I’ve been in a funk for about a week.  Considering that I ran the Chicago Marathon a little over a week ago, this is not at all surprising.  Yet again, I have a case of the post race blues.  The only surprising part is that this funk has lasted longer than usual.  Which is why I have been Silent Runner Girl.  Now I’m ready to ramble.

Last weekend was an unforgettable experience.  I got to spend the weekend in my favorite city with my best friend in the whole word and run a marathon.  Trifecta!

Friday night, before I left town, Shane and I went to dinner and bowling in the loop to keep me from pacing at home in anticipation of such an epic event.  Saturday morning, I was up before my alarm (which I assure you never ever happens!) and stopped to pick up Cole and his girlfriend Susannah before heading up 55 North to the Windy City.

We went straight to McCormick Place where the Chicago Marathon expo is held every October.  Cole and Susannah went on in while I waited at the entrance for Britta.  I wanted to experience every moment of her first marathon with her.  While I waited, I felt my eyes welling up with tears.  I was waiting for my best friend, who I hadn’t seen in a year and a half.  While many things about my life have changed in that time, she has remained constant.  She knows me better than anyone and has wholeheartedly accepted me as I am.  Flaws and all.

Just as the tears were about to spill, I was distracted.  Suddenly a different someone was standing in front of me in disbelief. If you’ve been following my posts from the beginning, you may remember my friend Douang who was a customer that I fit for shoes back in the spring.  She had lost a child and was about to run her first half marathon.  Running was the thing that gave her a reason to get out of bed in the morning during that period of horrific grief that swept over her life.  And I was shocked to see her standing in front of me in Chicago, telling me that she was about to run her first marathon, in place of her husband who couldn’t use his bib.  What’s even more unreal is that she spotted me in all that chaos.  If that isn’t good race mojo, I just don’t know what is.

Then, the crowd parted.  And there was Britta walking towards us.  Finally!  We made our way into the Expo where we gathered our bibs and race shirts and other goodies.  After the expo, we took a little break at our room at the Palmer House Hilton.  Yeah, we stayed in style.

Eventually, we pulled ourselves together and went to dinner.  Most people carb load before an event like a marathon.  But B and I have a favorite place in Chicago (actually we have a few favorites) so we went to Wildfire for steak and ribs.  Hey, we had potatoes too.

After dinner we leisurely wandered back to the hotel by way of State Street.  We were both just enjoying being in our city.  We came across a big Captain Morgan’s sign that simply read, “Go Forth and Conquer”.  That’s exactly what we had come to do.

When we got back to the hotel, we laid out race clothes, gathered necessary items, organized our gear, and talked logistics.  All lot of those logistics went out the window, as is usually the case since race morning arrives and you ultimately don’t really care about anything other than making sure you get to the start line on time.

Hind sight being what it is we probably should have left earlier than we did to get to the corrals, but we made it.  We didn’t quite accomplish everything we wanted to that morning, but we had a planned meeting place and took our “selfie” by Buckingham Fountain (the important things)  seconds before I jumped ship and ran off to Corral C.  Britta had insisted that we each had to run our own race.  She thought if we ran together we would spend the whole time talking and not doing what we came to do.  She had a point, so I stuck with Corral C, while Britta started about 30 minutes later in Corral E.

My plan was just to run hard and enjoy the day.  I intentionally held back at the start, trying to reign in the adrenaline coursing through me.  Almost immediately I spotted Brian and Katie up ahead of me.  I caught up to them to say a quick good luck and then we each went on about our own races.

I ran near my old office that over-looked Michigan Ave.  I ran past the only spot I have ever seen my dad during any of my marathons.  I ran by Lincoln Park Zoo, so many memories there.  I ran past the hospital where 2 of my kids were born.  I ran past Surf St. where I lived in my favorite apartment before I got married.  I ran past Britta’s old building that I used to walk to from my apartment on Surf.  I ran down Addison, but turned left on Broadway before we got to Wrigley Field.  I ran past Wrightwood and Deming, streets that would lead to tiny Lill Ave where there is a little yellow house that I brought both of my boys home from the hospital to.  I blew a kiss in that direction.  And I ran on.

I looked for various friends at the locations they mentioned they would be.  The only one I saw during the race was Jennifer.  On Wells, somewhere near Chicago Ave, I saw her standing on the sidewalk holding her little girl Kalene.  I gave her a quick hug and threw my arm warmers at her.  Unfortunately, I didn’t have time to do what Jenn and I used to do together in our earlier single days which was sit in coffee shops discussing our favorite books.  Jenn is the one who got me started on Pat Conroy.  I ran on.

We headed back through the downtown area and then went west.  The middle of the marathon is always a bit of a blur to me.  Part of that is being “in the zone” but in Chicago it’s the more unfamiliar neighborhoods.  In the distance, recognizable buildings stand tall, reminding me of where I am.  And the running continues…

Then on to the south side, through China town and then a turn just before Comisky (they can change the name to US Cellular Field, and try to give it a cool nickname like “The Cell”, but it will still always be Comisky to most Chicagoans) Eventually the course goes north, up Michigan Avenue, with the skyline beaconing all the runners back to Grant Park.  Somehow the designers of the course found the only hill in Chicago and stuck it in right at 26.1.  Right before we coast those last couple hundred meters into the finish.

And then, marathon #9 was done.  Not a PR, but just a couple minutes off.  My second fastest, run on a beautiful day in a beautiful city.  I got my mylar wrap, my medal, my snacks, and my free beer while I chatted with my friend Stephanie who finished at the same time. Then I laid on the grass and waited for Britta in our designated spot.  I waited longer than I had expected so I figured out something had gone wrong.  Turns out she was right on pace until she stepped in a pothole at about Mile 14, which twisted her ankle and tweaked her knee.  She ended up having to walk a fair amount of the back half.  But she still had a great first marathon time.

Initially upon seeing me, she said how much it sucked and she was never doing that again.  It only took a couple hours when we were back in the hotel before she had reconsidered.  She can’t let that be her one and only marathon experience, always knowing that she could do better.  I KNEW IT!

After we cleaned up, rested a bit and repacked our stuff, we ventured back out into the streets of the city we love so much.  We hit Garrett’s for some popcorn, for the kids, of course.  And then some Chicago style pizza.  Then, sadly, it was time for B to head to the airport.  I drove her to Midway, we hugged goodbye.  And then, it was over.  Our marathon weekend that we had planned and looked forward to for months was now behind us.

And that was the Chicago Marathon 2013.

It’s funny how we build things up in our minds.  The marathon, just like life, is really a series of small things that make up something bigger.  We move from one thing to the next, thinking that the big thing we are working toward is going to be the pinnacle.  But eventually we realize that even after those moments that we have been building up to have passed, life still just keeps on going, one more step at a time.  Feeling joy and pain all at the same time.

The past week and a half since Chicago, my life has seemed somewhat messy.  My schedule was chaotic, I had a sick kid, I missed out on some things I wanted to do, I started going down a road leading to a major pity party.  On Saturday night after I got the kids to bed, I pulled up a movie from my DVR to help end the funk.  Prince of Tides.  Good old Pat Conroy, a favorite, all thanks to Jenn.  It’s been several years since she gave me a copy of that book for my birthday one year, but it’s still a fave.  The thing I love about it is that I can see myself in each of the characters.  Each of their messy lives somehow relates to mine.  Because that’s life, it’s messy.

Yesterday my friend Jodi found out that her divorce was final.  We were talking about the huge variety of emotions that comes with that news.  I reassured her that it’s ok to bounce around all over the place from scared to liberated, from sad to angry to terrified.  Individual moments that make up something bigger.  The important part is to feel it all.  Her response was, “Yeah I guess that’s the only way to live, feel it all”.

At some point over the past week, I was texting a friend and I was trying to say “I’m a tough one” but my phone interjected some other suggested words.  It wanted me to say “I am a…complete beautiful prize”.  Even in my mess, even when I don’t parent perfectly, even when I’m in a funk, even when I miss a PR by just a couple minutes, my life is still a series of small things, some good, some not so good, but I’m going to feel it all.  Ultimately, yeah, it is the series of small things that make up my messy life, and it is my ability to “Go forth and Conquer” that makes me a complete beautiful prize.