In honor of tomorrow's
LA Marathon and the record temperatures slated to vex runners, I repost once more my account of a hot, humid marathon where the water stations ran dry and the course was closed. Let's hope such a doom does not befall the City of Angels. All the best to participants, especially the
San Gabriel Valley Marathon Team in Training. You guys are champions of a most noble variety.
First reposted October 8, 2013 as
Chicago Marathon 2007 where I said that six years earlier, I had run my third marathon in Chicago. Or, at least, I had attempted such a feat.
Here's my initial 2007 race report originally posted under the heading
Sweat Home Chicago.
All three entries are pretty much the same. Note: "TNT" stands for
Team in Training.
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.)
