My Chicago Marathon

Today was the Chicago Marathon. The temperature was, is, freezing, literally. Not to mention the wind, which made it as unpleasant as licking a flagpole in a blizzard. I, however, had a great seat for MY Chicago Marathon -- under the covers in bed, where any sane person ought to be at eight o'clock on a Sunday morning.

The men's winner, one of the Kenyans I'm sure, fended off a last minute challenge and then slipped on the rubberized finish line and slammed his head on the ground. Someone couldn't keep the moisture off the mat? That's like getting to the top of Everest and then tripping on a stone and going over the side. I smell lawsuit.

The women's winner was a another Kenyan who dogged a Russian on her shoulder for most of the race then passed her at the end. The first American woman finished 12th or worse. The McNuggets are taking a toll.

The frontrunner had been a Romanian woman who has come in second a couple of times. She went out so fast she was running with the men for a long time. They talked about her audacity and courage for setting such a killer pace. Mostly it was a dumb idea. I can say that from the safety of my down comforter.

Usually I'm downtown at the halfway point which is conveniently located across from the train station. There's always a crowd, a band, a DJ, a whole carnival of discount events. I'm the Mom holding up a sign looking for a glimpse of my younger daughter, or last year, both of my daughters who ran together. Two hours of waiting for twenty seconds of waving. One year I walked the entire course backward trying to find my daughter and never saw her. Not recommended. Nothing beats a pre arranged spot, a chair to sit in, a cooler with food and drinks.

This year, neither one of them did the race. My younger daughter stayed in London. I stayed warm and cozy and we talked on the phone instead. My training consisted of three oatmeal raisin cookies and a glass of milk. Is there an Olympics for long distance lying down? I'm there.