Chicago Marathon Snippets

Around Mile 7, a race volunteer waved a red flag. Having just seen one at Disneyland, I recognized the flag as a heat warning. However, since I'd already run seven miles through Sauna City, I felt the warning was moot.

Incidentally, that Disneyland post needs updating. Chicago is now the hottest race I've ever run.

When water cups were available, they were often half-empty. (In this matter, I'm a pessimist.) As the race wore on, Gatorade was served piping hot.

There was a single sponge station somewhere in the 20-mile range.

A bank around Jackson Street showed the temperature at 90 degrees.

As mentioned below, confusion spread after the "race closed" announcement. Cops, firemen and race officials yelled, "walk." Months of training hollered, "run if you can." I believe the term for that is cognitive dissonance.

Rumors spread that the timing mats were turned off.

One race offical yelled that running to the finish line still wouldn't get you a medal.

Chicago hopes to host the 2016 Summer Olympics.

When I left for LA on Tuesday morning, the temperature was 58 degrees.

(Photo credit: MSNBC.)

Sweat Home Chicago

Marathon number three continued my tradition of only running marathons with temperature extremes. At dawn it was an overcast, humid 75 degrees and climbing. My niece dropped me off near the lake-front start line around 7:00 AM. I checked my gear, loosened up with T'ai Chi, then stood in a tightly-packed brick of humanity waiting for the 8:00 gun. As the overcast dissolved into popcorn-shaped clouds, the sun rose above Lake Michigan. It felt like a furnace door opening.

Because of crowd size, it took me 20 minutes to cross the mat.

Interesting Stat:

The Chicago Marathon sold out all 45,000 spots back in April.

But only 35,867 passed the start line Sunday morning. That means 9,133 people figured out it was too stinking hot to run.

Lots of TNT runners from Illinois, Iowa, Kansas, New York City and even Louisiana.

The field was so packed it was tough to interval. Those who intervaled clashed with those who viewed the far right of the course as a passing lane. My goal was a 4 hour and 40 minute marathon. I aimed to interval four minutes running/ and one walking up to the half-marathon mark, then see how I felt.

Leaving Grant Park, the course turned onto LaSalle Street just past Mile 2 and headed north. No water at the first stop — they'd run out. There was a mob around the folding tables, shaking gallon water jugs to get the last drops. The surrounding street was littered with flattened Gatorade and Hinkley water cups from the preceding runners. (Wet, flat plastic cups are like ice. You had to watch your footing.) People were highly pissed — especially those without water belts. (I'd brought mine.) One runner had a bottle of Gatorade. He took a sip, passed it back to me. I took a sip and passed it on to another runner. This no-water business boded ill.

Running for several miles on LaSalle, you'd get an occasional breeze through the tall buildings. I'd take off my visor and savor the cool air. Then out into Lincoln Park where the water stations remained a problem. Runners were surging across the street to the first one they saw. Sometimes there was only Gatorade. Other times, volunteers couldn't keep up with demand and runners served themsevles. Whenever possible, I grabbed two cups, drinking one and dumping the other over my head. (In today's Chicago Tribune, the race director blamed runners for the water shortages, citing those who took two cups.)

Around mile eight, I saw an old white-haired runner drift off course and ask a spectator if he could sit in his lawn chair. (The guy helped him down.) By now, sirens whooped all over the city as ambulances rushed the first heat casualties to the hospital.

The heat was getting to me. For the moment, I slowed but kept the same interval. But as we turned west onto Adams, the shade disappeared. No tall buildings, no leafy tree-lined streets with brick apartments. I passed a medical tent and it was full: runners on cots and others holding ice bags to their heads. Past the half-way point, I started tossing out goals like a passenger on a sinking boat dumping freight. Dropping to a 3:1 run/walk, I slowed pace even more. After frying my brain in Honolulu two years ago, I listened to my body and if it said walk more, I did.

We doubled-back east on Jackson and finally found a little shade. Turning south on Halsted to mile 17, I was mostly walking. I'd pick a point and run to it, or run half a mile, or choose a runner going about my speed and tag along. I took another salt tablet, but skipped goo as it made me retch.

Somewhere around mile 18, the cops bull-horned that the race had been cancelled. No finishing times would be official. Please walk. There was a great deal of confusion. By now, the city had opened up fire hydrants and fire trucks stood at certain intersections hosing down the crowd. (Not to mention ordinary Chicago citizens with garden hoses doing the same.) Finally, in the Mexican neighborhood of Pilsen, around mile 19 it sunk into the vast majority of runners that the 2007 Chicago Marathon was toast — just like them. Some runners dropped out at the nearest medical tent where they'd be bussed back to the start line. Some ran on. A nasty rumor surfaced that we wouldn't get medals. This put me into a black mood.

Come what may, I was determined to finish. Because my legs hurt, I ran 1:1 off and on to around mile 22, then walked to mile 26. Along with many others, I ran the final .02 because there were cameras present. 24,933 runners crossed the finish line.

And they did give out medals.

I finished in 5 hours, 48 minutes and 23 seconds. Check the Comments of my previous post where Jeff Carroll has listed my unofficial splits.

One man died and over 300 were hospitalized for heat injuries.

The people lining the route were great. Many offered water or ice cubes, staying on to cheer in the heat long after the race was called.

As for the "other" race — the front end of the marathon where people actually had a chance to win — Kenyan Patrick Ivuti beat Moroccan Jaouad Gharib by .05 of a second. (2:11:11) The top woman's finisher, Ethiopian Berhane Adere edged Roumanian Adriana Pertea in the homstretch. Pertea thought she had the race knocked, and eased off, waving to the crowd as she neared the finish. Adere poured on the coal to catch and pass Pertea for the win. (2:33:49.)

Given my injuries since April, I couldn't think of a better race to cancel. But if I'd been a TNTer who'd fund-raised and trained for this moment, or a runner eager to pr, I'd be supremely miffed at Sunday's outcome. For over a week, I'd been tracking the temperature. I knew it would be hot and humid. Hence, the race organizers did also. I find it hard to believe they couldn't increase the amount of water stations, change the start time to earlier, or better prepare for the heat onslaught they knew was coming. The Honolulu Marathon faces these conditions every year. No one could pick up a phone?

In any case: mission accomplished. After 30 years, I finally finished the Chicago Marathon.

Thanks to Ryan, Raul, Jeff and K for the emails. I'm walking around fine after sleeping eleven hours last night.

As for now, I'm not looking at any marathons before next fall in Pasadena. But don't tell anyone I'm entering.

They'll kick me out to avoid extreme weather.

(All photos courtesy of the Chicago Tribune.)

Chicago Marathon Bound

I am excited after all. I leave early this morning for Chicago. Thirty years have passed and I'm finally going to complete the Chicago Marathon. Yes, I won't PR. Yes, it will be hot and humid. Yes, I have a minor injury in my right glute. But I'm gonna have a great old time on a nice, flat course with lots of cheering people.

My cousin Mary Ann is putting me up for two nights. Then it's off to a motel for race prep and recovery, then one more day visiting sundry friends and relatives.

I'll try and post after the race.

See ya!

Something to Ponder

So here I am over at the Disney Channel, looking for work. They have monitors in the wating area running Disney programs. Suddenly, a shocking, familiar sight: Pinky and the Brain! It seems Disney's Jetix channel leased a block of the old Warner Bros. animation library. Returning to TV this Sunday will be Batman, Superman, and, on Monday, Pinky and the Brain.

An episode I wrote, "Brainania," airs Friday evening, Oct. 5. (Check your local listings, as they say. ) P&B attempt to take over the world using the power of static cling, generated by a colossal clothes dryer. "Brainania" was part of the WB's short-lived, P&B prime-time show, produced by Peter Hastings and Rusty Mills. Our indefatigable mice were slotted head-to-head with 60 Minutes, a Sunday-night ratings monster in 1995.

And that was that.

But 12 years later, 60 Minutes ails, the WB has perished and Pinky and the Brain live on.

Or, as the Brain might say, "HA!" (He always played a long game.)


P&B airs on Disney's Jetix, beginning Oct. 1. Check out episodes and show times here.

Fat Bat in the Great Northwest

Gliding through the night, we see a plump bat. My sister sent me this photo, so it could be Washington state. Wherever it is, they sure have chubby bats.

Rain

Lots of it last night. With the Rose Bowl closed to the running public for a football game, Ernesto and I met at a park near JPL. The trails were strewn with run-off rocks and deep puddles; soil loose and damp; temperature lingering around 58. Despite more rain and wet shoes, it was great running weather.

My hip is still sore from Thursday. (I did my long run then — 13.3 miles.) Absolutely wasted; no drive; I've already peaked for Chicago. Injuries and illness have taken their toll. My goal now is to finish, hopefully under five hours. March was too early to begin training for an October event. Unlike last January when Phoenix couldn't come soon enough, I simply want this marathon to be over.

Working on the first five chapters of Dummy Fever. Frequent outlining develops the habit of telling instead of showing the action. I'm having to redevelop certain writing muscles.

Selling fever continues in a lower key. For bigger items such as DVDs, I'm checking out asking prices on eBay and craig's list. It'll give me an idea on how to price things.

Lots of change everywhere, especially under the sofa cushions.

DVDs Away!

Away, away, Casino, away Apocalypse Now, away to the web resale house! This selling of things is contagious. I've barely scratched the surface on markets for my books, CDs, and VHS tapes. Plus there's costly electronic equipment to unload. Away, away with it all!

Cold Call

On a beautiful day for running, I set out to log 21.6 miles. Alas, I dropped out at 15. I've been fighting a cold all week and halfway up to the Elmer Smith Bridge felt woozy, ready to pass out. (Of course, having my nostrils clogged didn't help.) This would've been my last big mileage before the marathon. Maybe if I rest up and get over this bug, I'll squeeze in one more long run.

Talked to my agent re. Dummy Fever. She likes the outline and wants me to write up a few chapters. That shouldn't be too hard since the story's been marinating in my fine Irish head since May.

Selling Old Dreams

Yes, I've sold a book! In fact, I've sold four books: two on film lighting, one on fillmmaking, and one on defensive football. I also set up a consignment sale for a pair of Alesis MI Active Biamplified reference monitors — a fancy term for speakers used in sound editing. They're a leftover from the days when I had tons of money and thought I'd make my own digital films for a living. Ah, but the real gold lies in cyberspace — at least until I run out of possessions to sell.

Game Day

Runner parking scuttled at the Rose Bowl this AM in order to make room for tailgaters. And they were there, too, in their RVs at 7:00 AM for a 3:30 PM game. (UCLA vs. BYU.)

Ernesto hurt his calf muscle Thursday and rested. So I ran 16.2 miles. Wearing my Disneyland Half Marathon tee-shirt proved a real conversation starter. It seemed half the runners I met, including non-TNT chums, had been at the race Monday and had a story to tell about the stinking heat. I mentioned seeing runners sitting down on every available curb space because it was too hot to warm up. They looked like forlorn passengers waiting for a train in Bangkok.

Took an ice bath after today's run —fifteen minutes in a cold tub with several pounds of ice cubes rattling around. Climbing out, my legs felt like frozen drumsticks. But, ah, the blood does return, speeding up the healing.

Finally got my lap top back this week. The techs weren't 100% sure what was wrong. I told them to swap out the hard drive and transfer all the data. That worked just dandy and I can now survey my dwindling fiances with the flick of a button.

Happiest Race on Earth

At least that's what it said on my finisher's medal. And what a medal! But I'm getting ahead. The Disneyland Half Marathon was the second hottest race I've ever run. (2005 Honolulu Marathon was first, but not by much.) It was muggy at 4:30 AM and only got stickier as dawn approached.

A quick digression: I believe the afterlife may well be modeled after Disneyland. They certainly know how to move large numbers of people quickly and efficiently.

Back at the race, many runners entered the spirt of the event and wore mouse ears or Minnie Mouse outfits. A lone Japanese guy wore a hat with faux flowers growing out of the crown. During the race, many runners took the opportunity to stop and have photos taken with Alice in Wonderland, the Mad Hatter, and some giant thing from Monsters. (The one that was voiced by John Goodman.)

In any case, the temperature was high enough that the park issued a red flag warning. Interesting choice on Labor Day. Apparantly, communists would shoot runners who finished ahead of anyone in a lower economic class.

Red would be followed by the most extreme temperature warning — a black flag. Not only would it be blazing hot, but anarchists would hurl bombs into the crowd as well as assassinate selected elite runners. Once the race was destabilized, they could introduce autonomous trade unions and a runners' collective, using strikes to compel the race director to step down and allow the development of spontaneous running events without formal organization.

But that would also mean no big, fat finisher medals shaped like the Magic Kingdom.

Happy Labor Day!