I survived the 2007 Chicago Marathon. Yes, that's right, I participated. Only not in the conventional sense, and after hearing that one Michigan Police Officer died and several hundred were hospitalized,I'm glad I didn't. Here's the story. On Saturday night I went down to Wrigleyville to meet some friends and booze. Knowing the Cubs game was during the same time, I took the train as they live a couple blocks away. I happened to get off the red line the second the Cubs were swept. Oh, the faces of disappointment. Anyways, I woke up the next day, and after getting onto State St. I happened to be right in the middle of most of the runners and the fans/supporters/dumbshits.
First of all, can't you people be innovative? I can't count how many different shirts I saw proclaiming: Karen's krew, chuck's crew. Fucking think outside of the box a bit here. Anything. I digress. Well, I was the only jackass trying to go opposite of the flow towards Union Station. Annoyed, I decided to stick it to the thousands of numbered, propel drinking jackoffs by smoking a cigarette right next to the street and blowing it in their faces. How you like me now?! Once I finally got to the station, I had to cross Jackson Blvd. With that, I stepped on the street, with that Chariots of Fire song playing in my head. I bobbed, weaved, and moved through the crowd as only Cedric Benson wishes he could through defenders. And as I reached my own personal finish line, I was ecstatic. A new personal record of 3 seconds. And more importantly, moving on unscathed.
Then I got the joy of sitting next to a woman who smelled like a dead rhinoceros. The agony of defeat infiltrated my lungs for an hour. Figures she would live in Aurora.
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