My race has been run

It's crazy to think I spent all those weeks, all those training sessions, all that time, and all that money just to get ready for a period of time that lasts less than 40 minutes.

I woke up at 5 am and downed a peanut butter sandwich and a liter of water. I drove to Bartlett instead of my usual West Chicago stop, since the first train out of West Chicago on a Sunday doesn't leave until after 7 a.m. I later had a banana on the train. After getting off the train at Union Station, it was a 20 minute walk straight east on Jackson St to get to Grant Park.

I checked my gear in and stretched out, but it was probably about 45 minutes between arriving at the site and starting the race. As far as the temperature, it was cloudy and it must have been in the 40s. It was cold, but not unbearably so. Wearing my Saucony sneakers, black Fila shorts, orange Dri-Fit Mets t-shirt, black headband, and royal blue wristbands, I purposefully strode into Corral C, the fourth division behind the Elites, A, and B.

It took about 20 minutes to actually get started as they kept sending us out in waves. I started north in a steady jog while playing Springsteen's "Born to Run." Original, I know. After 4 minutes, I switched to Keep on Chooglin' by Creedence. As I've mentioned, Doug Clifford's drumbeat kept me running at a perfect 8.0 mph for almost eight minutes.

Around the first mile, I felt a little discomfort in my side, that early sidestitch. It wasn't sharp, but it was just enough to keep me uncomfortable for the whole race. I grabbed Gatorade right around mile 3.5. Right around this time, I could feel my legs turning into Jello. I was so anxious to see the Mile 4 marker, as I knew I could kick it a little harder at that point.

During the last mile, as I ran south on Michigan Ave huffing and puffing, that final left turn towards the finish line seemed like it was just never going to come. I did pass one kid waving a stupid white W flag. I screamed at him, "I'm gonna beat that stupid flag" as I found my next gear and blew right past him. There's nothing like pure rage to inspire a speed burst.

All I wanted to do was maintain my pace. Even though I wanted to stop and walk a couple of times, but I could not even let that be an option. Because I knew if I did stop, there was no way I was going to live it down. The recovery was going to happen over a period of time, but losing those 30 or 45 seconds for a brief walk was going to be difficult for me to accept.

I made that left on Roosevelt and went over that tough hill which goes over the Metra train tracks, back downhill, and then it was one last left turn onto Columbus. I could see that beautiful word elevated in white letters surrounded by lime green. That word was "Finish." I tried one last sprint, but it wasn't quite the speed I wanted .But I kept going and never stopped for that last two tenths of a mile until I was across that finish line.

My final time was 36:39, only about a minute and a half slower than three years ago. I feel good about it, though I know I can do it faster. If I could do the training over again, I would not do the interval running. I'm not sure if it really helped me. I think I should have ran at that harder speed a little more but for not as long a period of time. The only injury that I'm feeling 24 hours later is a strained right Achilles tendon.Climbing stairs right now for me is a nightmare.

So the question is will I race again? As of now, I really don't know the answer to that question. I can definitely do a 5k, and I'm sure I will do at least one at some point this summer. But I think my ceiling is to do a 10k and I'm not sure if my feet can handle any more pounding than that. We'll see what happens.