Chicago Marathon 2006

I wanted to consolidate my blogs a bit. I had posted a bunch of these elsewhere and thought this quiet time would be a good time to retrieve these posts. I wrote this one after I ran the Chicago Marathon in 2006. I'll probably be redeploying early next year, which may come too soon or not soon enough depending on what day you talk to me...

Saturday morning came a lot faster than I expected. It was starting to hit me that in two days I would be doing something that few people can say they've done in their lives, run a marathon. The excitement was building, 18 weeks of training for one day of glory. I had two things on my mind don't walk and finish strong. Our flight that morning was around 11 AM, to arrive in Chicago at around noon. I got the call that morning from my friend who'd I'd been training with and who got me into this mess. He said he'd be at my place around 930 and we'd head for Waffle House for breakfast, the food for marathon champions…

Even at Waffle House there were reminders of the hell we'd be putting ourselves through. A couple eating with their daughter, the dad wearing a Spirit of Saint Louis Marathon shirt and looking like a runner, the daughter, who I thought I recognized from one of the many races I've done in the past few years. We ate our breakfast and headed for the airport. The excitement continued to build. It was a great feeling, a huge accomplishment, but the doubt was still there.

Did I train enough, I hadn't run at all that week, I'd been a little down and hadn't really moved at all. Maybe that was a good thing though, allow my legs a rest.

Maybe it was a bad thing, my legs may have weakened in the time I hadn't done anything but drink and eat poorly. It wasn't far from destroying all the preparation that I've done running up to this event. But I signed up, I paid, I was going and I was running as strong as I could possibly run. I wasn't going to be beaten by myself.

At the airport were more reminders. The guy in the security line with a pair of Brooks tired to his backpack, the girl with her 2005 Chicago Marathon jacket on. The group of guys with their Boston Marathon jackets, the loner with the Marine Corps Marathon shirt on. The powers that be weren't going to allow us to forget what was going to happen tomorrow.

The plane ride was uneventful, one hour of extra sleep that I had missed the week before. Still probably about 9 hours of sleep behind… I'd never been to Chicago, other than wandering through Midway during a lay over, so this was a cool experience. We got off the plane and headed for the L. In line for tickets were at least 50 people, most with running shoes, running jackets and looking all kinds of runner. Amazing, this many people who knew what we'd gone through to get here.
The L took us downtown and we got off, far, far away from where we wanted to be.

After a slight detour and some wrong directional walking we agreed to get a cab. Oh boy a cab ride, my first cab ride in Chicago. I was excited. The cab took us to McCormick Place, where the expo center and packet pickup were. We knew instantly that we were in the right place. No where else in the city did we see people, then around the corner a line of cabs and a mass of people. It looked like the hour prior to a Cardinals game at Busch Stadium.

We walked in to see thousands of people walking through the building, signs led us up to the area where we could get our packets and activate our chips. We jumped in line and got our numbers and chips, met up behind chip activation and headed towards the rear of the expo center to get our goody bag. So many runners, so many companies represented. Shoes, nutrition, clothing, international marathons, national marathons, everything you could imagine was there. It was similar to the facilities for the Spirit of Saint Louis marathon, but on a grander scale.

I'd never imagined seeing this many people in one place, so many people with different backgrounds, different languages, different reasons for being at this race. Some for the love of running, some for a loved one, some just out to run with a spouse, friend or relative.

We got our packets and wandered around for a short period of time, snapped a picture of ourselves in from of the count down timer. 17 hours 44 minutes 55 seconds before race time. We jumped back into another cab and headed for the hotel. We dropped off our stuff and went to lunch, an Italian beef sandwich, French fries and a cup of water. Good thing for that water or else that meal would have been completely bad for me. The grease soaked through the two sheets of wax paper that wrapped up the sandwich. Come to think of it, it soaked through the paper bag it came in. But there was something settling about eating that sandwich, it sort of calmed the nerves.

We finished up with that and headed out to town. My friend showed me around Chicago for a bit, went to Millennium Park and tried to go to the Chicago Institute for Art but it was closing. We decided to go to the ESPN Zone to watch the Cardinals Game. I wasn't going to miss that for anything. To bad we lost. We finished the game and went back to the hotel to get some sleep prior to race time. We did all our prep work, organizing everything, making sure nothing was forgotten and tried to sleep. The adrenaline was still pumping through me, the excitement still running through my mind. I sent one last text message and slept the best I could.

Sunday morning, the day that would be a life changing experience. I tried to take a picture of myself that morning but the light on my camera was too bright, I had to do it with my eyes closed. I debated on taking a shower and decided to because its better to start clean and end up dirty than to start dirty and end up dirtier.

After showering and gathering our things we hit the street. We hailed a cab a block down and it drove us as close as it could before the roads started being closed around the start line. There was a sea of people, what looked like hundreds of thousands, quite possible since there were 40,000 participants and each with an average of 2-3 people with them. It's been a while since I've seen that many people in one spot for the same purpose.

We met up with some friends from Boeing and talked for a while. I ran over to gear check and dropped off my bag before the start. As soon as I got back to the group it was time to break and head for the start. We ran up to where our pace groups were, conveniently behind a fence… We shook hands and split. My friend headed for the 5:30 hour group and I headed for the 4:30 hour group, jumped the fence and I was there. It was like all those videos you see from the Boston Marathon, just a sea of people all facing the same way, waiting for the horn to sound.

Not long after getting to the start line the gun went off. No movement. Clothes started flying, shirts, jackets, pants, plastic bags, ponchos and anything else of excess that wouldn't be needed throughout the race was shed at the start. When in Rome, I thought, so I tossed my long sleeve shirt, thinking it wouldn't be long before we started moving. After doing that I looked up a realized that the start was still a mile away. I was freezing, and I was probably an hour away from running. The wind was brutal, but hey what the hell I'm running the Chicago Marathon!

About 15 minutes after the gun sounded we crossed the start line. The 4:30 group took off, slowly, very slowly, slower than I expected. I told myself that I had to pace them so I wouldn't burn out before the end. It's a marathon, not a sprint. But running at this speed was making me more tired than I would have been if I had gone full speed ahead. After about 5 or 6 miles I removed my pace team number and took off. My heart rate was solid, I was still breathing through my nose, no problems, not even an ounce of pain. Well, 7 down 19 more to go, we'll see how long I can keep his up for.

I kept passing people and ended up seeing some 4 hour people and some 3:55 people. Could they have been just those who miss estimated their times or were they legitimately running that pace? I didn't know, I didn't care, I was running with some fast people. The miles just melted away. The whole route was lined with thousands of people, all cheering. They didn't' care who you were, what you were, they cheered for you. The feeling was amazing, the energy was powerful and it kept me going strong. Again the feeling was unreal, like a dream.

More miles flew by as the people did and as the neighborhoods did. Mile 9, mile 10, mile 11, mile 12, then over the hill I could see the half marathon mark, 2:07 hours. As I ran through I thought, wow, the first place finisher is running through the finish right about now, I'm half way there. Run strong, everyone is watching, there are people at home thinking about you, your brother is tracking your progress. I took my first Gatorade stop just after the half marathon mark. Grab, crimp and slurp, no walking.

More miles, more towns, more cheering people flew by. Little Italy, Spanish Town, Boys Town, China Town, didn't matter, they all cheered, they all encouraged. People lined the bridges, the streets, even the tunnels. I was starting to realize that they didn't care how fast you were running, they cared that you were out there, that you were doing it. I was doing it. I was running my first marathon.

I ran by someone with a sign on their back saying "I beat my brain tumor". Others with shirts saying "I'm running for my brother", "I'm running for the kids", Team in Training ran for Leukemia, everyone had a reason ranging from the love of running to the defeat of cancer.

Mile 18 was time for some Power Gel. Missed the first guy, missed the second guy, finally grabbed one from the third, cappuccino with caffeine, perfect! Rip and squeeze into mouth. Simple instructions were necessary at this point. Oh, more Power gel, grab another. Rip and squeeze, okay one more for the road, any more would slow me down. Gatorade to wash it down, grab, crimp and slurp, keep running. No stopping, no pain, no fear, no thinking.

Mile 20, the wall… there was a wall in fact, it was the wall from Pink Floyd. But where was the glycogen depletion? Where was that pain, that muscle grinding I was told about? Where was the sudden stop? No more questions keep going.

Mile 21, the Final Five, oh my god I have five more miles to go. I couldn't believe it, I had five more miles to go, 18 weeks of training down to less than an hour of running. Still no wall, no pain, no stopping for me, others all around were walking giving me more incentive to keep going.

Mile 22, completely missed the marker.

Mile 23, just a 5K left, just thirty more minutes. Don't quit now, you're so close, don't stop, do it for yourself, do it for everyone watching, just do it. No pain.

Mile 24, what's that? My calf is a tightening up. Quit thinking about it, just run.

Mile 25, I could see the city, could feel the end, could hear the crowds, the excitement, the energy.

800 Meters to go, sprint, go sprint, go, go go

400 Meters, you can do this in less than a minute, dead sprint, no pain! The crowds thickened, the cheering volume increased. What a feeling, what a great feeling! Everyone screaming, bells clanging, different languages, different people, different voices fueling. Everyone was sprinting, even the walkers. Everyone was reenergized. I hadn't ever ran like that after running so far, I didn't think I'd have the energy to go full stride, full cadence, I poured all my heart into that last 400 meters. Well all the heart I had left over after the first 26 miles. I ran through at 4:30 hour gun time, that's 4:15 chip time. I felt great! I couldn't help but smile like a kid at Christmas. It was amazing, more than words can describe.

I've likened it to a drug, now I want more, I want that feeling again. So I've already signed up for another half in November, and I'm going to sign up for the Birmingham Mercedes Marathon in Alabama. There is a possibility that I may sign up for the Vienna Marathon next April or run the Spirit of Saint Louis Full Marathon, I have the itch, I think I have a problem.

Welcome Home

The interaction that has stuck in my mind the most occurred when I was arriving in Chicago after my flight in from London. I was going across the border at O’Hare with my passport and declaration form in hand. I stepped to the counter and the agent took both from me and started his examination.

“Afghanistan? Are you in the military?” he asked.

“No, I’m a civilian contractor supporting the military.”

“Welcome home…”

I’ve been out of the country quite a few times now. From spending 20 days in Korea to 3 weeks in Europe, but no one has ever said welcome home to me when I came back. In all the transaction lasted less than 60 seconds but it stands as one of the most moving experiences I’ve had.

It’s been about a week since I stepped back onto US soil but those 60 seconds still resonate in my mind. The feeling is something akin to someone telling you that they love you and knowing that they really mean it. It sends a strange warmness through you, especially when it comes from a complete stranger. I feel like someone outside your circle actually does care.

I’m sure the chemical reaction that occurs in your brain when something like that happens really is like a drug. Suddenly there is this surge of dopamine that fills your brain with good feelings, minus that needles and physical addiction part of it. The closest comparison I can think of is the feeling of finishing a marathon.

It’s that rush you get when you see the finish line, hundreds of cheering people line the path to the end and suddenly there is this resurgence of energy where you’re able to push passed the pain. It’s the reason why I continue to run marathons, for that last 100 yards and it’s the reason why I want to go back out, for that welcome home.

11 Hours and Counting

It was 7 days ago that I left my site in Helmand, Afghanistan, 3 days ago I left our main hub to the north and 1 day since I left Kandahar. In the past week I’ve changed from day shift, to night shift, back to days and now I’m not sure when I should be sleeping or awake. My circadian rhythm is messed up like an MC Escher piece.

I’m in the executive lounge at London Heathrow waiting for my next flight with 20% battery left on my laptop and no means of charging it since my charger is in my checked luggage. At one point all I was carrying was my laptop, but I got tired so I bought some stuff so I could put the computer in the bag. And that’s how my little nephew became the new owner of a stuffed camel from Dubai.

I can’t say that it’s hard leaving this time around. You don’t really realize how nice it is not to be surrounded by rifles and camouflage until you’re not surrounded by rifles and camouflage. Now when I look around all I see are people living their happy little lives, taking for granted how fortunate they really are not to have real problems to deal with.

Yet, I still can’t help but smile when I catch a whiff civilization. The porta-potty stink is replaced with air fresheners, the body odor is replaced with deodorant. I just hope I’m not carrying any of that Afghan funk with me, however that would explain why everyone is looking at me all funny, although it could also be my bloodshot eyes or my messed up hair that hasn’t been cut in close to 3 months.

But I keep a sense of pride given the fact that I just walked out of the newspaper headlines. Not that they were about me, but they are about the places I’ve been. In the waning days of my deployment I started meeting some of the Marine Corps grunts that we’d been supporting, the guys on the ground actually taking the fight to the enemy. These were the guys whose friends were in the obituaries back home. They’re the ones who saw those newspaper photos first hand.

I got to talk to them about us watching them from the sky and they told me about what they saw on the ground… Battery warning, I’ll have to continue this later…

And I’m back… I’m at Chicago O’Hare, about 10 hours since I left off, waiting for my flight back to Saint Louis. I got impatient waiting for my laptop to charge so I pulled it at 33%. We’ll see if I can finish up this time…

They were as excited to meet me as I was to meet them. It’s like finding a pen pal and finally meeting them after months of writing. I could finally put a face to the little figures I watched from 3,000 ft up. I heard stories put to the videos I saw and they got to hear about what we were seeing from way up high. It was a great experience and kind of serendipitous given that I saw them while I was on my way out.
So here I sit, at my gate, the only thing holding me from my own comfy dust-free bed is an airplane ride and a baggage carrousel stop. My 90 lbs backpack is probably snaking its way through a series of conveyor belts as I type and my plane is probably rolling down some taxiway. The only care in my world is whether or not I’m going to go back for more…

Tough to Let Go

Its 11:10 PM here right now, I’ve been brought back to the hub in preparation for my end of tour. Even though there are only 7 more days left before I’m getting off the plane in Saint Louis, I’m still having trouble letting go of the site I created.

I told my theater lead and my manager that Big D was my baby, and I wasn’t lying. Yes, I’m excited to go home but I put a lot of work in that site. A lot of labor, thought and planning went into making it what it is now.

Starting with the foundation that our predecessors created, we shifted a lot of things around that weren’t optimally placed. We rebuilt the maintenance pad. We installed new solar netting to keep that pad shaded from the sun. We got 2 new containers placed for both morale and operations. All those things amongst the little things we did to make the environment better to work in and live in.

I went through multiple iterations of layouts, multiple ideas for what would be best and wrote plans for attacking each advance. I relied on my personnel to know what to do and relied on luck to have everything work out the way they needed to. Fortunately, everything worked out and despite some hang ups, everything usually went smoothly.

Now that I’m on my way out, I find myself wanting to make sure that the site has continued success. Back at the hub I find myself looking for things that we need down there and working on getting those things sent down. More aircraft, more equipment, more tools are just a few of the things. Its sort of like how a parent hopes that their children live better lives than they did, I want my predecessors to have an easier time than I did.

I had my run-ins with outsiders, even once being threatened with being kicked off the site by someone who had that authority. (I came to find out that he actually requested that I be removed but that’s another long story) Despite that I’m still vested in the success of that site. Even though I’m gone, I’m still accountable for the success of that site. I’ve realized that this is a recurrence in a lot of things I’m put in charge of.

The last system I was put in charge of, I felt the same way. My manager was worried that once I left things were going to go wrong, I had other plans. I made sure that everything I started, I finished. I made sure that everything I could do at the time was done before I left and ultimately they found that there was nothing left to do. I felt accountable for its success, even though I was leaving.

So here I am sitting on my last 7 days, doing everything I can to make sure that that site is successful in my absence. I’ve given my child all the elements for success, sent it through school and now it’s time to give it one last push before it has to take on the world without me.