As previously stated, my biggest #yearof40 goal was to complete a full marathon and I decided that Chicago was the one. The last full I ran was Chicago in 2009 and I loved it so why not go back! I marked my calendar for the day registration opened and along with tens of thousands of other runners, panicked when the site started crashing. I must have entered my information into that site 72 times before it finally took - and it was just in the nick of time because the race shut down registration for a week or so and then held a lottery for the remaining entries. Whew!
In the midst of my training, I was a busy Tall Girl. My niece was born in December and stole my heart which means I try to see her as often as possible. My sister, Leo, got married in May. I've made two trips to Florida with my Aunt Clara, my mom and Little Mister to see Double G. I spent a fair amount of time shuttling Little Mister to and from camps, practices, games, activities, etc., and we've been preparing to put our house on the market and picking out fixtures for our new house. Oh, and I'm a full time paralegal!
The kicker for the Chicago training came five or six weeks before the race. There was a battle between a spider, a pothole and me. The spider and the pothole came out fine. Short of the long: there was a spider dangling from a web over the road where I was running. But there weren't any trees and I was staring at the spider trying to figure out from what it could possibly be dangling. I looked up at the web and my foot hit the edge of the pothole and rolled right on in taking the rest of me with it. I hit the ground pretty hard.
I will now admit to the world that I didn't go to the doctor for one reason - I knew the doctor would tell me that I couldn't run Chicago and I did not want to hear it. Period. So I iced. And I re-iced. A lot. I had my longest training run - 15 miles - three weeks before the race and it wasn't pretty. The week before Chicago, all I could think about was the 11 miles for which I didn't train. And worse that that, the .2 at the end. In a 26.2 mile run, .2 is the most important.
 |
On race day, my walk to the start line was just under two miles. It was a nice warm-up. I checked my gear, puffed on the inhaler and got in the starting corral. As always, as I made my way up to the start line, I listened to Al Pacino give his "Inches" speech from "Any Given Sunday." I have listened to that speech at the start of every race I've completed. Next is Alice in Chains "Man in a Box." Beyond that, the music goes on shuffle and music from the last four decades and all genres rotate through my ears.
 |
| Morning walk to the start line |
 |
| Sunrise in Chicago |
 |
| Waiting to start |
I was about two miles in when I knew. I felt that little bit of tenderness in my foot and I knew that sooner rather than later this was going to be trouble. But I kept going and I was a bit distracted by a new pain. It was in my right hip. What in the world? Where did this come from? Never in all of my training had I had this pain.
 |
| Beautiful tree-lined neighborhood |
I got to the half mark at a slower pace than anticipated - even with the bum foot. Part of that I think is a crowded start. I was, after all, running with 37,000 people. Another part was slowing down in Boys Town which is quite possibly the most entertaining, encouraging part of the course. At Mile 14 the wheels started coming off. My foot hurt terribly but worse than that, my dang hip! Time to mentally regroup but that was a challenge because I was in such pain that I thought I would have to stop due to nausea - a severe pain reaction.
Mile 15: Aid station. I've never been to an aid station that I can recall. But in my mind, Tylenol would make a difference - even if just mentally. I stepped up to a small tent and asked for Tylenol. "We're out." Um, what? Out? And then I looked in the tent and what I saw hit me like a ton of bricks - there were people laid out. As in literally on the ground and not vertical at all. I'm not sure why it hit me so hard but in hind sight, I think seeing people who had no intention of getting up and finishing the race was not what I needed at that moment. I had to get out of there. I asked where the next aid station was located. Mile 16.
Mile 16: Aid station. This was a larger aid station and I had to step into a parking lot to get to it. I was greeted halfway through the parking lot by a doctor/volunteer who saw me limping and here's how the convo went:
MD: What do you need?
GRT: I'd like a Vicodin with a tequila back, please.
MD: I'm sorry?
GRT: I'd like a Vicodin with a tequila back, please.
MD: Ok. Well...I can give you some Tylenol with some water to chase it.
GRT: All right. If that's the best you can do, I'll take it.
Into the tent of the fallen we went. This was a much larger tent and I shielded my eyes from the folks on the cots. It was a runners' war camp triage without all the blood. At least I hope there was no blood but since I didn't look I can't tell you for sure. A cute little volunteer came up and wrote down my bib number and asked what hurt for the official Tylenol records. I said, "Everything." She needed something more specific. I told her that my left foot and right hip hurt. The doc squinted his eyes, looked at me and said, "Which one of those hurt before you got here?" Busted. Hm. My foot, I admitted. He smiled and said my hip hurt because I was compensating for my foot. Lucky me.
He told me because I made him laugh I could have the entire bottle of water and sent me on my way. This is when contract negotiations between my mind and body began. Every two miles, my will and my body would come together and negotiate and renegotiate to the finish line. My mind was determined. My body could have cared less. So at Mile 16, the best my body could promise was to get me to Mile 18.
Mile 18: With some very encouraging text messages from my mother, my sisters and my dear friends, I made it to 18. My body agreed to extend our contract to Mile 20. This was another great neighborhood, Pilsen. The community was out in full force - even for the slow participants which meant they were out there for a long time. Music was playing. Folks were dancing on the sidewalks. It was a very welcome distraction.
 |
| Around Pilsen |
Mile 20: Another contract negotiation. Six miles to go and that's a really long way on legs that hurt as much as mine did. At that point, I wasn't sure if I could still feel my legs. My mind started racing a bit and I had somehow managed to trick my brain with the pain. Coping mechanism perhaps? Can I feel my legs? Am I now imagining the pain? How am I actually making my legs go one in front of the other? Find a better song to distract you. Text someone. Be in charge of you. Yep, these thoughts actually happened. And none of them made any sense. Contract extended for two miles. Just get to Mile 22, Julia. Just get to 22...
 |
| Chinatown |
Mile 22: Can I go two more miles? Where would I be if I went two more miles. Are two more miles worth it? I'm a travel geek and before I go to a new city, I all but memorize where I'm going to be, the closest public transportation routes, good restaurants and fantastic shoe stores. I also endlessly study course maps. I knew that getting to Mile 23 meant that I was crossing the bridge over the interstate to get back to the east side of Chicago. I also knew that getting to Mile 24 meant being back on Michigan Avenue and a straight shot to the finish line. Most importantly, I knew that I'd earned a new pair of shoes. So the body/mind contract was extended to Mile 24 and a pair of shoes which will forever be known as my Mile 22 shoes.
 |
| Crossing the bridge approaching Mile 23 |
Mile 24: I was on Michigan Avenue. The excitement in the air was building. There were more and more people on the course. There was no negotiating another two miles here. Mind and body were on the same page. There was a finish line 2.2 miles away and I was going to go across it even if it was on my hands and knees.
 |
| This is the truth! They hang around for the slow runners! |
Mile 26: The 11th Street Bridge. .2 to go and my body took over. I hadn't actually run in 10 miles. Yep, ten miles of walking due to pain. Ten flippin' miles. But when I laid eyes on that Mile 26 marker, something happened...I started running. I ran that .2 miles and nothing hurt. The finish line got closer and closer and I ran and it felt so good that even as I type these words, there are tears in my eyes. It was heaven. It was bliss. It was pride. It was me. I did it. It wasn't pretty. It wasn't easy. But it was worth it. The pain, the fear, the nausea, the mind/body negotiations, the awful gels, all of it. It was worth every bit of it for the way that .2 miles felt, for the way that finish line felt.
I was wrapped in a mylar blanket. A sweet teenage boy put a medal around my neck and told me I did a good job as I stood in front of him with tears streaming down my face. Bless his heart. I walked a few steps away and held onto the fence. The pain was back and it was back tenfold. I was hurting in places that I hadn't hurt the entire day. The ugly cry was making its way out and I had to let it happen. I had to get it out. I pulled myself together and once again tried to figure out how I was going to go any farther. I took about 5 steps and in front of me appeared a man that had clearly been sent down from the heavens ... in a beer truck. He poured a cold 312 straight out of the beer truck tap and put it in my hand. God, bless him.
 |
| Sweet nectar of running... |
I sent my mother, sisters, husband and friends a note to let them know I finished and my phone immediately went dead. I walked the two miles back to the hotel in pain and reflection. I also stopped halfway to rest and to eat the largest cheeseburger I could find in a record amount of time. I also had another ice cold 312.
Those who know have heard me say (more than once) that I don't necessarily like running. I like finishing. The most intoxicating thing I do is cross finish lines whether it's a PR or in pain. It is the most amazing feeling.
And I simply cannot wait to do it again.
With pride and with tears in my eyes I tell you that there is definitely more to come.
Running TALL,
Julia
 |
| My reward...and I'm still carrying it in my purse. |
 |
| Mile 22 Shoes. |
