What Running Chicago Means to Me...

In just 4 days, I will run my very first marathon. Some people train for a marathon for 4 months, some for 4 weeks. I have been preparing for this day for the past 15 years of my life. Ever since my very first summer cross country practice, I knew I would run a marathon. I fell for long distance running. A shy, skinny, boney-kneed girl looking for her place in this world, I found it running through grassy fields and empty early morning cul-de-sacs. Before the trash trucks headed out for pick-ups, before the postmen walked their daily routes (Yes, mailmen actually walk in Chicago to hand-deliver mail door to door), before the sidewalks were teaming with boisterous school kids, just as the sun reached the horizon, the streets were mine. Every morning by 6am I was out running the streets, writing poetry in my head, finishing that English essay, escaping into my own little world.

It is a funny thing to look back on those days as a Sophomore in High School and realize how little some things have truly changed. Just as when I was 14, running is my escape. I would have laughed if someone told me that a decade-and-a-half later I'd be doing the same thing, only this time with a stroller. Here I am, same blonde pig tails, shorts, shoes, shirt, out on the streets alone. Running. It's my peace, my meditation, my light, my world.

It may be difficult to overlook the fact that I am a runner. I look the part with my trained quads, callused feet and missing toe-nails. Even though friends and strangers alike can pin me as a runner, the understanding behind it is much more difficult, even for me. Try as I might, I will never be able to express what exactly running is to me. All the adjectives in the world will still leave the relationship feeling inadequate.

Then to describe what is means to me to run the Chicago Marathon on Sunday, October 12th is impossible.

After spending nearly every day of my collegiate running career injured,
hobbling around campus on crutches, lost and confused, trying to re-discover my place in this world.
Then suffering through pain run after bloody run for the next three years.
Cycling, racing bikes, meeting my now husband, loving our common ground but still feeling lost.
Then giving birth to our 1st baby in 2009 and wondering how I would ever get fit again.
Getting fit and then giving birth to my 2nd child in 2011 and then buying our double Chariot.
Getting super fit and absolutely falling in love with running with my girls.
Getting inspired watching my sister run her first 26.2 at the San Diego Rock 'N Roll Marathon.
Then the very next day seeing two blue lines and shockingly discovering I was pregnant.
Feeling set back and lost yet again.
Wondering when and how I would ever be able to run a marathon.
My son and last baby turning 1 and finally feeling ready to run that marathon.
Then learning that Chicago would change it's marathon entry system to a lottery, based on pure luck.
Then winning that lottery, my sister winning the lottery and us registering together for my first marathon.
Training devoutly for the next 5 months,
to be diagnosed (pre-maturely) with a metatarsal stress fracture with just 4 weeks to go.
Watching all my hope wash away with the dirt, sweat and tears that I had endured over the past 15 years of running.
Having a late night conversation with my husband,
Him pleading with me to face the fact that perhaps I just never could run a marathon,
that is was not the end of the world,
But perhaps my body just couldn't handle it.
Then seeing my perfectly healthy bones via X-ray and MRI days later,
Just 2 weeks ago.
Getting the clear to run "if not in pain,"
Then running without any pain,
Running 16 miles after 2 weeks off and feeling incredible.
Finishing my final workout yesterday morning with Isaac in the single Bob,
Packing my bag to fly to Chicago in just 2 days.
That is what running the Chicago Marathon this coming Sunday means to me.

Many years,
millions of miles,
hundreds of shoes,
too many injuries,
but so much hope and perseverance.
Holding on to the dream of that 14 year old boney-kneed blonde.
That is what Chicago means to me.

Chicago skyline painting by my talented little sis, Ellen.

Chicago love. Photo taken 3 days post-wedding, 2009.