Chi Town Half-Marathon Race Recap

Three miles isn’t scary for me, neither is six really, but 13? (And the .1!) YES. It just seems like such a large margin for blister, bathroom or cramping errors. It’s just seems like suchhh a long timeee to runnn.

I really did want to run another half. When I saw the Chi Town Half aligned with a 13-mile training run for my 25K, I figured it was racing fate.

I was a little ball of nerves standing behind the starting line before the race began. Something about being right on the edge of a race is riding-a-rollercoaster-in-the-dark terrifying. It always feels so much better when the race starts and you can just GO.

I mentally broke the race into three-mile chunks. It was a solid tactic and got me through the first six miles quickly. I picked a race mantra—run strong.

At mile nine running and dudes trying to suddenly race when they saw they were about to be passed by this little lady started to get old. I entertained a mini panic that I still had four miles left, and an even larger panic that at the nine mile mark in my May race I’d have—oh lord, hold me—six and a half to go.

I solemnly swear, poor feet, to drown you in all the hot eucalyptus Epsom salt baths you want once we get through mid-May.

With two and a half miles to go, a race pacer came to run with me. About 10 yards ahead was the 1:55 page group; he coaxed me into catching them. Ugh! Running faster after 11 miles is hard! I did catch them, but then found their pace was very kumbaya-now-coast-into-the-finish-you-made-it! like, and I was not about to finish a race with a mild coast.

I kicked my way past the group, through the remaining half mile and to the finish line with a six minute PR. Special thanks to the dude in front of me with a full Tiger face airbrushed on his t-shirt, most motivational race gear ever. I had no cramping (a la the St. Luke’s Half), bathroom or weather-related issues to report. Yes to the blisters though. Major yes.

Words can make a good race seem quick and easy. This race was fast, flat and fun; but it was hard too. I pushed myself through every.single.mile. I kept my stride long, I kept focused, I ran strong.

I remember holding back during the initial miles of my first half afraid I’d lose steam. I vowed not to do that again. I had asked for my age-group swim team nickname, Ramona, to be printed on my bib (though that didn’t happen for whatever reason). I wanted to remember what my swim coaches used to tell me—go out strong; if you die, you die, but at least you’ll know you gave it what you had.

I think deliriously thrusting my sweaty bag of sports gummies into Ben’s hand post-race and wobbling into the taxi with a run-drunk smile means I did just that.