This was my third attempt at a sub-2:50 marathon and it didn't go as well as I had hoped. I got knocked down, but I'll get knocked down. You're never going to keep me down. Here's what I thought of it in 1997:

My 1997 Chicago Marathon training started six months ago. During that time an average week consisted of me running about 53 miles. There was a high of 90 miles, two weeks at 80 and two at 75. Over that period I ran in five races. All of them were disappointing with times that ranged from 15 to 30 seconds slower than last year. Part of my slow down had to be the high number of miles I was racking up. I didn't really taper for any of the races and sometimes they were run during my highest mileage weeks. I was a bit concerned at the slow times, but during my training for the 1997 Boston and 1996 Chicago marathons my tune up races had been similarly slow, so I wasn't so too worried.

Over the final 15 weeks of this training period I managed to get in a little over 61 miles a week, compared to 1997 Boston: almost 58 miles a week and 1996 Chicago: nearly 57 miles a week. Things looked good for this marathon and I was feeling a little confident. The main thing on my mind was a sore pair of hamstrings that had bothered me over the last six weeks of my training. I hoped that a very light last month of running could help heal anything that was wrong. I dropped my mileage during the last month to under 40 miles a week, but I ran three races and hit the track hard for some intense speed work. Maybe not the best strategy for dealing with two strained hamstrings, but I felt I needed the speed work to combat the slow race times.

The trip to Chicago was less stressful that last year's. I made it up early Friday night and then went to the marathon expos with my friend Pete Shrader. After getting my sub-elite number and being happy about my seeding, we partook in all the free stuff we could, including: Gatoraid, Power Bars (only one PowerBite per person, PowerBar is getting cheap!), grape juice, cranberry juice, beans and rice, refrigerator magnets, tatoos (the temporary ones) and all sorts of other health and fitness related snack foods. After the expos we went to see "Devil's Advocate" which I give a thumb pointing sideways; it didn't suck but it wasn't a big thumbs up with the okay sign. During all of our activities I drank as much as possible, including 64 ounces of Gatoraid and 44 ounces of Pepsi and a gallon of water. The rest of the time I spent looking for a bathroom.

Saturday evening I watched some of the World Series and tried to plan out my race strategy. According to expert marathon coach Hal Higdon, to run a 2:45 I should take it out at a 6:12 per mile pace until we got to 12 miles, then drop to a 6:17 per mile pace until 18 miles, from there drop further to a 6:23 pace until mile 23 and run the final 3.2 miles at a 6:30 pace. Sounded easy enough until I realized that my last race, a five miler, was run at about the same pace as I'd have to set for the first 12 miles. That's okay, I thought, I was tired that day. Yeah, that was it.

Sunday morning started early for me. At 5:44am I woke up without the use of an alarm. Not surprising since I woke up every hour or so. I got up, dressed, talked to Jeff DeZur, my brother-in-law, and headed to Chicago at about 6:25am. The first order of business was scraping the frost from my car. Next up was getting myself to the start on time. I figured it would be easy with light traffic and a straight shot into the city from my sister and her husband's place in the suburbs.

Traffic wasn't all that light and the construction made matters worse. Still I made it to Grant Park, the start of the marathon, by 7:00am. Great, but I was still in the car and had to wait in traffic to park. By 7:15am I had parked and was running towards the starting area. That would be my warm-up. Being the seeded sub-elite runner that I was I was sure that it would be no problem getting a good starting spot. In Pittsburgh at the Great Race, a 10K, I was seeded and the race officials let the seeded runners up in front of the 10,000 runner crowd by design, took our bags and had port-o-potties especially for us. Surely Chicago would do the same thing. HA!

In Chicago seeding as a sub-elite runner meant nothing. I had to drop my bags off just like always. There was no special starting position for the sub-elite runners and I had to crawl through a gap in the fence to get up in the front of the crowd. What an outstanding reward for running a sub three hour marathon. Why do they even bother with the process of seeding if it doesn't mean anything? I pushed my way up towards the front and was standing shoulder to shoulder with people who were running their first marathon and just hoping to finish! I admire everyone who runs marathons, no matter what their time, but they should show some courtesy at the start and find a place in line more realistic for their ability.

When the gun went off we surged forward and I darted in and out of the dense crowd, swearing under my breathe at all the obvious first timers and checking the runner number bibs to see who should and shouldn't be there. Sub-elite runners had bibs that were blue and non-seeded runners had bibs that were white. There were a lot of white bibs up in the front who were fading fast. My first mile was a nice 6:17. Slower than my goal, but not bad especially considering that I spent a lot of time getting around and over people in front of me. Mile two came up fast and I was right on my 6:12 pace, feeling the adrenaline of the start beginning to fade and the pain in my left hamstring flaring up. I was afraid that my hamstring strains would hurt my time, but I figured that I've run enough 2:50 to three hour marathons and this time I was going for a 2:45 no matter what. If I crashed and burned, then so be it, at least I gave it a shot. The weather was perfect, sunny with the temperatures in the mid 50's, a flat course with plenty of shade. It was a perfect day to run fast.

By mile three I was in a groove and found a group of people to run with. My left hamstring was still hurting, but my pace was steady at around 6:10 to 6:15 per mile. I wasn't upset by being a little slow, I was close to my goal and if I could stay at this pace I knew I'd be in good shape. Mile four went by fast and we were coming up on mile five and had gone about as far north as we would. The time was around 31:30, about 30 seconds off my goal, but I wasn't disheartened by that and kept pressing. I had reached a steady position in the race; there were a few people catching me, but about the same number of people dropping behind me.

Turning south we reached mile six. I had settled in to a 6:15 to 6:20 pace. I hadn't quite been able to reach the 6:12 pace that I'd hoped to set. But I'd found a group to run with and felt reasonably comfortable with the pace, so I kept with the group and kept running the same speed. The pain in my left hamstring came and went. At times I'd felt almost normal but when I had to surge to keep up with the group after a water/Gatoraid station and I could tell things weren't right. Still, I was keeping a good pace and tried to think positively.

Miles seven, eight and nine came quickly. During the first half of the marathon miles seem to take almost no time to go by. I was even surprised at how fast a few of the mile markers arrived. By now I've run enough marathons that early in the race I don't even do the math to see how many miles I have to go. When you've run nine miles, having to run "only" 17.2 more miles is no solace. The group turned down Wacker Drive and headed for mile ten and another water/Gatoraid station. This time after taking water and Gatoraid I couldn't surge to get back to the group. I wasn't dawdling at the aid stations as the stains of Gatoraid and wet clothes could attest, but the pack went through the aid stations faster than I did.

As we turned west and passed mile ten at 1:03:00, I watched the group I'd been with pull ahead and stay there. I settled in with a smaller pack of people a few seconds behind my former group. I was still holding my position in the race. For every person who passed me, there was a person I caught. The pain in my left hamstring had come back to stay. I was limping slightly and didn't feel very confident. I was still running 6:20 miles, but I was struggling and breathing hard. It wasn't going to be long before I started to crash. At each mile marker I added 6:10 to the time and pressed towards the next mile with that goal in mind. As I got to each mile marker further and further behind my 6:10 per mile goal I knew that this wasn't going to be my day. I was running out of gas and the second half of the marathon was going to be very long.

By the half marathon, 13.1 miles, the time was 1:22:55. My fastest half split ever and not too much slower than my best half marathon. This didn't make me happy at all as I knew that there was another half marathon to go. Around this point I stopped feeling pain in my left hamstring, mostly because the pain in my right hamstring had become acute. As my friend Nimbus Couzin once pointed out when both calves hurt him late in a marathon, physicists love symmetry. I was really struggling now. My pace was creeping towards seven minute miles no matter how hard I tried to push. My place in the race was lost, people were streaming by me and I was only catching those people who were more injured than I. One runner I did catch stopped, pulled off the course and tried to stretch his hamstrings; I hoped that I wouldn't be doing the same in a few miles.

Miles 14, 15, 16 and 17 were a slow motion blur. My mind was trying to focus on pace per mile and overall time. I only read the numbers on the timers at each mile marker, but didn't register what mile it was. I didn't know where I was in the marathon. I did know I was slowing down with each step. The seven minute mile pace came and went. I was crawling along now closing in on an eight minute per mile pace. The same as my easy or recovery runs during training. I tried to console myself by thinking about all those fun, easy runs, hoping to delude myself into believing that I was having fun and feeling good running such an easy place. It didn't work. My hamstrings were on fire, it felt like someone was shoving a board into my hamstrings each time I extended my legs.

Just before mile 17 I dropped to a crawl, any slower and I would have been walking. I knew no matter what I wouldn't walk. My hamstrings would have to rip in two for me to stop running. But I felt so miserable that I thought about quitting and looking for a first aid stop to find someone to take me to the finish. There was no one around me then and I felt worse than ever. No other runners for about 50 yards in either direction and no spectators. I said to myself, aloud, "Remember this feeling, right now, just how much it sucks. Remember this and think of it the next time it's 6:30am, the alarm goes off and it's dark and cold outside and you have to get up and run hills. Then get your lazy ass up out of bed and go run."

My little pep talk had the effect of pushing me back to a less pathetic pace. Thoughts of a 2:45 or a 2:50 or even a 2:55 were all gone. But when I got to mile 20 my time was right around 2:10. By that time the Moroccan Khalid Khannouchi, who won with the fourth fastest time in the history of marathon racing, had crossed the line as had Todd Williams, who set a new American record and qualified for a million dollars offered by New Balance for a new American record in 1997. My thoughts were not with the top finishers, but with my own time and a shot I had to still finish in under three hours. I had 50 minutes to run 6.2 miles. All I had to do was run eight minute miles and I would be there. But my legs were gone, my hamstrings on fire and my mind fried. Still if I could break three hours, the day wouldn't be a total loss.

Picking myself up as much as I could I pushed onto mile 21 trying to hang onto an eight minute per mile pace. Then onto mile 22 and 23. Each mile marker I tried to check my progress to be sure I was on pace to run a minute or so under three hours. It didn't look like I was going to make it but I wasn't sure as adding was becoming something very difficult for me. Each time I was passed by someone I tried to latch onto them and use them to pull me along. That usually didn't last too long. But each mile brought me closer to not having to run anymore and it started looking like I could finish in under three hours.

We rounded the final turn onto Dearborn Drive, heading north back to Grant Park and the finish. It was a beautiful clear day with blue skies and the skyline of Chicago looming ahead of us. A beautiful sight inspiring us to work hard and press to the finish. Then we went into a tunnel and couldn't see any of it. Running in the cool, dark, windless tunnel invigorated me and I surged forward. That lasted about a quarter mile and I was back to crawling. Out of the corner of my eye I caught a big blond guy about to pass me. He was a big weight lifting type. I'd been passed by some pretty muscular guys, but most of them came up to my shoulder, so I figured they had to weigh 10 or 20 pounds less than me. This guy was almost my height and probably a little heavier than my 170-175. No way this guy was going to beat me no matter how horrible I felt. I pushed as hard as I could as we came out of the tunnel, moving ahead of him and putting some distance between us. Now I was running something like a 7:55 per mile pace compared to his 8:05 pace. That lasted until we hit the a rise in the course as we crossed over another street.

I started to fade as we climbed what felt like Mt. Everest and expected to see the big guy pass me. He never showed and as we passed the one mile to go sign I kicked with everything I had left. Which was nothing. Starting down Lake Shore Drive I could see an arch of balloons signalling the finish and pushed to keep pace with the runners around me. The clock ticked to 2:59 and I had about 200 yards to go. I'd broken three hours which was still something, even though I'd failed to achieve the 2:45 goal I'd set for myself. Crossing the finish line at 2:59:42 my hamstrings hurt so much I could barely bend my legs. I shuffled forwards listening to all the happy runners who had finished in under three hours. Still gasping for breathe I broke into a coughing fit so hard that it felt like I pulled an abdominal muscle. We got nifty medals commemorating the 20th running of the Chicago Marathon and then made our way through the finisher's area. I grabbed some water, pretzels and some yogurt. After getting a finisher's photograph taken I hobbled to the massage tent.

The line was small, moved quickly and I was soon lying flat on a table with two women working the lactic acid out of my legs. Each time they pressed on my hamstrings was a new experience in pain, but it helped. By the end of the massage I was able to hobble a bit faster. Next stop was the baggage pickup and then into the men's changing tent. It felt good to get into some different shorts and out of my wet, sticky running clothes.

Exiting from the changing tent less that a new man, I hobbled the mile to the Grant Street parking garage where I'd parked earlier. I paid the parking fee and tried to find my car. Unfortunately I went down one level too far and spent 20 minutes roaming the garage in search of my car. My legs were killing me, but I was afraid that if I sat down I wouldn't be able to get up again. On my second lap through the level, thinking for sure that my car had been stolen, it dawned on me that there might be another level to the garage and maybe I had parked there. Sure enough my car was in the same X-Y position as I had remembered, but at a different Z-coordinate.

Safely ensconced in my Honda Civic (the 1996 Automobile Magazine Automobile of the Year) I headed back to the suburbs, stopping on the way for two orders of bigeye fries from Wendy's and a biggie coke. The last few fries are cold now and the Coke is gone as I finish writing this.

I'm disappointed with my time. But it was such a rush from finishing and running under three hours that I don't feel so miserable, aside from my inability to walk. Still this failure will stay with me and now forces me into training hard this winter for a chance at redemption in Boston. I'll take some time off and run some easy weeks to let my hamstrings get back to normal and then I have to hit it hard to run a 2:45 in Boston.

Back to the Running Vita of James B. Elliott