the short of it

This is one story out of 47,400

I am sitting at a desk, at my friend's house in Rockford, IL. The clock in front of me on the wall is ticking loudly, and I am waiting for him to get home from work so we can talk about life a little, before I drive away tomorrow morning... the rhythmic beats of the cheap clock innards bring my exhausted mind right back to the run...

My legs are in excruciating pain, which I have slowly gotten used to between frequent short naps and those glucosamine tablets which I have been eating like candy. Yesterday I had my first drink in over 4 months... right after the finish line. It was cheap beer. I didn't care.

There's something about being corralled in with thousands of people before the race starts, feeling their nervous energy within a sea of excited life, which takes away from the cold... whether it's the shared body heat or a complete desensitizing of your nerves in the moments before the horn blows

The drive up to Illinois a few days ago was definitely one for reflection. On the way I stopped at an army surplus store near Valparaiso, Indiana to buy my cold weather running gear... which consisted merely of a beanie and some cheap mittens which would augment my t-shirt and shorts. Guy at the desk was fresh out of basic training. He couldn't wait to go to Iraq. I had a few words with him. Another guy buying supplies at the store was wearing a Valparaiso Fire Department shirt. I have the exact same shirt, except I work for the Valparaiso, Florida FD.

Back in the car, I think, why am I doing this? Why am I honestly in the place that I am today, this weekend, this stage in my life...

It's 37 degrees outside, in the windy city, and I am making my way down Michigan Ave in a t-shirt and shorts. There is only one speed I can run, and that speed is determined by the hundreds of souls around me in a wonderful, fluid motion of shoes, legs, and torsos... and steamy breaths perspiring into the cool, gray air. 10 miles later, the dense stampede has subsided, and my legs and my training have put me in cruise control. I add two rules to my running technique. Rule 1: if you see a female who is in generally good shape, you follow her for as long as you can. Rule 2: if you see a male who is in generally good shape, you pass him. Bonus rule: do not make your determination of female versus male based on viewing from the waist down... because many running men shave their legs.

But the real memories... hearing "go team" yelled at me every few minutes because of the shirt I was wearing. Those last 6 miles, when my legs stopped working, pulling through with their encouragement. Running downtown and yelling "I love Chicago" to the response of hundreds of children in the immediate vicinity who came out with their parents to watch. Seeing the Sears tower from all four directions... laughing because I don't see anyone else wearing as little clothing as I (I ditched the mittens at mile 10)

Really, just to be a part of something bigger than youself... and to see it. It boils life down into 4 hours of hard work.

So now that I've celebrated, begun nursing myself back to being able to walk straight (still working on it), I can smile. My dreams are still around, but this is one thing I done did in my lifetime... this Sunday morning stroll in Chicago has changed my life. And hopefully the lives of the heroes I ran for.