A Vanderhoeven Blog: Chicago Marathon 2014

Chicago! The Big Shouldered City, The City That Works, The Windy City. Town of a thousand nicknames, Chicago is visually stunning, with spectacular buildings and lovely outdoor sculptures. The Chicago Marathon became priority one after New York introduced me to the fun of a oversized, boisterous city marathon. Chicago also is home base for buddy John Kayser and is another World Marathon Major; completion of the series just might become my new goal.

Discussing this with my lovely wife Rosanna yielded an unexpected reply; why not have the whole family go to Chicago? I call John and presto, we are set: the Vanderhoeven and Kayser clan will meet in early October 2014. As an added bonus: board is free for three nights, as the Kaysers have a Lake House we can use.

This Lake House generates a lot of questions from the family; is it big, or small? Is it heated? Is there a kitchen, or just a small shed for curing meat? I vaguely remember the house from his wedding 20 years ago, and it had a great view of Lake Michigan, but that is all that my memory tells me. I gruff out a reply that they should not look a gift horse in the mouth.

A red-eye out of Portland puts us into Chicago at 7 am. Tired and grumpy from the flight, we pull into early AM traffic out of O'Hare and crawl along a freeway into downtown. The hustle and bustle wake us up; we're not in sleepy little Bend anymore. We exit onto side streets and have our first taste of Chicago architecture at the Frank Lloyd Wright Home and Studio in Oak Park:

Looking west over Lake Michigan

After touring the house, we drive West Lake Street to downtown and see a smorgasbord of houses and neighborhoods, ranging from the green acred stately manse to the seedily decrepit; the latter prompts Mom to ask Kids if doors are locked. Yelp directs us to the highly-rated Wildberry Cafe; all four of us enthusiastically applaud the pancakes and hash browns. Bellies full, we drive 1.5 hours from Chicago through a slice of Northern Indiana and to Union Pier Michigan. We are wonderfully surprised at how spacious and peaceful the Lake House is. Rosanna catnaps in a sunroom, Isaac turns on the telly, Alanna retreats to a bedroom with a book, and I go on walkabout. Just like home! Towards evening Rosanna and I walk down the bluff to the beach and view an amazing sunset.

Wow, look at that sunset!

Who needs Hawaii?

Rosanna and Alanna in front of the Bean; actual title is 'Cloud Gate'

On Friday, John and I meet at the Expo and poke around the booths for a while. The Expo is in a cavernous hall with multiple lines snaking through it; at times we find ourselves standing in a line that we had no intention of being in. But it must be for something good; just look how long it is! Rosanna and kids, not interested in watching people stand in line, visit the outdoor sculpture nickname the Bean. When unveiled in 2006, it was initially thought unremarkable by the locals, however now this gigantic inverted mirror is a top photo stop for tourists; its popularity a reflection of our self-obsessed times.

Beneath the remarkable sculpture by Anish Kapok

With Rosanna outside the Chicago Theatre

I regroup with the family at Portillo's, a Chicago eatery dedicated to the art of beef and bread. The service is a little slow, and several orders including mine are lost in the back kitchen, and the wait is about 20 minutes. But worth it! The hot dogs are delicious, charred and crispy on the ends, with toppings of tomato, relish and onion. For digestion sake we take a long leisurely walk back down State Street. It is fun to hang out with the whole family in a new city, and as I think about Alanna going off to college next year, I become nostalgic for the present.

John and his son Zach meet us at the Lake House later that evening, and we play a long, spirited game of Monopoly. I am curious as to how Zach and Isaac will hit it off. Zach is 16, Isaac almost 14; both are full of the innate wisdom of teenagers, whereby sons know more than Dads and can decree truth simply by raising the volume of their voice and stating things with unfettered conviction. Zach is shrewd at Monopoly and I learn many rules of which I had been ignorant of for over 40 years. Maybe this is because we are playing Chicago Monopoly? I also thought there would be many questions as to what circumstances were like for their Dads back when they barely had 2 nickels to their name while touring around Florida, Hawaii and Australia. I am a little surprised, a little disappointed, but perhaps more relieved to find both are more interested in winning Monopoly. I try to reimagine my own inner life at their age, and recall that I was also pretty incurious, as I knew a lot more then, than I do now.

We rise early for some fishing, a sport in which I am particularly inept. My streak of reeling in nothing but algae is unbroken and the fish are safe for another day. John and Zach head back to Chicago. I take the kids to the Warren State Park Sand Dunes, and then prepare for tomorrow and the marathon.

Practicing for her senior year photo

Sand dunes in Michigan; odd to see 300 foot dunes on a Lake

Marathon preparation time: band aids for nipples - check. Sleeve for carrying phone - check. Ibuprofen pills for mile 17 - check (this is a trick I learned in the last marathon). Gummi bears for energy - check. Fear of missing the wake up call, nerves and a restless night - check, check, check.

The alarm goes off at 4 am and I am up like a shot. After yogurt and a banana, Rosanna drives me to the train station in Michigan City. It is 38 degrees, and I wearing shorts and a cast off red hoodie from the streets of the Eugene, which I will deposit on the streets of Chicago in a few hours. I sleep a little on the train and then see a few texts from John. I text back that I'll meet him in corral G. The train slows as we near Millennium Park, then stops dead in its tracks. The conductor announces there is a slight delay due to an electrical malfunction; after five minutes the announcement is that the track is closed and the train will proceed no further. Basically all the runners on the train now need to walk a mile to the start line.

Only later do I learn that the track is actually closed due to a suicide. John tells me at dinner that he saw a man in chinos and t-shirt climb a high chain link fence that surrounded a bridge over the train tracks. The police yelled at the man to stop, but he kept climbing and then fell from the top of the fence onto a concrete sidewalk. Momentarily dazed, the man eventually stood up and staggered onto the overpass. A police officer drew close to the man and tried to tackle him; he eluded their grasp and then, reaching the top of the bridge, hurled himself over the edge and onto the tracks.

The next day, at the Art Institute of Chicago, among the many exhibits is an exhibit showing old photographs of people falling from heights; the World Trade Center on 9/11, a woman who looks Native American dropping over the side of a building, etc. I think of the man throwing himself onto the tracks and the hopelessness and misery he must have felt. His first death, where his world turned dark, was in thinking this was the only way out.

After the walk i am near Corral G and I text John that we should meet near the back. Not hearing a reply, it slowly dawns on me that he checked his phone. It must be ringing now in a checked bag! It is going to be hard, if not impossible, to find him in this crowd. Ah, this is not good. I was looking forward to a 4 hour conversation on life, kids, marriage, Cairns, Kauai, and whatnot ("whatnot" is a word used, it seems to me, primarily in Chicago. I heard it from at least five different people, including the hotel bellhop, the front desk maiden, and the serving staff at Portillos. On another note: some of the best conversations, and most inane, take place while running. It is a natural venue; people are more comfortable sharing their inner lives while running, rather then being seated. Sitting opposite another can be confrontational and guard-inducing. For evidence, when was the last time you sat down with a non-family member and shared that you were unsure of your mortal soul, or that your favorite TV show in the 1990s was Blossom?)).

1 minute to the start

So I might have to run this thing by myself! I am severely bummed, then tell myself to get a grip. For some reason this is how it is. I can choose how to respond to misfortune. I did not come all this way to be sad, so I gird up and get into the vibe of the marathon. The music is pumping, Taylor Swift's new single 'Shake it Off' is blaring, then a segue into Springsteen's 'Born to Run'. Depression is not possible, with so many of my tribe members around me, gathered together for pilgrimage. Like a school of fish, we move forward together and the Start Line draws close.

We are off! It is packed tight at the start and I hope the crowd around me thins out as the miles accumulate. This is marathon number 12 for me and I have no illusions this time of breaking 4 hours. My herniated disc is sending only mild numbness and tingling down my left arm. (This is the remnant of an ill-advised bike trip on the Mackenzie River, whereby I elevated a mild injury to major status. Reluctant to visit a medical professional, I used the Internet to self-diagnose the injury as a heart attack. Concerned, I rushed to Urgent Care and was informed of the herniated disc. When I inquired if this might actually be a heart attack, the Doctor asked if I had feelings of impending doom. I did not; ergo, no heart attack. What a relief! I was also advised that I could continue running as long as I could tolerate the pain. Thus, here I am.)

Not my shot; thank you to Chicago Marathon Vacation Rentals

We pass over the Chicago river, the first of many bridge crossings. The spectators are a little thin for Mile 1; it is cold in the shade but feels warm in the sun. The course takes a couple of lefts and a couple of rights and passes again over the Chicago River. Now we are running north again on La Salle Drive, through the heart of Chicago Skyscraper Country and past the Chicago Theatre sign.

Miles 5 and 6 run through Lincoln Park and at this point I am settling into a rhythm. A guy behind me is wearing a portable stereo system that is blasting Donna Summer. I tell him I thought he was carrying a complete boom box and he laughs. Good choice for the run, we need music at least 120 bpm. The next song is 'Rock Me Mama', the Dylan stub stretched out into a major hit for Old Crow Medicine Show. One of the songs on my i-pod; this is almost too familiar.

Mile 7 is the northern end of the run and we turn south again, running through the Lincoln Park/Wrigley Field/Boys Town section of Chicago. There is a lot of campy entertainment in this stretch, as a troop of girls with facial stubble dance on a table and a quintet of pseudo-rifleman prance about on a stage.

Mile 8 and 9 are in leafy neighborhoods with tremendous crowd support. The yellow/gold/red leaves twirling from majestic oak trees make this a sublime stretch. Mile 10 and 11 lead through Old Town. Nearing the halfway point, I think I hear my phone ringing. Pulling it out of my sleeve, I don't see any texts or messages, but realize my $20 bill and free beer ticket are missing. Shoot! I must have dropped it somewhere. I circle back along the edge of the street, a fish swimming against the tide. "You're going the wrong way!" some wise guys shout out. I inspect the ground to no avail; money and beer ticket are lost among the debris of hydration cups, likely scooped up by some eagle-eyed volunteer. Momentary despair: I was looking forward to the after-party in Grant Park. I will have to console myself with mere water at the end.

Get a grip, I think to myself. Are you going to let a missing $20 ruin your day? I push the negativity away, and rejoin my brethren on the streets of Chicago.

At this point I am at 2:20 for the half. Pretty slow but then again I am not out for a PR. I just want to finish respectably and run the last half faster than the first. I pick up the pace a bit, but it is hard to pass. There are still so many runners crowded together! It is difficult to go much faster or slower than the average pace.

We run west now, for two miles through Greek Town and West Loop. At mile 15 we loop back east towards downtown. This is called the Pilsen neighborhood, which is primarily Latino. The infectious latin beat moves me along and the crowd thickens to 4-5 deep along the sidewalks. A guy is handing out cans of Miller Lite and I think a beer would be nice now. But mile 18 is too early; beer while running goes straight into my legs, making them heavy as oak trees. There is not a cloud in the sky, a complete bluebird day with sun beating. A garden hose is wielded by a man in cowboy boots and a sombrero and many runners are taking a cooling spray. At mile 20 there is an abrupt transition into Chinatown and the festive atmosphere akin to Cinco de Mayo abates slightly. I am counting off the miles now, tricking my body into continuing by constantly telling myself there are just two more miles. Shortly after mile 23 the route turns north again and now I can feel that we are on the home stretch. Rosanna calls me at mile 25; the spectators are packing the sides now, the cowbells are banging away. I can barely hear her, so I yell into the phone that there is just one more mile to go! Mile marker 26 appears and the energy level is off the charts. Amazingly enough, there seem to be more runners around me now than there were at the start. I keep thinking that we are a school of strange fish, set loose on an annual salmon run, all of us driven by some innate urge to get back to the start. The banner for the finish line appears and hallelujah! We are home.

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My time is 4:37. The medal is heavy and colorful, the tee-shirt minimalist in design with no advertising other than being emblazoned with 'Bank of America'. The family and I meet up with John at a deep dish pizzeria in a continuation of our culinary tour of Chicago. Perhaps it is the euphoria or the second beer, but we both commit to doing another one very soon. Perhaps Los Angeles? Later that night we rendezvous again at a Greek restaurant, with both families fully represented.

Kaysers and Vanderhoevens in Greek Town

Our final night is spent at a hotel bordering Millennium Park and a few blocks from out final sightseeing destination, the Art Institute of Chicago. There are many participants on the streets with their medals dangling around their necks. In front of me in the line is a man from Germany and behind me a lady from Paris. The entrance fee is waived if you show your medal, so Alanna and I are admitted free of charge. Below are my favorite pictures from the museum: