile 22, and then we’ll see what happens. I’m just too tired to gauge my own pacing, so I trust the Garmin to keep me honest to the deal. I force down my third gel, and soldier forward.
I know a 3:30 finish doesn’t sound like a big difference from my original 3:35 goal, but it seemed almost impossible at the time. After 21 miles, I was facing about a 1 minute deficit from my dream of a 3:30. Think about it this way: after already running farther than I’ve ever run in my life, I’d now need to not only hold my pace for another five miles — I’d actually have to speed up by almost 15 seconds per mile. Moreover, to make up the gap, I’d have to run at an average pace of 7:50/m miles for the rest of the race. My fastest half-marathon pace is 7:50/m miles, so to hit a 3:30, I’d need to finish a full marathon running faster than my fastest ever half-marathon. Frankly, at this point I wasn’t sure that I could even finish at all, so I just put my head down and plodded forward as best as I could.
The Chinatown gate.
In Chinatown, I got a double-shot of pick-me-up. Not only are the spectators loud, colorful, and plentiful, but friends have traveled down from the Northside and spot me in Mile 22. I didn’t expect to see anyone I knew so late in the race, so I owe a them a big debt of gratitude. Its remarkable how a little psychological boost can lighten your legs. From that point forward, I started picking up the pace and slowly nibbling into the gap between me and a 3:30 finish. Unfortunately, even when the spirit is willing, sometimes the flesh is weak. I still felt pretty crushed physically, and its just not clear that I’ve got enough left in the tank to make it happen. I’m in uncharted waters, never having run this far or this fast before. My legs are on the verge of revolt. I gulp down my last gel, hoping for any kind of boost. Miles 22, 23 and 24 all came in under slightly 8:00 — but none of the splits are under the 7:50 average I needed to make my best-case goal.
Mile 22 7:58
Mile 23 7:54
Mile 24 7:54
Meanwhile, the sides of the course literally start to look like a war zone. Runners are peeling off to the left and right of the street … some to walk, some to stretch, and some to puke. Part of me wants to join them, so I have to ignore everything except the mechanics of my own running. I’m too close not to finish, but now that we’ve turned North for the homestretch up Michigan Avenue, the reality is that I’m almost out of real estate to close the remaining gap for a 3:30 finish.
40K 3:19:17 (8:01/m overall pace)
Mile 25 7:51
The Home Stretch
Just a little farther.
I’m too tired to do math in my head at this point, but I know I’m still behind pace I need for a 3:30 heading into the last 1.2 miles (26 seconds behind, in fact). Its going to come down to whether I can muster the guts for a truly fast final mile — into the wind, no less. I steel myself for the pain and I start pumping my arms, hoping I can use sheer willpower to push myself into a higher gear. My abused, exhausted legs follow suit. I anxiously check the Garmin and see that I’m hitting a 7:30′s pace. I’m at 100% effort now, but if I can keep the wheels on for only four more minutes, I’ll actually get it done.
Finished!
By the time I hit the last “hill” on Roosevelt Blvd., I know its in the bag. It was an agonizing mile, but I did what I needed to do. I attack the last incline, strong and mean. There I receive my final surprise of the race: my friends had made it from Chinatown and were situated right on the “summit” of “Mount Roosevelt” (the mock-name given to the railroad overpass just before the finish; on an other pancake-flat course, its the biggest hill). Hearing my name, I waved and pumped my fists like Rocky Balboa. I cruise into the last turn onto Columbus and knock out the final .2 miles, crossing the finish line with both arms triumphantly in the air. I am a 3:29 marathoner!
Mile 26 7:35 *
Mile 0.2 7:35 * average of last 1.2 miles
Final Time 3:29:40
Obviously, I’m simply ecstatic with my time. Better than I hoped for, and better than I thought possible for my first marathon. And, a BQ (Boston Marathon qualifying time) is only 9 minutes off — I think that sounds like a nice goal for 2007.
Splits and Stats
So that's what a marathon runner looks like.
Congrats to all the 2006 Chicago Marathon finishers, and thanks for reading my race report. Splits and finisher stats follow:
Chicago Marathon – October 22, 2006
My First Marathon
Striding across the Columbus Drive Bridge, the reality finally hits me: I’m actually running in the Chicago Marathon. The surging crowd of runners in front and behind, and the deafening roar of fans on either side, make it obvious that this is the real thing. “No mere out-and-back this morning,” I tell myself. “Its race day, and you get no second chances today.”
Like one-third of the runners at the 2006 Chicago Marathon, I was a first-time marathoner. I’d worked hard in training (Pfitzinger 18/55, with added miles) and felt that I could run a strong race if everything went well. My half-marathon PR from August (1:42) put me at a 3:36 according to McMillan, so I set my “secret goal” time at 3:35. Working backwards, I figured a 3:45 was a nice safety goal — giving me some cushion in case things weren’t perfect. So friends and family were given the 3:45 goal. The only living soul I told my secret 3:35 goal to was the Nike pace-band worker at the Expo, and I don’t think she blabbed to anyone.
After a semi-sleepless night, I make my way down to Grant Park by 7 am. Although the start/finish area in Chicago is world-class in layout and organization, you just can’t suppress the natural welling of nerves and adrenaline that come with immersing yourself into a mob of 36,000 runners plus their family, friends, supporters, spectators and race volunteers. The energy drifts up from the crowd like steam from the downtown Loop streets in Winter — an appropriate Chicago metaphor, considering the cold and blustery conditions on race day.
The Start
Having earned a Preferred II start, I make my way to my starting coral around 7:30 am. I’m anxious and nervous. Everyone around me looks like a serious, experienced runner, and I’m sure that it obvious I don’t belong. I’m convinced that any minute, a race official is going to come by and snatch my blue bib number away, telling me that “only real runners” belong in the preferred corals. Mercifully, the time passes quickly, and we are finally ushered into the gap behind the faster corals as the start approaches. Looking ahead and behind, I get my first real glimpse of the enormity of the field. I shed my warm-up sweats, check that the Garmin is ready, and wait for the horn.
The official Chicago Marathon website had a few dozen race photographs posted showing the massive crowd of runners awaiting the start. Amazingly, I found myself in one of the pictures. I’m very, very tiny in the original photo, but I prepared a zoomed-in version so you can actually see me in the crowd.
I'm the only runner checking his watch before the race even starts.
In case you’re curious, yes that is a multi-colored hippy bandana on my head. I wanted to be easy to spot in the crowd for a few friends who were to come out and spectate, so I donned something fairly eye-catching:
Early Miles
About two-and-a-half minutes after the official clock starts, I’m across the line and running. My plan was to start out on pace for a 3:35 (8:12/m pace), but not to be upset if the first few miles were a little slow. Maybe it was nerves, or maybe the dense crowds of spectators lining both sides of the course, but I miss the Mile 1 marker entirely (not an impressive start for my race logistics). The course is packed with runners, and the Garmin gets wonky in downtown streets, so I’m trying to hit my early stride by feel alone. I find the next couple mile markers without problem, and the good news is that I’m right on pace and feeling good as we head out of the Loop for the northerly out-and-back part of the course.
Mile 1 8:18 *
Mile 2 8:18 * average of miles 1-2
Mile 3 8:03
5K 25:26 (8:11/m overall pace)
In Mile 4 I see the first of a few friends who have come out to see the race and cheer me on. It truly is energizing to have someone yelling at the top of their lungs for you and you alone (for a few seconds, at least). I’m also heading into very familiar neighborhoods, insofar as I live in the Lincoln Park area and have done countless runs down the same streets on which I’m now racing. The running is effortless at this point, and unintentionally, I’m going slightly faster than goal pace. I clip off my first sub-8:00 in Mile 5, but reel myself back in Mile 6.
Mile 4 8:00
Mile 5 7:53
Mile 6 8:09
10K 50:24 (8:07/m overall pace)
Familiar Streets
The next 5K of the race has some of the best crowd support in the entire race. From Boystown back down to Lincoln Park, the sidewalks are literally stacked with supporters braving the chilly weather. My second set of friends spot me in Mile 7, and my buddy practically runs onto the course screaming my name to get my attention. I finally see him, and I give my friends two thumbs up. Approaching Mile 9, I’m literally two blocks from my house. I could go home and nuke myself a Hot Pocket, and still not lose more than a few minutes. I forgo the snacking option, obviously, and press on. The familiarity of the streets breeds confidence, and I log three very speedy miles.
Mile 7 8:05
Mile 8 7:59
Mile 9 7:55
15K 1:15:11 (8:04/m overall pace)
Crusing through Lincoln Park.
Mile 10 8:01
Mile 11 7:48
Mile 12 8:02
20K 1:39:59 (8:03/m overall pace)
The Super-Secret Goal
A crazy, insane notion enters my brain around the half-way point of the race. “Goal C.” The goal that wasn’t even a real goal. My super-secret goal: 3:30. I luxuriate in the thought for a few moments, and then push it aside. I know I’m heading into a long, lonely stretch into the wind, so I gather in the psychological boost of crossing the half-way point, and I try to remain steady as I embark on the second half of the race.
Half 1:45:23 (8:02/m overall pace)
The effortless cruising is now over. I’m working harder to maintain a steady pace — I’m not exactly struggling, but I’m definitely starting to tap into the endurance reserves. The headwind and the relative dearth of crowd support exact a toll on the long stretch down Adams Street. It also doesn’t help that between buildings you can see the faster runners a block south on Jackson Blvd. already zooming away towards Little Italy. I’m supposed to take a gel at Mile 14, but my stomach gets queasy at the thought. I knew it had to start getting tougher at some point, and now it has. Yet, my splits remain steady, so I take that as a positive sign.
Mile 13 8:03
Mile 14 8:03
Mile 15 8:02
25K 2:04:52 (8:02/m overall pace)
The Race Is Won (But Not By Me)
Coming back towards downtown on Jackson is the opposite of the run down Adams. The wind is at my back, I’m feeling a bit warmer, and the sight of the runners behind me on Adams gives a small boost. Plus, the cheers of spectators swell again as we head into Little Italy. I get down my second gel, and I take advantage of this “second wind” to easily hold a steady pace. During this stretch I see that we’ve been on the course around 2 hours and 10 minutes. I joke with the runners around me that someone has already won this race, so we might as well stop. I get a few laughs, and count it as a small victory: things can’t be too bad if I still have a sense of humor.
Mile 16 7:59
Mile 17 8:02
Mile 18 8:01
35K 2:54:47 (8:02/m overall pace)
The “second wind” has blown away, and I’m now battling to keep pace. My Garmin becomes my best friend, because I can’t run by feel anymore. In fact, I feel like slowing down and spending some of my bank time. Its getting harder to notice the crowd or even the other runners around me. I haven’t actually hit “the wall,” but I’m certainly burning through my endurance reserves at a brisk clip. I’m worried that I’ve blown my first marathon by going so far into the race ahead of my 8:12/m plan. The wall could be just around the next corner. I’d still love that 3:30, but a DNF (“Did not Finish”) would be devastating. The right side and left side of my brain reach a shaky compromise: just try to run 8:00′s or close thereto until Mile 22, and then we’ll see what happens. I’m just too tired to gauge my own pacing, so I trust the Garmin to keep me honest to the deal. I force down my third gel, and soldier forward.
Mile 19 8:00
Mile 20 8:02
Mile 21 8:05
35K 2:54:47 (8:02/m overall pace)
Is It Possible?
I know a 3:30 finish doesn’t sound like a big difference from my original 3:35 goal, but it seemed almost impossible at the time. After 21 miles, I was facing about a 1 minute deficit from my dream of a 3:30. Think about it this way: after already running farther than I’ve ever run in my life, I’d now need to not only hold my pace for another five miles — I’d actually have to speed up by almost 15 seconds per mile. Moreover, to make up the gap, I’d have to run at an average pace of 7:50/m miles for the rest of the race. My fastest half-marathon pace is 7:50/m miles, so to hit a 3:30, I’d need to finish a full marathon running faster than my fastest ever half-marathon. Frankly, at this point I wasn’t sure that I could even finish at all, so I just put my head down and plodded forward as best as I could.
The Chinatown gate.
Mile 22 7:58
Mile 23 7:54
Mile 24 7:54
Meanwhile, the sides of the course literally start to look like a war zone. Runners are peeling off to the left and right of the street … some to walk, some to stretch, and some to puke. Part of me wants to join them, so I have to ignore everything except the mechanics of my own running. I’m too close not to finish, but now that we’ve turned North for the homestretch up Michigan Avenue, the reality is that I’m almost out of real estate to close the remaining gap for a 3:30 finish.
40K 3:19:17 (8:01/m overall pace)
Mile 25 7:51
The Home Stretch
Just a little farther.
Finished!
Mile 26 7:35 *
Mile 0.2 7:35 * average of last 1.2 miles
Final Time 3:29:40
Obviously, I’m simply ecstatic with my time. Better than I hoped for, and better than I thought possible for my first marathon. And, a BQ (Boston Marathon qualifying time) is only 9 minutes off — I think that sounds like a nice goal for 2007.
Splits and Stats
So that's what a marathon runner looks like.
Final Time: 3:29:40 (7:59/m pace)
Overall Placement: 4275 / 33629 (12.7%)
Group Placement: 754 / 3488 (M 35-39) (21.6%)
Gender Placement: 3619 / 18909 (M) (19.1%)