Roadmap of My Life

There’s an expression about the Irish: “He’s got the map of Ireland written on his face.” After running the Chicago marathon the last five years, I have the map of Chicago imprinted on my feet. Even though I don’t live in Chicago anymore; it’s where I was born, went to school, worked my whole career, and met my wife.


It was unseasonably cool last October on the day of the marathon. I leave the parking garage in Grant Park, and head towards the starting line. I was at a summer concert the first year they remodeled Grant Park, and replaced the old “Grant Park Band Shell” with the Petrillo Music Shell. The sod was so new that year, it was still soggy.

For the marathon, I wrote my name on the front of the shirt I am running in. If people see your name, they call it out, which is a big boost. The race starts at 7:30, and the pent-up adrenaline of 40,000 runners pushes my group at the front to a fast pace in the first mile.

We go by the downtown campus of the University of Chicago Graduate School of Business, where I got my MBA. We go right to the edge of the medical campus of Northwestern, where my wife worked before we were married. A few minutes later, we cross under Michigan Avenue, where I worked at my first job out of college. We head south, and pass what used to be called the IBM building when I worked in a corner office with view of the river. Soon we are running down State Street, where my Mom used to take us to see the Christmas decorations in the store windows.

At about mile two, we turn west to LaSalle Street, the heart of the financial district that has been the driving engine of my career in finance. The crowds are great as we run north of the river. We go past Division street, a few blocks from the bar where I met my wife. Pretty soon we are running through Lincoln Park Zoo, where I used to go on field trips in grade school.

One thing I love about Chicago, is its sense of humor. There are lots of clever signs that people hold up on the marathon route. One guy had a sign that said “26.2 miles? WTF! “ I yelled at him – LOL, Dude LOL!

We parallel Lake Shore Drive until Addison. I can see the running path across the drive where I trained for my first marathon. I raised money for the Arthritis Foundation, in honor of my wife, Laura who has arthritis. In spite of that, she has run a marathon herself, as well as dozens of triathlons – so she is quite an inspiration to me. By now, we are just a few blocks from Wrigley Field, where I took the bus to Opening Day Games that we got off from school.

The crowds are the wildest in this part of the city, all the way down to the DePaul neighborhood that I lived in before I got married. I can start to see the downtown skyline. We get to Chicago Avenue, where I worked in loft building with a startup computer company my friend founded. In a little while, I am running across the bridge over the Chicago River by the Merchandise Mart. The bridge is vibrating from synchronized footsteps of hundreds of runners. A group perched on the railings sees my name on my shirt and calls- “TOM! TOM! TOM ! “

That carries me along for a few blocks, where I pass Washington Street in the Loop. A couple of blocks west is the Union Hall where my Dad’s name is inscribed on a plaque commemorating his death from a fall on the job working for the City of Chicago as an electrician.

We round the corner by what used to be called the Sears Tower, which is usually a stop when my relatives from Ireland or England visit. The people are leaning over the raised plaza cheering us on. We cross the river, and go past Old St. Pat’s Church, where I’ve gone to church on my lunch hour. My sister is supposed to be on the corner in that crowd somewhere. Every time I write a story, an article, or a speech, I either consult her, or think about her, because she was a journalist, and passed on a lot of her writing skills to me.

I am getting near the half-marathon point, so I start looking for my wife at her usual spot. I hear a cowbell, which she always carries for races, and then I hear her cheering loudly. Barely breaking stride, I kiss her, just like I do at least once during all my marathons.

As we head west out of the Loop, the scenery is a slightly duller, and the crowds are more sparse. The furthest point west is just past the United Center. I know that’s “the house that Michael built”, but it was in the old Chicago Stadium where I saw him in a great playoff game against the Celtics. You could feel the steel girders vibrate from the crowd’s cheering – no rock music or fireworks- just fans going crazy.

We skirt the Eisenhower expressway for a while and I see one of the many “L” lines I have used over the years to get around Chicago. The Blue line took me back and forth from work downtown to Oak Park when I was first married, and it took my wife to her graduate nursing program at Rush just across the expressway. We head east to Greektown, where a lot of the crowds from downtown have crossed the Dan Ryan to cheer us on here, including my wife. We get to run through the Little Italy neighborhood for a change of scenery, but the cheering crowds are only going to come in pockets from now on.

Ashland Avenue, on the South Side, is one of the spots on the marathon route where people are only cheering every few blocks. This is how far we had gotten during the scorching, 90-degree marathon in 2007, when they told us the marathon was cancelled. My wife was in tears, both from the pain in her joints after 18 miles, and from the disappointment that she could only bear to run one marathon with her arthritis. So we kept on going, walking some running some. I figured that the only way they could stop us from finishing the route was to blockade some streets with the fire engines that were squirting water to cool us down. If they did that, I was going to call my brother who is a Lieutenant with the Chicago Fire Department. He’s a runner, so he’d understand.

This year, it is about 40-50 degrees cooler, so the heat is not an issue. Even better, Laura shows up to cheer me unexpectedly, a good four miles from the race start downtown. Pretty soon, I am cruising through Pilsen, where a lot of the crowd cheers in Spanish, Andale! Arribe! Si se puede!- (You can do it!) , since the highest percentage of foreign runners come from Mexico, where my adopted daughter’s birthfather is from.

Just before I make the turn into Chinatown, I see Laura again. I don’t stop to kiss her, but I yell “I Love You”. At the gate to Chinatown, there are drums and dragon dancers. I remember coming to one of these restaurants with my college roommate, whose Mom was from China. The smells from the restaurants are overpowering. There is only 5 miles left as we leave the short few blocks of Chinatown, but the road along the Dan Ryan Expressway, is a spot where I have “hit the wall” before.

I know I am slowing down, but I try to pick my pace up as I see US Cellular field looming ahead. That’s my team the Sox– I sat in the outfield, and booed Reggie Jackson with the “A’s”, saw Harry Caray catch bottles of Stroh’s from the fans with his net when he was the announcer with the White Sox. I was in the stands for Disco Demolition, but was disappointed that the Sox had to forfeit the second game of the twi-night double header because the crowd stormed the field. I took my nephews to one of the last games at Old Comiskey. The new park is where my son grew into a Sox fan, and our patience and loyalty was rewarded in 2005. That was the first year I ran the marathon. I got tickets for a first-round playoff game against the Red Sox. Turns out it was on the same day as the marathon. Part of me was looking forward to an epic Chicago sports day –running the marathon, and then seeing the Sox in the playoffs. The other part of me (my legs) were dreading the walk to the upper deck after running the marathon. The White Sox solved the dilemma and swept the Red Sox so there was no need for that 5th game.

We turn north at 35th Street, and go a few blocks to Michigan Avenue, where it’s a straight shot to the downtown finish. I’ll have come full-circle on this tour of the city – but its only an inner loop to the 30, by 5 mile grid of Chicago streets. I’ve spent time in a lot of other parts of the city – growing up on the Northwest side, paying pickup ball at the Lakefront parks near my cousin’s house in Rogers Park. Going to school in Hyde Park, taking the train to work from Beverly when we only had one car, and my wife dropped me off on her way to work.

I’m enjoying this part of the run for once. It’s tough like always, but I’m pretty sure I’m going to have my fastest time ever. I see groups from local schools and churches passing out water, but at this point with only a couple miles to go, I’m not going to slow down for any. My running club buddies from Park Forest are somewhere around here, handing out water, but my eyes are focused on those buildings downtown. Buildings I’ve watched get built, and worked in, and seen clients in. Now I’m coming up on the final turns, Roosevelt road, right near the Field Museum, where I learned about the world outside of Chicago, and brought my kids there too, to give them a glimpse. There is a slight raise in the road here where Roosevelt goes over railroad tracks, but the people are packed in so thick over the railings, that it doesn’t bother me. I’m heading up the same street I started on, Columbus Drive.

Now I get to the final turns; Roosevelt Road, near the Field Museum, where I first learned about the world outside Chicago, and brought my kids there, to give them a glimpse. I head up the same street I started on, Columbus Drive. I’m at the Finish Line, the announcer calls out “Tom Nolan of Mokena”. But this is my best race, in my hometown. Today I am Tom Nolan, from Chicago. And I have the street map stamped on my feet to prove it!

Top Gun

Sometimes your best runs don’t go according to plan. In early January, I was scheduled to run 13 miles at an 8:30 pace. In addition to our club starting from Old Plank Trail in Frankfort, a group of triathlete friends were also coming out. Luckily, the ice on the path had melted.

I checked my email, and one of the Park Forest Running Club members told me there was an out-of-town guy from the Navy who wanted to run 15 miles at my pace. I had already arranged with the tri-club guys to start at 7:30, so I called him and told him we would meet him at 8 am.

Bill and I ran about 2 miles out with the tri-club, and turned around. As we got close to our start, we saw 10-15 Park Forest runners, and they tell me that the Navy guy – “Pat”, is waiting at the parking lot.
We head out again, and Bill joins Pat and me, and soon we are running a sub-8 minute pace. Pat is an active duty career military guy. His wife’s family lives in the area, and he had met some of our group out running, and struck up a conversation. He had a 15 mile run planned and wanted company. After a couple of miles, Bill doubles back to the parking lot.

Pat started running in 2001. He qualified for Boston with a 2:55 in the Marine Corps marathon. In Boston he had stomach problems, and ONLY finished in 3:25. He did some triathlons, and ultramarathons, but recently had gotten away from marathons. The revival of the Pittsburgh marathon had attracted him to his hometown, so he was starting to train for it. Since he will see some hills in Pittsburgh, I decide to detour from the flat Old Plank trail to the modest hills in the path that branches over the bridge north of Route 30.

As we ran, we talked about his career plans. He is a few years away from retirement. Trained as a surgical tech, he now recruits medical personnel. He is considering going to school for his nursing degree when he retires from the military. I told him about my wife’s career as nurse/nurse practitioner, and that he would be great as a Physicians’ Assistant in an ER. (After doing IVs in a Hum-Vee under fire, he could handle an ER.)
Selling recruits on the military can be a tough; some people have mixed feelings; they support the military and its mission, but fear the commitment and the danger. One of his selling points is how his career has brought him all around the world, with experiences such as seeing the Pope celebrate midnight mass at the Vatican.

On one tour, he had visited a concentration camp in Germany, and shortly afterwards, he was working in a military hospital, treating an elderly civilian cancer patient. He noticed that this woman had a concentration camp tattoo on her arm. That really hit home for him. I pointed out that it was the US military that liberated the concentration camps, and that pretty much validates the mission of the US military right now. I tell him about my nephew stationed on a submarine. Initially, my sister dreaded the choice her son had made. I have to say, a couple of years into his stint, it has really matured the young man.

I told him about my family, my running career, and my upcoming visit to Boston in April. As we finish 10 miles, our pace has been right around 8 minutes. I have hit my 13 miles, so Pat and I part ways at the parking lot, and he carries on to run 4 more by himself.

You can learn a lot about someone in a long run, even if you don’t learn their last name. Pat and I may never meet again, but I hope the welcome he got from our club helped him in his training. I pray that some of the honor, dedication and resolve that I sense the Navy brought out in Pat, gets ingrained in my nephew. And I hope that I can carry some that spirit with me running in Boston.