"You’re going to America just for a marathon?"
The lady at the immigration desk in Mumbai seemed amused by my answer.
With marathons happening in India nearly every weekend,
traveling 10,000 miles to run just 26 miles might not make sense to most
people. But when you've experienced one of the World Marathon Majors, you're
bound to want to run the others.
I didn’t know how many runners on my flight were headed to
Chicago for the marathon that weekend. But on the return flight, more than a
quarter of the passengers were wearing either a Chicago Marathon medal or
jacket. People from different parts of the world, regardless of age, race, skin
color, or the language they speak, were connecting easily. Running is the
common thread. The language of running breaks the ice, no matter how thick. You
meet new friends, reconnect with old ones.
“Are you on Strava?” — and a friendship begins.
When should you arrive for an international marathon?
Some might say to come a day earlier and do some sightseeing after the race. I
chose to arrive four days ahead of time to shake off the jet lag, soak in the
city’s energy, and get in a couple of shakeout runs while exploring.
The marathon expo is similar everywhere: chaotic, with
runners searching for shoes, gels, and other essentials, queuing for race
souvenirs, and catching up with friends. The international flavor is
unmistakable, as runners from around the world check out new products and try
on the official race gear. It’s the same at every major marathon.
The day before race day is the hardest.
Should I sleep? Should I take a walk? Maybe visit a friend? There’s the Nike
Finisher Jacket just launched , go grab it —it might sell out after the race.
There’s a new shoe on the market, On Cloud, that might not be available back
home. What should I eat? What food here has enough carbs? Am I drinking enough
water? What should I wear on race day? What time should I set my alarm,
assuming I even sleep?
Even for an experienced runner, these questions cause
stress.
Since arriving in the U.S., I hadn’t been sleeping well—just
a few hours each night. But on the night before the marathon, surprisingly, I
slept for five solid hours. This never happens before a race because of
anxiety. It felt like a good omen.
My race was scheduled to start at 8:00 AM, so I arrived at
6:30 AM. It was cloudy and cold, and the corral was nearly empty. I realized I
was too early. That was my first mistake. I had to spend two hours waiting in
the open. I found a corner and sat on the curb near some Americans. Slowly, the
corral began to fill up. To pass the time, I struck up conversations. Americans
are very friendly, and marathon talk was on everyone’s mind. A woman nearby was
running her first marathon, another man was doing his 17th Chicago Marathon,
and another runner was chasing the Marathon Majors like I was.
In my opinion, standing at the starting line requires
more effort than finishing the race. You
think about all the training plans, the missed runs you had to make up for, the
strength training, the travel across 10,000 miles, and the stress of navigating
an unknown country.
Due to the large number of participants, the organizers
split the race into three waves, with the first starting at 7:30 AM and the
others 30 minutes apart. After the national anthem, we heard the flag-off for
Wave 1. I was in the second wave and eagerly awaited our start, only to realize
they were flagging off each corral separately. Apparently, there were about
15-20 different flag-offs!
Our corral (J) didn’t actually start until 8:30 AM. So I ended up spending
nearly two hours in the cold. If you ever run the Chicago Marathon, arriving
just 30 minutes early would save you a lot of trouble, especially when it comes
to porta-potty visits.
Though waiting in the corral was uncomfortable, this format
had its advantages—the race never felt overcrowded. Unlike Berlin and London, I
always had the blue line beneath my feet, without having to zigzag around
slower runners.
The pacer dilemma.
Because of Chicago’s well-known GPS issues, watches often show incorrect
distance and pace, especially in the first 5 kilometers. To avoid this
confusion, I decided to follow a pacer. In my last race, I missed my 4-hour
target by 90 seconds, so I aimed for a 3:55 finish here, hoping that if I
missed the moon, I’d still land among the stars.
I spotted the 3:55 pacer in the corral, but as the race
started, I lost sight of him. Chicago pacers don’t carry the tall,
distinguished flags like in other marathons. Instead, they hold small placards
with blue lettering on a white background. You really have to look hard to spot
them. I finally found a pacer at the 5K mark, after the GPS issues subsided,
and settled into my planned pace.
Though I tried running with the pacer group, I quickly
realized it wasn’t for me. Sometimes they felt too slow, other times too fast.
I always felt like I was being left behind, which stressed me out and made me
lose confidence. Many pacers believe in running negative splits, where they
take it easy in the first half and push harder in the second. But I know my
weakness—I slow down at 35K, so I don’t have the luxury of taking it easy in
the first half.
At the 10K mark, I decided to leave the group and run ahead.
After a few miles, I found another 3:55 pacer. Chicago Marathon’s pacing groups
aren’t as large as Berlin’s, which makes it easier to overtake them. I ran with
this group for a few minutes before moving ahead.
I was manually resetting my laps as the distance on my watch didn’t match the
course. If I wanted to finish in 4 hours, I couldn’t rely on my watch, but had
to follow the course markers.
Motivation and mental tricks.
You always need motivation to keep running, especially over
a distance like 42 km. After the initial euphoria, your energy dips and so does
your pace. With both pacers behind me, I started focusing on random runners
ahead, particularly those in bright T-shirts. I’d tell myself, "I’ll
follow this lady until the next signal," and after passing her, I’d pick
another runner to chase. This pattern continued until the 30 km mark.
The crowd’s support was incredible, with every part of the
city embracing the marathon like a festival. Creative signs with funny slogans
made runners smile and forget their pain, at least temporarily. But when you’re
chasing a time goal, you tune out the crowd and focus on your watch, making
their cheers just background noise.
When someone asks if the scenery was beautiful along the
route, my answer is, “I wouldn’t know. I spent the whole race staring at my
watch and following the blue line on the road.”
The Route
Chicago’s course is straightforward—the only curve you find
is a learning curve. The streets are laid out in a grid, with every block and
intersection of the same length. Even without checking his watch, a local could
calculate distances by counting intersections. While this grid system dates
back to the 1830s, it wasn’t the first of its kind—Mohenjo Daro in the Indian
subcontinent had a similar layout as far back as 2600 BC, though we can’t run a
marathon there.
The first five kilometers of the race take you past iconic
skyscrapers, which I had visited in the days before the race. Some spectators
were even lucky enough to watch from the ledge of Willis Tower. But running
through the city is always the best way to experience it.
After downtown, the route moves into the residential
neighbourhoods of the North Suburbs. The streets here are wider than those in
London or Berlin, making it easier to follow the blue line. As we loop back
into downtown, if you’re relaxed enough to look around, you’ll see flags and
supporters from various cultural groups. I even grabbed a water bottle from a
Mexican support group.
You cross the Chicago River several times during the race.
The bridges are made of steel plates with gratings, which can feel odd running
on it . Some sections are carpeted to prevent slipping in case of rain. These
movable bridges allow boats to pass, and if you’re lucky, you might spot one
raised in the distance. The Chicago River is unique; its flow has been reversed
to prevent city drainage entering Lake
Michigan, which keeps the city cool with its breeze.
Despite the history, architecture, and beauty around me, I
sometimes felt alone in the crowd. It was as if the other runners were merely
side characters in my story.
By 30 km, my brain was too focused on keeping my body moving
to spot new pacers. I saw a runner in a bright orange shirt and decided to
stick with him for a few blocks, but my mind wandered, and I lost him. This
happened several times, and the pacing trick wasn’t working anymore.
Nutrition was also a challenge. I tried a new strategy with
Maurten hydrogel plan , which I hadn’t tested in training, and it backfired. By
mile 18, I was bloated and my stomach hurt. I couldn’t focus, which was my
second mistake. I didn’t dare to consume any more gels .
I also gambled by running without my usual hydration belt. Relying on the
course's aid stations was fine in theory, but in practice, I missed having my
own water. The stations provided cups, not bottles, and I couldn’t drink enough
without slowing down. By the last 10K, I was feeling severely dehydrated. That was my third mistake.
Despite these issues, my pace remained steady, and I kept
pushing, glancing at my watch and calculating the time remaining. As the race
turned back downtown, I knew I was on the edge of my goal. I pushed harder,
even though my mouth was dry, and my body screamed for water.
With 1 mile to go, I had 10 minutes. With 1 kilometer to go,
I had 7 minutes left for a sub-4 finish. I didn’t feel the famous incline on
Roosevelt. At 400 meters to go, my watch showed 3:57. Like in London, I was
tempted to let it go, but then I reminded myself—"No, Dilip, you may
never get this chance again. You’re not dying, so keep going."
At that moment, the runners around me were pushing for the
finish line. I tried to smile and run, even though both were difficult. I
crossed the finish line at 3:58, feeling neither joy nor achievement—just sheer
relief.
I didn’t feel like calling anyone; I knew my friends and
family had been tracking me. I collapsed on the sidewalk and lay down. After a
few minutes, a volunteer helped me up, encouraging me to walk. I felt intense
cramps in my calves but managed to reach the medal station. I received my medal
mechanically, not caring for a photo. I gulped down some water, but I still
felt nauseous.
“I’ll never run a marathon again.”
That thought crossed my mind as I collapsed on the curb once more, crying out
in pain from the cramps.
I wandered into the party zone, feeling much better after
resting. The Chicago skyline looked stunning beneath the dark clouds, and the
sound of happy chatter in countless languages filled the air. My cramps were
gone, and I realized—there was no reason not to be happy.
I grabbed a beer can from the counter and smiled. Yes, I had finally achieved my sub-4 dream.
