Excuse me? What did Celia, the marathon official with the megaphone just say? That the marathon has been canceled? I was completely incredulous as I approached mile 23, wondering what she could possibly mean. It was almost noon, about 4 hours after the marathon began. I was just 3.2 miles from my final destination, and I was being told that the marathon I had trained for for 18 weeks was canceled. "Yeah right," I thought. "You'll have to drag me off the course in handcuffs if you want me to quit now." (You can read the Trib's story about the marathon here).
But I was also realizing that Celia wasn't the only one telling me to walk. My body was doing the same thing. I was feeling pretty good throughout most of the race, though I had been sweating profusely since Mile 2. I was keeping hydrated, downing some Gu (little shots of energy), and my new hat (modeled above, about mile 9, picture courtesy of Matt McKee-- thanks, Matt!) was keeping the sun off my face. But the shade completely disappears about mile 15, and it was taking its toll. In fact, the temperature at a bank we passed read 91 degrees. They probably should have just turned that thing off.
After mile 23, when I would try to run, my legs were fine, but my constitution was not. I was feeling queasy and light-headed. And the words that Heidi left me with that morning reverberated: “You can do another one of these if you want; just don’t hurt yourself today.” So I decided I would obey Celia and the other course officials, and I walked most of the last three miles. (Interesting graph from the Trib about when runners encountered the oppressive heat here).
I was hearing stories from people all around me, many of whom had flown in just to race, including a woman from Sweden, who was confused about the explanation of the cancellation. I did run the last quarter mile and finished in 5:04:25, about an hour after my anticipated finish. But pretty much everyone I talked to finished an hour after they hoped. I talked to a guy from Texas who had been training in the heat, and yet even he finished at 4:45, an hour after his plan. I feel especially bad for those wanting to run in order to qualify for the Boston Marathon—there were certainly no Personal Records to be had this day.
I got separated from Graham, my running partner, at about mile 18. I spent from about mile 7 until that point trying to motivate him to finish. His legs were cramping up, and he kept trying to get me to go on without him. So I'd try set little mini-goals like: OK, let's just go to mile 10. Let's just run to the water station. To which he replied: "You run to the water station." It was kind of funny. Our good friend Ryan Parschauer jumped in to run with us for a bit, and ended up going with him from then until about mile 23. Graham finished just two minutes behind me, which is especially impressive given the fact that he's getting foot surgery this Thursday.
My wife is the one that deserves the finisher's medal more than me because she allowed me to be gone so many early mornings and Saturday mornings to do my long runs, then got the kids and my mom and sister (who had flown in from Texas) down to the city via the CTA. They got to see me around mile 12, then again at mile 20 in Chinatown. It was so much fun seeing them along the course. The quote of the day was from Foster, who told Heidi that "Nana knew so many of the people running in the marathon." He said this because many runners write their names on their jerseys so the onlookers can cheer them on by name. So to a little five year old, all he knows is that his Nana knows EVERYone!
It was also interesting to hear the many ways the race officials were communicating the fact that they were canceling the marathon. At the finish line, they announced that "the marathon has been turned into a fun run." A fun run? For 26.2 miles? I don't think so. One police officer was saying through his loudspeaker: "Running is now a felony. Please walk." Another course official said as I passed him: "First place has been taken. You can quit running." Someone asked him: What about second place? He answered: "Second place has also been taken. But 22,578th is available." I found out that I actually got 14,482nd. I can handle that.
At the end, Graham and I were getting our pictures taken by his parents when a woman we had never seen before walked up, handed her camera to them, and asked for a picture...then proceeded to stand between us and put her arms around us. She had "Peru" written on her shirt, so she moved her bib to display the name, said "Peru!", then smiled for the picture, thanked us, and walked away.
There's been a lot of press lately about the aid stations running out of water. We always had plenty of water, but I was closer to the front so perhaps there was less for the end. I was amazed by the spectators who were turning on their own hoses and handing out ice; that was a lifesaver.
A few days later now, my legs are starting to be less sore, my toes (which still kind of look like someone dropped an anvil on them) are healing up, and there's still a nagging feeling that I could have had a better time or whatever. An article on Monday in the Tribune written by a Trib correspondent was an encouragement to that end. Here's what it said:
"As a member of the Chicago Marathon pace team, my job Sunday was to help runners achieve their goals in the race. This was my fifth consecutive year as a pace leader and my 15th marathon overall, but not even my first marathon back in 1987 posed the challenge this one did.
"As early as Mile 5, runners had already turned into walkers. By Mile 8, I saw my first runner on a stretcher. As we headed south, the shade dwindled and the full effect of the 88-degree heat could be felt. I really started feeling it around Mile 16.
"At Mile 19, I had to make a decision. My pace was slowing. It was becoming obvious that I wouldn't reach my target of 3 hours 40 minutes. I slowed to a walk; I wasn't alone. As I slowly moved to the next aid station, I saw many more runners being treated for exhaustion. It made my decision to stop at aid station 11 a little less difficult.
"I boarded a school bus with about a dozen others to head to the finish line. From that moment on, somewhere around 10:30am, there was a constant shrill of sirens. It hadn't stopped two hours later. When I returned to our team tent, someone said the race had been called off. I thought they were joking. How do you tell 35,000 starters to stop?
"To the 24,933 who didn't stop in nearly impossible conditions and finished the entire distance, treasure your finisher's medal. This was a race I will still be talking about 20 years from now."
So that's pretty encouraging. As hard as it was, it's fun to be able to have completed the one marathon people will be talking about for years.
Syler, great job finishing the marathon! Display your medal proudly.
Posted by: Scott Holland | October 10, 2007 at 09:00 AM
Amazing! I'm so happy you completed 23 miles despite all the distractions of 90 degree weather.
That's especially cool to be apart of a marathon that made history. The only history I got out of the Army 10 miler is Ellen totally creaming me and my knees giving out. Awesome. At least we were running on the same day and had a better success story then me :)
Posted by: Franny P | October 10, 2007 at 02:00 PM
Loved reading about your experience! So glad you chose to include Foster's sweet perspective. The graph was really interesting, too.
Posted by: Susan Syler | October 11, 2007 at 08:21 PM
The Marathon
I ran the Chicago Marathon Sunday. I’ve always said I’d like to run a marathon someday, but never thought I’d want to invest the effort the time and the pain.
I actually started running while growing up on the farm. I’d occasionally run to the highway and back—about a mile. After Norma and I got married, I’d run the length of the park close to our apartment—about 2 miles. That was in ‘68, long before running was popular. People who saw you running would stop and offer you a ride.
I began running seriously in 1974. I’ve normally run 4 miles every other day. Dr. Ken Cooper and Mayo Clinic both say optimal lifetime running is about 15 miles per week. At that point, you reach a level of conditioning. More than that, injuries begin to kick in. I’ve been blessed that in those 30+ years and miles of running, I’ve had very little knee or hip problems. Let’s hear it for moderation!
Some of my favorite memories are running in Minneapolis with my daughters riding their bikes along side. I remember my daughter struggling uphill, complaining, “Daddy, I wish there were no such things as uphill.” I responded saying the joy of coasting downhill meant hard peddling up hill. I added: “Life is like that.”
This year, a group from WMBI decided to run the Chicago Marathon in behalf of World Vision. So about 10 staff and 80 listeners joined the WMBI/World Vision Marathon team. This was my chance for a marathon. I joined too. Norma asked what on earth caused me to sign up. “Peer pressure,” I said.
My running program was from an article I cut out of Runners Magazine years ago. It recommends two 4 mile runs each week and a long run on the weekend. Then, over the 3 month training, gradually increasing the length of the weekend runs. So my weekly routine was: 4 miles, 4 miles, 8 miles. Then, 4 miles, 4 miles, 10 miles. Then 4, 4, and 8. Next 4, 4, 12. And so on until two weeks before the race, you run the longest weekend run of 22 miles. In the final two weeks you taper off to let your body recover for the big event.
My worst run (if you call it running) was the 18 miler. It was 86 degrees and humid. I ran/walked the last 5 miles. My legs burned. I felt like throwing up. My muscles had expended every ounce of strength. Every fiber of my body screamed “Stop this!” When I got home, my legs burned for a couple hours. At that point I was thinking I’m not gonna be able to do this. But by now I’d invested so much time and effort in this, and I didn’t want to be a quitter. Besides, my friends and family knew I was doing this. Surprisingly, by the next day, I was fine!
Two weeks later, the 20 miler was tough. At the 9 mile mark I was spent. I just knew I couldn’t do 20. I had visions of explaining to everyone why I dropped out. But at about mile 12, I broke through. Maybe it was the electrolytes I was ingesting. Something clicked in and I finished the 20.
The final 23 miler was uneventful. Basically just gutting it out. But I did it!
Fortunately, living in Chicago provides one of the most beautiful training routes possible. All my runs are along Lakeshore Drive. Hundreds of runners use the path, which makes great people watching. Plus there are tennis courts, volleyball games, golf courses, boat harbors, sandy beaches and of course, beautiful Lake Michigan.
The last week before the Marathon, I was traveling all week. Plus, on the trip, I got a horrible cold and felt miserable. Zero running that week!
Well, it’s Sunday night. The race is over. Today was the hottest October 7 in Chicago history—88 degrees and very humid. Of 45,000 registered runners, 10,000 didn’t show up because of the heat. 1 person died. 312 taken to the hospital. I was at mile 22 when Chicago Police began announcing the Marathon was officially closed. We were told to stop running and walk to the finish line. Runners further back in the race were forbidden to continue. My friend tried to continue past mile 16, but was told to get off the street or be arrested.
At mile 22, with 4 miles remaining, I was determined to finish. So a bunch of us at that point in the race ran/walked to the finish line. I finished at 4:49. My goal was to finish in 4 ½ hours. I didn’t win. But I finished! It wasn’t pretty. It wasn’t glamorous. Just keep running the next mile.
I have a poster at home picturing a runner going down a long straight road downhill with the road continuing straight ahead going uphill far in the distance. The caption on the poster reads: “The race is not to the swift, but to those who keep on running.” Just run the next mile. And the next.
This week, I complete 40 years in Christian radio. As I reflect on this, my ministry career parallels my lifetime of running.
Growing up on the farm, I always wanted to be in radio. I played radio in my room as a kid. I produced hundreds of hours of radio on the seat of a tractor. I loved visiting our hometown radio station.
While at the University, I began taking broadcasting courses, just for fun. About the same time, I started working at KTIS AM/FM in Minneapolis. That childhood dream, that part-time college job became a life work. Like my running became more intentional, I became more passionate about radio.
Occasionally, in long runs, I’ve been bored. But the sights and experience along the way made this road incredibly interesting. The sometimes long hours of hard work in 24/7 radio are sustained by a passion for what God calls you to do.
And there have been times of pain. Disagreements over music. Scolding from angry listeners. The threat of being fired. Actually being fired in a public and painful way. And the inherent temptations of media: notoriety, pride, ambition, and pleasure.
There’ve been many times I’ve been tempted to quit—to do something else. But the conviction that God called me to this ministry has kept me on track.
And there are even times when the heat is on and the atmosphere is oppressive. Many don’t even show up for those difficult days. And circumstances cause many to drop out. But with God’s strength, we’re able to keep moving forward and finishing the job.
Far more prominent are the joys: Building a music format that connects with listeners. Creating a phone center where thousands call to receive Christ. Working with a network of gifted and dedicated professionals who make serving Christ a real joy. Interviewing great men and women of God. Providing content the draws people to Jesus and changes lives.
Yes, I wish there were no such thing as uphill. Life has a lot of uphills. But there’s strength for the journey, there’s thrill at the momentum and a great view at the top of the hill!
I haven’t set any speed records. There are people in Christian broadcasting faster, smarter, more gifted than I. But, I did it! With God’s leading, strength, direction, and protection, I did it. This was my calling. And until He makes it plain otherwise, this is what I do. Just do the next thing.
Life is not to the fastest, the smartest, the most talented. Life is to those who are faithful to God’s calling, consistently, intently serving God through the level places, the uphills and the mountain peaks. And it’s helpful to remember that life is a marathon, not a sprint.
Will I do another marathon? I hope not. But I will keep running: 4, 4, and long.
“But those who serve the Lord will find new strength. They will fly high on wings like eagles. They will run and not grow weary. They will walk and not faint.” Isaiah 40:31
“So don’t get tired of doing what is good. Don’t get discouraged and give up, for we will reap a harvest of blessing at the appropriate time.” Galatians 6:9
Wayne Pederson
Posted by: Wayne Pederson | October 14, 2007 at 07:04 PM