Eventually I find Fleet Feet at Piper’s Alley, and tell the kid behind the desk of race bibs my name.
“Melissa?” he says and I nod.
“Does your last name begin with an “N”?
I nod because all of this is done alphabetically and I’m standing in the line where the “N’s” should be.
“What’s your last name again?”
“Nipper.”
He thumbs through the race bibs for a second time now and I’m getting nervous. I know I signed up for this.
“Nipple?”
For the love of God. No one has said that to me in a long time…not since elementary school.
I pretend I didn’t hear him and spell my last name. He still can’t find the race bib. Another guy comes over and asks my name. Four point five seconds later he’s handing over the blue and white bib with my number, corral letter and first name printed across it. I walk away to the next station where we are to pick up our t-shirts. Some pushy old lady is following behind me so closely I can practically smell what she had for lunch. I’m tempted to turn around and say something snarky but refrain. I try to take some deep breaths and acknowledge that my PMS related hormonal issues are no one else’s problem. Even if they are breathing on me. This is reason number 545 I shouldn’t really be doing this run. I’m already fatigued and full of my usual dose of monthly self loathing that I will only find fault with my efforts. Plus experience has taught me that my best races certainly don’t happen during this time, adding to the self loathing. Still, I don’t want some nasty, negative part of me telling me what I can and cannot do.
I leave Fleet Feet and walk back to the train. I look at my race bib and see I’m in corral “A”. (most races have a staggered start so everyone isn’t running all at once. They group corrals together based on estimated finish times) No. I stare at it. This isn’t happening. My mind races, looking for another letter that could possibly happen before “A”. Nope, “A” is first. Yup. Not only have I not trained well but I’ll be running with the fastest group. Awesome.
I don’t remember what I said my estimated finish time would be but I do remember annihilating my last race time, finishing half an hour faster than I had anticipated. When I signed up for this one I thought that I would be training harder and improving even more.
At home I shower, make dinner, and call to schedule a taxi to pick me up to take me to Millennium Park so I can catch a shuttle to the start line. I attach my race bib to a t-shirt, make sure I have cab money ready and my iPOD is charged. I set my alarm for 4:30 am and pass out.
At 5am, I’m dressed, fed, caffeinated and in a cab. The driver asks me how to get to Randolph and Michigan when I tell him that‘s where I‘m headed. I tell him I have no idea and think to myself, isn’t that what I’m paying you for? We get there and I get on a school bus with a whole bunch of runners and we head for Lake Shore Drive. The girl sitting next to me is holding her race bib and I see that her name is Michelle and she’s in corral “J”. My heart begins to race again and I feel sweat begin to dampen my reddened face. I’m being reminded again that I’m going to have to run like I stole something for a little bit until I can mix in with the other corrals.
The sun is rising over Lake Michigan. It’s stunning. The water glitters beneath it and everything is peaceful. I’m getting excited. I enjoy the ride, seeing things I haven’t before. I haven’t made it passed Soldier Field before so this is certainly interesting.
Once we arrive at the South Shore Cultural Center I meander looking around before finding a place to sit for a while and people watch. We’re awfully early. It’s just before 6am and the race doesn’t start until 7:13am. Runners of all shapes, sizes and ages are milling around. Some are stretching, some are jogging to warm up and some are taking pictures. I love the energy of a race day. Everyone seems happy and excited and I feel lucky to be a part of something. I also feel a little lonely. I prefer to run alone. I prefer to race alone so as to not worry about whether or not I’m “slow” or “fast” based on my running partner(s). I say this but I truly enjoyed running track in high school. Our long runs didn’t seem so long when we went as a group. I didn’t pay attention to much except for the conversation. My co-worker Lindsay has mentioned to me the benefits of running with a group and I’m currently thinking that maybe it’s not such a bad thing to at least attempt.
Not only am I watching people but I’m watching for their corral letters. I find several people with “A” on their bibs and I relax a little. Only a little. Most of them are men it seems. Tall men with long legs like giraffes.
Twenty or so minutes before the race begins we’re to line up in our corrals. We’re told that because of the rising temperatures that we’re advised to slow down. The sun is already up and bright. My belly begins to do weird things. After the Star Spangled Banner and a count down is completed, we’re off! Michael Jackson sings to me via my iPOD and I’m giddy. I go and go and go and finish mile one in 7:45. Whew! Mile two and three are also completed in under eight minutes each and that is when the decline starts. The weirdness happening in my belly increases. Sweat is pouring down my spine and my breathing is so labored that I don’t have a choice but to slow down. The next two miles are completed in nine and then ten minutes.
By the time I get to mile seven I feel a gigantic sense of relief that I made it to the halfway point after seriously considering turning around and going back. It’s completely ridiculous to be out here. The sun is burning my skin and the temperature is still climbing, and we’re all still running.
Mile eight and nine are sprinkled with more walking than running as I feel my legs getting heavy, and the soles of my feet begin to burn. My ass feels like it’s carrying giant bags of rocks at the moment and I want nothing more than to be done.
By the time I see both mile eleven and twelve I am walking entirely. A black flag has been called signaling that the race has ended due to the weather and the clocks have stopped. I run the last 1.1 miles and am grateful to not know how long it’s taken me to reach this point.
I bumble around a moment, drink some water, and stand in the shade stretching my calves feeling lost. I wish Jeff were here. I’m standing in a sea of tired runners and eventually make my way to the shuttle buses and climb aboard.
At Millennium Park, I get off the bus, still pouring seat and covered in a thin film of dirt. I had planned on taking the train and a bus home but decide that will take too long and get into a cab right outside of Intelligentsia. I think about Jeff and while knowing he has to work, I wonder if he’d be up for getting brunch with me. I’m staring out the window wishing I had my phone with me, when I see him crossing the street heading to work early. Out of all the people surrounding him. he is the only person I see.
Later I’m at Toast on Damen, completely ravenous, eating like it’s the last day of my life. Jeff has called twice but we keep missing each other. I turn over in my head how do I expect to run a full marathon when I didn’t bother to train for this half? Maybe I won’t. I decide that just because I run well doesn’t mean I have to race. Still, some nagging part of me won’t let go of the marathon idea and how fun that challenge will be. Another part pipes up and reminds me that I stand for a living and will destroy my joints. A cross-training part tells me there is always yoga, cycling, dancing etc…the ever optimist part says I can do anything, and the pessimistic part says to throw in the towel.
I decide that I don’t have to decide and call it a day.
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