It hurt in the last 8K of that course, the spurts of running after a walk break. Why was I out there? It was the place where I both wanted to be and yet maybe not.
That marathon was the most emotional of my life -- not because of the race, but because of the events around my life. My mom was on her last days, I had not trained for much of the summer but I had felt a need to run that race on 10/14/12. I wanted to reclaim something. Just wasn't exactly sure what it was back then -- that the final step of the marathon was just the first in something coming.
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Those two moments briefly changed the race from a "wow this is a big city marathon" to "this is a survival of the fittest." Being back on Chicago wasn't so fun after all.
Chicago has always been a special place for my running -- being my first marathon back in 2006. In 2011, I returned for a second time, thinking that my then-veteran status would allow me to destroy my debut marathon time, which never happened.
We arrived on Friday and did the usual touristy stuff. Shopping, the expo, eating pasta and getting in some light sight seeing. Outwardly, I was the 24 time marathoner confident for his next. Inside, I was a bundle of nerves, this might as well have been my first.
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A FEW DAYS after running the Toronto marathon a year ago, my mother passed away. I wrote this post in the first lonely hours after getting a call from my brother -- before I headed home to plan our final goodbye.
Running, and writing about running, helped in a way to shield me from the pain but also embrace it. It helped me deal with it and bury the loss. Any bottled up grief could be expended with a short burst of strides. I wrote at the end of that post.
After getting my medal, my 21st marathon, I knew it was the most important one i’ve done. It was for myself but somehow for her. I cried while walking past the post-finish line area, eyes shaded by sunglasses, tears covered by sweat and the bill of my running cap. I thought about how I’d lost the mom others have had for a very long time. I couldn’t share my greatest accomplishments -- work achievements, qualifying for Boston, forging that adult relationship with my parent. I thought about the marathon and how it draws out supporters for runners and how she’d never seen me run.
Later that day, I wore my marathon shirt and went to the hospital, helped feed mom dinner. My legs were burning, my body exhausted. Her right hand was as strong as ever, gripping my hand, her thumb stroking my finger. Four days later, she was gone.
A week after she died, I found myself in Washington, DC, toeing the line of my sixth Marine Corps Marathon. I ran it with all my heart, hurting, but not broken, to a 3:52 finish, my second slowest marathon a few weeks after my slowest. As I accepted my medal from a Marine, among the many thoughts was, "I can get some strength from this." Another was, "what now?"
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CHICAGO - So what got me to this point?
