This isn’t going to be a typical race report, because the 2007 Chicago Marathon was anything but typical. Weather conditions on race morning were utterly brutal, leading race officials to take the unprecedented step of terminating the marathon and removing runners from the course. Of the 45,000 runners originally registered for the race, less than 25,000 were physically able to complete the distance. Due to the extraordinary weather conditions, the cancellation, and the tragic and frustrated experiences of many runners, the Chicago Marathon made national news reports for days afterwards. It was, to be blunt, a painful and humbling experience.
For the record, I was extremely well-prepared for the race. Since the date of my last marathon in June, I’d logged a total of 822.5 training miles (longer than the distance from Chicago, IL to Dallas, TX), equating to an average of 7.3 miles every single day for 16 weeks. I completed four training runs of 20 miles or longer (peaking at 24 miles), and another five workouts of 16 miles or more. I had five weeks where I trained more than 60 miles per week (peaking at 80.1 miles) and another three weeks of 50 miles or more. I spent 114 hours, 59 minutes on my feet completing 113 separate workouts. I was ready for anything.
Well, almost anything….
Weather conditions for the morning started at the extreme, and got worse from there. At the start of the race, the temperature was already above 75° (30° higher than norm) and humidity was in the 90% range. By mid-race, the official temperature would climb to an all-time city record of 88°, with some points along the course reported temperatures north of 90°.
Chicago temperatures on race day.
The heat and humidity together resulted to heat index figures reported as high as 104°. By comparison, my heat-impaired Grandma’s Marathon in June was a pleasant stroll in the park. At least in Duluth’s 70° temperatures, I could still run, albeit with pain and discomfort. In Chicago, the heat and humidity was simply too much to overcome.
Feeling good, early.
On paper, the race started out well. I was able to hold pace for close to half the race, and at the midway point I was less than a minute slower than my original 3:30 goal pace. Friends who saw me in mile 9 said I looked strong and confident. However, I could already feel the heat’s oppressive drain. In past marathons, I haven’t really felt serious fatigue until around mile 18. Here, by mile 8, I already knew the tank was going to run dry. Its a sickening, demoralizing feeling to know so early into the race that what lies ahead is three more hours of hot, painful, slow running. But you really only have two choices at that point: quit or HTFU. And I’m not a quitter.
The wheels finally came off around mile 16. At that point, I was simply unable to muster the physical energy to keep running without either passing out or injuring myself. So I started walking, something that I’ve never done in any prior marathon, half-marathon, or other race of any distance. The fact that I was still moving, while runners all around me were being helped — or carted — off the course provided scant consolation. Walking allowed me to cool down, relatively speaking, and to gather energy for another round of running. So for the rest of the race, I ran as best and as much as I could, and I walked when I could not run.
Moving forward, any way possible.
Finally, with only one mile remaining, I drew in every last ounce of energy and determination and focused on finishing strong. I ran the entire last mile and crossed the line with my head held high. I gratefully donned my finishers medal, even though the the hot metal burned my skin — a fitting, bittersweet metaphor for the race itself.
I survived.
My official time was 4:01:11 — an embarrassing result considering what I’m capable of running. Yet, despite finishing 30 minutes slower than Chicago 2006, my field placement in 2007 (3782) was over 500 spots better than 2006, my age group placement (519) was over 200 spots better, and my gender placement (2831) was almost 800 spots better. So while my time was obviously a step backwards, my relative finishing placements were actually a nice step forward. And for a guy like me who isn’t going to win any ribbons or stand on any podiums (as I like to say, I’m an “elite mid-pack runner”), improving relative to the field is really my best measure of success.
I know there have been many reports of race mismanagement, supply shortages, and poor communication. Thousands of runners were not permitted to even attempt the finish, even if they were in striking distance of the goal. I was lucky enough to have avoided any of those problems. I don’t know where the blame, if any, will ultimately fall from these events. Hopefully it all leads to better managed races and better prepared runners in the future, whether in Chicago or elsewhere.
I will wrestle with the memory of this race for a long time. Every positive aspect has a negative side, and vice versa. My time was awful, but my placements improved. I finished the race, but I had to walk at times. I’m disappointed and angry, and proud and content, all at the same time. I battled the marathon distance and Mother Nature, and won. And lost, too. As I said, the 2007 Chicago Marathon was definitely not your typical race.
Chicago Marathon – October 7, 2007
This isn’t going to be a typical race report, because the 2007 Chicago Marathon was anything but typical. Weather conditions on race morning were utterly brutal, leading race officials to take the unprecedented step of terminating the marathon and removing runners from the course. Of the 45,000 runners originally registered for the race, less than 25,000 were physically able to complete the distance. Due to the extraordinary weather conditions, the cancellation, and the tragic and frustrated experiences of many runners, the Chicago Marathon made
national news reports for days afterwards. It was, to be blunt, a painful and humbling experience.
For the record, I was extremely well-prepared for the race. Since the date of my last marathon in June, I’d logged a total of 822.5 training miles (longer than the distance from Chicago, IL to Dallas, TX), equating to an average of 7.3 miles every single day for 16 weeks. I completed four training runs of 20 miles or longer (peaking at 24 miles), and another five workouts of 16 miles or more. I had five weeks where I trained more than 60 miles per week (peaking at 80.1 miles) and another three weeks of 50 miles or more. I spent 114 hours, 59 minutes on my feet completing 113 separate workouts. I was ready for anything.
Well, almost anything….
Weather conditions for the morning started at the extreme, and got worse from there. At the start of the race, the temperature was already above 75° (30° higher than norm) and humidity was in the 90% range. By mid-race, the official temperature would climb to an all-time city record of 88°, with some points along the course reported temperatures north of 90°.
Chicago temperatures on race day.
The heat and humidity together resulted to heat index figures reported as high as 104°. By comparison, my heat-impaired Grandma’s Marathon in June was a pleasant stroll in the park. At least in Duluth’s 70° temperatures, I could still run, albeit with pain and discomfort. In Chicago, the heat and humidity was simply too much to overcome.
Feeling good, early.
On paper, the race started out well. I was able to hold pace for close to half the race, and at the midway point I was less than a minute slower than my original 3:30 goal pace. Friends who saw me in mile 9 said I looked strong and confident. However, I could already feel the heat’s oppressive drain. In past marathons, I haven’t really felt serious fatigue until around mile 18. Here, by mile 8, I already knew the tank was going to run dry. Its a sickening, demoralizing feeling to know so early into the race that what lies ahead is three more hours of hot, painful, slow running. But you really only have two choices at that point: quit or HTFU. And I’m not a quitter.
The wheels finally came off around mile 16. At that point, I was simply unable to muster the physical energy to keep running without either passing out or injuring myself. So I started walking, something that I’ve never done in any prior marathon, half-marathon, or other race of any distance. The fact that I was still moving, while runners all around me were being helped — or carted — off the course provided scant consolation. Walking allowed me to cool down, relatively speaking, and to gather energy for another round of running. So for the rest of the race, I ran as best and as much as I could, and I walked when I could not run.
Moving forward, any way possible.
Finally, with only one mile remaining, I drew in every last ounce of energy and determination and focused on finishing strong. I ran the entire last mile and crossed the line with my head held high. I gratefully donned my finishers medal, even though the the hot metal burned my skin — a fitting, bittersweet metaphor for the race itself.
I survived.
My official time was 4:01:11 — an embarrassing result considering what I’m capable of running. Yet, despite finishing 30 minutes slower than Chicago 2006, my field placement in 2007 (3782) was over 500 spots better than 2006, my age group placement (519) was over 200 spots better, and my gender placement (2831) was almost 800 spots better. So while my time was obviously a step backwards, my relative finishing placements were actually a nice step forward. And for a guy like me who isn’t going to win any ribbons or stand on any podiums (as I like to say, I’m an “elite mid-pack runner”), improving relative to the field is really my best measure of success.
I know there have been many reports of race mismanagement,
supply shortages, and poor communication. Thousands of runners were 
not permitted to even attempt the finish, even if they were in striking distance of the goal. I was lucky enough to have avoided any of those problems. I don’t know where the blame, if any, will ultimately fall from these events. Hopefully it all leads to better managed races and better prepared runners in the future, whether in Chicago or elsewhere.
I will wrestle with the memory of this race for a long time. Every positive aspect has a negative side, and vice versa. My time was awful, but my placements improved. I finished the race, but I had to walk at times. I’m disappointed and angry, and proud and content, all at the same time. I battled the marathon distance and Mother Nature, and won. And lost, too. As I said, the 2007 Chicago Marathon was definitely not your typical race.