My brother and I left the hotel at 6:30 a.m. for the short walk to the start line. Our elevator was filled with other runners. There was a woman standing in front of me and I only came up to her waist. Someone said something about how the elevator would be even more crowded when we all got back. My brother made a funny joke about how he would take the stairs after the race (10 floors). I laughed. No one else did. This was my first indication that a lot of other people were way more tense than I was.
On the way to the start line, I was very chatty, just so excited that the day that I had been dreaming about was finally here. It was just as I expected: crowds of excited runners everyone, an atmosphere of hope and anticipation. My brother and I parted ways, because he had a bag to check in the seeded check area. I got in line for the bathroom. I got a kick out of how the Sears tower was visible just over the porta potties.
I wandered around a bit and was surprised at how unorganized things seemed. There were corrals with various pace times, but there were no marathon personnel directing things or even visible. People were walking in all different directions looking confused. It was about this time that I noticed the sun peaking through the clouds, making for a pretty pink sky.
After another trip to the porta potty, I headed into the corrals. I went near the 13 minute/mile sign and sat on the curb. The area was pretty empty. The way that the corrals were set up, the runners for the faster miles were standing facing north, while our area was facing east. I think that many people lined up at the back of the main pack, not even realizing that the line made an L-shape. I stood up when I heard the faint sound of the national anthem. No one else even seemed to be paying attention.
The line starting moving a few minutes later and, of course, a log-jam was created when my group merged with the other group. It was fairly disorganized, as I had the 5:15 pace group behind me and the 5:30 pace group almost parallel to them. I did not not really understand the point of lining up in order, when it clearly did not matter once everyone started moving.
I crossed the start line at 8:20 a.m. and began what I thought was a 26.2 mile journey. I felt great from the beginning. I started slow just like I had planned, running a 5:2 run/walk interval. My Garmin had trouble all day because of the buildings and it kept telling me to speed up, even when I was going at or faster than my target pace. I got a little choked up during the first moments, so amazed that I was actually going to do this.
I got a good chuckle at the line of men’s backs I saw in the tunnel under Randolph as they all had apparently missed the 1000 or so porta potties back at the start and decided to add to the already funky smelling tunnel.
Although I was worried at first about being able to do my walk intervals early in the race, due to the large crowd, I found it it to be no problem. I was near a group of AIDS marathon runners who were run/walking, so I just got behind them for my first walk break.
I was carrying my Ultimate Direction Strider pack (totally the best pack ever), so I had a full bottle of water and plenty of Clif Shot Blocks. I bypassed the first aid station (foolishly in retrospect) because I had only taken a few sips of water thus far and didn’t need any. Although I did not pay really pay attention, I believe that station did have water at that point.
Around mile two I passed my old law school and gave it a wave (usually I give it the finger out of bitterness, so you can see I was in a good mood). As I turned up LaSalle I got excited because I knew I was about to see my first cheerleaders. I could see my mom’s hot pink sign from three blocks away. Both she and my sister-in-law were looking for me, but did not even notice me until I was right upon them. I jumped up on the sidewalk for a hug and a quick chat. My mom said that people kept commenting on her sign (it complemented me on my hotness) and with that I was off.
I felt a quick burst of energy after the excitement of seeing them, but it quickly wore off as I approached aid station #2. I ran past all of the gatorade cups on the floor to where the water should have been. Instead there were a line of volunteers saying “Sorry, we are out of water.” What?!! Out of water? There were thousands of people still behind me and they were already out of water?
At this point, I would like you to know that, despite what race officials have told the media, we runners were not “confused” about there being no water. There were not “plenty of gallons” of water and “no cups.” There was NO WATER. If there were no cups, I think I would have seen the nice volunteers holding the mythical gallons of water, wouldn’t I? Would not they have been saying, “Sorry, we are out of cups, but let me refill that bottle of yours”?
A couple of blocks after the “aid station” I saw three people standing on the corner in front of a church with bottles of water. I surmised that they may have had water for the spectators or maybe they had been alerted to the lack of water at station 2. (How long were they out of water before I even got there? How many people were completely not doing their job?) The lovely church people were going as quickly as they could pouring an ounce or two of water into people’s bottles and cups. I waited for 5 minutes for a man to pour what amounted to a few sips of water into my now nearly-empty bottle. Do you think that I (and the other 30 runners there) would have done that if there were indeed “gallons” of water left at aid station 2?
I tried to remain in good spirits, not wanting the lack of one water at one aid station ruin my marathon day. I headed north past my old job and gave it a wave. At this point the number of discarded pace group bibs on the ground really told the story of the day. No one was on pace. I saw several people running into the gas station to get water and gatorade. I had money, but I thought that there had to be water at the next station, so I kept going.
Right at the bend of LaSalle avenue I saw the second group of saviors. There was the cutest family: a mom, dad, five-year-old son, and newborn baby. They had bags of ice cubes. I immediately went over, made a face at the cute baby and thanked them profusely. Ice would be what kept me cool all day. I took some cubes and put it under my cap and down the back of my shirt. I then put some in my mouth: the first cold water I had all day.
As we headed into the park, this was the first point that I let my zone guard done and listened to what other people were saying. I heard a coach of a different charity team telling a struggling women to try to run when she could and stick to the shade. I heard a group of friends reassuring each other that there had to be water at the next station and they would run again when they got more fluids. We were only at mile five and people were completely walking.
The benefit of being a Chicagoan came in handy as I started scouring the park, looking for drinking fountains. I found one at the same time several other people did. We all ran down the hill toward it. I had a fear that the city had turned off the drinking fountains already for the season, but was relieved when I saw people drinking. I was able to fill up my entire bottle with cold, cold, refreshing water. It was a happy moment. The fountain had four spouts and as I and three other women drank or filled bottles, are watches were all beeping at us, no doubt telling us we were going to slow. I laughed. I was still in a fabulous mood.
Back on the course we passed another aid station around Fullerton. I did see some people with jugs of water there I think, but I had a full bottle, so again I did not pay that close of attention. It was around this point that I put on my iPod. It was not that I was not enjoying the cheers and music provided by the spectators, it was that I was stuck next to some annoying people. They were praying with every step they ran saying things like, “God has given us this great weather today, Hallelujah.” “God give me the strength to not have thirst.” I really wanted to say something like, “Is God punishing us?” but then I remembered the nice church people who had given me water, so I kept my thoughts to myself.
I was shocked by how quickly I got from Fullerton to Addison. I think that the cold water from the drinking fountain had really made me stronger. People continued to cheer, calling out my name (which was on the front of my shirt) and I waved and smiled, thanking them.
As I rounded Addison toward Broadway, I got a little choked up again. It was crowds like that, energy like, that I knew I would be getting during the marathon. That is why people run Chicago. It was beautiful. I loved the male cheerleaders and the men in drag. I loved all of the people screaming and cheering. I felt like a rockstar. I realized, though, that the reason why so many people were cheering for me was that I was one of only a few people still actually running. While throughout the journey up to that point, other people were run/walking like me, by that point most of them had ceased the running part.
Near Belmont and Broadway there was a man standing outside of Treasure Island with a case of water. I not sure if he was an employee of the store or just a spectator who had gone in and purchased water. He handed me a bottle and I thanked him over and over. I drank some, refilled my bottle, and poured some on my head (which, Race Officials, by the way, is how runners cool off, so we are not believing your “we had no idea that runners would pour water on their head” bullshit. Have you actually run in hot weather before? It’s not rocket science).
Throughout the run down Broadway and then Clark, I ran through streams of water, from people holding garden hoses, from sprinklers, from people just using spray water bottles. They were all wonderful, fabulous people and I know that I could not have stayed as cool as I did without them. More people continued to hand out ice along the way. I think I always had at least one ice cube under my hat at all times, and I know that made a big difference.
I think it was around this point that I saw an adorable little bald-headed boy standing on the sidelines with a Team in Training shirt on. He was giving the runners a thumbs-up. I bolted over to him, giving him a high five, which caused him to smile. His mom thanked me and I continued on, invigorated, remembering what this was really all about.
I called ahead to my husband, Prince E, to let him know I would be needed some more Shot Blocks. He was just before the 10 mile marker with his bicycle full of supplies. I saw him and his bright yellow shirt a block away. I ran up to him and looked relieved. He said that he heard they were out of water and offered me some water. I drank a few sips and ate half of a banana that he offered me. I got some more shot blocks, a few smooches and was on my way. He said to call my mom because she was worried.
I tried calling my mom, but I only got her voicemail. I assured her that I was feeling great and I would with her soon (she was just past mile 16).
At aid station five (between miles 10 and 11), I decided I needed to use the bathroom. The porta potties were down an alley and I had to go under a yellow police tape to get to them. They were about 20 steps from course and I passed about 12 people lying or sitting on the sidewalk waiting for medical attention. I saw someone being loaded into an ambulance. As I came out of the porta potty and was retying my running skirt, I tried not to look at the people on the sidewalk. It was at that moment that I realized what I had been trying to ignore the whole race up to that point: this was a disaster.
I kept up with my run/walk as best as I could, still feeling physically fine, but an emotional wreck. Usually in a group like that the other runners help keep me going, but, here, no one was running. As I crossed the Franklin bridge, I saw a woman on the side being tended to by a bicycle medic. I started to walk, completely overcome by the mental.
At that point, I had a great surprise. My sister-in-law was standing on the sidewalk. I was so happy. I did not think I would see any of my people until I met up with Prince E in another two miles. This was an unexpected treat. She apologized for not having water, but offered my some of her Coke. Although I suppose drinking a caffeinated beverage was not a great idea, it was so cold that I just had to have a couple of sips. She walked with me a few blocks, giving me an update on my brother. She told me that I looked good and I told her that the state of the other runners was really getting me down, but that I physically felt fine. After we parted she called my mom and reported that I was looking great. (I think everyone was shocked!)
After I passed the halfway point, my phone rang. It was my mom. She said, “Did you hear that they are stopping the race?” I said, “What??” She relayed that someone had told her that everyone was being forced to stop at mile 16 and that the race was over. I told her I would be to her soon. I had hoped that she had heard wrong or that stopping was optional. I stopped and asked two police officers, “Any truth to the rumor that the race is over?” The female officer said, “Yes, they are turning you around and heading you back to Grant Park. Too many people are sick.”
All the runners had to move to one side as a big truck was blocking the right lane. It was an official marathon vehicle and they were unloading water. Curious, don’t you think, considering that race officials are still saying that they were not out of water? There was an official looking woman with a bullhorn saying, “Great job. Get some water and head back to Grant Park. Your race is over.”
The scene was chaos. Runners were eagerly taking water, but no one seemed to realize that we were done. People behind me were trying to figure out what the woman had said and I turned around and I told them that the race was canceled. The looks of their faces made it clear that this was the first they were hearing about it.
I started to call Prince E, but I got choked up. The reality of what was happening suddenly hit me like a sledgehammer. I was not going to finish the marathon. I could do it, but the race officials were not going to let me.
I finally composed myself enough to call him and he said he was just a few blocks up. I saw him and started running toward him. He had picked up someone’s discarded sign which said, “Run like the Kenyans” and he was waving it wildly and honking his air horn on his bike. The cop at the corner told me that I was not supposed to be running.
Prince E walked with me as they forced us to turn east onto Racine (I think), cutting a few blocks off of the course. We had to ask a cop which direction mile marker 16 was, because I did not want to miss my mom. She was further north, so we continued to walk. The police officer made Prince E push his bike on the sidewalk, so I walked up there with him.
A few blocks later there was a woman holding a plate of freshly baked pumpkin cookies. They were delicious.
I saw the last official photo guy I would see and struck a silly pose. He told me, “good one.”
I then saw my mom with her bright pink sign. She started walking with us. I called my brother and left him a message, letting him know that the race was over. Apparently that was a wise move on my part because the finish line area was so chaotic and without information, that he did not even know that the race had been canceled (he had finished right about the time they canceled it). He was still prepared to meet me down in Chinatown and help me finish the last six miles, even though he had just been through 26.2 miles of brutality. That is a good brother.
About this time, I saw this sign below. The sign, with the littered cups all around really says it all I think.
I walked the two miles back to Grant Park, my husband on my left, pushing his bicycle full of supplies that I would never need and my mom on my right carrying signs that were no longer needed. So much planning and preparation had gone into the day’s events and now it was all moot.
The fire hydrants were open, spraying super cold water on runners that did not want it. It was far too little too late. Everyone crowded onto the narrow sidewalk, trying to avoid the cold violent spray. My feet were already soaked and I could feel the blisters forming.
Outside of the Sears tower I stopped and got my sandals out of the bag on Prince E’s bicycle. It was a tough call at that point, but I decided I would rather deal with sore feet from wearing flip-flops for several miles that worry about getting blisters.
We walked with other runners, their family, spectators, and some tourists. I saw runners going into donut shops and subway shops, trying to get food and beverages.
I parted ways with my family and they headed to the hotel as I went to tackle the finish line area myself. I was not sure what to expect when I got there, but I wanted to turn in my chip and check-in at the Team in Training tent so they would not be worried. I carried my chip in my hand, Prince E having yanked it off my shoe for me.
There was a lot of confusion about where the runners should be going, so I just continued straight. Some 10 year old was handing out bananas, so I took one and ate it. There were a bunch of little girls handing out medals. I took one, but refused to put it on. I had not earned it. It was at that point my anger began. I asked a volunteer where the chips went. She pointed over one direction and I went and threw the chip into the box.
I had to ask three different people how to get to Charity Village because the scene was so chaotic I could not get my bearings. There were thousands of family members scouring the crowd, hoping to get a glimpse of their runners. I was relieved that both my brother and I ran with cell phones. It prevented our family a lot of worry.
As I cut threw a grassy area, I saw three young women sitting in a circle, looking somber, starting at their cell phone that lay in between them, almost willing them to ring with good news.
I finally found Charity Village (which was down several stairs. whose idea was that?) Of course the TNT tent was at the far end, so my walking continued for several more minutes. I had them cross my name off and got my 26.2 pin. I felt like I deserved the pin, because although I had not completed the marathon, the amount of training and fundraising that I did was enough to earn the pin. Not caring to talk to anyone, I headed out.
I was going to meet my brother a few blocks west of the finish line area. It took me a long time to get there because the area was all fenced off and filled with confused, angry, worried people. I finally got into some open space and found my brother. We walked back to the hotel and I finally put on my medal, mostly because it was too heavy to carry.
I have spent time since the marathon going through a wide range of emotions, the two most pronounced being anger and disappointment. The anger would have ceased by now had the race officials come out Monday morning and apologized for the lack of water. They did not do that and instead blamed us. The runners took too much in the beginning, the runners should not have poured water on their heads, the runners should have realized that they were not out of water, only out of cups. It is all lies and it is all bullshit.
Since I started running over three years ago, the marathon has been this beacon in the distance, calling me. I knew one day I would get there and I would soak in the light, relishing all the hard work and sacrifices that it took to get there. I envisioned that finish line, the medal draped over my head. My triumph. My victory. Years of personal struggle to end in one defining moment. That bubble has burst. The marathon allure is gone. My first marathon was pure disaster and although it was not my fault, I feel utter disappointment.
I don’t know if I will ever want to run a marathon again. Hell, right now I don’t even feel much like running at all. I feel like I am in mourning of a dream that now will never come true. A dream that was shattered because of someone else’s poor planning. I still cannot believe that it is over.
Here is me before the race. That jacket I have on, which I handed off to Prince E before the start, was one of the free gifts that I got at that 5k I did a couple of weeks ago. It kept me nice and warm in the 20 minutes or so I had to stand around before the start.
