I did it. I completed the Chicago Marathon. I should have done more than just complete it; I should have won. The whole event was rigged against me. The marathon planners, the Kenyans, the city of Chicago and even my wife's crazy friend conspired against me to ensure I did not win. Here's what happened.
After waking up and eating a light breakfast, my wife's crazy friend convinced us to walk the one and a half miles to the race's starting point. I was dubious about this plan, but decided to go along, after all she is a seasoned runner and I am not. Looking back this was obviously a ploy to get me to walk farther than I had to. She was plotting to tire me out. I think I also saw her signal some volunteers that I was the target.
We arrived at the starting point of the race and found our starting corrals. I stretched and bounced around as I waited for the race to start. Over the loud speaker they announced the race was starting. I got set to run, but no one around me moved. I looked around puzzled. "Why aren't we going?" I asked. Everyone looked at me like I was crazy.
"The faster runners start first," they said.
Seriously? They give the faster runners a head start? If I tried that with my kids (12 and 5) it would end in tears. Who does that? I began to be suspicious.
An hour went by. An hour! C'mon how is that fair? Finally the line started to move, but it's a half an hour more before I actually get to start the race. I'm miffed at the unfairness of this, but I figure if I dig in hard I can catch the front runner, right? Wrong. The conspiracy had only begun.
I started the race in proper running form. Head held high, eyes focused on the horizon ahead. I was cruising. I was going to catch them. Then I tripped. I looked down. My feet were tangled in someone's discarded sweat pants. I looked around. The entire street was covered with discarded clothes. Pants, sweatshirts, gloves, and socks (socks?). Those cheaters ahead of us had left athletic wear booby traps to hinder us from catching up to them. Can you believe the audacity? Not content with getting more than an hour head start, they had to resort to trying to injure us. I was mad. I dug in even harder. I was determined to close the distance between us.
I ran steadily on. I ran and ran and ran. And ran. I felt good. I was going to catch them. I would do it! Then it happened. The thing every one had warned me about. I hit that proverbial wall. Wow! They weren't kidding, it was awful. My feet suddenly felt as heavy as concrete; my lungs wondered what had happened to the air; my back felt like an elephant had landed on it . Through bleary eyes I looked for the mile marker that would tell me how far I had come. I had made it to mile number three.
Luckily there were people handing out water and I was able to choke down an energy chew. Renewed I increased my speed only to slip and slide on the carpet of discarded cups the front runners had left behind. Were they trying to kill us? I carefully dodged the cups, but unfortunately stepped on a manhole cover that decided at that moment to release the smell that is Chicago.
Go make your self a nice hot bath. Get it really steamy. Now, have every one you know take turns peeing into it. Add some rotten sauerkraut, a wet dog, and the sweat soaked jerseys of your local junior high football team. This is close to the smell that ambushed me.
I staggered and nearly fell. But I steeled myself, eyes watering, I pressed on. I tripped on potholes, more discarded clothes, cleverly placed cups, and the rakes of the co-conspiring "volunteers". They were determined to stop me from running, but after awhile I became adept at spotting their traps coming and avoided them. Ha! I'd beaten them. Or so I thought.
Suddenly I heard someone behind me. I glanced back. There was no one there. Then BAM! Someone hit my knee with a baseball bat. I swung around looking for the culprit. There was no one there. BAM! I got hit again. I screamed. I heard the invisible person chuckle. "The Kenyans send their regards," he whispered, "You'll never catch them now."
He was right. I could barely move now. My knees were barely bending. I could barely walk, let alone run. I had no chance of winning now. Three thousand people streamed by me as I slowly hobbled forward. I was beaten, but "they" weren't done with me yet.
As soon as I mustered up the strength to run again, the invisible bat wielders were back to whack my knees. They paid superhuman septuagenarians to mock me as they ran quickly by. Somewhere around mile marker fifteen they somehow slipped razor blades into the bottoms of my shoes. I looked back. They had sent a car to run me off the road. They made a terrible mistake. No car was going to run me off the road! I plowed on determined to survive this nightmare I had willingly run into.
The miles flew by like a comatose sloth. I kept going. Mile seventeen, mile eighteen, mile seventeen. What? I had misread the mile marker sign, or imagined it. It's okay, just keep going I told myself. In the distance something strange covered the road.
As I crept closer it became clear what it was -- banana peals! It looked like they had set deranged monkeys free with a year's supply of bananas. Tears came to my eyes. It was so unfair. The Kenyans had already crossed the finish line, why were they being so cruel?
A spectator waved a sign at me. It read, "Hurry up, the Kenyans are drinking all of the beer!" Yes, that was it! They didn't care about winning the race, the fame, or the prize money. All they wanted was the beer. I set my jaw and lurched forward. No one was going to drink my beer!
Mile seventeen and eighteen for real this time, then nineteen and twenty. I was going to make it. My knees no longer worked; I moved forward with out them. My feet were on fire; I promised to put them out with beer.
Mile twenty-one, twenty-two. The volunteers started packing things up. The marathoners who had already finished the race ran back to laugh at the rest of us. Mile twenty-three, twenty-four.
Then twenty-five and finally at long last mile twenty six. Only the point two left to go. I turned the corner and almost burst out weeping. Those evil, evil, [insert swear word here]! They ended the race with an uphill climb. Where did they find a hill in Illinois? They must of had it shipped in from San Francisco. I crawled up the hill. I made it to the top.
I stumbled forward and crossed the finish line. I did it! I grabbed my beer and gulped it down. I collapsed weeping uncontrollably -- it was wheat beer.
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