Everything Hurts and I'm Dying For the Second Time: Chicago Marathon Recap

It took approximately 3 days after running the New York City Marathon to sign up for another one. I mean, we were still walking funny and nursing blisters and sore feet. Yet somehow, the next race calls to you. Or, at least, it does when you are crazy runner people like us. And by some miracle, both Jason and I got into the Chicago Marathon through the lottery. Seemed meant to be.

So we went from first-timers with nothing to lose, to veterans who understood what 26.2 miles look and feel like. And this time, we wouldn't have the support of a charity team behind us. But, I mean, we knew what we were doing so, no biggie, right?

Then a funny thing happened. One day in June (ie. 4 months before the marathon), I stood up from the couch and thought "huh, my knee kinda hurts." So, the short version went like this: xray (they didn't see anything wrong)>orthopedist>6 weeks of physical therapy>so so many painkillers>lots of tears and frustration>no running. A month before the marathon, not feeling any better, I decided the hell with it and went for a run to see if I could power through the pain. I returned to the house after 6 miserable miles in tears, resigned to the idea that I wasn't going to be able to run.

Well, a quick investigation of our plans lead us to realize that nothing was refundable. Not the AirBnB, the flights or the race registration. We were in deep and would lose it all if we chose not to go. Which lead us to the, probably very silly, decision to just do it. So we packed our bags and headed to Chicago!

That's how I ended up at the starting line of the Chicago Marathon having run a total of about 10 miles in the months leading up to the race. For comparison, Jason completed most of our training plan, clocking close to 400 miles. And those miles train not only your legs and lungs, but your feet, your stomach and your mind. You practice pacing, stretching, endurance, nutrition, hydration and patience. And I had skipped all of it. (insert nervous laughter)

But at least my nails were ready.

The adrenaline-laced atmosphere in the starting corral is tough to explain. You and the thousands of people around you are bouncy and nervous and full of pent-up energy. Everyone is ready to start this incredibly insane venture that is so physically and mentally tough, yet it feels like a party with everyone laughing and joking and practically wiggling with excitement.

For our second marathon in a row, it was raining. So we started the race already wet and cold, though it was nothing compared with New York. The gun went off and we crossed the start line. We knew we didn't really have a shot of beating our New York time, considering the major disadvantage I was starting with. In fact, I gave myself about a 30% chance of actually finishing. But my goal was to run as long as possible and be there for Jason who had stuck with his training and deserved a great finish.

The course wound through Grant Park and entered the city. My knee hurt from the very first step but I pushed the pain to the back of my mind and tried to focus on having a good time. About a mile and a half in, I pulled my phone out of my arm band to take this picture, because it was just so cool! It was the only picture I took during the race. 

We got about 6 miles in and my knee was killing me. But in a totally unfair and unexpected move, my body decided that wasn't good enough and my right knee joined in the party, probably because I was favoring my injured left knee. At the next aid station I pulled over and grabbed a big healthy glob of BioFreeze (aka Bengay) and slathered my right knee with it. Unfortunately, I couldn't access my left knee because I had heartily covered it in KT tape in an attempt to shore it up as long as possible. The BioFreeze helped almost immediately and we ran on with 20 miles to go. 

Slowly the miles passed. We managed to laugh at the funny signs the spectators were holding, point out the city sights that we were passing and keep our pace up. I managed pretty well for awhile, consider how out of running-shape I was. When I got to mile 10 I started to believe that I might just possibly be able to do it. The pain was bad, but not unbearable. Having Jason running every step beside me is honestly the only reason I had made it that far. He encouraged me at every step and I only told him to shut up a few times :)

We made it to the half way mark. A half marathon under our belts and I became absolutely determined to finish. I mean once you hit half-way, you are almost done, right? So we plugged on. But after 13 miles, I quickly started to go downhill. My knees were killing me, but by then, my quads, my hamstrings and my calves had joined in. And while this is totally normal for long distance running, it was something mine just weren't prepared for at all. And my energy started to wane, even with the energy chews I was taking every few miles. 

I told myself to get to mile 16. Somehow I thought that if I kept running that far, that I would be able to finish. Mile 15 took FOREVER. I started to cry (definitely not the last time that was going to happen!). Finally, finally, we passed the sign for mile 16 and I slowed to a walk. My energy was zapped. My legs were on fire and my confidence was shot. 

My amazing husband pulled me in for a reality check. "Listen," he said. "Even if you walk to the end, you'll still finish." The race has a cut off time after which you aren't considered an official finisher. And god damn it, I had just run 16 miles. I couldn't let that happen. 

So for the next 10 miles I alternated between running and walking, with Jason running beside me the whole time. Starting to run after each bout of walking was hell on earth- almost impossible to make my legs start going again, but I kept reminding myself that the faster we went, the faster it would be over. Everything became a blur and all I could focus on was putting one foot in front of the other. Jason made a few jokes and pointed out some funny signs but I couldn't process them (sorry honey!). I just wanted to make it to the end. 

Somehow, somehow, we made it to the 800-meters-to-go sign. The end was so incredibly near. As you come up to the finish, there is a small hill (one of the only small rises in the entire course). You turn a corner and you can finally see the finish line ahead. I couldn't believe it. After so many painful miles, there is was. Cue the ugly crying. Jason grabbed my hand and we ran towards the finish. 

We crossed and I'd like to say the pain stopped, but in reality at that point, your body finally just lets you feel all of it. Toes and ankles. Knees and quads. Abs and shoulders. All the way down to the tips of your fingers. Absolutely everything hurts. But then there is this glorious moment when a complete stranger slips that marathon medal over your head and all you feel is amazing. I looked over at Jason and smiled. He looked nearly as miserable and happy as I did. We had done it. 

After we picked up our bags and drained a few bottles of water (and cans of beer for Jason), we decided to walk the mile back to our AirBnB. I realize how incredibly stupid this sounds, but the nearest train station was more than a quarter of a mile out of the way and the train would drop us 6 or 8 blocks from where we needed to go. Looking back, an Uber would have been a much smarter move, but I can't exactly attest to how clearly we were thinking at the moment. The (long, agony-filled) walk at least gave us the opportunity to pick up as much food and Starbucks as we could carry. Let me just say that as disgusting and sweaty and gross as we were, there were definitely a lot of fries that disappeared before showers happened!

So I ran a marathon without training. Turns out they give you a medal whether you train or not, as long as you make it across that finish line. On the one hand, it feels like a huge accomplishment. On the other, it feels like a bit of a let down since I wasn't able to do my best (or even close). And the recovery has been an absolute b*tch. It has taken numerous days longer than New York to be able to walk even close to normally. But here's the dumb thing about marathon runners. If I think about the Chicago Marathon, all I think was how fun it was. Even as I sit here trying to come up with new and different ways to say how much it hurt, I remember it being a blast. Everything from picking up our bibs at the Expo, to exploring the city, to getting covered in Gatorade when some guy tossed his cup towards the trash and hit me instead. It's just. So. Much. Fun. 

That's why I know we need to do another, crazy as it sounds. I need to figure out what's going on with my knee (MRI scheduled for next week!). But once that's figured out, (omg, be prepared for how cheesy this is going to be...) we'll be off and running!

Berlin 2019 anyone????

What I Want My Kids to Know This Mother's Day

A funny thing happens when you have a baby that no one tell you about. You see, a part of your heart breaks off and lives inside of your son or daughter forever. This happens for every kid you have- a piece of your heart lives inside of them while the rest of your heart keeps on going inside of you.

Every day you spend a whole lot of time thinking about those parts of your heart that are walking around without you. And you worry and you wonder and you hope that they have everything they need to be ok, because what could be more important than making sure that your heart is taken care of. When I think about the heart inside of you guys, I wonder: Are they healthy? Are they growing? Are they safe and happy? Are they fed and warm? Are they learning to be kind and smart and respectful? Are they making friends and learning things? Are they exploring and wondering and changing? Are they learning about what goes on in the world (but dear god, not too much too fast - there's a lot of truly frightening stuff out there!)?

 I need all three pieces of my heart to live, you see. And it's my number one job to make sure that your pieces are ok. But sometimes I spend so much time and so much effort thinking about the pieces of my heart inside each of you, that I forget sometimes that there is still a whole big piece of heart left inside of me. Sometimes days go by when I forget to take care of it. And so maybe there are days when it's not ok, not safe, not learning and growing, not healthy at all. So then I try a little harder to make sure my piece is good too. I run to make it healthy. And I see my friends to make it laugh. I spend time with your stepdad to make it feel loved. I eat kale and brussels sprouts and protein shakes (all the things you guys hate!) to make it last longer. I work hard at my job to make it smarter.

And lots of times, the things that are good for my piece, are good for your pieces too. Like when we plant seeds in little cups and watch, fascinated, every day to see if they have grown, and then plant them in our garden. Or when we have Starbucks dates and sit in our special corner by the window and talk about our day and lean on each other while we drink our drinks. Or when we cuddle before bed and I kiss your foreheads and look at your faces and can still see what they looked like when you were babies, even though you are big now. And all three pieces of heart are warm and happy and glowing. What you don't know is that while yours then get to rest and sleep, mine stays up to worry about packing your lunches and filling out your soccer registration forms and paying for your Cub Scout membership. And that's ok. Because watching you score a goal, or earn a badge or eat a yummy lunch is good for all of our hearts too.

And there are times when what my heart needs and what your hearts need doesn't quite line up. Like when I need to leave early for work and don't get to wait at the bus stop with you. Or when you'd rather stay home and play video games when I ask you to come shopping with me. We'll find, the older you get, that the pieces of my heart that live inside of each of you will slowly becomes more and more of your own. They will be filled with your own dreams and wishes and worries and thoughts and strength and love. That way, one day, many years from now, if you have kids of your own, your heart will be big enough to share with your own little guys. But my piece will always be there inside of you. And not a day will go by when I don't feel a little bit of everything that you are feeling, good or bad. That's the nice thing about hearts. They can grow and break. They can feel good things and bad things. They can learn and change and share. But they survive. And they are always there, so no matter what, I will be there with you, a part of you. Always.

Thank you for letting me share my heart with you.

"I know why the flags are at half-mast...."

The conversation went like this:

7-year-old: "Mom, I know why the flags in front of the school are at half-mast."
Me: "You do? How come?"
7-year-old: "Because of what happened in Florida."
Me: (Oh, god, no...) "You are right. What have you heard about what happened?"
7-year-old: "I heard that a hero sacrificed himself to save a bunch of kids and he was very brave."

Later that night I asked both of my kids if they have "safety drills" at school. They both told stories about the "weird" things they had to do, like huddle behind a bookshelf, or hide in the closet with "all the smelly boys," as my daughter put it. In just talking to them about it, I can feel my chest get tight. I don't know what to say to them about the possibility that there might come a time when they have to protect themselves at school. Or about the fact that they may only have a flimsy bookshelf or a closet door between them and someone with a gun.

I know there has been a lot of talk about guns in schools over the past few weeks, and I don't know that I have anything to say that hasn't already been said. But, as a parent of little people who I send out into the world every day, it's hard to stay silent. Even before this recent tragedy, one of the things I wished for most is better gun control laws. It is something I want with a passion. It's something that seems so common-sense to me, so obvious. But again and again, we end up in the same situation with nothing done to stop it. And every day I face small-minded people who tell me things like "you can't take away guns, because I like to have them." The insanity of statements like those continue to blow my mind.


Yet, this time feels different.

Finally, FINALLY, young people are demanding change. Corporations are taking social responsibility. Voters are choosing new leaders. Finally we might just do something about this massive problem that makes me a little bit scared every day that I bring my children to school.

My son's observation about the hero is maybe the most hopeful, most frightening part. His voice softened when he talked about that man, almost in awe. I know that he has the biggest heart. He loves to make other people happy. He thinks his friends are the absolute greatest people on earth. I believe that my son would be the one who chooses to be a hero in that situation. And that's what scares me most of all.


Please, let's make a change so he never has to be.