The Chicago Marathon – Reloaded Part 2 of 2
October 24, 2010
he sweeper car finally passed us at mile marker 21, just before Chinatown. I was beginning to wonder what it would be like at the finish line. I have never been in this situation before. You were suppose to finish in 6 hours 30 minutes and we were not going to make that time. I sense the disappointment in my wife, but as always we make the most of it. It is what you have at the moment. Remember last year?
Waddle…waddle…breathe…breathe.
I miss Nessie (or the Lock Ness monster) from UK. She was being carried by three runners from Scotland. They run marathons in US and Europe to raise money against cancer. I was looking for her at the starting line and along the course but somehow she has disappeared this year. Nessie is real, ok!
With Nessie missing, Mr. Eiffel showed up with his tower. Le voir? Oui?
French runner in Eiffel tower costume.
“Go, Bo, Go. I would hear my name being called out. Looking good runner.”
Some spectators would call me. I gain confidence and tell myself, we can do this.
It is the first time for my wife to see the sights and sounds at the marathon. At mile marker 8 (Boys Town area), the baton twirling ‘guys’ were on stage again. Twirl those batons, girls…er, I mean guys. She love that. Then there’s Elvis singing his heart out for you at mile marker 10. I remember all the sights and sounds from last year but it is so cool to share it this time with my wife.
Now, we are really sharing the pain at mile marker 22. My wife tells me that her left plantar (forefoot) is bothering her. We are almost there with 4 miles to go. I was relieved that there is still water and gatorade at water stations we pass. I was spent. It is just too hot. They were giving out energy gels for runners but no more bananas, oranges, or water sponges. The Chicago Fire Department started opening up the fire hydrants along the way and sprayed mist to cool off the runners.
Just 4 miles. I was heads down and ignored all the cheers coming my way. Come on legs, move with me. Don’t walk just put one foot forward.
How can this last 4 miles can be so painful? It also means one more hour of agonizing running in the heat. One more bleeping hour of punishment. This last push is all mental. Let’s see what I got left. Oh, I hang on like I hang on waiting for my chemo to finish. I hate chemo. This one is for you, Marge (she passed away from pancreatic cancer). I am here because of your sacrifice.
My wife is already silent too but she does not stop. She can be stubborn and funny. I remember several hours ago when we were at the starting line.
“You did what?” I said.
“The lines in the bathroom was long and I could not hold it anymore, so I pee’d in the bushes. I saw this one lady doing it, so I said, to hell with it. I found my spot and let go.” My wife said, visibly relieved.
The visual was so funny; an exposed ass (or arse for my UK friends). Well, after this she is a seasoned marathoner. I made a mental note to include sanitizing gel in my pack next time. Who cares!
The crowd went silent as the national anthem was played. It was wall-to-wall people. The corral was so full of people that you cannot move and there were still many more runners trying to get into the corral. I was standing there drowned among 45,000 runners who does not even know my story. I am sure they have their own story as to why they are running. I love it.
Then, I hear the starting horn blast and it electrified the crowd. The excitement surged from the front to the back of the corral. My adrenaline was pumped and the crowd started to move forward to a slow crawl.
I feel like I am really crawling now. My adrenaline was spent many hours ago, even whatever reserved glycogen I have left. My wife is getting impatient because each mile seems to be taking longer. Most runners are just walking now. We have been running for more than 6 hours. Where is the next mile marker? What is it now? 23? 24? 25?
There were still people in the street cheering you. Who knows how long they have been out here too, cheering for their family, friends, or stranger. I think that is how my cancer journey feels like. I have met people who have cheered for me and gave me hope. Nameless faces who want me to succeed in finishing the marathon and fight cancer. They have lined up the course, like you have lined up for me and cheered.
“Go Bo go. You can beat this cancer. You are inspirational.”
My wife and I pushed on. We are almost there. We just passed mile marker 26, we turn right towards Roosevelt Road and it is an incline. My legs feel the strain of the uphill but my wife does not. She surge forward ahead of me and I try to stay with her.
The crowd surge forward to the starting line. We walk slowly trying avoid discarded clothes, water bottles, energy gels in the corral. Loud music was playing…’Start it up’ by Rolling Stones. Sign boards being waved by spectators while trying to look for friends or family. They call out their names.
I hear somebody call my name. I turn to see my colleagues (Art, Jim, Rodney, and Ravi) from work where there cheering for me, all holding a camera to capture my run to finish line or me being left behind by my wife. What a moment. I wave to acknowledge them and turn to chase (or beg my wife to slow down). Let’s go, Kenyan.
“Wait, babes!” I called out instead.
I see the starting line. We were so far back from the starting line, that it was taking us almost 30 minutes just to get there. I see the TV overhead cameras now. I hope they capture my start.
The start
“Come on, babes, we are almost there.” She calls to me.
She is all adrenaline now and I am all in pain. My hamstring seized up from the uphill. We turn left to Columbus Drive and we are 200 meters from the finish. I don’t remember the start or how long we have been running.
I see my brother, Rene, in the spectator stands patiently waiting for us near the finish line. I wave and smile but it hid the fact that I was all cramping up. So close and yet so far. My wife heard my desperate call.
“I have leg cramps. I need help.”
I hope Mom is watching the start at home but knowing her she might still be in church. I told the wife to look at the overhead cameras and we might be seen in TV. Our fleeting 5-seconds of fame. We raise our hands to wave. Hello, world.
Woohoo! Timer reads 7:55:35. The race officially started at 7:30.
She stopped and waited for me. She held out her hand. I felt your confidence, your cheers, your joy, and your support. I strain to the finish line, afraid that I might fall over from cramps. That will be my youtube-moment. I will my legs to move. I grip the hand of my wife tightly as my left calf seized up. One last gasp from Mr. Pain. Damm you, Mr. Pain. My wife and I held hands crossing the finish line and with my other hand…I raise a finger. Up yours, Mr. Pain. Not this time, bitch. We finished in 6:53:08.
The Finishers with medal
Thank you. Thanks for being there for me.
Cheers.
Epilogue:
I was tired and sore. As we walked pass the finish line I was looking ahead if they were still giving out medals. We did not make the cut-off time but we got our medals together with all the unforgettable memories of 10-10-10. We met up with my family back at the ACS tent and exchanged war stories and got some goodies, then headed home where Mom prepared a seafood banquet for us.
Will I do it again? In a heart beat, yes. I would take the pain of running again and again. Each mile I run is a victory for life. Each mile gives me hope that some day they will find a cure of cancer. I still shed tears for those lives claimed by cancer. They remind me how fragile life can be. I will continue to run and tell their stories as well.
P.S. I have fully recovered. Today, my wife and I ran 7 miles but on Tuesday, October 26, I will have my chemo maintenance again. Cancer sucks.
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wore my 2010 Chicago marathon half-zip shirt for my chemo maintenance today. It is not only to take pride as a finisher, but it is comfortable too. It is warm, light, and opens widely at the chest for Edith, my oncology nurse, to access my port-a-cath. She gets mad if it is difficult for her to get to it. I learned my lesson.
You cannot tell if somebody is already suffering or in pain from the outside, much like cancer. I was definitely in pain. I have done this before but I don’t remember having this much pain. My legs and my knees were really angry at me. We have been having an argument since mile marker 15.
