15.6 mi.
2 hours 16 minutes
10:30 am
low 70s
So this weekend I was supposed to get into 18 mile territory, taking me to the 2/3 mark. I was unsuccessful. My plan was to run down the lake--for the hydration benefits that route offers--all the way around Soldier Field and back. This would constitute just over 18 miles, but it was just not to be.
It all started out ok. The weather was phenomenal: cool, gently breezy, sunny. I felt good running. I felt relatively well-hydrated. I had a Clif bar for nourishment that would take me into almost 3 hours of running. I had a half leftover veggie burger a few hours before the start, as I didn't want a full belly going in.
To make a long story short, I got all the way down to Buckingham fountain on the lake trail. I could see the Field Museum, and behind it Soldier Field, and I thought, "ya know, it's gonna take another 45 minutes to run around that thing." So I pulled up, finished what was left of my Clif bar, and headed back. I wasn't overly tired, but I knew that I didn't really want to run any further. I guess I was bored, maybe just eager to get back home. So I went. And that's when the mental and physical game really began.
I haven't really had to deal with mental exhaustion since pretty early on in my training. I think it was about 7 or 8 miles (a distance that is laughably short to me now) when I was really unsure if I'd be able to run it without injury, after feeling some pain in my hip. The distance started itching at a part in my head I can't reach and psyched me out. The same thing happened on the way back. My gait felt good and the legs were tired, but not in real pain. But by the time I hit Oak Street Beach on the way back, my upper abdominals and diaphragm were starting to spasm, making breathing really hard. One of a human being's most primal urges is for the draw of breath, and we tend to panic pretty universally when we can't do this. I recognized that it was getting harder, understood the panic, and tried to put it out of my mind and keep running.
By the time I hit Irving Park on the way back, I had told myself "20 more minutes and you're home. Just run it out." I stopped at Broadway and Montrose at a light about 15 minutes later and put my hands on my knees, panting and groaning, my diaphragm unable to open my lungs enough for sufficient breath. As I leaned over, I suddenly got light-headed. I stood up immediately and got my legs going, and ran as steadily as I could till home.
After dealing with the serious dehydration and malnourishment I had just put myself through, losing about 7 pounds in water over the course of 2 hours (I weighed myself this time), the chills and some nausea mixed in with total physical and mental burnout followed.
But I was more disappointed that I hadn't gone past that stinking fountain.
I remember swimming in Buckingham Fountain after a World Cup game in '94 when I was 12 with my dad. Probably 200 Bolivians and Germans were climbing on and swimming in it. I thought it was funny, but he was adamant that this was a once in a lifetime celebratory act. No way would CPD allow people to swim in this sacred Chicago landmark en masse unless they were volatile foreign football hooligans. I'll never forget that day.
Now I'll have new view of the fountain. A more solemn one that reminds me how close to Soldier Field it is, and how I missed out on a goal that I hurt myself trying to get. Had I just spent the extra (probably) 25 minutes or so and run past the fountain, I'd have finished 18 miles. Sure, I'd be in pain, but I was already hurting pretty bad. And I don't think another 25 minutes worth of pain would've killed me. What doesn't kill you, when you're working on muscle strength and endurance, literally makes you stronger.
So, kids, the lessons learned today are as follows:
1.) Pain is transient, and must only be respected as such.
2.) I will run 18 miles if it kills me.
3.) Bathing in Buckingham Fountain is very fun, and highly recommended.
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