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After about six months of training, the weekend had finally arrived. Although the race itself wasn’t until Sunday, we headed down to the Windy City on Saturday.
To prep for the big day, we carb-loaded at an Italian restaurant in the West Loop Saturday night. We, of course, didn’t know we needed reservations so we ended up having to sit at the bar and have the bartender serve us. No big deal. We were both fine with that…until Chatty Cathy to my right wouldn’t shut up. It was this older man (late 50’s/early 60’s) that seemed like a creeper at first. Turns out he was the owner of the restaurant and is originally from Waukesha, WI. Sounds fine, right?
No.
He KEPT talking and would not stop. I ended up humoring him for about 15-20 minutes while we ate our dinner entrées. Ugh. I somehow got this idea in my head that maybe if I let him ramble on he would comp our meals. Negative. I was kind of irritated. I mean, really. Being the owner of a restaurant you have to be aware that people want to enjoy their meals with one another – not a complete stranger! In the words of Full House’s Stephanie Tanner, “How rude!” The food, however, was really good so it all worked out in the end.
Anyway, the next morning after gearing up in multiple layers for the frigid Chicago temps (30 degrees at 6:30am), I dropped Eric off at the start area and went to find parking for myself. Not easy in downtown Chicago on a good day, let alone on Marathon Day.
Somehow by the grace of God, though, I managed to find a street spot – right next to a Starbucks nonetheless! With my Pumpkin Spice Latte in hand, I was able to witness Eric running his heart out at the 3.5 mile mark. Unfortunately, he didn’t see me because there were just too many people still clustered together...
I was on the move again. Next, I caught him on the 12.5 mile mark. After perching on my tippy-toes for what felt like hours of searching and scanning the pack of runners, I must’ve looked down for a brief second when all of a sudden I hear, “Anne!”
HA! In a setting where typically the spectators are yelling out the runner’s names, what are the chances that Eric is yelling mine? As it turns out, very good. He spotted me first. C’mon, Anne - look alive!
After laughing my butt off for a while because Eric spotted me first, I composed myself and booked it back to my car so I could drive to the 20.5 mile mark. Again, miraculously I found street parking about a half mile away from the course. I was definitely pressed for time, so I had to run from my car to the course sidelines in order to catch him. For a second, I felt like I was in the race! Okay, not really, but you catch my drift.
Alas, I saw Eric and was shouting his name like a woman gone mad. Just when I started to think he wasn’t going to see/hear me, he turned his head and found me and we waved and smiled at each other. YAY! I had a feeling at this point in the race he’d need all the support/motivation he could get, so I was SO glad he saw me cheering him on. Less than 6 miles to go at this point!
FYI - I would post pics that I took myself throughout the day, but they are so terrible I just can’t. They’re pretty comical actually. In most of the shots I only got half of his head. No body. Just half of his head. In my defense, though, it’s super hard to keep a watchful eye out for him, cheer like crazy when I do see him (and hopefully make eye contact with him), and still take the shot as he’s zooming by. Tricky stuff!
Lesson I learned that afternoon? ALWAYS make sure to arrange a meeting spot for AFTER the race. Oops. With hundreds of thousands of people clustered around the finish line and surrounding area, I almost started to panic when I realized in the blur of the morning we didn’t arrange anything. Thankfully, he borrowed someone’s cell phone and called me. Phew. “Reunited and it feels so good….”
~as
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