This was my first attempt at a sub-2:50 marathon and it went almost as well as I had hoped. Here's what I thought of it in 1996:

The Chicago Marathon was 20-Oct-1996, but my training for it started in ernest 19 weeks before the race when I spent a month in Santa Fe, NM at the Complex Systems Summer School. Since that time I have averaged a little over 52 miles per week, with a low week of 20 miles and a high week of 100 miles. Training went very well and I was able to get in a lot of good mileage and tough workouts. Along the way I ran three races with varying degrees of success.

The first race was the Purdue CoRec 8K which came on the heels of an 82 mile week. I ran a 29:12.06 (a 5:53 per mile pace), came in sixth place and won my age group. Still it was about 40 seconds slower than my time on the same course last year. I attributed this to the hotter weather this year and the higher mileage weeks which I was running.

The next race was the Brookston Apple-Popcorn 10K, in Brookston, IN, a little town just north of here. It was a small field and I had a good chance off winning. I took it out hard with a 5:24 first mile and the crashed and burned. I managed to hold on enough to finish second with a 37:07 (a 5:59 per mile pace), 20 seconds behind a guy I've beaten several times in other races by up to two minutes. The race was in the middle of a 70 mile week, so I wasn't too unhappy.

A week later I ran the 10K City of Pittsburgh Great Race. The course was downhill and a perfect place to break personal records. I eased back to 30 miles that week and set a PR by about 13 seconds with a time of 35:34.54 (a 5:44 per mile pace), which was the fastest I've ever run any distance race. Finally I started feeling confident for the marathon.

But the next two weeks were not the best for training. After Pittsburgh I was in Boston and Washington DC for conferences and business. My training miles dwindled to 40 and 45 miles per week. I had only two good speed workouts and no runs of longer that two hours. It wasn't the best way to lead into the last week before a marathon.

The final week was an easy rest week. But even that was difficult. I made a trip to the University of Illinois to give a talk and had a lot of things to do here. Things weren't as restful as I had hoped.

Finally the Saturday before the race was more difficult than I would have preferred. The day started out well enough. I left Lafayette around 10:00am for Chicago and the marathon expos. It was also the weekend of my mother's 50th birthday. She moved from Chicago to Phoenix a few years ago and sometimes missed Chicago's skyline, so my sister suggested we get her a panoramic shot of the city. I bought the photograph at a local store and planned to bring it along on the marathon trip. 80 miles north of Lafayette I realized I had forgotten to pack the picture.

A short two hours later and I was at the same place, only this time I had the picture. It wasn't so late and I figured that I could still make the marathon expos and get to my sister's place in plenty of time to relax and eat a lot of pasta.

On the drive into Chicago I discovered the first obstacle. Lake Shore Drive was undergoing a lot of construction heading into Chicago and traffic was backed up several miles. The fun of sitting in traffic jams has always escaped me. Even with a beautiful view of the skyline from the south of downtown it was not a pleasant experience.

All in all it wasn't bad, but I was tense about the race and time was speeding a long and my blood pressure was speeding upwards. By the time I made it to the expos I had no patience for humans. The crowds at the expos were the biggest I have seen in Chicago. There were 12,000 people running the marathon and 4,000 running the 5K and they were all in my way.

I got my runner number, corrected an error my race packet (M instead of F), bought 24 Cliff Bars (peanut butter and chocolate chip "crunchy flavor") for only $20.00 and got out as quickly as possible. I had planned on buying some marathon merchandise, but the crowds made ordering the stuff look a lot more appealing.

Now all I had to do was make it to my sister's place. Not so difficult a task. She and her husband had recently moved into a new house near Romeoville, IL and she had given me directions earlier that week. So all was set, or it would have been had I brought the instructions with me.

Now my blood pressure had reached maximum levels and I had no patience for any human, least of all myself. I reached Romeoville easily enough, but the area of my sister's house was so new that not many people in town knew about it, at least no one I asked. As I was driving around in various random directions I saw a police car and it dawned on me that the police would know! Now all I had to do was find the police station.

This turned out to be easy enough. Though before I found it, all manner of schemes to cause enough trouble to get noticed by the cops entered my mind. As it turned out it was quite easy to get from the police station to my sister's place. I finally arrived at 6:00pm after leaving Lafayette at 10:00am.

My sister, her husband and my mother were still driving back from visiting my grandfather in southern Illinois and wouldn't be home until 9:00pm, so I had some time alone to relax and calm down. After 32 ounces of Gatorade, half a box of angel hair pasta and a package of bread sticks I settled down to watch some bad Saturday evening television and think about the race.

Adding up my mileage I figured I had gotten in approximately 1000 miles in training for this. My workouts, except for the last four weeks, had been good, but I was still nervous and unsure of how things would go. I was hoping to run between 2:45 and 2:50. Last year I ran a 2:53:07 with a lot less training, but the race had gone unbelievably well and I ran the entire way with a friend to push and pull me along. This year I'd be alone. But I'd run a 2:55 in Boston by myself so I felt my goal was possible.

By the time my family arrived I had calmed down a lot. I was still tense about the race, but it wasn't too bad. We made plans for the next day. My mother and sister were going to drive me down and watch the race. At 10:30pm, after watching two weather forecasts, I went to sleep.

Sunday started out for me around 5:00am. I woke up and felt like I'd slept well enough. I ate two bananas as soon as I got up and started drinking Gatorade. By 6:00am I was dressed and we were on the road. By 7:00am we were in traffic near the start of the race in Grant Park. I left my mother and sister with the car to park and started towards the marathon area. A short jog to the park was a good enough warm up.

My first stop was, as always, the port-o-potties. I found a short line and managed to do all I wanted to during my brief time in the module. That's always a good sign, so I started feeling better. There wasn't a big crowd at the start yet and it looked like I could get right to the starting line. After turning in my sweats I pushed and shoved my way to within a few feet of the beginning.

There were two divisions ahead of the open section. One for the world class men and women and one for people who had run a sub 2:50 in the past year. I'd missed the cut by three minutes, but I was up pretty close. As the starting time approached I shed a t-shirt and my garbage bag. By the time the gun went off I was within two feet of the starting line.

At 7:45am the gun went off and I thought "GO-GO-GO" as I pressed the start button of my watch. The crowd surged forward and I sped into the open. It was effortless and the adrenalin was flowing freely. I kept telling myself to slow down, but with so many people streaming by it was hard to keep calm. But it's a long race I knew I'd see a lot of those people again.

The first mile came in 6:05 and I was 15 seconds ahead of my pace. Again I made myself slow down, trying to get into my 6:20 pace rhythm and settle down.

The air smelled of chocolate cake as we moved through the first few miles. By the time we made it to the 5K (3.1 miles) I had settled down and was running at a 6:14 per mile pace, I passed the 5K marker at about 19:20. We were heading into Lincoln Park and I thought about stopping at a tree for a brief pit-stop. But I knew Nimbus (fellow Purdue physicist, marathon runner and proud brewer of Nimbus Beer) Cousin would make fun of me and I would lose too much time, so I didn't stop. Besides, I didn't have to go that bad.

Just past five miles we turned back south and headed back into the center of down town. I tried not to think about the 22 miles that lay ahead, nor did I want to think about the five miles I had just run. All my energy was focused on adding up times for a 6:20 pace at the next mile marker.

10K (6.2 miles) came at about 39:20 and I was on a 6:22 per mile pace. Things were going well. I had slowed down a bit from my 6:05 first mile and 6:15 second mile, but a bit too much. Now I was running closer to 6:30 per mile. If I had any shot at 2:45 I had to keep a pace close to 6:20 in the first half.

The next three miles were dominated by long straight-aways with small turns every mile. I worked to increase my pace and stay around 6:20. I passed several small crowds of people and worked hard to keep ahead of them. The miles were piling up quickly, but I still refused to think of things like: 8 down and 18 to go.

Water and Gatorade stops were numerous and I drank both at each aid station. A slight mistake was to have worn gloves. The temperature had been in the mid-40's F when we started and it was climbing into the low 50's, so I didn't really need gloves. But I wore them anyway. I saw a guy ahead of me take off a glove before he got water, so I copied him. The method succeeded in keeping my gloves dry and helping keep my hands warm, but it slowed me down a few seconds at each stop. I should have thrown the gloves away after the first ten miles, but I didn't.

The weather wasn't perfect, but it wasn't far from it. It was sunny and maybe got to 55-60F by the end of the race. But there was no wind and in the shadows of the buildings it was cool. I did sweat a bit while in the sun, but it was nothing that bad.

Just before mile ten we went over the Chicago River and turned a corner to head towards the Sears Tower. As I turned the corner I head my sister yell "There he is" and I was able to wave as I sped past. Later my sister would tell me that she didn't expect me for a while, but I had told her I hoped for a 6:20 pace and I was right on it. At ten miles I was just a little over a 6:20 per mile pace and felt okay. There had been some pain in my legs and my feet, but after I warmed up things were pretty much normal. There was some tightness in each hamstring, but nothing to worry about.

At ten miles I did think, "That's ten miles." But then I reminded myself that the race wasn't half over and the worst was yet to come. Mile eleven cam and went in Greek Town and was quickly followed by mile 12. The miles were still coming fast and easy and my pace was still at 6:20. Each mile I would add 6:20 to the time and then work to make it the next marker in by that time.

The halfway point came just before Little Italy and I was at 1:23:26 for 13.1 miles. Now I thought it was half over and the race was just about to get to the hard part. My plan had been to run a 6:20 per mile pace for the first half and then, if I felt reasonable, having run 13.1 miles at a 6:20 pace, I would push for a 6:15 pace for the second half. I didn't feel that good, but I hoped I could maintain my 6:20 pace. My mind suggested I consciously drop to a 6:30 pace, that is: start adding 6:30 to the mile times and then work for that. Another part of my mind vetoed that as the first step to slowing down, which was going to happen whether I wanted it to or not, but that I would not consciously facilitate.

The miles were still coming by fast and I felt like I was working hard and slowing some, but not too much. My ability to add numbers was fading, but I kept pushing. The crowds of spectators were larger than the previous years and have been growing since I started running marathons in 1990. It all helps to keep going, but things were getting hard.

The balls of both of my feet were on fire, my neuroma (an inflamed nerve between the big toe and the second toe) were inflamed and had been hurting for a few miles now. It's like you have a bruise and then hit it with 170 pounds about 45 times a minute. While talking to someone recently about marathons they said the second half was all about how much pain you could tolerate. Those words echoed in my head for the next few miles.

By China Town and mile 17 I was missing my 6:20 pace by 10 to 15 seconds each mile. I was slowing down, but still pushing and passing people. As I passed one guy we talked for a little bit. He asked about hitting the wall and how to avoid it. I told him to train more, a lot of good that did then. But he was moving a long okay and I told him to keep drinking Gatorade and not to quit. But I couldn't talk much, so I pulled away and wished him luck.

Miles 18 and 19 came quickly too. I can't recall the times, it was all a haze and all I could do was try to count the minutes and work towards the next mile. I wouldn't let myself think about the finish, it was still too far away. This was now the beginning of the hard part. People were dropping and slowing down. Refusing to be one of them I pushed a little harder.

Mile 22 was along the bicycle path next to Lake Michigan. From there we turned south, with the finish some three miles to the north. It is always a difficult turn for me because all I want to do at that point is stop running, and the place I could stop was in the opposite direction. It was a cruel person who designed the course this way.

On the other hand I recalled from last year that this meant I was almost done. Now I could take solace in the fact that there were less than four miles to go. Along the path I worked to pass people and then stay ahead of them. My running form had all but vanished and all my efforts were put into moving forward.

Turning north onto Lake Shore Drive brought us to the last straight-away and the 23 mile point. I remember looking at the clock thinking I could run a 21:00 last 3.2 and still break 2:50, at least that's what I thought then. Now the burning in the balls of my feet had spread to cover all of each sole. Each step was difficult. My hamstring's were tight and my stride length was decreasing each step. Mile 24 didn't come so fast, but it was still under a 7:00 mile. It was a lot like the year before, my legs were dead and my mind was gone, but I could still push forward. Everything hurt and I had forgotten what it felt like. But somehow you're able to keep going.

Around this point I saw a guy pushing a friend in a wheel chair. The guy in the wheel chair must have been totally paralyzed, but he was out there and his friend was pushing him and still going strong. It never ceases to amaze me when I see people doing things like that in marathons. I have seen people crutches, people in wheel chairs and people with only a single arm finish. It seems when a person makes up their mind, nothing is impossible. Seeing this pumped me up a little, but I was still fading.

As I passed through the last aid station Live's "I Alone" was blasting from a radio and I managed to find something extra and push the pace harder. I passed about a half dozen people out of the station, until I could no longer hear the music and my strength faded. Two guys passed my in their kick towards the finish. I let them go, but started pushing again. Mile 25 came in at around 2:42:30 and I knew my sub-2:50 was in doubt. But I couldn't think along those lines so well anymore, I couldn't really add any numbers together and understand what it meant. All I could do was push. We headed up a traffic bridge and then down the final mile into Grant Park and the finish. I passed a few more people.

With one mile left I was at 2:45 and I had no idea what that meant. There were a few people in front of me who I struggled to catch. We turned into Grant Park and what seemed like and infinitely long straight-away to the finish I passed the last guy I would catch and finished at 2:50:45 (a 6:30 pace) for 176/9156 overall, 48/1214 30-34 males and 162/6349 males. Just as I crossed the line and hit the stop button on my watch I heard my name called over the PA system for the first time at any race. I failed to break 2:50 or reach the 2:45 neighborhood, but I did break my personal record by 2:22.

Walking through the finishing shoots I must have looked pretty bad because so many people asked me if I was okay, while they ignored the people in front and behind me. In the finishers area I talked to a few people, got some water and nibbled on a bagel. I never have much of an appetite after finishing a race. I got my medal and got a picture of me on a finisher's stand. It felt so good to stop and just walk. Hobbling I managed to ease the pressure on my feet and alleviate some of the pain.

My mother and sister were able to see me finish and find me a few minutes after I got my picture taken. When we met each other I gave my mother a big hug and my medal as a second gift for her 50th birthday. I figure 50 years is harder than running for a little less than three hours, and more deserving of a medal.

The trip back to my sister's was easy and I celebrated with a meat lovers pizza from Pizza Hut and some brownies. Then I laid down and watched football. I fell asleep, but was woken up by a huge cramp in my calf. When I got up to go to the bathroom I found I had developed a huge headache and could barely stand up. After taking some aspirin and water from my mother I was able to go back to sleep.

When I woke up the next time I felt better. For a while after the race I had been pretty miserable and that made me happy. Because I had not broken 2:50 and not really reached my goals I was afraid I hadn't worked hard enough. But feeling as badly as I did lead me to believe I had worked pretty hard and it just wasn't my day.

It's difficult to come so close and do well, but still sort of feel like you failed. I'll have Boston to try to break 2:50. A month or two to recover and then I need to start training again, but with what happened in Chicago I'll be pretty motivated.

Back to the Running Vita of James B. Elliott