On Not Running the Marathon

This year I am not running the Chicago Marathon. You might think I have mixed feelings about this situation, that maybe I wish I were tapering this week, preparing my body for the big race this weekend, that maybe part of me yearns to huddle into the great throng of runners at the start, to hear the throbbing sound system play the inspiring pre-race music, that I feel I might have robbed myself of that glorious moment when the gun goes off and a great cheer rises up from the crowd as the mass of runners begins to move.

Well, you'd be wrong.

I can say with absolute certainty that I am unequivocally, 100% happy about my decision (if I ever really consciously made one) not to do this marathon. (At one point, perhaps I did say, as Jerry Seinfeld did, "I choose not to run.")

Part of this smugness, of course, comes from the fact that I did the Chicago Half Marathon a week and a half ago. I feel very satisfied with my time, so therefore I know my running self is alive and well. I have nothing to prove.

But the bulk of my contentment with my decision not to do this year's marathon is a result of the still-fresh memory of the pain I experienced last year. The pain in my legs, my feet, my stomach, my back, my fingernails. The intense, searing pain that distorted my perception of time, making the last hour of the race seem more like 3 days. And then the clenching, debilitating pain I felt the next day as I attempted to resume normal daily activities. And then the enduring, unrelenting pain that clung to my leg muscles for nearly two weeks afterward. Just knowing that I will not be living through this spectrum of pain again makes me giddy with delight.

Of course another great reason I have for not running is that now I have the opportunity to watch. I get to see the elite runners go through before everyone else, to observe in awe the gazelle-like strides of Deena Kastor and Alan Culpepper and all the big names.

I'm not saying I won't get a pang of jealousy as I watch those joyful throngs surge up LaSalle at the three-mile point. And I'm not saying I won't be inspired to start thinking about my next marathon after spectating this year. But I'm pretty sure I'll be reminded why I'm so happy about my non-runner status as I imagine all those beaming faces hitting the wall at mile 18. And I'll cheer them on as hard as I can.