Adventures in Double-Dipping Part 1: The 2014 Prairie State Marathon Race Report

Though I don’t have any hard data to back it up, I am pretty confident that the most consistent distance runners have short memories. How many times have I found myself slugging through a grueling race, saying to myself never again, only to have completely changed my mind moments after crossing the finish line?

The answer is: A LOT.

On October 11, 2014, during the Prairie State Marathon, I said it many times only to get up and do it all over again on October 12, 2014, at the Chicago Marathon where I would continue to say it, only to forget… again.

It was all part of the double-dip plan: to train my legs to run tired, to run hungry, to run smart (stupid as that sounds).

Of course, it was a pain-in-the-ass type of blast!

Saturday, October 11, 2014

Pre-race

7:30 a.m.

I get off the shuttle bus and walk toward the Start/Finish line of the Prarie State Marathon. It’s quite chilly, with temperatures in the low 40s and my feet are soaked from a tromp through dewy grass.

We’re in… Libertyville. I think. Or close to it. Rosa Maria, the lovely robotic voice on my GPS, told me I’m close to Grayslake, IL, but to be exact, we’re at a forest preserve, surrounded by nature, toeing the line on a mix of blacktop and crushed limestone.

The crowd gathered is very small. There is a half marathon taking place alongside this marathon and the majority of runners seem to be lining up for the former. Still, the idle conversation of those gathered is peppered with the familiar pre-race nervousness, the type found at most road races, as I assume many runners here today chose Prairie State after failing to get in the Chicago Marathon lottery.

Lucky me. I get to do both.

Because my weekend goal is to survive and nothing else, for once I find comfort at a marathon start line, not obsessing over splits or prerace fuel or the possibility of bonking. Instead, I’m about as relaxed as I’ve ever been for an event, trying to set a Vegas over/under line on how many times I will have to stop to pee.

I’m gonna say 6.5 for the whole race, one side of my conscious says.

I’ll take the over, says the other.

Quietly, I move to the back of the pack, keeping my hands warm by sticking them in my armpits until…

WE’RE OFF!

Miles 0 – 7

Wow, this place is pretty.

We start off along the paved bike path and I can’t help but be in awe of the serene beauty of this forest preserve. I know we’ll be following parts of the Des Plaines River Trail today, an area I’m somewhat familiar with, but I didn’t expect it to be this breathtaking. Everywhere I look I see bright reds and yellows and greens. Fall is here, and nowhere has it been as quaint as right here, right now, as the fog rolls up off the lake, adding mystery to its splendidness.

That was some fancy poetic thought, I say to myself.

Yeah, and now I have to pee, I reply.

What?!? We’re only half a mile in! Good thing I took the over!

I know, I know. Jeesh.

This incessant peeing thing has been a part of my training all summer. I wonder if I have some sort of exercise-induced bladder control issue. I don’t know. But I do know that around every 2-3 miles of every long distance run I’ve embarked upon this summer, I’ve had to stop and pee. I expect I probably wasted at least a half an hour peeing during the 24-hour run. And now, here we are just 800 meters into a marathon and already I feel the urge.

Unfortunately, there a lot of runners around me, and though we are on a “trail” of sorts, this doesn’t seem like the type of race where it’d be acceptable for me to jump off the side and take care of business in front of the world. I’ll have to wait until an aid station.

I try to think about something else — my footfalls, my slower pace. I look down a couple miles in and I’m sitting steady on 9:30s. Nice and easy.

Suddenly, my friend Aaron picks me out among the crowd and is now running alongside me.

“Hey, Jeff, how’s it going?” he asks.

We start chatting. I know he has run the Prairie State/Chicago Marathon double before.

“I’m doing it this year too,” he assures me.

Sweet! Another crazy person!

“So, any word of advice? What will be your post-race routine?” I ask.

“Chocolate milk, ice bath, hot shower, compression, a nap. Make sure you elevate your legs. Eat a good meal. Sleep as much as you can.”

“Sounds like the perfect post-race day to me. Though I would like to throw a beer or two in there.”

The conversation seems to have quieted my bladder, so when we reach the first aid station, I run right through, thinking nothing of it.

Half a mile later, the urge is back. Ugh. I look around, but still, people everywhere. Oh well.

Let’s just make it to the next station — the ultimate ultrarunning mantra, though rarely related to a pit stop.

Aaron and I chat about all-things ultra, upcoming races, races past. When we finally get to the next station there is a john, so I stop, take care of business and get back on the trail.

Miles 7 – 9

Taking my time to get back into a groove, I walk with a purpose while chowing down on some real food. Since I’m treating this as a training run/experiment for my upcoming 100 mile race, I have opted to eat real food rather than stick to the normal marathon fare of gels and sports drink.

I brought along several sandwich bags of Gardetto’s snack mix and Muddy Buddies (a chocolate/peanut butter/Chex mix of sugary greatness). When I get to the aid stations I stop, walk and eat. I’ve been training like this all summer — eating on the run. Walking fast. Feels pretty normal now.

Having lost Aaron, I work my way back up to a 9:30 pace, all by myself, until I come up on another friend of mine, Rita. We run along together and high-five our friend, Siamak, as he comes flying toward us from the other direction. As usual, there are many familiar faces out on this run.

Running makes the world small.

Just before the 9-mile turn around I break ahead of Rita, trying not to think about how already I’m feeling a bit zapped and I have 17 more miles to go.

Man, this is stupid. Two marathons in two days? What was I thinking?

Of course, it sounded like a GREAT idea a few months ago. For some reason I always seem to forget exactly how much discomfort is involved in these ultra endeavors until I’m right in the middle of it all.

Too late now! Might as well just process the pain and be glad you’re alive!

Miles 9 – 18

Now on the “back” side of the 9-mile out-and-back section that makes up the first part of the race, I see all the runners behind me. There aren’t too many. I figure I’m somewhere towards the end of the middle of the pack.

I’m kinda tired. And a little bored. Wish I was doing something else.

Yikes! Snap out of it, man! Enjoy the scenery!

Beautiful as the scenery is, it doesn’t do much for mind, nor my turnover. Not that I want to run particularly fast (I don’t; I want to conserve energy if anything). It’s just that with no crowd stimulation and no signs to look at or sounds to distract, time seems to slip by slower than it usually does in a traditional marathon, which causes me to feel every, single, step.

I am alone with my thoughts, which are a jumbled mess right now, not focused on any thing in particular — a rarity in my experience. In a typical ultramarathon, I will at least have a warped sense of time rooted in the constant attention that must be paid to my surroundings. Single track trails require extreme attention to footing, to leg lift, to balance. Here, on this wide crushed limestone trail, with long straightaways and zero elevation, time seems to pass by very slowly.

I feel it.

Looking at my watch every minute or so just makes it worse.

I slug along. By myself. For miles and miles and miles. I walk all the aid stations. I eat. I move slowly.

Miles 18 – 22

FINALLY… people. I reach some sights and sounds and a crude false finish as I complete the 9-mile out-and-back, pass the finish line and go out for a 4-mile out-and-back.

Again, long, flat stretches of endless visibility makes this task seem slower and harder than it really is. Even my constant mind/body feedback loop seems slow. I notice I have a blister on my left pinky toe. I’ve felt a burn there for the last five miles or so but didn’t think anything of it until now, realizing that it is a blister.

Meh.

Just keep slogging.

And now it is a slog, no doubt. I’m moving, but not with much conviction. This feels more like a training run than anything else (thank goodness it IS!) and I make it feel even more so by continuing to walk and eat when I feel like it (which is often).

I am tired, but not any more tired than I would be if I were out running 20 miles on my own, by myself. The quietness of this race is challenging me more than the distance. I guess I am spoiled by equating “marathon” with raucous gaiety.

Miles 22 – 26.2

I hit the turn-around and quickly find myself running beside someone else.

Whoa! Company! I forgot what that was like!

His name is Ted and he’s from the city too. We chat for a bit and I find out he’s running his first ultra in a couple of weeks at the Lakefront 50. I gab on about ultras, making the time pass quickly (for once) until, just two miles from the finish line, I wish him ‘good luck’ and break off for what I hope is my last pit stop (7th total) of the day.

The over was a good bet!

As I get back to the Start/Finish area, I’m welcomed by another false finish that leads me on a short loop around where we started.

Finally though, 4 hours and 14 minutes after I started, I cross the finish line.

It’s my slowest marathon to date. But I will have plenty of time to go even slower tomorrow.

Siamak, still on a high from having run a marathon personal best time, greets me shortly after I get my medal. As we chat, all I can think about is going home and going to bed.

– – –

To be continued…