This post is a little early as I intended to post on the 12th, but this was very cathartic for me to write, given where I am physically at the moment. I also have a good friend running Chicago this weekend, and while he knows most of this story, remember Michael your day will almost assuredly be better then this...Good Luck and enjoy the run!
October 12, 2008 has to go down as a triumphant/disheartening/funny/gross/frightening/memorable day in the Fisherkeller family. You may recall in an earlier post (A History of Running 2.0) that I decided to run a marathon back in 2008. Well October 12, 2008 marks that fateful day and this entry is dedicated to the memories generated that day (sorry for the length of this entry but there was a lot going on that day).
Training had been going very well. I completed a 20 mile run three weeks out and was strong throughout, so I was very excited about where things were going. About a week or so after that run I started to develop some pain in my left knee that would start after about 4-miles of any type of running. I didn't think too much of it, but to be cautious I rested for the better part of the remaining two weeks leading to the marathon.
Marathon weekend arrived, and we headed north to Chicago on that Friday (race was on Sunday). We stayed at my brothers that weekend, and had a great time hanging out and visiting. My parents made the journey north as well. Just a quick aside...I have two Hall of Fame parents that have shown me nothing but love and support throughout my entire life. We had an exceptional family meal prepared by my brother and his wife. The entire Fisherkeller brood was there, including the Abbinante family (italian for Fisherkeller).
I got a good night sleep, and woke up feeling reasonably confident about the day. My brother graciously drove me from Naperville to downtown Chicago. I still remember that ride. We didn't talk very much as I recall, but I always like it when my brother and I get to have those quite - peaceful moments with one another.
I wondered through the 30,000 plus souls for the next hour or so, waiting for the start of the race. I ran into a co-worker and good friend and we played the waiting game together. I started getting more and more nervous as the start time drew closer and closer. Before I knew it, I had crossed the the Start line and like that I was on my 26.2 mile journey through the streets of Chicago.
The course heads straight down to I presume Lower Wacker Drive, where for a brief moment this area has to be the worlds busiest public toilet, because there were at least 500 people (men and women) disposing of all that pre-race hydration wherever there was space. Once we emerged from the toilet, the crowd of support was in a word---Unbelievable. There were literally thousands if not 10's of thousands of people screaming in the streets, from buildings, and from overpasses in this early part. The noise was almost deafening at times. Remarkably this scene plays out throughout the entire course which takes you through some the most scenic neighborhoods in Chicago...crowd estimates throughout the course for this race are in the 2 million range.
The miles were clicking by, and I was feeling pretty good...knee and all. For the casual runner the conventional wisdom is to not have a specific time goal in mind, but to merely have a goal of finishing. While I listened to this, I did have a loose goal of wanting to finish in 4 hours. I was off-pace just slightly at the half-way point (2 hrs 9 min). By this time, my knee was starting to become a little painful and stiff, although the pain was bearable. Almost immediately after the halfway point, I stopped to get some water, and the action of stopping allowed my knee to tighten up so tight that I was not able to fully straighten my leg...trouble.
Meanwhile, my wife, two kids (2 and 4), and mom and dad had started there journey from Naperville to the finish line along with probably 100,000 or more other people.
I stopped and started to stretch thinking if I could just loosen up my knee I could maybe continue. Well the stretching seemed to do little in the way of helping. In fact, I think the mere action of stopping to stretch caused my knee to stiffen even more. So I set off down the course with a very sever limp walk. Several course workers asked if I wanted to get on the bus, and I politely ignored them. Needless to say my pace dropped significantly. For whatever reason I stopped drinking water by and large as I limped my way down the course. Given that the weather was in the 80's this decision proved to be equally as wrong as deciding to limp the last half.
Right around mile 20, I started to get what only can be describe as a stabbing pain in my left big toe. It felt like with every step my toe was being hit with a hammer. Only the truly stupid (or as I like to remember driven) would continue down the course, which is precisely what I did. Turns out that was the day that I found out that I suffer from the Kings disease (gout). So let's recap for a moment. I am now 20 miles in, my left leg no longer bends at the knee, if I could have gnawed off my left big toe to stop the pain I was experiencing I would have, and oh yeah I was now 4 hrs and 44 minutes into this event, and still had 6.2 miles to cover. It would take me another 1 hr and 25 minutes to cross that finish line of dreams in a time of 6 hrs 8 min and 58 seconds.
Recall my supportive family was in the crowd anticipating a finish time of around 4 hrs give or take a half an hour. Also recall that my children were 2 and 4 at the time. Well apparently there were not a whole lot of 2 and 4 year old activities available to help keep the kids entertained. So as the minutes turned to hours, I am pretty sure the crowed of probably 100,000 seemed like millions to my poor wife. At some point, my son (2) had a little bathroom accident (fortunately not #2). Like anyone he did not want to be in his wet clothes, so he cried until he was allowed to frolic without pants or underwear while my wife waved his pee soaked pants and underwear around like a dutch windmill.
Fortunately for my wife and son, I took so long to finish his pants dried, and he was fully clothed once again. It was at that moment he decided that he no longer wanted to be where he was, so only like a small child can do he vanished in an instant. Those millions probably seemed like billions at this point. My son calmly refers to this as the time when he was a lost a child. Fortunately my son is not on milk cartons throughout the United States. He was found by my mom about thirty heart stopping minutes later with a couple security officers. However, the officers would not release him to my mom, because she did not match the description of my wife, nor would my son even acknowledge his grandmother which he was just miraculously reunited with as someone who could take him to his mother. As they were telling my mom that she could not have her grandson, they were handing, unbeknownst to them, a child with a sever egg allergy cookies. My mom informed them that she will go get his mother, but under no circumstance are they to give that child cookies. Emergency room visit averted and family reunited, it was about this time I crossed that finish line.
If you have ever completed a larger race like the mini-marathon or similar, there people screaming and cheering you to the finish, volunteers are ready to help, food is abundant, and someone puts a medal around your neck memorializing all the hardwork and dedication that lead you and to that moment. Well there is none of that when you finish near the back of the field. I am pretty sure at one point someone was booing me. No bananas, no water, no ice, there was wooden frame where there were a handful of metals hanging for self service. Literally there was no one other then the brave warriors that just braved the course for more than 6 hrs wondering around like lost delirious sheep. As I made my way to the end of this deserted waste land, my eyes fell upon who else but my mom...that was my memorializing moment.
The entire family has been reunited at this point, and we start to make our way to the train station. I am not sure how far the train station was, but I think it was like a 1,000 miles from where we were at that moment. My dad recognizing the situation hailed a cab and all 6 of us crammed into the taxi. At the train station, my body started to let me know that what I just did may have been the single worst decision of my life. Our train arrived and we were headed back to my brothers place. Remember how I said I should have probably drank more water, well it turns out that I dehydrated myself (among other things), and about 10 minutes into that train ride I signaled to the rest of the train that I was an official marathon finisher by expelling the entire contents of my stomach into a plastic grocery bag. I really don't recall having much in the way to eat that day, but it turns out your stomach can still have a lot of fluid in it nonetheless, because I filled like four of those bags. Even with my stomach now completely, my body was rejecting the air I was breathing. Fortunately this did not trigger a Lardass Hogan moment (think Stand by Me).
We arrived at my brothers. I showered and we loaded the car and made our way home. For good measure I filled two more plastic bags on I-94. A little before midnight we all crawled into our beds for a good nights rest.
My body eventually healed. I now take medication to control my gout, and for some strange reason I signed up for another marathon. I am still unsure of my status. I visit the doctor tomorrow and am hopeful to find out where I stand. No matter whether I am able to participate in the Monumental Marathon or not, there is one thing for certain I have without a doubt the best family in the world.
