26.2

On Sunday, I ran through 29 of Chicago’s finest neighborhoods as part of my first marathon.

The boy and I entered the marathon lottery back in February, when we were much more naïve and when October seemed eons away. We had watched our good friend Rajveer cross the finish line at the Istanbul marathon and we were feeling the second-hand high from his great achievement. A few weeks later, we got the e-mails telling us congratulations, we had been selected. That’s when shit got real.

Fast forward to June and it was time to begin the official 16-week training program. I went with a coaching plan from my Nike running app. The schedule consisted of 4-5 runs a week and incorporated speed workouts, cross-training and of course, the long runs on the weekend. For the most part I stuck to the program pretty closely – the only time I fell off the bandwagon was during the two-week taper period when I was moving to Denver and everything in my life was literally a mess. Let's just say I tapered pretty hard.

There were certainly some memorable runs, most of them the long ones. I remember completing my 14-miler along the Chicago lakefront on a chilly afternoon and feeling exhilarated afterwards that I’d run that far, the farthest I’d ever gone to that point. I remember attempting to do my 18-miler in Whitehall, Michigan as the morning temperatures slowly crept up into the low-90’s. I ended up walking a third of that run in absolute misery. I remember getting up at four in the morning to run my 20 miles before going in to work and then boarding a flight to Iceland that evening. I remember running two 11-mile loops in Reykjavik, battling wind and rain, and when I completed them, telling myself that if I could run twenty two miles in Reykjavik, then I sure as hell could run twenty six in Chicago.

Before I knew it, October 11^th had arrived. I was a bundle of nerves the night before but I woke up feeling well rested and ready for the task at hand (or on foot, rather). I met up with my friend Patrick in our corral and focused on thinking positive thoughts, like what a beautiful day it was and how lucky I was to be healthy enough to be running a marathon. Then the horn sounded, and we were off!

The first half of the marathon flew by. Patrick and I ran most of it together with the 4:10 pace group as we went up through the North side neighborhoods where we passed by friendly faces who spurred us on. The energy of the crowds was absolutely infectious and made us want to run fast – at one point we had managed to get ahead of the pacers and I remember turning and asking him, “this probably isn’t a good sign, right?” 

Speaking of signs, we saw some really fun ones along the course:

“You’re running better than Donald Trump!”

“Where are you guys all going?”

“All this work…just for one banana?”

“This seemed like a better idea 4 months ago”

“Just don’t poop yourself.”

The real race started around mile 13, at which point the novelty and exhilaration of it all had worn off and all there was left to do was to hunker down and put some serious pavement behind me. I don’t recall too much between miles 13 to 20. I knew that this was when my body would naturally begin to protest and that I needed to keep going and to save the real pity party for the last few miles. I do remember letting myself feel a fleeting moment of joy at mile 18 – (“Hey, 18’s pretty close to the finish!”) – before realizing I was only about 2/3 of the way through, a depressing thought. After that I forced myself not to dwell about being even close to done until I’d at least reached mile 22, the furthest I’d run in my training program.

Well, mile 22 turned out to be the worst. The absolute worst. The boy and I both agreed on this in retrospect. There were almost no crowds in this stretch (we’d been spoiled earlier by the festivities in Chinatown, one of the best spots for spectator cheering), it was starting to get really hot, and 22 miles is far enough to be very painful, but not far enough where the excitement of finishing begins to take over. While I never did hit the dreaded “wall”, if I had, it would’ve been at 22.

I got through the remaining miles at around an 11:00 mile pace – not my fastest, but I was just happy that I didn’t stop and walk. In the last .2 miles, at the last turn, a lot of runners around me started going really fast out of excitement, some of them bursting into all-out sprints. I was excited too when I saw the finish line and I remember trying to pick it up – but I just couldn’t. My body was like, hell no lady; you are not going any faster than this. I crossed the finish line four hours and nineteen minutes after I’d started. Words cannot describe how good it felt.

Finishing a marathon and doing the mile-ish walk to the reunite area was definitely one of the strangest experiences of my life. My legs were like planks, stiff and strange. I could not bend at the knee properly and I felt like my feet were glued to the ground. I’d reluctantly pick one foot up, stiffly swing it forward, put my weight on it, and repeat on the other side. It looked totally ridiculous but then again, everyone else around me was doing the same pain shuffle. All of us had ran 26.2 miles and apparently forgotten how to walk. And don’t even get me started on stairs.

I "walked" away with some soreness and minor chafing but nothing else that a hot meal, a cold beer and a good night’s sleep couldn’t fix. It’s been 2 days since I crossed the finish line and my feet and legs are feeling almost completely back to normal. 

Running a marathon was the most physically challenging thing I’ve ever done in my life. I feel happy with my time and proud that I saw it through without walking or injury. Like all new big life experiences, it’s something that I have learned from and that I will treasure forever – another piece of the puzzle that makes me, me. I am grateful for all the support - the good lucks, the pats on the back, the people who showed up on race day and cheered us on. And a shout out especially for the boy's mama, who drove in from Michigan that weekend and was the best spectator ever, in my unbiased opinion. Thank you, thank you, thank you.

I’m not sure if I will run another marathon anytime soon. Probably not until the motivation comes to me or there’s a good reason/cause involved. I do feel happy to be able to call myself a marathoner, though, and I fully intend to keep on running.

Kickin' it in Colorado: Everything is Better in Boulder

We had less than twenty-four hours in Boulder. We decided that the best course of action would be to drop off our things at our Airbnb (highly recommended, by the way) and making a beeline for the Flatirons.

We started our hike at the Chautauqua Trailhead where the views got us so excited, we could barely wait to snap a quick picture before taking off:

It was midday when we began our ascent with temperatures in the mid-eighties with a starting elevation of around 5,700 feet. We were drenched in sweat approximately three seconds in.

I call this the Leaning Vitruvian Woman

Along our hike we came across "fields" of broken-up boulders that we had to traverse to continue:

"Please God, let me get tan."

Five points if you can spot the critter shell.

It took us about an hour and a half to hike the Royal Arch and wind our way to the peak of the 1st/2nd flatiron, where we took a break and enjoyed the marvelous views before heading back down.

Smiling because I achieved something, and also perhaps from oxygen deprivation

It was such a beautiful, different trail to hike - full of tight switchbacks and friendly locals (who didn't seem to be breaking a sweat at all, meanwhile there we were filling buckets with ours!) And definitely a challenging one too - over the course of about five miles, we experienced an altitude change of 1,422 feet. At one point we even saw scramblers slowly making their way up a wall of rock; way too scary without rope for my taste, but cool to see nevertheless. 

In the evening we returned to the Flatirons, but this time in the comfort of our dry, air-conditioned car. 

We picked the summit of Flagstaff mountain to watch the sun set over the city.

We encountered this huuuuge rock that offered amazing views but that required a tricky bit of maneuvering to get on top of.

Ravenous, we found Korean food dinner (typical) on campus and washed it down with local beer at Mountain Sun brewery - a great spot for people watching if you can get a seat outside facing Pearl Street.

Boulder is one of those places where you show up and think to yourself, "Is this place for real?" Everything is sort of perfect. There's a beautiful college campus surrounded by young, smart people. There is Pearl Street with all of its art and restaurants and street performers. There's a babbling creek that gurgles pleasantly through the city. There are little breweries and dispensaries. There's the Flatirons range looming in the distance. There are bikers and runners and climbers all along the unbroken mountainous trails. There are dreamy old houses on tree-lined streets. There's a requirement that you must have a six pack to be a resident. It is a wonderful, curated, privileged bubble. 95% of me is completely smitten with it, and the remaining 5% of me is like, "what the actual fuck."

For all the reasons above, Boulder is also where we picked to have our wedding next summer. We're beyond excited for our guests from all over the world to come and see what this cool place has to offer - and we're hoping a few of them might fall for it as hard as we have and move to Colorado with us and live the rest of our days outfitted in head-to-toe Patagonia, driving Subarus and swapping stories of our latest backcountry expeditions.

Kickin' it in Colorado: Golden Days

We spent a few days of our trip putzing around Golden, Colorado, a city that lies west of Denver. There one evening, we got our first taste of the Rockies at Lookout Mountain where we watched yet another glorious Centennial State sunset.

The next day, we set out for a day hike at North Table Mountain.

I was impressed by the assortment of flora we encountered. 

Phallus flower

Dandelion XXL

An enormous wild cabbage

Desert-y flowers and beyond, the city of Golden

The hike itself was rather wonderful. To get to it, you had to drive through a beautiful windy neighborhood on a street which turned into a dirt road that eventually led to the North Table Mountain trailhead. We were so close to the houses and buildings beneath, yet we were also on a legitimate, moderately-difficult hiking trail. Within just fifteen minutes or so of ascending the path, we came across climbers. We also ran into several mountain bikers and many other hikers, all peacefully sharing the path. Everyone was also incredibly friendly - exchanging "Hellos" and "How are yous", and telling you where they'd encountered wildlife further up the trail. Basically, more reasons to fall in love with Colorado and its residents.

The Coors factory in Golden

Started from the bottom now we here

Once we'd reached the table, we ended up accidentally making a wrong turn and doing some of the loop backwards and the long way 'round (lol). But that was okay because we had been having a rather sedentary vacation so far, and also because we were technically supposed to be in week one of marathon training (more lol).

It took about four hours total for us to complete the hike. Satisfied and hungry, we headed back into Golden's quaint downtown area for some well-deserved beer and burgers to refuel.

My future sister-in-law raved about Golden and now, I can absolutely understand why. It's close enough to Denver to easily commute to and from work, but the vibes I got from it were much more family-oriented and laid-back than in the city itself. I also loved that there was climbing and hiking all right there - North Table Mountain was just one of many that surrounded Golden. City-by-city, Colorado was seriously raising the bar.

Next up: Hiking the Flatirons in Boulder!