He woke up with another erection and looked at his phone. Five AM. Not so much earlier than his normal wakeup times to get his training runs in before work. He had two hours before the marathon and he would stick to his morning routine.
He used the washroom and scarfed down his traditional pre-marathon peanut butter sandwich, making sure to drink plenty of water to start his hydration process. He had laid out his clothes the night before, attaching his race bib, which had his name, number and an electronic timing chip, to the front of his shirt.
All he had to do is get dressed, walk about a mile to the starting line from his hotel, get into the corral with probably a couple of thousand other people and wait for the race to begin.
He filled his water bottle, got dressed, used the washroom one more time (to avoid an extra use of the port-a-potty at the race site). He put on his shoes and exited his room, and then the hotel.
He could feel the energy in the crowd building as he approached. This is what it was all about. All the pain, the suffering, the early morning wake up calls. This feeling of excitement, like something big was about to happen, this is what he lived for.
It was a bit unusual with all of the masked runners in the corral. People were loosening up, stretching, fighting the cold as they waited in the gated area for the race to start. While the energy was palpable, the wait, particularly in the chilly, October Chicago morning, was tedious and cold. In past races, with temperatures hovering around the freezing mark before the start, his feet had felt like ice blocks by the time things got started. This wasn't quite as bad... yet. He tried to engage with other runners. Some were happy to chat and others were already in the zone, focused on their own race plans or just trying to deal with nerves.
Rick was more of a chatterbox in these situations and he got to know some of the other runners in the corral. Several were from Chicago but others had come a long way to be there. There was always a lot of camaraderie among runners in the corral. But he knew that once they got to the start line, it was everyone for themself.
The faster runners started at 7am and the next wave pushed up. Rick found himself slowly moving toward the start line. He double checked his equipment. His water bottle was full and his shoes were tied. Due to the cold, he was wearing a sweatshirt that he could remove and discard at the side of the road when he warmed up. His gloves were on and his watch was ready to start tracking his distance, time and heart rate with just the touch of a button. His wireless headphones were in and all he had to do to start his playlist was to touch the button. Not much to do but keep moving around to stay warm.
The next corral went and he could feel himself reach another level of excitement. They waited several more minutes, allowing the runners ahead to spread out more. The next wave went and now it was his turn. He was in the middle of the group that had its leading edge at the start line. The horn went and the leaders of the wave began to run. Where he was, it started as a walk towards the timing mat that would read the chip in his bib. He crossed the mat at a walking pace and he started to increase pace to a slow shuffle.
Now was the time when he had to focus on reining in his excitement and pumping heart. "Easy now," he told himself. He held himself back, knowing that his first mile needed to be slower than he thought he could go. He wasn't a fast runner, running in the back of the pack, and so in order to really have enough gas for the full 26.2 miles, he would need to marshal his energy in the early going.
He ran. The miles slowly passed and he felt good after five miles. He kept his pace conservative and after 10 miles, he was still feeling good, increasing his pace slightly. At the half marathon mark, he was starting to feel the fatigue and maybe a little twinge in his hamstring, but on the whole, the real pain was yet to register.
He continued to do little check-ins ever so often. At 16 miles, he knew that the hurt was coming but he still had gas left in the tank. At 20 miles, where many people hit "the wall," he was still going but was afraid of the cramps that he could feel he was on the verge of. He had even picked up the pace a little, turning himself into the level of pain that he was starting to experience. Just at short little 10k, he told himself as the negative thoughts started to reveal themselves.
22 miles and he was starting to walk more but he knew that with just four more miles, he could handle anything that the marathon could dish out. He started to count down, rather than up. 3 miles to go. "Well, that's just a 5k... not even," he told himself.
He could feel his legs starting to slow and shuffle rather than run with two miles left. "Can't stop now," he told himself. "So close." He thought of Jenny many times throughout the race, but now he was keying in to her image. His mantra became "I'm running to you." Jenny. His love. She had said that she'd be at the finish line when he crossed.
He passed the 25-mile marker, slowed to a walk, and pulled out his phone. He texted Jenny to let her know where he was and saw several encouraging texts from her. "You can do it, Rick!" was the first one. "Just saw you passed the halfway mark! It's all downhill from here!" was the next. "I'm so proud of you, Rick!" was the third. Those messages filled his heart and strengthened his resolve. He finished off his message to Jenny and put his phone back into his pocket. He dug deep and found that running to her was not as taxing as he had thought before. He slowly went from a walk to a slow trot, speeding up incrementally as he covered the last mile.
