That sucked. Except for the fact that running a marathon flat out rules, that is, and that this is a really great one to run. And the fact that I'd run it again.

I was shooting for a sub-4. I scored a 4:35 or so. The day wasn't cold, exactly, once we got going, but the wind whipping through the shaded concrete canyons of urban Chicago was not kind to someone wet with sweat. I got cold.

And, as I found out running the Marine Corps Marathon in 2001, windy chill doesn't agree with me. My legs started to seize up a couple of times, and I actually had to fight the urge to ralph on three occasions. Groan...

I'll tell you what: they let in 41,000+ runners this year. What does that mean, practically speaking? It means that not once in the entire 26.2-mile race was I running alone. You know that Nike commercial where the whole pack of people is running cross-country and it sounds like a herd on stampede? That was this race, for the entire distance. People were all around, all the time.

So there wasn't a lot of room to move, should I even have tried to do so. Oh, well. Sometimes you do as well as you want, and you learn from the times you don't perform as well as you'd like.

One thing that was really cool about this race: you run through all of these ethnic communities in Chicago. In the Polish district, there was a stage with an authentic Polish folk band, and folk dancers lined the street. In Chinatown, a couple of dudes had traditional Chinese dragon costumes on. We passed an Elvis impersonator, and several groups of Village People tributes. There was fantastic crowd support for most of the race -- MUCH better than in Nashville's Metro district. We ran up Lakeshore Drive, and cars passing on the opposite side were honking; folks were screaming and whistling constantly.

I was dismayed to be passed by a guy in a San Diego Chicken costume, and later by a guy dressed in a cow outfit (somehow the pun "cowabunga" loses its comedic force 23 miles into a marathon). Perhaps the most degrading moment came when I was passed by a dude in a leopard-print pair of Jockeys (accessorized with dollar bills) and a bowtie. Later, I wondered where he had pinned his race number; and then I quickly started thinking of something else.

Yeah, I'd run it again.