"I'm Glad We're Doing This ... But It Kind Of Sucks."

Lindsay Avner took this great photo of us at the Team Bright Pink

Pasta Dinner the night before the marathon.

Well ... that happened.

A full summer of training—dating back to June 4th, and even well before that—and we're done.

Marathon: over. Even if there's scanty official proof that we did it.

Fundraising: over. (And over $8,400!)

Improbable, impossible, immolative heat: over.

Welcome, autumn. It's really super of you to arrive. So nice to see you. Sort of.

If you've been following this blog, even just a teeny, weeny bit (and if you haven't, then man, you've really been missin' out), you know that this summer was—with but a few lonely exceptions— ridiculously oven-like when it comes to running in the great outdoors.

We had earned all 460 (roughly) of our training miles. We didn't melt, even if there were a few times we thought we might.

"Enough preamble, you two; tell us about the freaking race already," you might be thinking with some hard-earned exasperation of your own. Okay, fair enough. We'll spare you the details about the pre-race team dinner at Bright Pink HQ, when we got to meet Bright Pink founder, Lindsay Avner and her phenomenal team, and we'll jump right to Sunday morning—sometime at around 2 a.m., when, even though both of us had taken a sleeping pill, we were wide awake.

Somehow, we managed to get back to sleep—until the alarm went off at 4:50. We got up, threw on our very pre-planned running outfits, scarfed down some breakfast—oatmeal for Joy and cereal for Ross—and grabbed our very pre-packed gym bags for the trip to FFC South Loop to meet up with our team.

It's a short little car ride at that time of the day to get to FFC. We know this; we'd driven it every weekend but two since we started this whole adventure, and surely it would be 10 minutes to get there, park the car—for free! all day!—and take the elevator down a level to the gym. (Yeah, we said "take the elevator" one level even though there's a stairwell 10 feet from the elevator doors. Deal with it.)

But no. A version of this instead.

With everything else planned down to the last detail, the one thing that we hadn't thought about—a thing that didn't even begin to occur to us—was whether or not we'd be able to park in the gym's garage. Every time we'd been, we'd never had a problem finding parking. An abundance of spaces on Saturday mornings at 5 or 6 a.m. All damn summer long. So Ross asked "John Candy" [Editor's note: He didn't look anything like John Candy.] where else we could park nearby. JC—not to be confused with the JC some people along the first few miles would be encouraging us to read the good news about—shared the good news about a pay lot two blocks away.

Twenty minutes of waiting in line for exurban or out-of-town rookies to figure out the vending machine—and 20 dollars—later, we were finally on our way. Late. A little bit irritated and a lot harried. We fought to keep our cool, and kept it, striding into the gym, saying quick hellos to everyone and hitting the locker rooms for a zippier-than-hoped-for final race prep.

At 6:45, about a dozen of us donned our cold weather gear: hats, gloves, arm warmers and trash bag ponchos, and marched the 3/4-mile distance to the Gray Corrals, the back of the pack, Wave 2 of the start. If you're thinking that it's not-so-awesome to stand out in 36° temperatures with a 6–12 m.p.h. northwest breeze for nearly 90 minutes while wearing not-much-of-anything but better-than-nothing—shoes and socks, a technical t-shirt, running shorts, a hat, a head liner, arm warmers (formerly pairs of socks we'd cut the toes from), gloves and a construction grade trash bag—you're right.

We waited. Joy hit the porta-potties. And waited. Ross hit the porta-potties. The guy from Channel 11 who also mans the public address duties (yes, we wrote "duties" just then, Beavis) at Sox Park introduced the elite runners. We headed for Corral L—the second to last corral—at Columbus, between Congress and Balbo and waited. Joy made a second trip to the porta-potties (and a theme emerged) while Ross waited. 7:36 and Wave 1 off. Waiting.

Finally, we start moving. Walking about 20 feet forward in short bursts. And waiting. Walking. Now waiting. Now passing Buckingham Fountain. And stopping. Shivering. Now the Art Institute. Chattering. Struggling not to break into a fast jog as we approach the starting line—holding back, struggling not to let the adrenaline and emotion override the race plan, as droplets of water have just appeared on Joy's cheeks, her excitement seeping from the corners of her eyes.

Our feet hit the timing mat. We're on our way. On Joy's arms, hidden by useless socks, she has written "TTT"—trust the training—and "SPCH"—strong, powerful, confident, healthy. On Ross's arms, also hidden from view, he has written "good form / strong" and "breathe / relax."

We're cold, but we know we'll warm up by Mile 3. We consciously take it as slow as we can up Columbus and under Wacker Drive, across the bridge which has been carpeted (!), then down the other side into Streeterville. We turn left on Grand, just by Joy's office, and see a few people from Bright Pink as they pass us. People are lining the streets downtown, and there's a lot of great energy—and great hand-made signs:

"Keep Swimming!"

"Worst. Parade. Ever!"

"Go, Random Stranger, GO!"

And some really terrible signs:

"Just 25.2 miles to go." (Not funny. Not ever. Not even ironically.)

"You're almost to the beer!" (Seriously? We just ran past 17 hotel bars. Idiot.)

Joy has stuck her name in bright pink Duck® Tape to the front of her shirt, so people are shouting encouragement to her. [Note: It's fun to yell "Joy!" out loud—go ahead. Bet it makes you smile.] 

Near Mile 3, still not so warm, but we see Joy's Aunt Gail and Uncle Steve in the Gold Coast with a "Go Team ROJO" sign, which gives us a boost of energy and warms us up a little—at least metaphorically, which we'll take. Then we realize that we won't see them again for at least an hour, probably more, only two blocks west of here. 

We continue up LaSalle and into Lincoln Park, where we see Barry Talbert and the Old Town School of Folk Music's Beatles Ensemble playing "Born Back in the U.S.S.R." It's here, a little bit past Mile 5, that Ross violates Chicago statute 8-4-081, behind a recycling bin, on an electrical transformer. [Ross: Guilty as charged!]

Of course, just a couple of minutes later, a whole bank of porta-potties is available at Mile 6. We just keep motoring—through Lincoln Park, a legal, race-sanctioned porta-potty stop for Joy and it's now warm enough for Ross to go bare-armed, so he (stupidly) discards his arm warmer socks. We continue on the Inner Drive, and somewhere near Surf or Briar, Joy says, "I'm glad we're doing this, but it kind of sucks." Then we both say, "That's the title for the blog post." Joy: "I'm sure I won't remember it." Ross: "We'll try."

We continue north through Lakeview and take a left turn—west—into Boystown, with its famous/infamous mens cheerleader team. This year, we're treated to a rifle team. It feels pretty subdued, dudes, not gonna lie. This is what some people would call foreshadowing.

Now south back through Lakeview and on into Old Town, the sun is out. All the coaches said that we'd run 20° warmer than the air temperature, and even though the wind is a little on the bitter side, the sunshine feels glorious. The spectators are a little bit on the sparse side suddenly—another portent of things to come—but when we turn onto North Avenue and jag back to Wells Street, we see Gail again waving her sign. Some much-needed juice. Thanks, Gail.

There's a lot of noise by Moody Bible Institute [Ross: Totally off-topic, but that they're not selling black "MOODY" t-shirts in that school's bookstore or online is a lost opportunity.] and the sun is shining and this is all feeling pretty okay. Until we get back into the shadows of the taller buildings as we get closer to downtown and it's just freaking cold again.

Joy: I haven't heard my "motivation song" yet.

It's here that we should mention Buster the Blister. Buster came into Joy's life the Sunday of our 20 mile run, appearing on the side of the ball of Joy's right foot. For two weeks and six days, there Buster remained. Never changing. Never, um ... popping (gross). Per doctor's/therapist's/
coaches' orders, we kept Buster covered and took very good care of him. Kind of like he was our 8th grader's sack of flour child. Or a houseplant. Or a pet that required care and feeding.

Well, at some point on Saturday evening, Buster ... um ... emerges from his shell? Sheds his skin? Fine. Buster ... we didn't want to have to do this ... busts. So we bandage him up like nothing happened and Joy starts the race having trained on a blister for three weeks. What's 26.2 more miles on a blister that looks like the TSA would confiscate it at security for being more than the allowed 3.1 ounces?

Well, around now-ish, Buster begins to reassert himself. Somewhat. As she does, Joy puts her head down and just keep moving, knowing that just down Franklin and a west on Adams, we'll be at the halfway point of the race, and more importantly, we'll see Joy's parents, Martie and Jerry, her brother Ian, her friend Alissa, and Ross's parents, Vita and Warren.

Now actively trying to conserve energy, we don't take time to mingle, but we definitely take all the energy we can from seeing our family—and the wonderful sign they've made. And we definitely need it. What a boost. We wave our hellos as we jog by, thankful to see them, down the hill, away from the river to the halfway point less than a block from Ross's office, through Greektown and all the freaking way past the United Center—and about a mile from our house. We could've just run home at this point and taken a shower.

But no. We turn east, back toward downtown, a surprise waiting for us near Mile 15. It's this, a sign made by our good friend Quincy Tye. She and her family—brother Collin, parents Julie and Roger—are waiting for us with a bunch of bright signs like this one.

Poster courtesy of Quincy Tye. Photo courtesy of Julie Tye.

Joy spots them, and again, we steal energy from our supporters (sorry guys!), while Roger and Collin give chase, Roger trying to snap some photos on his phone. Thanks, guys!

Once again, we hit Greektown and head south on Halsted to Taylor Street and Little Italy. Somewhere near Mile 17, a cute/creepy gentleman is playing an electronic keyboard on the "accordion" setting. It sounds funereal. Dirge-like. Sorry, dude. We're not looking for that kind of thing right now. [Joy: I put the song on my playlist, like, 12 times...how can I not have heard it yet??]

At the end of Taylor Street, another big surprise: Dan Lundak is using what he calls his "outside voice" (which sounds a little bit like his "angry voice," which is also his "scary teacher voice") to shout us up from a few hundred feet away. It's nearly Mile 18 and we're starting to get a little loopy, so it's hard to tell what's happening. But Ross thinks he sees Dan's son "Zoom," and Dan's wearing a Northwestern hat, not a Nebraska hat, and the purple looks weird on him. But as we get closer, yes, we see that it's them. More energy. Sorely needed—even from the extremely disinterested "Zoom." Thank you!

Is that Dan? And "Zoom?" Let's wave anyway. (Photo by Dan Lundak.)

Down to Pilsen, where it's becoming more and more clear that the race's laggards—that would be us—miss out on a lot of the neighborhood fun. The only things happening in Pilsen, the epicenter of Chicago's Mexican culture, are a couple of loud sound systems playing Top 40 dance music and some extremely overzealous aid station volunteers who've managed to narrow a 35-foot-wide street down to five feet. Yawn and yikes, respectively. The one exciting thing: we discuss how much our feet hurt. [Ross: I feel like someone's hitting my feet with a ball peen hammer.]

One last time on Halsted Street (this makes three) over the bridge into Bridgeport and onto Chinatown, we see a lone, possibly lonely, gentleman—Ross calls him "SpongeBob the Builder" because he's dressed in green shoes, green tights, a SpongeBob costume, green face makeup, sunglasses and a construction helmet. And he's occasionally blowing into a vuvuzela.

Though it's possible we're hallucinating.

We pass a Dunkin Donuts. Ross: I REALLY want a donut.

On our way into Chinatown just after Mile 21 we realize that Ian has flown for nearly a day from Hong Kong to cheer us on, only to end up back in an approximation of Asia. It's 2 a.m. for him, so he's got to be about as nutso as we are. "Gangnam Style" is blaring—loud!—over and over and over again. Very high energy. We see our gang of six again and are so grateful to see them. Even though it's for about 20 seconds, we're glad to have it. Just a few more miles now. Also? We miss the action in Chinatown. The dragons and drummers have all gone home. Bummer.

South to 33rd Street, just east of Sox Park. East through the Illinois Institute of Technology campus, south to 35th Street. A couple of blocks east to Michigan Avenue and we're so close now. Gates and barricades are coming down all along the route. The sun is shining, but the wind has picked up and the shadows are growing longer. We run to the eastern edge of the street to get as much sun as we can. [Joy: I'm pretty sure I haven't been bitten by the "marathon bug."]

The Nike mile banners are coming down. Where an hour ago there were 14 water tables, now there's one.

20 blocks to go until we make the turn up "Mt. Roosevelt"—the cruelest hill on the course, and one we'd surmounted more than three dozen times this summer.

Now 14 blocks. An official race vehicle creeps up on our left displaying the official start time.

Now five blocks. Wow, it's cold.

Now three blocks, and we can see and hear the crowd at Michigan and Roosevelt. We can do this. We're so close. We've got this.

We turn up that cruelest hill. 25.8 miles in. We're still running. Almost there.

Just a quarter mile left.

Now 26 miles just as we nearly crest the hill. One more light pole and it's all downhill to the finish.

We grab hands.

And race down the hill.

As fast as we can.

With all that we have left.

Tears stream down Joy's face. She's overcome with emotion.

Volunteers hand us our foil blankets, a couple of bottles of water, bags of food. No medals, though. We're too late for medals—organizers were short a few thousand. We walk through the finishers' chute, take a few photos along the way, and out to the world. We will have walked an additional two miles before we get back to the gym where our day began nearly nine hours prior.

We have done it. Joy's first marathon. Ross's second. Most likely our last full marathon. Finished.

And it all began with a simple conversation in January, when Ross casually mentioned, "I'm thinking about running the Chicago Marathon this year...." Then Joy found a charity we could both really get behind, something that would be the connective tissue, that we could—for extreme, personal reasons—relate to. Then so many of our family and friends supported us—emotionally, verbally, contributorily—and we have been continually at a loss for words (so we make them up, like "contributorily"). We thought of you all on Sunday: The family members and friends that we've all lost to breast or ovarian cancer. Those that have survived their battles. Those that have taken an active role in cancer prevention. We salute you, family, friends, organizers, coaches, teammates. You made this day—these weeks—easy for us. Thanks.

"Well ... that happened." (Photo by Lindsay Avner.)

One. More. Week.

17 weeks down. Just one measly week to go.

Since it's been just a couple of days since our last post, we've got a bunch of photos this week. Which we'll get to in good time. First, a re-cap of Saturday's final long run—our shortest long run since JUNE 17th, the second week of our training schedule, at a mere six miles.

Not just any six miles, but first a short reminder clinic about running form and stride cadence at the corners of Michigan Avenue and Roosevelt Road. Which started at 7:00 a.m. instead of 6:00 a.m. for the first time since the beginning of August. 

The Team Bright Pink and Team Diabetes gang get the 411 from 
Coach Chris (center) while Coach Joy (to his right) looks on.

The reminders and warm up over, we took off on a 1/2 mile loop around the southern edge of Grant Park; east up the hill at Michigan and Roosevelt—the last hill we'll run up before we run down to the finish—then south down the hill on the pedestrian path that mirrors the finishing chute, then west over the rail bridge just before Balbo, and south, past where crews were already erecting tents for next Sunday, to our starting point.

We did that four times. And we hope it gives us the confidence we need to get over the hump at Roosevelt that one last time next Sunday.

Last minute hill training over, we ran the hill one more time and shot down Columbus, past what will be the finish line, past the Art Institute, and past what will be the starting line, on into Millennium Park and up over the BP ("snake") Bridge.

"We are taking this thing VERY SERIOUSLY!"

Looking back over Columbus toward the starting line, the finish line, 
and the two high-rises where we've started all but two of our long runs.

The Teams on the snake bridge.

Mile 1 on Columbus will be just before the

tunnel and through to Streeterville.

East from the bridge to Lake Michigan just beyond the trees.

From here, we ran east and south through Daley Bicentennial Park and across Lake Shore Drive, turning south on the Lakefront Path, and onto familiar territory once again. Down to the Shedd Aquarium, around the back side. New this run: Up to Solidarity Drive and east for a lap around the Adler Planetarium, and back to home base.

Done and done.

Just 12 miles to run this week. Oh, and then another 26.2 miler on Sunday. (We drove the last 13.2 miles today, so we should be good to go.) No big whoop.

And we've raised MORE THAN $7,000 for Bright Pink. Having our minds continually getting blown by the generosity and support of all will never get old. THANK YOU. If you're just now thinking, "How do I make a contribution?" you can do that here.

Toeing the Line in 10 Days

Last weekend, our next-to-last training run, saw us split into two units for the first time since training began, with Ross running with the Bright Pink group at the Lakefront and Joy running closer to home at the gym. Thankfully, what was posted as a 13.1 mile run turned out to be a 2-hour timed run—so, all you can get in that time-frame.

For Ross, cool temps and the threat of rain proved to be a great motivator—especially when the rain started to fall with about 20 minutes left in the run. He ended up running the last 1.5 miles considerably faster than his now-usual pace.

Joy split her run into two one-hour runs—one of the great things about tapering is that you can pick and choose how you get your run in, as long as you're doing something—and managed to get it done even though the training is definitely taking a toll.

Then on Saturday night, we hosted a fundraising event at Silvie's Lounge. See video from that event here.

And on Monday, Bright Pink hosted us for a Spa Night. Which our legs and feet really, really enjoyed.

Now that we're tapering pre-race, things have settled down a teensy bit on the time management front. As every coach predicted, there's too much time to think. And while we're happy the physical toll has diminished somewhat—but only somewhat—the mental strain is beginning to show. Things we have too much time to think about:

"How many days until the race?"

"We only have four more training runs before the marathon!"

"Holy crap! Do I have everything I need?"

"OMG, what's the weather going to be like?"

"Uh-oh...my knee is creaky today...."

"We only have to run 45 more miles and we'll be totally and completely done! ... Wait? What???"

What began in January with Ross offering, "Hey, Joy.... Um.... Since we're in pretty decent shape and registration is Monday, I'm going to sign up for the Chicago Marathon this year. If you'd like to run with me, that'd be great. But if you don't, that's totally cool, too. Completely up to you."

"Well," she likes to say, "since you're going to be waking me up at ridiculous hours all summer long, I may as well run with you."

A couple of weeks later, Joy went to an informational meeting for Team Bright Pink, and we were on our way. Though training didn't begin until the end of May, here are a couple of stats we're proud of:

• As of this writing, we've run more than 425 miles since training began

• Of greater importance to us, and thanks to the stunning generosity of nearly 80 members of our circle of family and friends, we're probably going to raise more than $7,000 for Bright Pink

That fundraising number, to us, is mind-boggling.

We are so grateful for the encouraging words of support, the incredulous words of "I could never do that" (yes, you totally could), the financial support, and everything that goes with it. Thanks to all of you.

Bring on the Taper!

We're 15 weeks into this madness, and finally—FINALLY! Praise creator being of various mythologies!—we get to taper.

That's right, sports fans: We ran our 20 miler. We finished our 20 miler. And we fought through the insanity of our 20 miler.

It's not possible to be happier that it's over.

We woke before dawn, as we usually do for our long runs these days, dragging ourselves out of bed at 4:30 to eat breakfast and get ourselves ready to run. This week, instead of sticking with our Bright Pink teammates, who ran Saturday, we opted for Sunday's Newton Ready to Run 20 Miler, presented by the Chicago Area Runners Association. (Momentary aside: Whenever Ross hears "Newton," he thinks of these, or this guy, and not these, which were the actual sponsors, and not this, even though this.)

Right.... So.... We woke up. Ate. Got ready. Took this picture:

There is complete darkness outside over Joy's shoulder.

Then we hopped into a waiting cab and trucked over to the Lakefront at Wilson for the "wave" start in which 77 groups of runners would begin the run 30 seconds apart, the runners expecting to finish quickly at the front. (Note: This wasn't a "race" in the typical sense—it was, however, a very well supported run for a few thousand people. No timing chips. No competition. Well—except the length of the run itself.)

With the temperature hovering in the mid-50s, it was a little chilly to be hanging around in short sleeves and shorts, but we managed to make it through the 45+ minutes in the parking lot until our wave—wave 76, which should tell you something about our expected finishing time—was called to the start.

The first few miles, while the sun was coming up, went fine. And it was really fun to be in a new part of our running world. We even ran into one of our wedding guests—and Ross's former training client—C.P. running with his puppy near Irving Park Road.

And then? The sun was out in full force. Though it wasn't as hot as a few weeks ago, it was hotter than it needed to be, and we really felt it on "The Broiler" from North Avenue Beach to Ohio Street Beach—where there's no shade for more than 1.5 miles. We lost some flat banana somewhere between Ohio Street and Wacker Drive, which was unsettling. And by the time we got to Grant Park at Mile 12—where we looped around the softball fields at Hutchinson Field, there was much unhappiness.

Miles 13–17 were more of the same temperature-wise, only getting hotter still, so we slowed things down a bit to save some energy for the last few miles, and this was all on very familiar territory: past the Shedd Aquarium, Soldier Field, McCormick Center, the 31st Street Beach House and the Skate Park. By the time we hit 4000 South block, we thought we had just about 15 blocks to go, even though the math wasn't adding up.

Needless to say, our math was off. And we ran through Promontory Point (where we saw a young Wheaten Terrier, which made Joy very happy) and further south to 63rd Street and UP A FREAKING HILL into Jackson Park. (The only good thing about that hill? The marathon's last three-tenths of a mile includes a hill from Michigan Avenue onto Roosevelt Road before turning toward the finishing chute on Columbus Drive. We've been running that hill just about every weekend in reverse.)

So, we had done it. Ross's first 20 mile run that was far more running than walking, and Joy's first 20 mile run. We grabbed some mini bagels, granola bars, coconut water, our new Newton Ready to Run technical shirts, hopped on a waiting bus back to Grant Park, flagged a cab, got home and took a really, really cold bath. Good times. And we met a new friend that we've named "Buster."

"Buster" is a blister. Not a marble balancing on Joy's foot.

20 miles. We started at 4600 north, ran north to 5600 (just one block shy of the north end of the Lakefront Path), turned south and ran to 1200 south, then up to 600 south, and then to the Jackson Park Beach House at 63rd Street and back up to 6100 (the Lakefront Path ends at 67th Street). Since it's eight city blocks to mile, we'll leave the math up to you. We're too loopy to figure it out.

Interested in seeing a map of our route?

Eighteen and Life.

Well, we've made it to the home stretch.

This past Saturday, under a gloriously blue sky, a ten mile-per-hour breeze blowing fairly steadily out of the northwest, in upper-50s/lower-60s temperatures, we ran what will soon be our third longest run of the year.

Eighteen freaking miles.

Or in the words of Sebastian Bach....

The weather makes such an enormous difference when it comes to these things. Last week's 16 mile run was considerably more difficult. But it was also about 15 degrees warmer. There's something about a picture perfect 63° day that makes running a longer distance seem breezy in comparison.

"Hey, wait a minute," you thought. "Eighteen miles is breezy?"

No. It decidedly is not.

As we're gearing up, or down, or however it's classified when you're just about done with the training and prepping for race day—just a few weeks away—we're trying to focus on how our bodies feel. Sleep, or lack of it, really hurts. Food is both a friend and foe. Are we drinking enough—or too much—water? 

For both of us, the past couple of weeks have been killer—and for different reasons. Joy is battling some pretty difficult leg muscle issues. She's working through them, focusing on and drawing strength from the support we've received from so many of our family and friends. Ross has developed a weird hip/lower back thing that requires some TLC, if by "tender," you mean "rolling around on a foam-covered PVC pipe" to keep it loose. So we each have our moments.

But we've also raised more than $6,000 for Bright Pink, and have set our sights on raising more. If you haven't already, please consider making a tax-deductible donation to Bright Pink on our behalf. Our donation page is here. And if you'd rather make a donation in person, come to this in a couple of weeks:

Laboring Through

After a week that saw us running eight, six, five and 16 miles, we thought we'd take a day or so to celebrate our fifth wedding anniversary (which Joy has given the wonderful name "Cinco de RoJo") before we started running again.

So we did.

Once we finished our 16 miler—thankfully, it was overcast...and less thankfully, it rained a bit, but only for a few minutes—we tried to relax a little and then headed up to Ravinia to see Hall & Oates (who were great!). The show started pretty early and we were home by 10:00, which was just perfect. Sunday we slept in (til 7!) and went for much-needed massages at Urban Oasis. And then it was time for an early dinner at the newly refurbished Pump Room. Again, we were home pretty early—which was good since we had to get up for an eight-miler on Labor Day.

And it was very laborious.

Anyway, here are a few pictures. We're sooooooo close.

Only 158.7 miles left to run....

We've been experimenting with epsom salts. They haven't made us eat anyone's face. Yet. (And ice baths are on deck.)

Celebratory dinner. Five years. And a day with zero miles.

13.1 Miles in Photos.

This week was a recovery week, which included massages on our Sunday rest day.

They didn't take. And we were sore anyway. Recovery shmecovery.

And somehow, the whole notion that running 28 miles in a week—instead of last week's 33—doesn't feel like much of a recovery, either. Especially when, for 13 miles, the sun is a blistering, broiling ball that Satan himself hurled directly from the bowels of Hell up into the Heavens to rain down its inglorious, fiery evil.

Okay, maybe that's going a bit overboard, but it was hot.

We started at the usual spot—the corner of Roosevelt and Michigan Avenues—and proceeded north along the Lakefront Path, up to Lincoln Park, and then back.

Although it was nice to have some new scenery...

Did we mention it was hot?

So here are some photos taken while running. They're not awesome—bouncy-bouncy-bounce and all—but they do the trick.

The beginning, at about 6:20. The sun cresting over Lake Michigan (battling with the headlights). "Red sky in the morning, sailors take warning," and all that jazz.

Soldier Field off to the right as we sort-of-pass the Field Museum. 

We took a left just before the Shedd Aquarium and ran north past the sunrise. 

Hey, look! It's the Sears Tower! (No WAY are we going to call it by it's new name—The Abraham the Goldfish Tower.) 

One of MANY signs we passed today. We started at about the 8.5 mile sign, turned around where there weren't any signs, and then it's like they're trying to trick you—the signs on the way back are clocking the southbound route, so suddenly you see a sign for 4.5 miles even though you know in your heart (and your hamstrings) that you haven't run backwards. And that you've run further than the signs are telling you. Example, we passed two 7 mile and 11 mile signs. Neither of them was right as far as clocking our mileage. Too much math for our taste.

It's so early, even Buckingham Fountain is still asleep. 

We're too tired to look up the name of this harbor. But it is one. 

Oak Street Beach. The 1.5 mile part of the run (3 miles total) where there is absolutely ZERO shade. And look—there aren't even any Trixies out yet adding to their paid-for tans! (Although there was a garbage truck that nearly made us gag from the overwhelming stench. Coincidence?)

We ran past the Zoo, but not through it. Thankfully. The Zoo is REALLY hilly. We turned around at Belmont Ave. If you know the city, we started at 1200 south and turned around at 3200 north. That works out to 88 blocks, which is *only* 11 miles if you're driving it. (Eight blocks to a mile, out-of-towners.) But thanks to the zig-zagging of the path,  especially around Navy Pier and North Avenue, it works out to the appointed mileage. 

Statue of Grant in Lincoln Park. Neither Grant nor Lincoln are buried here. 

Running toward shade. And downtown. Through the south end of Lincoln Park.

Just past the North Avenue Beach House and heading back toward Oak Street. 

Blazing sunshine over the lake just past Oak Street Beach.

Looking back at North Avenue across the lake. The stand of trees in the distance is the only shade until Ohio Street to the south. Gross.

Turning the corner near Chicago Avenue with Navy Pier in the distance. Lots of triathletes in their wetsuits swimming the lake training for their races.

It must be after 9—Buckingham Fountain is finally awake.

It was our last recovery week until we "taper" two weeks before the race. Our mileage for the next three weeks: 35, 37, 39.5. This week, we run 8 Monday, 6 Wednesday, 5 Thursday, and 16 Saturday with a cross-training day on Tuesday. Should be super fun!