In Pursuit of Those Faster Than Myself

Dearest Rachel –

So… it begins again. It’s marathon day, and I’m once again going through the stations of the cheering sections (yes, I know what that sounds like) to offer encouragement to the World Vision team from church.

That’s what I’m telling myself, and I’m going to stick to that story for now; certainly, I defy anyone else to tell me otherwise.

Maybe, at some point, I can actually convince myself of this ‘fact.’

After all, unlike two years ago, I didn’t even try to be a part of the running community this time around. That experience taught me that there are some endeavors that are just beyond my capabilities, and there’s little point in pursuing things that I neither enjoy nor can succeed at. Take that how you will.

Ironically, I’m actually making more progress on my own exercise journey this year compared to my weak efforts of two years previous. It’s just that I’ve determined that running, particularly long-distance running, isn’t the way for me to do so. Granted, this means that I’m not contributing to the cause by running and fundraising…

…but there’s always the literal means of doing so, which may be why the running community at the church seems to have not dismissed me out of hand for my non-participation, especially since I was completely absent last year. However, it’s not as if I’ll be joining them in the corral before the race at 5:45 in the morning.

I had planned to be at the “L” station by then, but for whatever reason, my car decided to put on the “low tire pressure” idiot light as I was driving down Higgins, forcing me to make a stop at several service stations before I found one with a working air pump. The good news was that I didn’t have any single tire that was seriously no, such as might happen if I ran over something that punctured it. The bad news was that each of them needed a little topping off, so I found myself in each of the tires, taking care of business.

Speaking of which, as there was a McDonald’s next door to the service station, I thought I might stop in for a coffee and a quick pit stop before the real run-around began. Imagine my disappointment to find that, while there was the occasional drive-through customer being attended to, the facility (and thus, the facilities) was locked up tight on both sides. So much for that plan.

***

One of the problems with only going downtown once a year (or less) is that I don’t know ‘the rules’ to certain places. The parking lot entrance had a box for me to put my credit card in and take me ticket; after withdrawing my card, the gate went up, but no ticket was issued. I sat there, waiting for one to be printed, to no avail, as the gate came down. When I tried again, my card was rejected. I tried with a different card, and this time, simply drove in without bothering to wait for a ticket. Once I was in the lot, and heading for the entrance to the “L” station, I realized that you pay for, and receive, your ticket at a kiosk just outside the station proper on your way out. Live and learn, I suppose – assuming I can remember next time around.

I’m so discombobulated by this experience that I don’t realize that I’ve left my bell behind in the car until I’m actually on the train (which, fortuitously enough, arrives just as I ascend the elevator to the platform). Maybe it’s just as well; between my chair, my sign my phone and my cap, there’s enough for me to keep track of it this point. I’m just going to have to yell when people go by, I guess.

I meet a friendly family getting on the train at the same time I do. I have to wait till the train is at a station in order to ask, but I find out that they’re here for the marathon as well; their daughter (who is scarfing down a ramen cup full of muesli) is participating, after having just run in London a week or two previously. I find myself wondering if they shouldn’t have already been at one of the starting corrals by now, but there’s nothing for it at this point.

Unlike last time, where I barely made it to the third mile marker by the time several of the girls came through, I’m at the cheering section for the first mile a half hour before the first wave is expected to be released… at 7:30? Wait, but that’s the group Erin’s supposed to be in; does she qualify as a member of the ‘elite’ group?

Wouldn’t she be surprised to discover that.

At any rate, I set up my chair and settle in to wait. It’s decidedly cold, but I’ve deliberately not brought a coat; I know it’s going to get warmer as the day wears on, and while I’m not going to be exerting myself anywhere near as much as the real runners, I’m going to be doing my fair share of running about, that’s for sure. Besides, if I can burn calories trying to keep myself warm, so much the better.

***

Mile marker one: everyone is here, sure, but because of that, nobody is recognizable in the crowd.

It doesn’t help, however, that the chatter among the cheering section (apart from the obvious whoops of encouragement to the runners going by) is that the app appears to be only marginally functional. The tracker claims that people are getting to the turn at State and Clark, but nobody can see their chosen runner as their avatar goes past.

Four of the six I’m trying to follow (the other two don’t even seem to register as having started) go by without the slightest glimmer of recognition on my part, at which point I decide to give up and head on to…

Mile marker three, only a couple of blocks to the west (the route takes the runners a considerable distance south, only to return north after turning just a few blocks east). Here, I actually have some success, spotting two of ‘my’ chosen runners. In fact, Jim actually stops to talk; he’d claimed I wouldn’t actually see him, since he expected to be outpaced by… well, you know. I tell him to hurry and get back in the race, or his assumption will be a self-fulfilling prophecy. As for her, well… the road here is a boulevard; if she passed by in the opposite side, I’ll never know. And sure enough, her avatar passes by without me spotting her yet again. Time to try and get ahead of this crowd.

I hop a brown line train north to the Sedgwick station, which empties out onto mile marker eleven. However, I encounter a group heading a little further north, to Diversey and mile nine, to meet and cheer on a friend in a less populated spot. Since six miles sounds like a reasonable advance (as opposed to sitting around, waiting for the group to cover a full eight miles), I ask if I can tag along, as I’m doubtful that I can find the route from the station on my own. They’re quite agreeable, and I share a little bit of my story with the female of the group while the boys puzzle over the map. Their friend is actually running on her own, rather than with a larger group like ours.

However, it turns out to be a half mile walk from the station. It’s not terrible, but as Jim and Erin are rounding the northern border of the route on Sheridan, it’s going to be close as to whether we can get there before they do. Even worse, that ‘business’ I couldn’t take care of on my way to Rosemont is starting to grow… insistent. There’s a Burger King en route to the route, and I inform my newfound comrades that we will need to part ways at this juncture.

The restroom isn’t open for the public, per a sign on the front door, but I had been in the mood for another iced mocha like yesterday. Unfortunately, they happen to be out of iced coffee at the moment, as well. I settle for a plain hot cup; it’s the same caffeine, but warmer and with fewer calories.

You and I would joke that I ‘earned my shirt,’ and say no more about it; for those that know, they know.

I leave with my coffee, feeling decidedly better – and find myself almost instantly feeling decidedly worse. She has, in fact, caught up to and overtaken Jim, who is just about at the Diversey Road checkpoint – which I’m still a quarter mile away from. Guess I should have gone to the Sedgwick stop, after all. I wouldn’t be feeling so good myself had I done so, but I would have been able to keep up, assuming my digestive tract would have allowed me to. As it is, there’s no way even the train will keep up with them to that point, especially as it takes nearly ten minutes to get back to the Diversey station.

As a result, my next alternative, at Washington and Wells (mile 12.5), is a near run thing. I charge down the stairs and run to get up to the fencing… just as Jim runs by. Well, at least somebody knows I was here.

At this point, I find myself debating whether to head to Chinatown (mile 22, which ought to give me ample time to get there) or Greektown (mile 18, which still is at least five miles further on – although given my luck along the brown line stops, if you had been keeping an eye on me like I always ask you to, you’d probably be absolutely screaming at me to not bother with checkpoints that are too close together like that). But in order to get to either one, I would need to either hop on the red line or the blue line, respectively, and I can’t seem to find any of those trains anywhere. I can find a combination of pink, green and orange elevated station, but nothing connecting to the red or blue lines.

After waiting for an orange train (which might take me to a nearby station with connections), only to find a pink one going in the opposite direction, I decide to give up and go back to actually wandering around looking for a specific color station. It takes what seems like a mile of circuitous walking before I actually find a red station – which means that my decision has been made for me; and probably a good thing, considering the amount of time lost.

As I ride, I find myself chatting with a woman who’s trying to follow her husband on his way; she actually asks me if I can figure out on her copy of the app where he is. They’ve just gotten back from his running the marathon in Rotterdam, and it looks like she’s about to deal with a situation like I just did at Washington and Wells. All I can do is to wish her luck, and suggest that, if he’s past the Chinatown cheering section, she walk over to mile 25 a few blocks to the east.

Curiously enough, as I disembark at the Chinatown station, I hear a voice calling out to me. Junior and his girls have come down to cheer on his wife Nicole. I fill him in on my adventures thus far, and he suggests that I’ve run a marathon end of itself, which I deny; I may have covered a mile or two on foot, but nothing like the runners have. Still, it’s been more than a bit of an adventure already.

Nicole is considerably behind the runners I’m trying to keep up with; but as she’s among those I’ve got a bead on (including the last two, who apparently got started a hour after the other four), I point out that he’s got a long wait before she gets down here. He doesn’t seem bothered by that; in fact, he seems to have a plan of taking the girls out for a Sunday dinner of Chinese food while they’re waiting. Nice if you have the time, I suppose.

Although as we leave the station, Junior is confronted with adventure of his own, as he’s accosted by a ‘man in the street’ interview, which he consents to, and I bid him farewell for the time being. Wonder how that’s going to turn out, but I don’t expect to find out; there’s no need for me to stay – and, in fact, no guarantee that I’ve actually managed to get ahead of those I’m trying to track.

I’d ask for luck, honey, but as I’m updating this after the fact, I already know how things transpired. I’ll fill you in shortly (as I was running low on battery power for on-the-spot dictation) but I hope you can tide yourself over with this until then.

Talk to you later.