It was early on Sunday morning before the sun had even come up. The air was cold and the breeze off the river was brisk. Shivering, in my under armor shirt and shorts, I quietly stood and stared at the city skyline across the river. My breath was thick and heavy and my heart beat steadily but faster than usual. I was waiting for my teammate in the Detroit Free Press Marathon to tag up with me so I could start my leg of the 26.2-mile race.
I had never seen the city in person from that particular spot on Riverside Drive in Canada like I did that morning. All the buildings, with their sparsely lit windows, stood peacefully against the dark, early morning sky.
By the time my teammate had tagged me at my relay starting point the sun had begun to rise. Before I knew it I was leaving Canada through the mile-long underwater tunnel headed back into downtown Detroit. Running through the tunnel was an experience unto itself (and not one that I would necessarily look forward to again). Not only is it a two-lane road underwater, it is extremely hot and the uphill climb out is less than pleasant. But I digress.
A burst of cool air hit me as I made my way out of the tunnel and through a throng of border police and customs officials (They were ready and willing to take down anyone and everyone who wasn’t wearing a blue international runners tag).
I ran towards Jefferson Avenue and made a left but not before slapping a few spectators’ hands in the process. Veering around Cobo Hall onto Steve Yzerman Drive I took a minute to look to the left of me and marvel at the river and the Ambassador Bridge off into the distance while a local rock band set up near the bottom of the steps to Joe Louis Arena kept the mood upbeat.
From Stevie Y Drive to 3rd Street, 6th Street and then onto Lafayette I followed the thousands of other runners through Corktown and over into Mexicantown where we were greeted by a peppy mariachi band somewhere around 16th and Bagley Street. The quaint, unassuming neighborhoods with their maintained yards, Halloween decorated porches and bustling houses seemed to stand in stark contrast to the abandoned Michigan Central Station that towered eerily in the distance over a neighborhood that was still very much alive and well on the city’s Westside.
Coming up fast (well at a decent 10:00 minute pace at least) to Rosa Parks Boulevard, I saw the ‘Mile 11’ marker on the side of the street. The sheer amount of people that lined the sprawling streets from downtown to Corktown and all the way over to the Eastside of the city was astounding. The fact that nearly 20,000 runners took the streets, while easily another 10,000 (maybe more?) lined the sidewalks to cheer their fellow family members, friends and neighbors on, is something that I felt so proud to be a part of. People from all walks of life, cheering, hollering, sharing in a moment of community and camaraderie while all having a good time on a beautiful, fall Sunday morning—what more could you ask for?
I was excited and inspired as I felt my adrenaline kick in near mile twelve when I rounded my final corner onto Michigan Avenue. I could see my teammate and my family waiting in the distance. With one more push to the end and a quick high-five I handed the race off and took a deep breath and slowed to a stop.
Even if only for a day—one Sunday in mid-October—the city of Detroit was alive and the streets were full and the sky was blue. What a day it was. 6 miles down this year… perhaps 13.1 miles next year?
The entire relay team after the race.
