Tina's experience: How a real woman runs 26.2

The following is my friend and mentor Tina's account of her experience running the marathon, which was her fourth. This was written in an e-mail, so it is addressed to me.

Tina, a 40-year-old mother of two, is the toughest cookie, the straightest of shooters and doesn't shrink from any challenge. In short, she's a badass. Reading her e-mail gave me chills -- it really captures her passion and her struggle. I thought it deserved to be shared.

... I also have intensely sore quads, most people do after a marathon. I actually felt them screaming in the last few miles, along with my blisters that had broken open at like mile 21. I lost a little toenail and am fairly certain I'm going to lose my big toenail, it's very tender and black right now...lovely, huh?!!

That was such an emotional experience, I need to write it all down so I don't forget it. I can honestly say, it was the hardest thing I've ever done in my life, even harder than childbirth!!

That marathon will go down in history as one of the hardest ever, and you completed it in a respectable time. I'm so incredibly proud of you!! I'm not upset at all about not doing the sub-4. To complete that entire course in those conditions is a feat in itself, regardless of the time!! I got as close as I was physically able and I know in my heart that's the truth, I gave it everything I had and I'm okay with that.

When did you & I part ways? Was it before or after 14 miles? I saw that our times were exactly the same all the way up to the halfway point and then at the 25k they started to differ, I was actually able to catch the 4hr. group again and I told myself I would run through a few aid stations to stay with them, but I couldn't, every time I approached an aid station, I needed to stop and drink and throw water on myself, I felt like it was the only way to keep my body temperature down.

I think it was around 18-19 miles when I realized my goal of a sub-4 wasn't going to happen, I knew I wouldn't be able to catch them again. I turned on my iPod at mile 20 and that helped -- I felt like I was barely hanging on, but the music helped keep me focused and I was just in my own little world at that point. I felt a tap on my shoulder just before mile 25, so I pulled out my headphones and this woman told me that I had been pacing her for miles because we had the same tops on, and she was just trying to focus on my pink top.

She asked how I was doing, and I told her I was hanging on by a thread. She gave me some of her ice, wished me luck and then pulled ahead of me. Maybe she was trying to return the favor, but I couldn't catch her for the life of me. Then I saw Kiho & the boys and he rode his bike alongside the course for most of the 25th mile screaming at me, but I barely had the energy to acknowledge them. I blew them a kiss and could barely manage that.

It took everything in me just to put one foot in front of the other that last mile. I kept my music off for that last mile but it was weird -- I was aware of the screaming crowd and Kiho but it was like I was in a tunnel and they sounded so far away. Kiho kept screaming that the turn was just up ahead, and I knew that it was just a short little hill, then a quick turn and dash to the finish line, but I swear, that little hill felt like Mt. Everest at the time. And that short dash to the finish line seemed like an eternity, even when I had the finish line in sight, I still didn't know if I was going to make it.

I never stopped to walk, but I'm not sure you could call what I was doing in that last mile running, it felt like more of a sloppy shuffle. When I finally crossed, I started swerving and could barely walk straight, it seemed like it took forever for me to get through that finish line chute. I was fighting back tears the whole time and when I finally saw my family I started sobbing, it just took so much out of me emotionally and physically.

I'm so proud that I finished the entire course, I think they said 10,000+ people didn't even attempt the race and over 11,000 didn't finish it. I'm so glad I didn't experience anyone telling me to stop running when they called off the race, I guess a lot of people were forced to stop running and diverted to different parts of the course and forced to walk to the finish, so there are a lot of people in the paper with finish times who didn't actually run the entire course.

I couldn't even imagine having a helicopter hovering low telling me to stop running. Carolyn experienced that along with my mom's husband's sister, who were more at the back of the pack. They said they were running out of water and gatorade also, which I never experienced where I was.

What a wild experience! So glad I can say I did it though, and I'm so glad we were able to run as far as we did together. I'm totally game for next year, and I agree, in cooler temps. We'll kill that sub-4 goal!!

4:24:58/ Run your way to delirium ... caution, long-ass blog!

I MADE IT!!!

This marathon was the hardest thing I've ever done in my life.

To backtrack a bit, I got the cortisone shot the Thursday before the race, as recommended by the doctor. It was nerve racking, because cortisone shots aren't always reliable -- sometimes they take effect in a few days, and sometimes in a week. I was lucky! The shot numbed the area of the worst pain. I still felt strain above and below the injection site, and I could tell my other leg still was working a bit harder. But thank goodness, the damn shot worked.

Thank goodness indeed, because if I'd had to endure that kind of pain on top of hellish heat, I don't know how I could have made it.

I wish I could more effectively describe what it was like. Myself, a novice at distance running, and some 34,000 of my brethren (not as novices, but as people with fairly extreme goals) on a pilgrimage to a finish line that seemed increasingly far away the more we ran.

In the first several miles, I could feel the three weeks during which I'd barely run while allowing my leg to heal. I also chalked up some of the increased difficulty to the 6-day course of prednisone I'd taken, also recommended by the doctor. The powerful lungs I'd spent all summer strengthening seemed a bit less absorbent of the air. Or maybe it was just the sudden density of the air after weeks of cool, dry air.

Regardless, in those first few miles, I couldn't stop saying how glad I was to be there, just to be running again, and how amazing it was to be part of the marathon. I felt so much joy, and I knew this was exactly where I wanted to be. What an amazing human experience. What wonderful, supportive spectators we were blessed to have. The Chicago Marathon is known for its incredible crowd support, and people were there in force with signs, cowbells, water bottles, garden hoses and much-needed bags of ice.

By mile six or so, I could feel myself fatiguing too much. Tina and I ran together with the 4:00 pace group, determined to finish in under 4 hours regardless of the heat. Tina used her Garmin GPS watch to help us keep pace as well, which told us we were slightly behind the nine-minute miles we needed to maintain. We darted around people and broke into the few-and-far-between open spaces, trying to find a comfortable spot to keep pace. This proved a major challenge, as many people ahead of us ran slower (one guy even stopped dead in his tracks right in front of us, nearly tripping us both).

Early on, the crowd support was incredible. It was actually incredible the whole way through, but the cheering and cowbell-banging was more welcome for me in the beginning than it was later on. More on that later.

I was taking my gels, Shot Bloks and drinking water on schedule. Despite the heat I knew was coming, I decided against taking my Camelbak. I knew the on-command water would have been amazingly helpful, but even a pound or two of added weight would have felt like a ton of bricks in that heat.

Tina even brought salt crystals, which probably saved me. I started taking them pretty early on, to help myself hold water. Despite all my efforts, I felt like I just couldn't get enough water. I'd drank tons of water in the several days before the race, all night the night before, and all morning. But it just couldn't be enough. The burning sun, whether it was beating down on my forehead or reflecting off the pavement, leeched it right out of my skin and my lungs.

I could tell I was heading for trouble at about mile nine or ten, when getting gels out of my Amphipod (a storage belt -- not a fanny pack as Andrew insists!) started to feel like too much work. And dammit, I'd forgotten my chapstick! A little thing like that was extremely annoying as my lips began to burn halfway through the race.

I was lucky to see my friends and family at several points in the race, where we'd agreed to look for each other. It meant the world to me to see them cheering, huge smiles on their faces and tears in their eyes. As the miles accumulated, I needed to see those faces even more. I swore to myself I wouldn't let them see me struggle, I'd run strong as I passed them so they wouldn't worry. My parents came from different parts of the country to watch the marathon, and for the first time in 20 years, shared company to support me. It meant more than I could've imagined.

Sometime shortly after mile 13, I think, I told Tina I just couldn't keep up with her. I'd warned her a mile or two before that I was starting to feel nausea, and I felt my face flushed and hot from about mile six on. She encouraged me, knowing that the marathon itself could be overwhelming to a newbie like me, and tried to help me shift focus. Watch a shirt in front of you, she said. Be in the moment. In other words, don't let your fear sabotage you! She was right, because in running, psychology is everything.

Unfortunately, physiology played its role too, and that was when I decided I was going to have to slow down or not finish. Quitting was never an option. I'd started getting chills around mile 11 or thereabouts, which is a warning of dehydration.

At some point a bit after the halfway point, I told Tina, "I'm not going to be able to keep up with you ... I'm so sorry, but just go ahead of me." We'd promised to be each other's rabbits, and I felt really bad for letting us down. But I knew it was what I had to do to make it.

Tina was totally understanding. She asked, "Are you sure?" "Yes," I replied. "I'll be fine ... just kick ass!" or something along those lines.

I was relieved that she didn't let me slow her down, even though she did slow her pace a little in the mile or two before I dropped back.

After Tina and I separated, I was alone, but not alone. I was one among many who walked periodically, looking a little sullen, beaten up and soaked by sweat and cups of water, but pressing on. In walking, I gave in to the persistent, dull nausea that made my heart feel like it was beating its way toward my neck. I never threw up, but the nausea kept me company for a long time. Sucking down the gels and Shot Bloks, and even water, became more of a challenge. But I had to do it.

Like hundreds if not thousands of others, every water station came with two or three cups of water -- two to drink, and one to pour over my face, my arms and my neck. It was the sweetest relief, but so short lived. The sun seemed greedy for every drop of water I could drink. It may sound like a waste of water, to dump it over your head, but it was the only way to cool off.


Sometime after dropping back, I saw a very petite girl staggering drunkenly in front of me. She was wearing a "Mexico" shirt, and there were many in the race representing foreign countries. I assumed she was one of them. I put my arm around her shoulders to catch her and sit her down on the curb, and she was in a daze. I asked her in Spanish if she spoke English, and she didn't respond. Here eyes seemed to not focus.


Fortunately, there was a spectator next to us with a cell phone. She asked if she should call for help, and I said yes. I offered the spectator a Shot Blok with added sodium to give to the girl -- I would have given her water, but I was out.


I told the spectator I would send help from the next aid station, but as I ran ahead, there wasn't one anywhere close -- I must've ran a mile and a half without seeing one. I keep wondering what happened and I hope the girl was okay.


The aid stations seemed so far apart sometimes, and I had a hard time spotting the mile markers. I felt like I was running to nowhere. At some aid stations, there was Gatorade but no water, and the one cup of Gatorade I'd drank earlier made me feel sick. A little while after I dropped back from Tina, I was really starting to get desperate. It was a long stretch with no shade, and I was so hot. I stopped at a Team in Training tent, and even though I wasn't among those who ran for Team in Training to raise money for leukemia and lymphoma research, they were generous enough to give me a bottle of ice cold water. I savored it and tried to make it last, but I couldn't help pouring a little over my face.


Just past their station, I had one of my wierd panic-type attacks, which I've had now about four times while doing cardiovascular activities. I don't think it's any type of asthma -- I think it's a response to being physically overwhelmed and emotional at the same time. I stopped and bent down, hands on my knees, wheezing with the face of a fish out of water. It was loud and it was hard to catch my breath, but I did as Tina had told me once -- just take a deep breath through your nose, make yourself hold it in, and exhale. It worked, and I walked on.


A bit after that, I called Andrew on my cell phone, which fit in my Amphipod. I left him a voicemail, telling him that if he saw Tina without me, he shouldn't worry -- I couldn't keep up with her, and I promised to be smart and get help if I needed it. I told him I was walking here and there.

I held onto the water bottle, getting it filled at water stations, and also drinking from cups while I was there. I eventually lost the cap to the water bottle, so I ran for a while with my fingers over the top to keep the water from sloshing out. Eventually, when I only had a few miles to go, I tossed the bottle. Any reduction in work, even carrying an empty water bottle, was helpful. I even took my headphones and tossed those two, because I felt too sick to even listen to music.

I barely remember those last several miles. At the time, they felt like an eternity. The roads seemed less inviting and the city less charming. At the end of the race, there's a small hill, followed by a turn and then a jaunt to the finish. Even in the last couple of miles, I had to walk some of the time. I hated it, but I just didn't have it in me to push any harder.

The act of crossing the finish line was strangely anti-climactic. I was too exhausted to really relish the moment -- I was just grateful it was finally over! It makes me sad now to acknowledge that, but it makes me even hungrier for next year.

I staggered toward the side, accepting my medal (a treasure!). At the last few water stations and now at the end, I'd found my knees buckling readily when I tried to stand for a moment to fill up. I walked along a barricade, where there was a medical tent on the other side. I asked an official if I could go to the tent, but he said no, I had to walk further up and go around the fence. I looked straight at him and said a not-very-nice word to express my disgust.

I was utterly exhausted, somewhat delirious, thirsty and weak. I finally was able to sneak through the fence after the man walked away. The med tent offered instant relief in the form of ice and the best, coldest Gatorade I've ever had, and chairs. I sat down in a chair and watched and listened in my half-conscious state. Officials called out for EMT's that spoke French, EMT's that spoke Spanish. People were being moved in wheelchairs all around me, tended to by race officials and medical personnel. There wasn't much joy to be seen -- really none that I remember at that moment. No one was smiling.

I checked my phone, and found several text messages of support from clients and family. I called Andrew to tell him where I was, and I called Tina. Tina was in about the same state -- we couldn't compare notes. We were going to try to meet, but I was having a hard time figuring out where she was. The crowd was thick and streets were still blocked.

Finally, I found Andrew and my family behind a fence across from where I was sitting. I spent a moment drinking Gatorade and getting myself psyched to stand and walk over there. On unsteady legs, I made my way, and as I spotted them behind the fence, I started to sob a little. It was then that I remembered what this all meant to me, and what a gift it was to me that they were all standing there.

My parents, who have been divorced since I was about three and whom I rarely see, Andrew and his parents, his little brother, my brother and my sister-in-law. My mom, who was never totally supportive of my running because "I worry about your knees," was sobbing. "I saw you twice!," she cried. "I'm so proud of you!" I'd never seen her so affected by something I did. My dad stood off in the background with a soft smile on his face. Andrew's mom, always my cheerleader, had tears in her eyes and roses in her hands for me. Andrew's dad, always somewhat subdued, had a big grin on his face.

Andrew and I smiled back at each other through the fence, and I made my way there for a round of sweaty hugs and congrats.

.....................

Now, several days later, I keep getting flashbacks from the marathon. I have to laugh at myself ... it's not like I did the 135-mile Badwater Ultramarathon, through the desert, like some people do. This was a marathon, the type run by thousands and thousands of people every year. But it felt like a battle. Part of me feels disappointment when I look back and the essence of this event was suffering and struggle for so many people.

This, to some extent, overshadows the joy of making such an accomplishment, at least for me. I wasn't able to run the whole 26.2 miles, and I wasn't able to enjoy the spectators. As I mentioned before, the crowds were great -- but when you're dehydrated to the point of nausea, and trying to continue running with another 10 or so long, hot miles to go, the noise becomes hard to take. I'd decided to mostly stick to the sides of the street, in case I needed to walk or throw up. But that meant I'd get an earful of cowbell here, a row of extra-sprightly high school cheerleaders there, 120 decibels of mariachi ... I think those things contributed to the raw nerves I still feel days later.

Every now and then, I get a split-second flashback from the race. Pounding feet all around me accompanied by heavy breaths. Arms and legs barely propelling bodies heavy with fatigue. Encouraging yells and smiles from spectators who could observe our pain, but probably had no idea of it. Ugly stretches of open road made uglier by the harsh sunlight and the haze of nausea.

It left an imprint of emotion on the back of my brain, one which I think will always be there.

...just 6.2 to go!

Wow!

That's about all I can say about how great my 20-miler went this past Sunday. I ran with my friend Tina, and we made a great team. It's great to run with someone who is close to your pace, because you can push each other through the hard parts, or slow each other down when one of you pushes the pace too much.

I barely slept the night before, between the ominous rolling thunder and the flashes of lightning that lit up my room. Not to mention my cat's mandatory 3am cleaning extravaganza (and of course, this has to take place between my feet). I woke at 4:40, a few minutes before the alarm -- we'd planned an early run to beat the heat. Even though it was mercifully cooler, it was great to get such an early start!

About 9-10 miles into the run, we were caught in a deluge. But at that point, it really doesn't bother you too much -- you're already pretty sweaty, and running through it makes you feel all cool like Rocky anyway. As long as your shoes don't get too sloshy, you're good. Mine didn't. But at about 800 miles of wear (WAY too many!! Running shoes should be replaced every 300-400 ... bad trainer!), they started to feel like flip flops. I'm getting new shoes today, as a matter of fact.

No thanks to my gnarly shoes, my knees were begging for mercy by mile 17. It was at that point that I started to feel a little wiped, but with the end in sight, I felt motivated. I was thrilled to be able to pick up my speed in the last mile, and I finished with 3:01:47. YES!!! I was so excited that I didn't want to erase the time from my watch when I went for my run today.

What a confidence builder! Now I know that my dream of running the marathon in 4 hrs is within my reach, and I'm going to go for it. At this point, it's all mental -- don't get psyched out and run too fast in the beginning, or you'll pay dearly in the end.

I was helped greatly by something Tina brought along -- Clif Shot Bloks, which are little gummy blocks of sugar and electrolytes. They're even made with cane syrup, which is a much better sugar source than some of the other energy drinks/gels are made from. With a smaller dose of sugar, one block made for a perfect holdover between gels. I used two blocks and two gels, and I felt plenty energetic in the last few miles.

I'm actually looking forward to the next 20-miler now, and I'm even more psyched about the marathon! When I actually say to myself, "I'm going to run a marathon," it almost gives me chills. I've had this dream in the back of my mind since I was maybe 15, and it's going to be a reality. I'm so grateful!

Eat right to run

It may sound surprising, but I find it a little harder to stick to my stricter eating habits with all of this running! My appetite is through the roof, and though I do need to increase my intake of healthy carbohydrates and lean protein to sustain all the aerobic activity, there still has to be an "off" button! It's easy to justify eating sweets or fatty foods, but there's a lot to be said for keeping it clean.

I like to think of it as I would think of fueling a car -- a cleaner burning fuel is going to help the car run more efficiently. Same thing with the body. Sure, the refined sugars I eat will get burned when I run, just like the sugars from fruits and vegetables. But those refined sugars also come with negative effects, like insulin spikes that cause metabolic problems over time, while the healthy sugars come with antioxidants, trace minerals and fiber. Not to mention, a healthy diet rich in antioxidants and essential fatty acids can help combat the inevitable inflammation that comes with high impact activities.

Here's an article from the American Council on Exercise with runner-specific nutrition guidelines.

Read it HERE

The course!

Here's a link to check out the course of the 2007 LaSalle Bank Chicago Marathon.

View it HERE

It's all in your head

I'm surprised to find that the biggest issue I'm encountering these days isn't blisters, sore knees or shin splints. I've actually felt pretty good during my runs lately.

No, what's hampering me now is not physical. It's mental! Any runner will tell you that so much of the sport is psychological, and your mindset can make or break you. Lately I've been plagued by an anxiety that surprises me.

After a couple of difficult long runs, I find myself worrying about the second half of a long run during the first. It's hard to explain, but it's basically a fear that I won't make it. I know I will -- it's not like I'm going to stop (although I have had moments where I chose to stop and briefly walk, in response to humidity and dehydration-spiked exhaustion, which I don't like).

So I'm not sure what I'm afraid of. I guess I'm afraid of the pain that comes with a bad run. For me, a good run means minimal pain that does not cause me to slow down. A bad run means significant pain with every step, a tiredness that makes me drag, and slouching posture that exacerbates the whole situation.

When that pain sets in, all I can think about is getting through the rest of the run. So I try to shift my thinking toward positive thoughts, which actually does help. I just try to think about how grateful I am to be able to run, about the beautiful area we live in and about the feeling of freedom that running affords me. But when the thoughts go negative again, I just think, "... and I'm supposed to make it another X amount of miles to finish the marathon?"

I don't doubt for a second that I will finish the marathon. But I don't want it to be an experience I will remember suffering. I want to feel strong and confident until the very end.

This coming Sunday, I will run 17 miles, which will be my longest run to date. Send me your positive energy, and I'll keep focusing on those positive thoughts! And no singing!

Win some, lose some

Okay, I shouldn't say I lost anything. I did finish my 15-mile run today, and with a respectable pace. But it was very difficult in the last few miles, and this time, I felt pretty rough in the end.

Preparation is everything, and when it comes to long runs, hydration in the days before the run is huge. I felt like I drank plenty of water in the last few days, and consumed enough carbohydrates and sodium to stay hydrated for today's run. But I started to feel more fatigue than usual by about 5.5 miles into the run, and by about 11 miles into it, I was feeling some significant pain. My IT bands, feet and knees were killing me, and even though some pain is typical, this was worse than usual. The gel I took at nine miles into the run helped, but it didn't seem to help as much as the one I took last week.

Hmmmm. Well, let's be honest here. Maybe I pre-hydrated just fine. But this time, my boyfriend, Andrew, rode his bike alongside me for the whole run! How sweet, right? I was so happy to have his company, and to have him experience the long run by actually seeing me do it.

I also was happy to have his humor to keep me going. We even did a rendition of "Bohemian Rhapsody," and a couple other songs. Funny, right? Well, something tells me that lots of talking, laughing and singing probably wasn't in my best interest when it came to endurance. Let's just say that by mile 12, singing was the last thing on my mind.

When I finished the run, at 2 hours, 26 minutes, I felt totally exhausted and I was drenched in sweat. My supposedly sweat-wicking clothes were soaked, and I had started to get chills in the last couple miles. This has happened to me before -- it's a symptom of dehydration. It was very hard at that point to run with good form, and I felt like my feet were dragging. I felt like my head was kinda spinning after I finished, and I just wanted to chug water. I weighed myself before and after the run to get a better idea of just how much I had sweat -- I had lost about four pounds of water, not including the water I drank during the run and right after!

I can't help but get a little scared when I'm doing a run of 15 miles, and it just about kills me. In 10 weeks, I have to be able to run that distance, plus 11.2 more miles. When some long runs are good and some are so hard, it makes me wonder what I can expect on race day. All I can do is prepare as well as I know how, keep my fingers crossed, and stay optimistic!