Ok, this is way overdue, the race was one of my worst ever, and I don't have many photos, so I'll try to make this quick.
The race start was early (6:30 am) so I set my alarm for 4:45 am. I made it to bed pretty early on Saturday night, but I was still super grumpy about having to wake up in the dark. I got up, got dressed, choked down a granola bar (we were out of pop tarts) and hopped into the car with a mug of tea. I'd never driven to a race start alone before and I was a very nervous about getting stuck in traffic or not finding a place to park in downtown Chicago. Everything went smoothly, but I picked a very popular parking garage and only made it to bag check with less than 15 min left to the start, which meant no time for the ridiculous port-a-potty lines. I hadn't been chugging water that morning, so I crossed my fingers and found my corral.
I (very stupidly) decided to go out at sub-10 pace even though I knew it was going to be a hot day (one of the big bank clocks said 83 degrees two or three miles into the race) and that the Muddy Buddy the day before had pretty much wiped me out. I was feeling fine but not fantastic through about mile 4, but after that things got rough pretty fast. I could tell that my legs were very much not fresh, and it felt like there was a rather pointy brick sitting in my stomach.
I tried to ignore the GI trouble, but it hurt too much and I kept having to slow to a walk, so I finally decided to stop at one of the on-course port-a-potties somewhere in mile five or six (and I decided I would be perfectly happy with a sub-11 pace). Unfortunately, the pit stop didn't help (sorry if all this port-a-potty talk is TMI, but you are reading a running blog ...) I was so frustrated with my pace and how much I was walking that I was almost crying by the time we turned on Michigan Ave around mile 7. I couldn't imagine walking through another 6+ miles, so I briefly thought about dropping out but decided to wait it out a little longer. I made another port-a-potty stop in mile 8 (I think?) and that seemed to do the trick. Suddenly, I could run again! I wasn't feeling fantastic, but I definitely felt like I could finish the last few miles at a reasonable pace. I cruised for about two miles, and then things took a turn for the (much) worse again.
By the 9 mile mark, my goal was to keep the run under 2:30, which basically required staying around 11:30 pace for the last four miles. I was feeling pretty good about that until just past the 10 mile mark, when we started stopped heading south and turned toward the lake before turning back north to Grant Park. It was hot, my legs were done, and my stomach was unhappy. Again. I probably walked for at least half of the last 5K, and even then I felt like there was a good chance I would vomit on the course. I made one more port-a-potty stop, and tried to ignore the guy who was sitting in the grass resting, which seemed like a pretty good idea. By this point I knew that even my last-ditch 2:30 goal wasn't going to happen, so I revised again -- keep the average pace under 12 min miles. I picked it up to a jog for a good part of the final mile, and apparently even looked halfway decent in the finisher chute (according to a friend who also struggled with the heat but still managed to finish his first half in 1:45!). I finished in 2:36:10 for an 11:55 average pace.
They were passing out mini-Jamba Juice smoothies right after the finish line, which looked awesome but turned to to be another HUGE mistake. I rushed to grab my gear-check bag and bolted for the finish area port-a-potties, where I hung out for a miserably long time until I felt like I could meet my friend to walk across the field to pick up my Rock 'n' Mud medal.
After a few more minutes chilling in the park, we headed a few blocks over to a new brunch place near my friend's office. A whole bunch of other runners had the same idea, but I have never been so grateful for a long wait for a table! By the time we were finally seated, my stomach had calmed down enough to enjoy an awesome post-race egg, potato, veggie, and cheese skillet.
When I got home a few hours later, I couldn't really talk about the race without crying. So I wrote
this blog post, took a shower and a nap, drank a lot of Gatorade, and decided to move on. What can we learn from this
disasterpiece of a race?
1) Eating at Five Guys <15 hours before a race is not a great idea
2) Maybe my body has trouble processing shotbloks when it's hot? I don't think the timing of the stomach freakouts was a total coincidence
3) When I go out too fast (i.e., try to PR regardless of weather, training, or current fatigue level), I blow up hard.
Same thing happened back in June.
