Waxing nostalgic

Funny to be talking about 2003 again. It was almost 5 years ago. But I was today with a new running friend and I trotted out the old story, you know the one, the marathon story. Here it is again:

2003 was by far my best year as a runner. I had come off a 9 month injury layoff the year before and was able to build the miles up. Every race was like magic that year, PR at every distance, a 62 minute 10 miler a month before the marathon including a 5:50 last mile while I was severely bonking and the capper, a 37 and change 10K two weeks out. I was fit and ready to go.

A friend of a friend who worked for the Chicago Tribune sent a photographer to take pictures of me running along Lake Michigan near where we live in Wilmette. I was on the record in the paper saying I was going to run 2:55. That article appeared on race day.

Marathon day arrives and I plan to run with a guy on my team and a friend of his. It was 50 degrees at the start and felt really warm. I was in shorts and a singlet. In the early going (first 2 miles) we were still shielded from the sun by the buildings in the Loop and yet I was soaked with sweat and feeling very warm.

As we neared Mile 6, our splits were between 6:40-6:45 and I told the guys I was running with that we needed to slow down or we would be done before we hit the half. They insisted that we were fine and so we kept going. I worried what the effect would be later, but drank my water and gartorade (and dumped it on my head) and thought I would just stay with them.

When we got to Taylor Street (Mile 16 or so), I lost the first of the guys I was running with. He had previously broken 3 hours and would later become an Ironman. His finish that day was 3:30. The other guy hung with me for a bit more, but then fell off to a 3:15 or so that day.

At 17, I was extra bonky and had to wrestle myself back into focus. I saw some people I knew who cheered for me and I thought I could hang in. At 20, I finally succumed to my first over 7 minute mile. I feared that, but thought I might be OK because a teammate of mine was waiting for me a mile later in China Town to run me in the last 5 or so miles.

We connected, he cajoled me and got me to pick it up a bit, but not enough. By Mile 24 on Michigan Avenue, it didn't look like the math could work unless I could knock out a 6:30 mile 25 or 26 -- not so likely. Other friends cheered me, I passed a guy on our team who should have been about 2:50 or so that day. Lots of "you can still do it, you can break 3 hours type stuff." I passed the 25 marker and the bonk was so solid at that point, my legs and toes felt numb, my fingers were numb and I just wanted to finish. Last mile was maybe 7:20 (better than the previous couple miles), but it was too late.

Chip time was exactly 3:01:00. Close, but . . . here I am still writing about it 4+ years later. I always think of myself as being like those 2003 Cubs who were 5 outs from the World Series. I was so close, and when you are, you have to finish it because you never no when or even if you will get there again. The end.

Not really the end, though. The running has restarted. Bit of pain in my left calf, but otherwise the training is going well. Who knows?