Caroline Robertson reports
Chicago Marathon 🇺🇸 – grab a brew and buckle in. Apologies, I’m not very good at succinct reports and there was a lot to say!
I got a place in the ballot for the Chicago Marathon in 2023 for the 2024 race but as it fell just two weeks after the Berlin Marathon, which I already had a place in, I deferred the entry to this year. So it’s been a trip two years in the making. My other half David, who hates all things road running, also decided to reluctantly come along for the ride and got a place.
I ran a 3.55 in Berlin last year with the worst cold of my life plus a chest infection and sleep deprivation after our flight got cancelled. So I was hoping that with a good training block and luck on my side that a second attempt at international marathoning would be a little more successful.
The event starts early and with travel to the start and tight security to get through we had to be up at 4am. Having only done the 9 hour flight 24 hours earlier and then gone straight to the barrage of sensory trauma that is a major marathon expo from the airport – visualise merchandise check out staff whooping, cheering and waving cow bells every time they became available to serve, I don’t think this would quite catch on in Tesco – the timings of the pre race faff were tricky to navigate. I was in good spirits though, managed to stay calm, was stood on the start line feeling confident and trusted my training. David had gone with the ‘one and done’ approach and did just a single long run in advance. Even as a 3hr marathoner with a nasty cold thrown in, he was a little apprehensive about keeping up with my target pace.
Sadly, within the first 2 miles I knew it wasn’t going to be my day. My body was in fight mode already but I stayed quiet and focussed and tried to shake off how horrible I felt. The course was so congested and I was being elbowed, stood on, boxed in and finding it impossible to get any physical space to stretch out or mental space to work out how best to try and feel better. The congestion didn’t alleviate for the whole route.
By 10k I was working far too hard for so early on and the realisation was starting to hit that my goal time of 3.49 was unlikely to materialise. I went through half way in 1.55, still feeling rubbish but given that historically in marathons I tend to run better in the final third, I had a glimmer of hope that I could hang on. But with rising temperatures and having had every inch of my body screaming at me to stop since 5k, at 15 miles I gave in, found myself walking and felt the overwhelming wave of devastation that we’ve all experienced of letting go of a goal you’ve worked so hard for so long for.
I knew I had a quick decision to make. I could either continue to torture myself and finish miserable, mentally broken and likely injured or try and make the best of it. We’d left our two young kids, I’d moved mountains to get the time off work and owed it to all those who had enabled the trip to happen to salvage the race. With David suffering and feeling awful too and the weather getting hotter we decided that we would run conservatively, walk when we needed to and focus on soaking up the atmosphere.
Having got through the business district and stuck a middle finger up to trump tower, the next neighbourhood on the course was Pilsen. This is an area of town with a strong Mexican heritage and my goodness did they put on a show. I couldn’t help but smile with the absolute wall of support and joy they offered to runners. It was like nothing I’ve ever experienced in any of the city marathons I’ve done. With the mood lifted we soldiered on, interacting with the crowd, taking in our surroundings and read all the brilliantly funny signs – many of which referenced President Trump’s latest attempt to direct attention away from his own incompetence by sending ICE agents into the city to combat supposed crime rates, when actually crime rates are quite low. One read “F@&!* ICE, you bring the heat to Chicago”. We cheered on fellow runners, supporters and even lent a helping hand to a chap suffering with cramp sat on the curb. We really did have a lot of fun over that final 3rd even though we were both hurting. The sights and sounds of the city were electric. We had a few more little walks, David enjoyed one of the many beers being offered by supporters but did thankfully pass on the tequila shots and eventually, we were on the final stretch.
I had visualised that finish so many times over but not in quite the way it turned out to be. I crossed the line relieved that I’d made it, heartbroken that my months of effort hadn’t come through on the day, yet thrilled to have experienced my 3rd major and 14th marathon. David was just over the moon that he was still standing and it was over! My 22 miles on the A6 2 weeks earlier at 3.47 pace truly gave me the confidence that I could do it but on the day, for reasons I can’t explain, my body said a loud, clear, categoric – no and 4.06 it was.
Chicago as a city and their marathon is a special experience. If you can forgive them for being so very American it’s a brilliant place to visit. The green spaces, architecture and oddly European feel of the place made us feel strangely at home. Since the marathon we’ve kayaked on the Chicago river, caught a hockey game at the united centre, sunbathed on the banks of Lake Michigan, done an architecture tour, propped up a few bars and enjoyed a night cruise. The race is the best organised and supported that I’ve done and id recommend it, just probably not with a pb in mind unless you’re in wave 1!
The marathon is so cruel and those that choose to take it on commit themselves to the months of hard, lonely training knowing that they will experience either elation or heartbreak. And it is the lure of this jeopardy that keeps me going back to it. Not to be this time for me and it’ll take some time to get over it. My ever present cheerleader and very wise long run wife Emma Fitzgerald sent me the below quote after the race, which I think is something all of us who chase big goals would benefit from keeping in mind next time things don’t go to plan.
“It is not the critic who counts; not the man who points out how the strong man stumbles or where the doer of deeds could have done them better. The credit belongs to the man who is actually in the arena, whose face is marred by dust and sweat, who strives valiantly; who errs, who comes short again and again, because there is no effort without error and shortcoming; but who does actually strive to do the deeds; who knows great enthusiasms, the great devotions and who at the best knows in the end the triumph of high achievement, and who at the worst, if he fails, at least fails while daring greatly, so that his place shall never be with those cold and timid souls who neither know victory nor defeat.”
