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.
26 miles, just 0.2 miles to go. He kept fighting the fatigue and the pain, feeling like he was leaving behind his own, terrible marriage for something new and better that awaited him at the finish line. His feet hurt. His calves burned with each step and his quads had gone beyond cramping and were doing something else that he didn't really know how to describe. But he kept moving forward. Towards something else. Towards Jenny.
A tenth of a mile to go and people were cheering him on to the finish. Reading his name off his bib, he could hear people shouting, "You can do it, Rick! Almost there, Rick! Just one last push!" He turned the corner and he could see it in front of him. The archway with the last timing mat. He pushed himself with all of his energy and crossed. Tears welled up in his eyes as his emotional and physical being had been stretched to the limit. He didn't just feel as if he had finished something; he felt as if he'd arrived.
He slowed to a walk and kept moving. Stopping was the enemy right now and all major marathons knew that the runners had to keep moving. He received a shiny, mylar blanket that would help insulate him from the rapid drop in body temperature that followed such an exertion on a colder day. He grabbed a face mask that was at the finish line and masked up. He took a cup of sports drink from the table, partially removed his mask and drank it in one gulp, grabbing another as well as a bottle of water. Finally he reached the section where he'd receive his medal. He bent down as the volunteer placed it around his neck and he kept walking to pick up his food, his bag with some items that he had checked before the race, and to take a few selfies, showing off his medal against a backdrop with the race logo.
He checked his phone and Jenny had texted him that she'd meet him where he had met her the previous day. He worked his way out of the runner's only area and saw Jenny right where she said she'd be. He could feel his eyes well up again as he closed the distance, walking relatively slowly and gingerly. He looked into her eyes, her face covered by her mask. He brushed some of her hair off her face and hugged her. It was probably the longest, hardest hug he had given in his life but he just didn't want to let her go. "I love you, Jenny," he said. "I was running to you the whole time."
He could feel her start to choke up. "I love you too, Rick," she responded. She hadn't realized that until this weekend. She hadn't realized how much she needed him. She put her forehead on his and looked deeply into his eyes. "Let's get you out of those sweaty clothes," she said softly.
She took his hand and started walking with him towards his hotel. They walked in the front door and towards the elevator. Rick was getting congratulated by the hotel staff as his medal was attracting attention. He wasn't the first marathon finisher to return to the hotel that day and the hotel staff had gone out of their way to offer warm welcomes and warm cookies to returning runners.
Rick and Jenny went into the elevator and he barely had the strength to stay standing and so they leaned against each other. She never said a word about the smell that must have been coming off him. As the doors opened, they walked down the hallway and into the hotel room. They took off their masks and kissed tenderly. He removed his jacket, his shirt, his shorts and his underwear. All were soaked through with sweat and crusted with the salt that remained after the moisture had evaporated. His compression socks, however, were going to be an issue. He was having trouble leaning over and she helped him pull the tight, knee length socks off.
"Can you run me a bath?" he asked as he stood up and went to the bed to lie down for a bit. "Not hot. fairly cold actually," he requested. She went into the bathroom and started running the water into the tub. She returned and lay next to him on the bed, gently stroking his chest and kissing him. "Thank you," he whispered. They looked into each others' eyes for a few moments before she got up again to check the water. He heard her turn off the tap and call to him, "It's ready."
