Run All The States!

The 2013 Chicago Marathon weekend was… not what I expected.

A couple months before race day, both my IT bands and knees staged a rebellion. Patellar tendinitis in both legs. Because why suffer in just one? My dreams of a PR quickly evaporated, and my new race goal became: “please don’t explode mid-course.” But I was still excited — my bestie Cara was running her very first marathon, and I was pumped to be there for her big day.

Welcome to Chicago, Please Leave Your Belongings Behind

We met up at Midway Airport on Saturday and hopped the Orange Line toward our hotel. I was checking directions on my phone when I felt something brush my lap. I looked up just in time to see a man sprinting off the train… with my purse.

In a dazed state of disbelief, I stood up, pointed, and yelled, “THAT MAN HAS MY PURSE — SOMEBODY STOP HIM!” Very helpful. I basically recreated that scene from The Simpsons where Chief Wiggum gets his purse snatched during an undercover sting and just flails dramatically.

So now what?

Thankfully, I still had my phone and my bestie, so we divided and conquered the crime aftermath: calling the cops, canceling cards, figuring out how to get emergency cash, etc. The CTA employee actually complimented our composure, like, “Wow, most people scream for 20 minutes. You guys are really handling this.” A weird flex, but I’ll take it.

I’d lost my wallet before, so, unfortunately, I knew the drill. Still, being away from home elevated my stress into full spiral mode:

• No ID, no keys, no emergency meds? What if I eat a peanut and die?
• How do I get back on a plane with no license?
• Wait… CAN I EVEN PICK UP MY RACE PACKET?

The pre-race emails had been very clear: No ID, no bib. National security depends on it. This was the first U.S. World Marathon Major since the Boston bombing, so they weren’t messing around.

We made our way to the massive McCormick Place expo, and I braced for a dramatic standoff at packet pickup. Instead, the volunteer just said, “Cool, you have your confirmation? You’re good.” Oh. Okay. That was… anticlimactic. But I certainly wasn’t about to complain.

Expo Shenanigans & Race Eve Chaos We wandered around the expo, pointing at things like excited tourists:

Despite the purse drama, packet acquired. Bib secured. Still no ID or keys, but spirits moderately intact.

Sleep that night was a bit of a joke, with my brain in full anxiety mode. Cara decided the best alarm tone was a “Happy Holidays” remix, because what’s funnier than Christmas music in mid-October? We needed the laugh. I wore a rainbow tutu for the race because if I was going to hobble through a marathon, I might as well look like a sparkly disaster.

The Main Event

Race morning was warm and sunny as we lined up in Grant Park — Chicago’s “front yard.” We snapped a pre-race selfie and wished each other luck. Cara was off to tackle her first 26.2, and I was hoping my knees wouldn’t secede from my body.

We were part of a sea of 38,000 runners surging through Chicago’s famously flat course. And wow, the crowd support was incredible! Chicago really shows up.

I trotted along slowly — bless my cranky knees — taking in the pretty, tree-lined streets and vibrant neighborhoods. The course boasts 29 neighborhoods, and while I probably couldn’t name more than five now, I remember the vibe: loud, joyful, full of signs and cheering strangers who made us feel like local celebrities.

After passing the Lincoln Park Zoo (regret: not saying hi to the animals), I kept chugging along, occasionally muttering “shut up, legs” like a deranged mantra. The miles dragged on, but every neighborhood brought something new — like Chinatown, which was in full celebration mode with dragons, dancing, and… “Gangnam Style.” I danced. Obviously.

Tutu power in full effect:

Pain, Vaseline, and Michael Jackson

The heat was not my friend, and my sweating had caused chafing to reach Defcon 2. I made a couple pit stops for Vaseline (a phrase I hope to never type again), applying it in areas I will not publicly name. The “sick burn” was real.

Even though I was just trying to finish, it stung watching pace groups pass me like I was on a scenic museum audio tour. At one point, during a walk break, I passed a DJ booth blasting Michael Jackson’s “Man in the Mirror” and nearly started ugly crying for no apparent reason. That song almost pushed me over the edge? Really? I blame heatstroke, stress, and marathon-induced fragility.

Somehow I shuffled through those final miles. My “running” resembled a determined zombie, but I could hear the finish line cheers getting closer. After rounding the final turn and tackling the one and only “hill” (more of a polite incline), I crossed the line. I survived!

Medal? Check. Free beer? Double check. I met up with Cara by gear check, and I gave her a big hug and congrats. She crushed her first marathon! We celebrated with our classic post-race feast: tacos and beer. Because if you can’t have a PR, at least you can have tacos.

Postscript

I sense your concern, my dearest three readers, so let me impart some wisdom. If you ever lose your ID and need to fly, call the airline and airport immediately. Thanks to the police report, a full pat-down, and an impromptu pop quiz to prove I was me, I got through TSA and made it home.

Windy City Highlights:

• The race before the race: Getting through the glitchy online registration before they switched to a lottery system. These were tense moments amid server timeouts and processing errors, but we both were in, whew!
• Biggest non-issue: I forgot my Garmin. Didn’t matter. Had bigger issues soon enough!
• Best advice: “Let’s not get mugged again,” – Cara, after picking up a Western Union wad of cash.
• Most relatable sign: “If Britney survived 2007, you can survive this race.”
• Least secure purchase: Asking Cara to buy me an expo t-shirt since I was broke. Felt like a child asking Mom for candy. (Yes, I paid her back)
• Squishiest aid station: The one handing out energy chews, half of which turned into pavement gumdrops.
• Worst souvenir: A sunburn and a toe blister that looked like a gummy bear.
• In memoriam: My cute little yellow purse. May you rest in peace (or at least be appreciated by someone with better karma).
• Bonus MVP: My brother, who not only met me at the airport with spare house and car keys, but also did the emotional heavy lifting of calming down our mom after breaking the news that I’d been mugged.