Marathon #1 – Chicago, Illinois – October 10, 2004
“Too Blessed To Be Stressed”
The words emblazoned on the shirt worn by the woman sitting across from me at the Kansas City airport conveyed the perfect message at the perfect time.
We were waiting to board our early Saturday morning flight to Chicago, where in 24 hours I would be running my first marathon after dedicating the previous 16 weeks to training to run 26.2 miles. It was nearly 2 years after I had blurted out to Jenny that I “wanted to run a marathon some day”, and now the time was approaching for me to make good on this pronouncement.
Due to the mixture of excitement and nervousness, I had not gotten much sleep in the previous week. As I lay in bed each night, my mind raced with visions of what it would be like to receive the “rock star” treatment from the estimated 1.2 million spectators who would be lining the course – I knew firsthand what this was like from my experience the previous year as I “chased” Jenny around the Windy City while she ran Chicago.
I also wanted this to be the most perfect and memorable weekend for Joey and Andie, who were 8 and 6 years old respectively, and who were going to be flying for the first time. My hope was that it would provide for them a lifetime memory of when Pops did something special, and I didn’t want to let them down.
As we sat in the KC airport, my mind was filled with questions. Had I packed my running shoes? Did I pack both a left and a right shoe? What about my running shorts? Socks? Have I been drinking the right amount of water? Where will we eat in Chicago? With my longest training run being 20 miles, where will another 6.2 miles come from? Is that a twinge that I’m feeling in my left hamstring? (as runners can tell you, hypochondria is rampant in the days leading up to a race)
And on and on and on…
In a word, I was stressed.
“Too Blessed To Be Stressed”
At that very instant, my perspective changed.
Suddenly, I felt a strange sense of calm within me. I just decided to breathe deeply, reflect on the past 16 weeks of training, and express my gratitude for the physical ability and perseverance to accomplish such a goal. I was extremely thankful for my supportive family and friends, whose encouragement had been off the charts.
Now I was looking at the trip and approaching marathon as a blessing and celebration of all of the hard work and sacrifices that I had made. All of the weekday evening runs after work when I just wanted to sit down after being on my feet all day teaching. All of the social invitations I had politely turned down in order to get my rest. All of the early Sunday morning runs in the quiet darkness of North Topeka.
I truly did feel that the hardest part was over, and the weekend would be my reward.
Right then, I decided that my 26.2-mile trip around Chicago was going to be my “Victory Lap”!
As for Joey and Andie, they had been so sweet. They had arisen without complaint at 5:00 am for our early morning flight, had insisted on carrying all of the luggage to help Pop save his energy, and were very excited as they looked out the windows of the airplane at the land and towns below. I know that I am biased, but they are really great kids, and their behavior on the plane made me very proud.
Once we arrived at the marathon packet pickup at McCormick Place in Chicago, the reality of the whole thing really hit home – especially when I picked up my packet with BIB# 31324, my timing chip, and shirt. The kids had a really good time, in large part because most of the booths were handing out freebies. Free samples of nutrition bars, sports drinks, trinkets, stickers, noisemakers for spectators to use during Sunday’s race, and pens.
Ah, yes, pens … they were giving away these cool pens with a map of the course that pulls out like a window shade, and every chance we got, we would grab a couple.
At the booth for “Runner’s World” magazine, I recognized Amby Burfoot, who won the 1968 Boston Marathon and wrote for the magazine. Very early on before I even began to train, I had read one of his books. He was very nice and we visited for a few minutes. When I told him that I was a first-time marathoner, he acted like it was the greatest thing he had ever heard – even though he had undoubtedly visited with countless marathoners of every shape and size. He was also kind enough (and acted flattered) to pose for a picture with the kids and me.
We also got to see Meb Keflezighi, who had just weeks before represented the United States at the 2004 Olympic games in Athens, bringing home the Silver medal. (Meb would go on to win the 2009 New York City Marathon and the 2014 Boston Marathon. I would also later have the privilege of meeting him at an event prior to the New York City Marathon in 2019.)
After a quick trip to Millennium Park, site of The Jelly Bean, we took the train back out to our hotel near the airport so that we could get to bed early. When we got back to the hotel, I decided to call Mom to see how the ongoing KU vs. K-State football game was progressing (this was before the age of Smartphones and game scores at our fingertips). KU had not beaten K-State since 1992, and that game had been one of Jenny and my first dates.
Well, the game had about a minute left, and KU was ahead! Mom offered to hold the phone up to the radio, so there I was in a hotel bathroom in Chicago listening to the broadcast of the game while the kids slept. The Jayhawks held on to win, and I had my positive omen for the weekend.
After checking the alarm on my wristwatch, the alarm on the clock radio, and phoning the front desk for a wake-up call (all set for 5:00 am), and checking my race clothing for the 1000th time, I turned out the lights and laid down for what I hoped would be an hour or two of sleep (yeah, right!)
I’m not so sure that I ever REALLY fell asleep, although maybe there were a couple of occasions where I nodded off. Once it got to be about 3:00 am, I figured what was the use? So I decided to make the most of it and just reflect back on how far I had come. From that first evening over a year ago when I was only able to run about a quarter of a mile, to my month-long quest to make it around our 2-mile block, to now – I was about to run 26.2 miles!
I thought about a year ago, when I had watched Jenny run Chicago and how it made me so proud of her. And now here I was in a position to make my family proud of me. I remembered all the mornings when I had to drag my butt out of bed to run – especially on the Sunday long runs. Well, this would be one Sunday where I would not have to coax myself out of bed. In fact, I was wishing for the clock to move ahead so I could get up and going. As I listened to Jenny and the kids as they slept, I was filled with an overwhelming sense of gratitude.
Finally, 5:00 am arrived.
Once again, I was appreciative (but not surprised) when the kids got up and dressed – clad in their “Team S Squared” shirts – without complaint for the big day. After a trip to the downtown area on a train filled with hundreds of runners and their families, we then took a walk from the train station to the Start area. The streets were filled with runners, the October weather was perfect, and the air was filled with electricity.
After a couple of quick last-minute pictures and some video with Jenny and the kids, I joined my nearly 35,000 new friends in the starting corral, positioning myself near the 4-hour pace group. During the ensuing national anthem you could hear a pin drop, while my eyes welled up from the emotion of the moment.
Before we knew it, we heard an air horn from the distant Start line, signaling the start of the race, and Van Halen’s “Right Now” started to blare over the loudspeakers – the exact same song that played when Jenny started her race the previous year and which had become my “go-to” song during my own training. Now the adrenaline was REALLY flowing!
Due to the size of the field, it took me about 5 minutes just to reach the Start line, and the moment I had been dreaming about for months was underway.
(Just so you know, at large marathons like this, each competitor is given a timing chip – in Chicago it was tied to your shoe, while in more recent years it’s embedded in your race number – and when you cross the Start line you pass over a timing mat, which scans you like a can of green beans at the grocery store and activates each runner’s own personal clock. Similar timing mats scattered throughout the course and at the Finish line track your personal progress as well as your finish time.)
Unlike the hundreds of miles that I had run in solitude, the course was packed with runners, discarded clothing, water bottles, all kinds of things. At first this was somewhat disconcerting, but the energy and flow of the pack almost seemed to carry me along without even being aware of any physical exertion.
After a couple of miles, the pack began to spread out, making it easier to get into a rhythm. Based on our experience from the previous year, Jenny devised the plan to take the train up near Wrigleyville, which would be around Mile 8. We had also learned that, given the vast number of spectators lining the course, it would help for Jenny and the kids to hold up a sign of some sort for me to be able to find them – so they affixed a cardboard Jayhawk onto a stick. We also agreed that they would post themselves on the right side of the street.
With the anticipation of seeing Jenny and the kids, the first 8 miles seemed to just fly by. While running along, I scanned the right side of the road, and sure enough, there was the Jayhawk sticking up above the crowd. What a boost it was to stop and share a quick hug and kiss with Jenny and the kids. We took a couple of quick pictures and some video, and I was back on the run.
By this time, the psychological boost defies description. It seemed like the entire city of Chicago was out cheering us on, and each neighborhood that we ran through seemed to be in a competition to see which could be the most raucous. Bands played. People held up signs. Entire church congregations came out to cheer. I slapped five with every single spectator who held out their hand. Call it cliché, but it truly renewed my belief in the goodness of people. People gave up their entire morning to stand on the sides of the street to exhort every last runner – complete strangers! – to the Finish line.
And the runners were SO supportive of each other, sharing words of encouragement with those who appeared to be struggling. At one point, a man just ahead of me cut a turn too sharply, tripped over the curb, and went sprawling onto the sidewalk, his glasses flying off into the grass. A group of about five of us stopped, helped him to his feet, retrieved his glasses, checked on his welfare, accepted his thanks, and we all continued on.
For some reason, I yelled “Let’s Do This!”, and the guy who tripped yelled back “Yeah, Let’s Do This!”
The miles seemed to be flying by, and before I knew it I was approaching Mile 20. Given that my longest training run was 20 miles, every step beyond this would take me farther than I had ever run, and it proved to be quite a mental barrier. Fortunately, Jenny and I had pre-arranged to meet back up where the course would turn into China Town, which was near the 21 Mile mark. Despite the fact that the physical fatigue was beginning to take its toll, the sight of the Jayhawk gave me a much-needed shot of energy as I approached Jenny and the kids once again. After another quick embrace and high-five, the kids’ shouts of “Run, Pop, Run!” echoed in my ears as I made the turn to complete the final 5 miles.
The next 4 miles were rough, and taught me a lot about myself and the strength of the human mind. We entered an area where there were not many spectators, the temperature was rising, and the miles were taking their toll.
I decided to approach it with an attitude of gratitude, and out of nowhere the phrase “Grateful to be Capable” entered my mind. I also remembered what Jenny had said to me when I asked her how she finished the Boston Marathon the previous spring in record-high temperatures: “One Step at a Time”.
With the fatigue and some minor cramping, my pace slowed somewhat. But I was still moving forward, and that was all that mattered at that point. Now each mile seemed like 5 miles, the energy was lagging, and I was losing focus. Finally, I saw the Jayhawk, and my mind snapped back to the present moment.
“You’ve only got one mile left!”
“You’ve got this!”
“Run, Pop, Run!”
The unadulterated love that I felt emanating from the sidewalk was all that I needed.
Time to kick it in!
With tears streaming down my face, I hardly remember the last mile. I do remember making the final turn toward the Finish line, and seeing a person holding a sign that said “Get Your Smile Ready”.
With thousands of people cheering from the grandstands, my feet barely touched the ground over the final quarter mile.
Thrusting my arms into the air, I ran across the Finish line, with a flood of memories overwhelming me.
As I made eye contact with a fellow finisher, he said, “Congratulations, Marathoner.”
I had done it.
I could now check “Run a Marathon” off my bucket list and get on with my life.
Or so I thought …
