DEBATING THE IMPOSSIBLE

No one has questioned the cause, but there has been some speculation about whether Thompson really did pull off the feat. He tried to run events in certified races but was able to run in only seven. On the other days, he used a GPS system and race maps to navigate the courses, often with the help of family members who gave him directions from course maps, but he did not use the timing chips that are standard for major marathons.

“With Sam Thompson you pretty much have to take his word for it that he did 26.2 miles per day for 50 days in a row,” said Pat Bigold, media liaison for the Honolulu Marathon, which Thompson did not run in. “That is not fair to modern marathoners who toil under a microscope. His cause is a noble one, but his feat is highly questionable.”

Bigold, a former Boston Globe correspondent who covered the infamous Rosie Ruiz incident in the 1980 Boston Marathon—in which Ruiz entered the race late, soaked her shirt to make it appear she was sweating, and crossed the finish line first—says Thompson did not contact him or any other marathon representatives before running in Hawaii and is skeptical about any of the courses run outside of scheduled races.

“It is impossible for Thompson to run the certified courses of the marathons on his list except on race day,” he said. “That’s because the courses are configured a special way on race day due to traffic closures.”

Thompson, though, heard those same mutterings every step of the way and feels he has done everything in his power to appease his detractors.

“No matter how much it is documented, there will always be naysayers and doubters,” Thompson said. “I’ve done the best I possibly could to publicize and invite people to run with me every day and to document what I actually did.”

Karnazes, who began his own 50/50/50 trek on September 17, 2006, and did it with the aid of each marathon’s race director, said he doesn’t doubt Thompson or his feat.

“IT wouldn’t even question the results at all, not one bit,” Karnazes said. “He did his best to document every step. I believe him and what he did. I think what he did was tremendous.”

As I left Thompson and Karnazes eight miles into their run, escaping their torrid pace for the safety of a MARTA train, tremendous was on my mind as I watched Thompson lead the remaining runners on. Throughout his quest, he would keep pounding away, overcoming the pain and working to preserve hope for the survivors of Katrina. That preservation is a marathon he will continue to run, even after 1,336.2 miles, nearly 209 hours, and 11 pairs of shoes. a

Reprinted, with permission, Cory McCartney/Sports Illustrated.com.

Editor’s note. In our next issue, Dean Karnazes takes readers from the end of his 50/50/50 experience in New York City to St. Louis as his cool-down.

| Must Be a Glutton for Punishment.

ey! Remember me, the kid who wrote that awful New York City Marathon

report a year ago? Well, I caught the marathon bug, ran the Boston Marathon, and then signed up for Chicago. I was humbled in New York and Boston by the distance and was hoping to run a strong and consistent race in Chicago. I ran a strong race and was consistent when it counted, but don’t expect the same performance by this race report.

My training for Chicago was very short and sporadic because of a half-Ironman triathlon that I finished at the end of August. I had exactly eight weeks from race day to race day, and since biking and swimming were my main priorities during my triathlon training, the next five weeks were going to be hell on my legs.

I followed the Darryl Strawberry Marathon Training Plan, one of the lesserknown training plans nowadays since most people follow those of Hal Higdon, Jeff Galloway, and Pete Pfpfpfpfitzinger. The Darryl Strawberry Training Plan, for those of you who don’t know, is one of short periods of great training followed by consistent periods of underachieving, oversleeping, and cocaine. OK, maybe not cocaine, but the rest was true. At the height of my training, my junior year of college and work schedule were draining me completely. I had no desire to wake up at six in the morning after being up until midnight doing schoolwork, and running after school and work seemed just as bad, since it meant I’d be up even later doing my homework. Thanks to breaks between classes, I managed to get in as much running as I could. I somehow managed to complete two runs of over 20 miles in my last week of intense training. I was so burned out by the time tapering began that I was doubting my goal time and even worried about finishing.

THERE WE WERE

My sister Kate and I arrived at Philly International around 5:30 a.m. on the Saturday of race weekend and enthusiastically made our way toward airport security. After failing the walk through metal detector three times, I was put in the plastic

holding cell made specifically for idiots like myself who forget to take off their belts. As my sister continued down the hallway to our gate, I considered yelling, “Write to me at Guantanamo!” but figured that would decrease my chance of being released quickly. After three minutes, I was released and led to another room to be frisked and wanded, which led to the inevitable Derrick Smalls moment of the metal-detecting wand passing over my groin and buzzing loudly. I pointed out that I was wearing a belt and was released with a warning.

This was my first experience flying with Southwest Airlines, and up to this point I was pleased with the fares I had paid and the ease of check in. But then it was time to board. Our tickets were designated “Boarding Group C,” which I came to realize meant, “You’re pretty much screwed. Good luck getting off the plane within an hour of landing.” The boarding groups were arranged like the start of a horse race, with “Pre-Board,” “A,” “B,” and “C” being four corrals in which to stand in order to board the plane. Our boarding groups were probably assigned according to the amount of money we had paid for the tickets, but it was amazing to see the age gradation from group A to group C. I’m not sure if Southwest assigned boarding groups by ticket price or age, but there hasn’t been a higher concentration of permed hair and toupees since the last Neil Sedaka concert at Caesar’s Palace Atlantic City as there was in Group A. Nevertheless, boarding wasn’t too bad and our flight departed on time.

Since it was 7:00 in the morning and I had slept five hours the previous night, Thad three options for our two-hour flight:

1. Sleeeeeeeeep 2. Read 80 pages for my philosophy of science class 3. Peruse the SkyMall catalog

Of course, I chose number 3! I mean, who wouldn’t? Is there a more amazing compilation of random crap in the world? I think not. By calling 1-800-SK YMALL, you can order anything and everything from a nine-and-a-half-pound ham to an iPod dock with an attached toilet paper roll. Page after page made me giddier and giddier, with each new product out-uselessing the last one. The joy of browsing through SkyMall (twice) could be beaten only by a solid nap, so I put my Bon Jovi Gold Record and robotic shark SkyMall order on hold and dozed off for the remainder of the flight.

IN THE WINDY CITY

Chicago accepted 40,000 runners, regardless of a previous qualifying time or luck in a lottery. After gaining entry into New York last year by the lottery, I figured my chances at securing another spot in the New York lottery to be very small and instead signed up for Chicago. I was one of the last people accepted into Chicago, which was evident by my bib number: 7,023,917,769pi.

Okay, my real bib number was 40162. However, there was one key aspect of registration that I missed. Chicago has four different starting corrals that are arranged by pace. The elites and top 100 are in front, followed by the Competitive corral, Preferred Is and IIs, and finally the Open start. To be placed in the Competitive or Preferred corrals, you must have run a marathon within a certain time and provided proof of that time to the Chicago Marathon race organizers. Of course, I missed the proof part. My times in New York and Boston had qualified me for the Competitive start, but without proof, the marathon gods had no idea, and I was placed in the Open corral. I was a little annoyed that I could not transfer into a faster corral and dreaded the massive start.

At the expo, I managed to drink at least a gallon of free Gatorade and Powerade, as well as snag a PowerBar or six. While hunting for more free snacks, I came across the Marathon & Beyond booth and its lovely publisher Jan Seeley, with whom I worked during the publication of my New York City Marathon article. She reported that M&B subscriptions had plummeted 40 percent since my report was published, but she was still willing to run the magazine into the ground—I mean give my Chicago report a go. If you’re reading this in an actual copy of Marathon & Beyond, Jan would like to thank you for being one of the seven remaining subscribers.

After the expo, it was time to continue carboloading at Giordano’s Pizza. Did I say carboloading? I meant cheese-loading. I swear I ate like a combined pound and a half of cheese, and I only had two slices of pizza. Having eaten our fill and

© The LaSalle Bank Chicago Marathon

A Expo—Wait …1 get free Powerbars? Sign me up!

then some, we waddled through the city to the Chicago Architecture Boat Tour. I was very impressed with the cleanliness of Chicago (but it was being compared to New York, so I’m sure Calcutta would’ve impressed me). This was my first time in Chicago, and I was getting very good vibes from the city. I hoped the vibes would last until tomorrow.

At 9:36, I arrived back at my temporary home for the night. I had eaten dinner with a few friends who were also running the marathon and was ready to get some good sleep after my early wake-up that morning. After preparing my race outfit and bag, I sat down in my bedroom, grabbed my iPod, and prepared to stretch and meditate while listening to John Coltrane’s A Love Supreme. The whole stretch/listen/meditate thing has become a habit for me the night before a big race. I usually don’t have a problem falling asleep before a race, and I hoped that tonight wouldn’t be any different. However, when I turned my iPod on, the little low-battery icon popped up on the screen. Why didn’t you charge your iPod, you idiot! I stretched sans music and lay awake for longer than I would’ve liked, worrying that I may have jinxed the race since my presleep routine had been foiled.

NOT MY USUAL SLY STONE WAKE-UP

L usually like listening to Sly and the Family Stone, however, not so much when it’s 5:30 in the morning and when it’s my cell phone alarm sound. | actually contemplated turning the alarm off and going back to sleep. But remembering I had a freakin’ marathon to run, I reluctantly turned on the lights, ate two ClifBars, and started pounding water like a sorority girl pounds Smirnoff Ice. Once I was dressed, I headed out the door to the train station.

Holy crap, it’s cold out! I had multiple layers, a knit hat, and gloves on, and I was shivering. I could’ve sworn that I saw snow flurries, too. Man, this is not looking so good. Standing for 20 minutes while waiting for a train didn’t make me any warmer, and by the time I got to the warm-up area, two trains and an hour later, I was ready to call it a day. But then the magic feeling of race day hit me, and I couldn’t wait to start running. I reluctantly peeled off my outer layers of warmth, checked my bag, and shiver-spaz-walked my way to the huge mass of people who had already lined up at the Open start. All I had left to keep me warm were a pair of shorts, a triathlon top, running gloves, and a nanometer of body fat. I seriously would not be surprised if Robert Cheruiyot (the eventual winner) has more body fat than I do. I put the heroin-chic European models to shame.

I made my way forward on the outside of the corral fence in order to get as close to the start as possible, since my pace was going to be about two minutes per mile faster than the front of the Open start. Just before the starting gun, I had to hop a terrifyingly rickety chain-link fence, putting my nether regions in extreme danger. Fortunately, I dismounted the fence unscathed just as the gun went off.

And, they’re off! The elites and other front-of-the-pack people, that is. I was still standing, hardly moving at all, but eventually the crowd in front of me began to shuffle forward, and around seven minutes later, I crossed the line.

When I ran the New York City Marathon, I had the privilege of starting at the front of one of the starting lines as part of the Sub-Elite group. In Boston, the seeding system ensures that the people you start with are going to be running the same pace. Chicago was a different story, because of the time confirmation snafu. I realized that I was pretty much stuck with the people around me, which was frustrating as hell.

THE LOGISTICAL PROBLEMS OF A SUB-ELITE

Coming into the race, I had a time goal in mind of 2:55, which meant I had to run consistent 6:40 miles for the entire race. That 2:55 is a magical time because it is the automatic New York City qualifying time. I had done most of my training at or below 6:40 pace, so I knew what it would feel like on race day. So, here I was, running the first mile of the Chicago Marathon at a 7:40 pace. Are you kidding me? I’m only a mile in, and I’m already one minute behind for the entire race? At this point, I was so angry that I was considering signing up for the Philadelphia Marathon, which was four weeks away, to give the 2:55 an unobstructed shot. Everywhere I ran, other runners kept boxing me in and forcing me to slow down or change direction quickly. My pace was extremely erratic at this point, as

© Victah Aww PhotoRun.net

Start line—Some people get to start running when the gun goes off. They must be good or something.