I ran my first Chicago Marathon in 1998. I realized around Mile 16 that my training was not as rigorous as it should have been (too many donuts, not enough actual running).
My legs cramped up and I was forced to slow to a walk.
And with only 10 miles to go.
Where the North Side of the course was packed with cheering crowds lining the streets, the South Side crowds were sparser and more subdued. Where once the running was brisk and fluid, I was now absolutely disgusted with myself as I limped along.
But, as I soon discovered, what the South Side lacked in number of spectators was more than made up for by the heart of those who were out there cheering.
Notably there was one man standing alone at the 38th Street overpass, just as the route turned north. He was clapping and yelling enthusiastically to me and other struggling runners: “Here they come! Here are the real champions!”
These simple words, even coming from a stranger, really made an impact.
His encouragement was just what I needed to get through the remaining miles to the finish. Thank you, sir. I hope to see you out there again Sunday, but this time as a blur.
