A Spectator's tale - Part 2 (The Start)

7:45 A.M., still October 9, 2005. I gave Debbie a kiss, gave her the last bits of coachly advice I could muster (perhaps it was, "don't trip on all the water bottles on the ground as you start," or "don't splash in all the puddles of urine") and started to slog my way through the crowds.

I later discovered that I was near Jackson on the sidewalk to the west of Columbus. There was no way to know that as I turned north and began to fight through a crowd of people, dogs and strollers (but you know about that). The complicating factor (there always is one) was that the sidewalk was maybe four feet wide (whatever standard sidewalk is). To my east was an expected fence that separated the spectating masses from the athletes. You know the one -- the fence Debbie so gracefully climbed to take her place at the start. That East fence wasn't the problem. It was the barriers to the West.

To the west, was a building I couldn't (and still haven't) identified (it's in the picture below) and then a fence. No surprise, eager race fans had climbed the fence to gain a better vantage point. I pushed and squeezed my way past as many people as I could and then I heard the announcement that the wheelchair race had started. Five minutes later, the runners would start. By now I had pushed my way a block or so north of Debbie. More pushing, more squeezing and as I did I could glimpse the bright colors of runners clothing between squeezed together fans. Think of the most crowded elevator you have ever been on, you in the back, the door opens, you see something, but not much.

One minute until start: the sky began to fill with clothing and empty (one hopes) water and Gatorade bottles. Another tradition of the marathon, runners tossing clothing they kept on to stay warm and their last drink off to the side to begin the race. I was spared, but some guy near me had a shirt land squarely on his head -- the sleeves neatly draped over his eyes. Ah, some young fan heading home with a
souvenir.

The runners surged forward and then began to walk. Shit, shit, shit, I can't see. All this wrestling to gain a vantage point and nothing. I saw a standard, black, City of Chicago garbage can and thought of climbing on top, but thought better of it when I saw a light post next to it. I positioned my feet on the little outcrops at the bottom of the post. I had raised myself 2-3 feet above ground. I reached into my camera case, pulled out my camera and began to search for Debbie.

Suddenly, I was out of and above the same crowds I had been fighting. Lots of people streamed by on either side of me. In front of me, the runners. I saw the New Balance pacing teams go by, 3:10, then 3:20 (I looked for my friend Tim, a 3:20 pacer, but I wouldn't see him until 15K) and others. Debbie's plan was to be with the 4:15 group. As I waited for Debbie, crowds streamed by including a few folks I knew. Among them, my former co-worker and former middle line backer for the Chicago Bears, Tom Hicks. I learned today (10/25/2005), that Hicks's girlfriend ran a scorching, way more than Boston qualifying 3:08.



Hicks - No. 54 - in HIS glory days

I stood on my lamp post (boy, that sounds funny) for a good 20 minutes and the soles of my feet started to burn. I never saw Debbie and by then, I knew I had missed her. I climbed down and began the dash to the subway to head to another viewing spot. As I ran (walked fast, really, I was in intense knee pain that day and running was out of the question until much later when I threw caution to the wind), I realized I needed to find a bathroom. No time now.




The view from my lamp post.





To be continued. . . .