Race Day

It was a crisp, windy morning on the day of the race. By the time I got to Grant Park, the elite runners had already heard the starting gun and were halfway to Lincoln Park before I even had a chance to use a porta-potty. Pam met me in the early morning light. I was able to give her all my belongings including an extra change of clothes, snacks, water and a pill box full of ibuprofen, of which I've already consumed three. The guards at the entrance let Pam into the runner area (I suspect they thought we were an interracial couple and looked at us like we were endangered pandas in need of extra time). We said our final goodbyes and I asked Pam to deliver my stuff to my parents if/when they decide to wake up and show up in their designated support area.

Line to the bathroom was very long!

I was nervous. The candid photos taken of the event showed a hunched over man in a white sweater with a mortified face feigning pain. Aly sent a text with her photo. She was a few meters ahead and had a similar look on her face only with a little more confidence and excitement. It also helped that everyone from family to friends to regular mic comedians were sending me messages telling me "good luck."

If there was a starting pistol or a air horn, I didn't hear it. The crowd started shuffling towards the starting gate then shuffled past it without much fanfare or difference in pace. I was adjusting my headphones and trying to find the best song to get me in the mood for the longest run of my friggin' life all while dodging people going at a slower pace. I found a good tune: Creep with a T-Shirt by Portugal the Man. And with that, I started my first marathon ever.

I saw my sister and her family before mile 2; the first friendly faces on my trek. I hadn't broken into a sweat yet so I was able to wave and give a big 'ol smile before cresting over State Street and towards the downtown bridge. I skipped the first water station fearing hyponatremia and decided to hit only every other station so I wouldn't become too full of fluids. For snacks however, all bets were off and I ate my first stroop waffle before downtown was in the rear view.

The first leg of the marathon stretched northward all the way to Wrigleyville before plummeting back down a parallel street. Every once in a while, I looked to my left and saw people running in between buildings in the opposite direction. I kept a slow, steady pace through the first 10 miles, stopping only once to adjust my headphones. I was running on pure adrenaline and wanted to gun it like Brigid Kosgei did earlier that day. Of course that would have probably led directly to my death so I thought better of it.

Pshhh, walk in the park!

As I rounded the corner onto Broadway I glanced at the mile marker that had a big red 8 on it. 8?! That was just 8 back there?! What helped though, was seeing the same signs from earlier in the race; "Boss Women Run Marathons," "Run Forrest Run," "Worst Parade Ever!" This meant the same people were shuttling back and forth on CTA and were making an effort to support whoever was also keeping my pace.

My favorite poster was one that said "Keep Running or I'll Drop This Sign!" and it was being carried by a guy who looked like his pants and underwear were down below his knees - Boystown amirite? The energy around Broadway and Clark was elating. Passing Belmont there were stages on each side with rival drag queen groups belting out motivational ballads. The streets were filled with cheering crowds reminding me that no matter how much my feet hurt, the entire city had my back today.

As I went down Sedgwick things started to look very familiar. One of my favorite mics, the Greenlight takes place on Sundays at a local watering hole a few feet from the turn. That's when I saw Maisie yelling and screaming in support. She never told me she'd be looking out for me but there she was being a kid sister with a heart of gold. Immediately when I saw her, I got a bit of a boost and was able to breeze through North Wells with relative ease; despite the fact that is was an unbroken 2 mile drag.

Near the end of Wells I regrouped with my sister and her family. I saw them before they saw me and I yelled at my brother-in-law to grab their attention. She skipped over to the crowd line and gave me a big hug. It was just before the thirteenth mile which I noted as being just shy of halfway. I could feel the sweat cooling on my back every time I stopped or stumbled past the shadow of a building. I just kept going, if for no other reason than I didn't want to become a flesh flavored Popsicle. Along that frigid stint I started thinking about all the things that led me to this point - the point which I need not remind you was the furthest I've run. I never made my 20 mile long run.

I started thinking about the weight loss, the awkward social interactions and late night comedic bombs, my ex and all the negative emotions that surround her. My guilt and anguish of what was lost when I left Arizona. Then something happened. I looked up at the Willis Tower and was reminded of the events of the nights before. The Friday night mic I hosted was one of the better ones we've done. What's more, I went karaoke-ing with friends including Raquel who had come to town to see one of her favorite bands. The fact that I was running a marathon the weekend of, was just a happy coincidence. Life was good.

I like snuggles.

I also snickered to myself over what transpired on Saturday night. Raquel and her gorgeous friend - let's call her Brie, had spent the night at my place and I graciously offered the bed while I took the couch. Feeling the freezing cold of a stately but old Chicago apartment in the fall, Brie suggested after the concert that we all huddle together in my bed half-naked in a cuddle puddle - a wholesome activity undermined by the phrase in the same way if you were to call a hotdog a dong sandwich. Nothing explicit happened but the sensation of being held by two attractive women in the comfort of my own bedroom was so relaxing and nice. Thinking of that - memories of my ex all but disappeared.

After another dip into downtown the race took us all to the West Loop passing Malcolm X College and the Whitney Young School. Pam said she'd be cheering from the sidelines along with a group from her school who were there to support another teacher. I never caught her but she assured me through text that my stuff had been dropped off to my parents. I was stumbling through the UIC area when a phone call interrupted my playlist. 

"Hello?" 
"You're making great time!" 

It was my mother. Not sure what possessed her to call me at that moment but every runner within earshot was tickled pink by the fact that my mom had called me in the middle of a marathon. "Mom, I have to control my breathing." "Okay, okay, where did you say you wanted to go afterwards though?" "Mom! I'm kinda busy." "Okay, text us later. We have your bag." "Okay cool, bye!"

Youch!!!

I tried to follow the advice of a sign I saw that said, "Find a Cute Bum and Follow It," but I'm embarrassed to say by mile 19 I was running on fumes. The sweat caking itself to my shirt had sabotaged the bandaids on my nipples. They just peeled away and drowned leaving me bunching my shirt like I was snapping suspenders like a Hispanic Steve Urkel. I went to the nearest medical tent and tried to reapply new bandaids but they simply flecked off within a minute like discount refrigerator magnets. I'd have to finish the race looking like I was clenching pearls.

By the time we got to Pilsen, the crowd was handing out bananas cut into thirds. I grabbed every piece of fruit offered as my body's moved me forward. At that point it felt like I was falling and my legs were just trying to keep up with the inertia of my torso. I was at my nadir. I walked and limped through the streets I was most familiar with - 18th, Blue Island, Halsted. All of it was a blur of lively mariachi music and sticky asphalt which had been stained by an ocean of Gatorade. I was still clutching my shirt when I saw the big red 20 in the distance. I hated that 20...I knew there was 6.2 left. Fml.

A funny, unexpected and weirdly inspiring moment came in the form of an out of shape white guy who sauntered a few paces ahead of me. A woman waiting on the sidelines extended her arm with half a banana, her eyes inviting him to snatch it from her hand. About four seconds before the two would meet, a man held out a Modelo right behind her. Naturally our runner went with the Modelo, shrugged his shoulders, laughed to himself and kept going. I found that moment almost too precious to bare. It was a candid moment of comedic bliss that was so perfect and so innately human that I felt joy just being near it. By that point the wall as it were, was starting to crack.

But the wall wasn't going away just yet - I still had Chinatown to contend with. By the time, I passed the entrance gate, my arms and legs were so heavy that I just let my nipples chafe. I wasn't running fast enough to turn them into lit firecrackers anyway. It was at this point better trained athletes started to maneuver past me. The 5:30 pacers which had been behind me the entire time, came coursing through the field which added to my disappointment in the moment. My hope to make it under 5 hours was completely gone.

I crossed the bridge along the Dan Ryan which served as one of the few elevated points in the race. My muscles and bones creaked as I made my way across into Bronzeville. When I rounded that corner, a man held a sign that said, "At This Point It's Just a 5K," the greatest framing device and motivation I got thus far. "I've done 5K's before," I said to myself. This will be nothing! My pace quickened.

Mile 25. My parents were waiting for me along with the rest of the Team Latinos cheering section. They had been driven all weekend by the Clancy's, long suffering family friends who lived in the northern suburbs and were arguably more excited to see me run than mom and pop. Bob Clancy even held a sign in support which I found out later was made by the Latinos group. I stopped for a moment.

"Did Pam give you my bag?" 
"Yeah." 
"I need ibuprofen." 
"Well, we don't have that." 
"It's in the bag." 
"The bag is in the car." 
"Oh, well I guess I'll just die then."

And with that I limped forward turning around for an instant to ask if anyone will be there with a blanket at the finish line.

South Loop. The sun had disappeared leaving a sky of grey clouds. A gust of wind flooded the narrow avenue between the buildings coaxing me to audibly say, "Really Chicago?" Then there was a sign, a beautiful, beautiful sign that said 1 Mile Left. I will swear to my dying day they nudged the mile markers forward a little each hour just to force slow runners to do a little more than needed. But like a flag in the distance on a Par 4, this beautiful little sign gave me the biggest boost of confidence. I mean, they changed the measurements just to make it sound easier! If there was a Mile 26 marker I didn't see it - just a Mile mark that swallowed up that last .2 and by God I was going to finish strong.

I bolted as quickly as my stiff, tired legs could muster. The sound that played in my ears was one of my favorite instrumental tracks of all time - There Once Was a Hushpuppy from the Beast of the Southern Wild soundtrack. Imagine if the Chariots of Fire theme and the Rocky theme had a baby and forced it to take up the trumpet and you'll maybe approach the epic-ness of There Once Was a Hushpuppy. It was a perfect selection as the city was ready to give me a hero's welcome and were screaming frantically. Tears ran down my cheek which didn't go unnoticed by strangers who uniformly gave me praise.

I passed the final corner completely ignoring Maisie who had organized a cheering section with a loose cadre of strangers just shy of the finish line. I ignored everything - the forming migraine, the nipples, the halo of lights that dizzied my eyes, the cheering which had melted into a quiet drone. Everything was silent except the song and my own exhausted breath. Even the voices in my head had stilled. There was no frantic worrying whining or self-defeating snark ping-ponging in my anxious brain in that moment. If there was a voice it was faint but certain.

"You will never doubt yourself ever again."

I crossed the finish line with a 5:40 time, tired, tearful and joyous. I wish I could tell you in that moment my mind was on a different plane of existence but when I crossed and hobbled over to grab my medal I said to myself, louder than I should of, "I want a damn cookie!" My parents and the Clancy's agreed to drive me to Sweet Mandy B's bakery for a victory cookie and cupcake. Maisie tagged along. Pam, Reese and my sister stopped by the bench I was propping myself up on to pay their respects. As did Maisie's parents via phone. When my dad approached to finally give me the ibuprofen he asked how many I'd like. "How many would kill me? One less than that." He then gave me one of his Vicodin.


Aly for her efforts beat me by thirty minutes which is truly as inspiring as it is annoying. Naw, she trained hard and trained well for the event unlike me who over did it then took extended breaks. I always knew she was a boss b***h but now she has the proof in the form of a medal, flowers, and an aluminum blanket that makes us all look like skinny little baked potatoes in pictures.

After cookies, I climbed up the three floors to my room and collapsed into my bed without a shower. Later that evening I got calls from Shirley and guy Casey as well as texts from more friends and roommates congratulating me for a job well done. I was too distracted by the smell of my own filth to pay much attention but I do remember thanking them. I took a shower then scuttled back to bed. I had the best sleep of my life knowing that in the city of big shoulders, I could finally walk tall.