I step into the shower and turn the dial counterclockwise, letting the water melt away my stiffness. I'm not fully awake until I drink coffee, but the soon-to-be steam room helps. All my memories of this city thaw. 

The Field Museum is my StairMaster. Thousands of times, I go up and down the steps. I run so often beside the sea wall, which protects us Chicagoans from Lake Michigan, that I know each crack in the cement pathway. I lap under the rectangular loop of the El tracks countless times before I head back to my apartment, only to collapse into bed from exhaustion.

Year after year I entered races with one goal in mind: to run the Chicago Marathon, and not only beat the record, but break the two-hour mark.

During college, I holed up in my studio apartment. My schedule intensified--run, school, run, work, run, study, and then pass out; only to repeat it all the next day. I trained at this level until I pushed my average mile time to below five minutes per. After graduation, my schedule opened up. With no more classes, I used the additional time to train harder.

Today, I race.
 
© 2009 by Chris Wiewiora