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The Student Newspaper of DePaul University

The DePaulia

The Student Newspaper of DePaul University

The DePaulia

The Student Newspaper of DePaul University

The DePaulia

Commentary: Chicago “owned”

After a night of tossing and turning with dreams of my bones breaking in my legs and every other thought of what could possibly go wrong, I awoke for the 35th annual Bank of America Chicago Marathon at 5:30 a.m. feeling anxious and underprepared.

For months I promised I would finally buckle down and discipline myself, strictly sticking to my training schedule and turning down night hang-outs with friends in exchange for sleep and early morning runs. When that didn’t quite happen as often as it should have, I had major feelings of self-doubt and almost felt like I didn’t deserve to finish the race.

It’s funny how fear and doubt can play games with your head.
Approaching the starting line, I found myself wondering: How on earth did I even get here in the first place?

Just one year before, I stood at the finish line, not as a runner celebrating the victory, but as a volunteer picking up trash and making sure the banana peels got in the compost bin. It was amazing to see people in every shape, color and size cross that line. Blind people, disabled people, even people with no legs at all.
That inspiration combined with the urging of my six-time marathon-running stepfather Brad Boleman is what landed me at that starting line spot on that brisk Sunday morning.

Signing up to do the race with my stepdad made training a lot less daunting. He was always there to talk me through an injury or make me feel less guilty for only running four miles when I was meant to do eight. Even though we were living two states away, I still felt like I had a good coach walking me through the process and encouraging me to keep my eye on the end goal.

Dodging the piles of clothes that people had stripped off just before the race started, Brad and I found our stride and weaved our way in and out of the massive crowd of bobbing heads and determined racers.

Through the first few miles, my stomach was feeling uneasy – most likely because of my hunger and pending nerves
With the help of some Gu energy gel, multiple Gatorade/H20 breaks and our awesome two-man cheering squad of my mom and boyfriend following us around the course, we held a steady pace and didn’t stop to walk until we hit the 17th mile.

Thanks to slanted roads and the throngs of runners that never really thinned out throughout the race, Brad started to experience a lot of pain in his knee. We ran the 17th through 20th miles much slower than our original pace, but with the thousands of people cheering us on, stopping never seemed like an option.

By the time we hit the “wall,” Brad looked at me and told me to go on. The pain was getting to be too much and he knew he couldn’t keep up with the half-shuffle run we had going. Strangely, it hurt way more for me to walk than it did to run, so we split up for the first time with the promise to meet back at the 25th mile where our cheer squad was waiting.

After hitting the 20-mile mark, there was no question as to whether or not I was going to finish. The worst was still to come, but after making it that far, there was no way I wouldn’t push through the final six miles.

The 23rd mile was probably my fastest of the whole race. The course had finally opened up a bit, so I wasn’t constantly zig-zagging through the crowd and I was so determined to reach the familiar faces waiting for me for that extra push of motivation that is all so necessary in those times of mental and physical trial.

A wave of emotion sent tears to my eyes when I passed a sign saying, “You just owned Chicago.” The physical pain combined with the mental weight of what I had just accomplished set in and I couldn’t believe how strong I felt after feeling like I had prepared too little.

Far under my expected time of 5:30, I reached Mile 25 at 4:16. Waiting with my mom and my boyfriend, my heart sank when Brad hobbled up with tears in his eyes about 15 minutes later. I knew the pain had to be deep to break my strong stepdad.

“Let’s do this together,” I said, taking his arm and deflecting any comments that he was sorry for slowing me down. I didn’t sign up for this race to beat a record or get the fastest time. There was no way I could have gotten through this experience without him and crossing the finish line together made all the pain and doubt worth it.

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