Memoirs of a Dehydrated Marathoner

I've been staring at a blank computer screen for over an hour because I can't think of how to begin this entry. I'm sitting at home, recovering from yesterday's horrific experience at the 30th annual LaSalle Bank Chicago Marathon. I'm tending to a cut on my foot, severely sunburned shoulders, a splitting headache similar to one resulting from a night of heavy drinking, and two extremely sore legs that can't walk down a flight of stairs without burning from fatigue.

Yesterday wasn't this cowpoke's first rodeo. I'd run two other marathons, so there was no question whether or not I could run that far. Before the race even started, announcers advised that there would be extra aid stations and medical tents at each one of them. They assured everyone that there would be water and gatorade at each stop, and that runners should take the time to properly hydrate themselves. They knew that yesterday was going to be very hot because they repeated the number or aid stations and even mentioned that there would be ice cold water-soaked sponges at mile 16.

A lot of what gets me through a race is the energy from other runners, as well as the spectators. Chicago is renowned for their spectator participation during the marathon, but there weren't a lot of people out cheering. This was definitely due to the heat, which had already climbed to the mid 80s by 9:30 A.M.

I knew something was wrong at the second aid station near Lincoln Park when one of the women involved with the race shouted "we're out of gatorade!" Runners mobbed the two folding tables, scrambling to grab cups from the frightened pre-teen volunteers who obviously weren't expecting throngs of angry runners to come at them like that. It took me about two minutes to get gatorade, and that's only because my friend Scott bullied one of the girls holding the bottle.

By mile 8, a lot of people had begun to walk and there was really a change in the atmosphere. What started out as an energetic and awe-inspiring anniversary marathon run quickly turned into a struggle to keep from keeling over and getting trampled by other runners who probably wouldn't be able to see you because the lack of fluids was impairing their vision.

I kept telling myself that I wouldn't let this heat claim me. I forced a smile, put one foot in front of the other, and waved to the cheering crowd in Chicago's boystown neighborhood as they yelled my name and encouraged me to keep going. I saw a lot of my friends there and it really made a difference.

Aid stations were few and far between. Most of them couldn't keep up with the amount of people coming in, and not all of them had medical tents like the announcer told us they would. I kept seeing people passed out on the side of the road, being attended by fellow runners because they weren't any emergency vehicles in the area.

As we neared mile 16, we heard someone on the loudspeaker telling us that the race is being re-routed and we had to be at a certain point in the race in the next six minutes or they'd make us go back to the finish line. By then, everyone was cranky and not happy to hear that they'd have to run faster in order to be able to finish.

I had my phone, so I decided to call everyone I knew to ask what was going on because no one was telling us anything. Few people answered, and none of them knew what was happening. We kept hearing the police officers say that they'll be canceling the race, but we didn't want to hear that sort of thing because all worked so hard to get there. I worked so hard for it, and I wasn't going to let a little thing like scorching heat and 80% humidity claim me.

At mile 19, we officially got word that the marathon had been canceled and that all aid stations were shut down. There would be no water or gatorade after that, so no one was able to run the rest of the race. The nice people in Pilsen came out with cold water, food, and encouraging signs that read "race over but we still love you." They even turned on their hoses and sprayed us down to cool us off. It really moved something in my stone cold heart to see such a kind effort to help strangers like that. They could have just stayed inside their air-conditioned homes, but those grannies were out there clapping and saying "vamos!" as they handed out pieces of ice to people they'd never see again.

As we all marched back to the finish line, I couldn't help but feel a little defeated. I looked back and saw thousands of people in line behind me, and then I looked ahead of me and saw even more people. It was like a slave caravan heading back to Egypt in the hot desert after an unsuccessful attempt at freedom.

I could safely say that I'd seen about forty to fifty people collapsed on the road during the two hour walk back to the start line. Then it occurred to me that not one of the people who passed out looked like they were over the age of thirty. I remember seeing a young man on the pavement, staring into space. People were huddled over him, asking him his name and if he knew where he was. All you could hear in the distance were ambulance and fire truck sirens.

Everyone decided to run the last leg of the race to the finish line, water or no water. There were still people cheering at the finish line even though everyone knew what happened. I ran and finished with another forced smile on my face, trying not to stumble over because I couldn't see straight. My foot had been bleeding for an hour, but I was so heatstroked that I didn't notice. I usually devour six or seven bananas after a marathon, but I didn't feel hungry at all yesterday afternoon. It wasn't a pleasant feeling.

One of my friends asked me why I insist on torturing my body like that, and I told her that I had to. It's not something that you can easily explain in a few sentences. I think that most humans have this little spark inside of them that compels them to push beyond the boundaries to some higher level. They can manipulate themselves to climb the social ladder, they can spend years in meditation in an attempt to achieve Nirvana, and they can also run 26.2 miles in ninety degree heat and intense humidity.

We may all have different goals, such as wealth, power, a heightened sense of spirituality, or status, but we all do similar things to get there. Whatever motivated those thousands of runners to go through with yesterdays marathon was obviously strong enough for them to want to brave through the heat and risk serious injuries. I was one of those thousands of runners... and I'd do it again.