As I said earlier, it was a shame the race was cancelled. I still had a great time, though.  See the rest of my dad’s marathon pictures here.

Step 1: For the first 20 miles, put your right foot in front of your left.

Step 2: Put your left foot in front of your right.

Step 3: Repeat 105,600 times.

Step 4: Have Chicago police tell you it’s no longer permissible to run and that you have to walk the remaining six miles - but that it’s okay, the clocks are off and your time won’t count.

Step 5: Find out your time does count and get really, really angry.

It was a brutally hot day, one runner died and nearly 11,000 of the 35,000 runners didn’t finish. Many runners are faulting the city or the race organizers - there wasn’t enough water, there weren’t enough aid stations, et cetera - but the real problem was lack of communication.

As we came around the bend approaching mile 19, someone on a loudspeaker was announcing that ‘the race is now over.’ That wasn’t funny. We’re dying in this heat, we’re trying to finish and you’re making horrible jokes.

Turns out it wasn’t a joke. Soon after, we were stopped by a race official standing in the middle of the course telling us we needed to walk to the next aid station and that we were not allowed to run. For the rest of the race, the clocks were turned off - lending credence to the idea that we weren’t getting official times - and police stationed around the course actively stopped participants from running, citing heat concerns.

The fire-department helicopter even did a low pass over us, blaring that we needed to stop running over its megaphone.

So we finish, feeling deathly hot but accomplished, only to find out that my 4 hour, 20 minute pace at the halfway point had turned into a 5 hour, 18 minute finish. Thanks, Chicago Marathon, for making me looking like someone who couldn’t manage his own body and pace.

The real problem with the marathon was lack of communication. Was the race cancelled? Could we still finish? What about times? Would they count? Who was in charge? No one, not even the aid-station workers who were in constant contact with the central authorities, seemed to know the answers. As I said, police were stopping us from running; the race authorities, however, took a softer stance, saying that we could finish if we wanted, but we needed to be careful.

And there doesn’t seem to be any information about this police stoppage. In fact, the only major media outlet I’ve seen with any mention of the situation was the Detroit Free Press, which noted

Organizers said they initially hoped to let those who had made it halfway complete the 26.2-mile race. But as the event continued, even those who had passed the halfway mark were told to turn back.

Some kept going, and helicopters hovered over the course while police officers shouted through a bullhorn and warned runners to slow down and walk.

But there are many people to be thanked and noted:

• The volunteers who stayed out for six hours on a record-breakingly hot day, who poured water and gatorade for us, who dug into their own pockets to purchase bags of ice, who cheered us on throughout the entire race. It’s an amazing feeling to have someone you don’t know tell you how great it is to be out there, watching.
• The two spectators who helped me, personally. When my legs cramped to the point where I needed to stop and stretch and I ended up with a Charlie horse, one guy grabbed my foot as I massaged the muscle back into place. As he helped me up and I began running again, someone else yelled out, ‘You’re a champion!’ I just wanted to finish, but thanks to them.
• My friend Tim, who raised more than $1,300 for the Children’s Miracle Network as a charity runner but was almost unable to finish. He trained hard for the race, he gave it his all, but he needed a little help to cross the final mile marker. Congrats to him.
• And, of course, my father, who drove up specifically to support me, and my friends Frank and Micky, who endured the heat just to cheer me on. As I came up to where they were standing near the end of the race, all I could think was that I needed them to be waiting for me … and they were.

While the entire thing may have been plagued with complications, it was quite the experience. Maybe next year will be normal weather, one where people don’t die while running. Until then, I’ll be running and getting ready.

One of the greatest things about the coming of autumn - in addition to the fact that I get to stop hating the heat/humidity combo - is the glorious day when I get on the train in the morning, open the paper and discover, via an advertisement or a mention in a column or something, that Starbucks has its pumpkin coffee back in season.

I’m not much for spending a lot of money on my coffee; while I enjoy buying a good cup, it’s not something I do all the time. But the flavor of pumpkin is somehow the entire season, distilled: It’s playing soccer when you were a kid, it’s a crisp evening with a sweater; it’s going to football games on Friday night. So, naturally, I had to get a Pumpkin Spice Latte.

My first thought: Damn, that’s expensive. More than $4. The second: What’s in a latte, anyway? I bet it’s going to have whipped cream on top. I don’t want whipped cream on top. My third thought: Oh, they have pumpkin scones too.

‘Pumpkin Spice Latte and a pumpkin scone,’ I said.

‘You really like pumpkin, don’t you?’ she asked. Knew that one was coming.

In any case, it was great, I felt at one with the cool morning air, all that. Then my boss sent me the link an article on ‘the eight most fattening foods in fall,’ and instructed me to look at number three on the list. It was my latte.

I went to Starbucks’ nutritional information and discovered that I had just consumed nearly 1,000 calories. At least the marathon is this weekend. Looks like I’m going to need it.