Chicago Marathon
Two weekends ago Kristen ran the Chicago marathon for the second time. The first time was around five years ago.
Last time we drove down to Chicago and stayed at the condo of one of Kristen's former co-workers. He and his wife have since adopted a child and moved to Texas. This time we dropped off our kids at my parents' house and drove to Kristen's aunt and uncle's condominium.
Pre-Race:
The day before the race we took the train down to McCormick Place to pick up her packet of things for the race. McCormick Place is a large, black building near Soldier Field. It includes some enormous rooms that are probably used for conventions most of the time.
Walking into McCormick Place that morning was an experience. People from all over the United States and the world filled the room, checking out booths and picking up their packets. I heard german, french and spanish at the very least and probably couldn't identify other langauges.
What's in a packet? The runner's number (to be pinned to their shirt), a race shirt, marathon related information, and an id chip that attaches to the runner's shoe.
What's in the booths? The booths basically fell into three categories:
1. Sports stuff: Many sporting goods stores had representatives attempting to sell runners yet more shoes/shirts/bras/shorts etc...
2. More marathons: Pamphlets and film advertising marathons across the US and around the world, ranging from St. Louis, Missouri to Paris, France.
3. Health and Sports Medicine: Various healthy drinks/foods, massage, chiropractors. Basically, if you run a lot you will probably hurt yourself, so a booth might be a good investment for a chiropractor.
Five years ago Samuel Adams was sponsoring the race and so they were handing out free beer. This year we just got free wine from a winery I've never heard of. The wine was okay.
After picking up Kristen's packet we went out for lunch. Going to a restaurant without children is a strange thing. Rather than spending the entire time restraining children, you have only the food and each other to occupy your attention.
Kristen and I looked at each other, commented on the strangeness of not having to prevent Rebecca from emptying the pepper and salt shakers, and asked, "Do we talk now?"
Drunkness and Disorderly Conduct
We took the train back to Kristen's relatives' condo. This is a good thing. I like public transportation. Grand Rapids needs more of it, but Chicago's is pretty good. Unfortunately, if you're looking to find idiots, using public transportation greatly increases your chances.
Soon after we got on the train, I realized that there was something odd about the guys near the front of our car. They were inordinately loud and one of them seemed unhappy about something.
It turned out that he was unhappy about losing his bag. He put it down on the seat, walked away and came back to find it gone. He loudly suggested that the conductor had taken it, referring to the conductor in the most offensive terms available for black and gay. Oddly, the conductor (when he appeared) turned out to be both white and (so far as I could tell) straight.
The conductor told him that the bag wasn't in the car. The man looked for it anyway.
He appeared to have two goals, first to find the bag, second to alienate anyone who might have the slightest sympathy for him. He did better at the second than the first. Much better. Beginning with his comments about the conductor, he was told that his language was inappropriate by a man traveling with a child. After apologising very loudly, he asked that same man (who was carrying a guitar) to sing. The man said no.
After that the drunk moved to the back of the car to search. Somewhere in the course of his search one of the kids in the back of the car started crying. In keeping with his policy of unintentionally making things worse, he asked the kid two questions. First, "What'cha whinin' about, kid?" Secondly, "What's wrong, do you need a friend?"
Strangely, neither of these expressions of concern stopped the crying.
After that the conductor came back and the drunk got into a (one-sided) shouting match that ended only after the conductor got him out of the car. They continued talking in the space between the cars.
In the end it turned out that the conductor had grabbed the bag, found several containers of alchohol within and had another conductor empty them.
The owner complained about this to his friend for the rest of the ride and threatened to sue, but obviously that's not going to happen.
The passengers clapped after the drunk (and friend) left the car. Oddly enough, there's a little more to that story. As the train moved away, the guy ahead of me looked up from his copy of "Rolling Stone" and said, "That was close." The drunken man had almost stumbled off the platform and into the train.
The Race
On Sunday we woke up at 4:45am and took the train down to the race. The special train for marathon runners was almost full already. Bearing in mind that they expected some 30,000 to 40,000 runners and probably 1 million spectators, this was understandable.
Arriving around 6:30am in downtown Chicago, Kristen and I found the point where she would start. People with similar paces start together. Kristen was aiming for 11 minute miles and started fairly far back in the pack.
I waited around until nearly 8:00am and decided to go down to the actual starting point so I could take a picture of her crossing it. I missed her. This would start a pattern that continued for the rest of the day.
Due to the way the race route doubled back, I had 5 chances to take pictures of her. I missed her all but one time. Mind you, she saw me every time. My only excuse is that a camera's view of the world is much narrower than a person's and when literally thousands of people are running past you, your chances of missing the one person you care about in the crowd are high.
The highlight of the race for Kristen was probably improving her time by roughly 20 minutes.
What was the highlight of the race for me? I'm not sure. Here's how my time during the race was spent:
--Walking from one point where I might take a picture of Kristen, missing her and walking to the next.
--Waiting in line at a Starbucks just off the race route for some 20 minutes.
--Watching people while waiting for/having missed Kristen. People were dressed as Elvis, a Canadian Mountie, a Mariachi, a cow, and a number of other things I can't remember right now. Any of these people have a higher tolerance for looking silly than I do.
--Eating lunch at a restaurant in Greektown.
Knowing that I can't even find Kristen while she's passing me in the street, you might be wondering how I found her at the end of the race. It's not as if I managed to see her crossing the finish line.
As it turns out, the people running the marathon anticipated this problem. They set aside an area for each letter in the alphabet. All I had to do was find "Z" and I found Kristen. Naturally, it took me ten minutes to notice the letters and figure out what they were for.
The letters tended to blend into the tents, masses of runners in mylar wraps, and crowds of supporters.
We left after that. Well, sort of. We had to wait two hours in the train station because trains apparently don't run to the suburbs on Sunday afternoon. Aside from that, things went well. We drove back to Holland, picked up our children from my parents' house, and went home.
Kristen thinks she might run another marathon someday. I've got to admit that I'm tempted to do it myself, but, not soon. Graduate school makes those sort of projects impossible at the moment.
Still, it might be fun.