Stories About Detroit

Sunday, October 19, 2008

These are two winning essays from the Chrysler Presents My Journey Through the D Essay Contest that recently ended. The Free Press/DMP was a media partner for this program, and both contain the marathon as a topic.

“Detroit – Get On Your Feet!”
Matthew T. Gallick
Andover High School
High School Third Place

Some may view a journey through Detroit as an unpleasant, unsafe experience. Others may travel through the city in a car, and glance at historic jewels as they whiz by without true appreciation. However, my personal journey through Detroit involves seeing many of its neighborhoods on foot. Over the summer of 2007, I trained vigorously for the Detroit Free Press/Flagstar Marathon. I wanted both the mental and physical challenge of my life, and Detroit provided me those challenges. Running the marathon on October twenty-first, 2007, allowed me the opportunity to experience Detroit’s diverse neighborhoods at my own pace. There is no better way to see the city!

My mother grew up in an ethnic neighborhood at 1553 Sycamore in Detroit. I often heard fond stories about Tiger Stadium, the ’68 World Series, Corktown, and Mexican Town. Her family was confined to their home during the riots of 1967. Hearing about these events, I could not possibly fathom what living in Detroit would be like. Now was my chance to witness some of these sites up-close and personal.

On October twenty-first of last year, my mother came into my room at 5:30 in the morning to awaken me. If it were any other day, I would have fallen right back asleep. However, today was marathon day, and I planted my feet on the floor, wide-awake. When we arrived in downtown Detroit, I could nearly taste the excitement in the atmosphere, and butterflies fluttered in my stomach. The National Anthem was sung and the thrill grew stronger.

3-2-1-BANG! And the race was on. As I passed through Corktown, I reflected about what my mother had told me, and I gazed upon the well-maintained, historic homes. After a few turns, I arrived in Mexican Town, and could smell the scent of tortillas in the air. I had always viewed the Ambassador Bridge from afar, and would never have thought I would set foot on it. Far above the Detroit River, I had a great view of Windsor and the sunrise. Miles passed and I entered the Windsor tunnel, making my way back to Detroit. Surfacing from the tunnel, I peered up at the beautiful Renaissance Center. As I made my way down Rosa Parks Boulevard, I remembered learning about the Montgomery Bus Boycott, civil rights, and equality, and how they taught me to be accepting of others. I continued pounding the pavement until I reached Belle Isle, and noticed the change from highly industrialized Detroit, to a calm, peaceful park. I remembered my mother sharing stories about family trips taken on Sunday night to Belle Isle. Heading back on the MacArthur Bridge was a sensational experience because of the welcoming cheers and reaching mile twenty. Furthermore, I glanced to my left, and could make out the Ambassador Bridge that stood miles away. At this point of the race, some participants “hit the wall,” but seeing the bridge in the distance gave me an energy surge, realizing how far I had come. I kept my pace through Indian Village, enjoying the stately mansions. The spirited residents kept me motivated and I was even offered beer along Seminole Street, but being only sixteen, refused. Looking at my watch, I realized if I picked up the pace, I could break 3:30. I started counting down the miles and soon enough, I made the final turn. With the finish in my sites, I sprinted, giving all that was left of me. I crossed the finish line and stopped my watch, which read 3:27:15. My goal had been achieved, and I felt a sense of relief accompanied by pain.

Detroit has allowed me to accomplish a desirable goal. As a result, Detroit is near and dear to my heart. Listening to all the citizens cheer me on really gave me an appreciation for the city, and the realization of how it is indeed very heart-warming.

Detroit has allowed me to accomplish a desirable goal. As a result, Detroit is near and dear to my heart. Listening to all the citizens cheer me on really gave me an appreciation for the city, and the realization of how it is indeed very heart-warming. And for those who do not dare set foot in Detroit because they think it is dangerous, well, that is their loss, because I for one know that Detroit is quite the opposite. I have learned numerous things from my journey through Detroit. If this lesson had to be summed up in one sentence, it would be, Upon deeper inspection, Detroit is quite a beautiful city.” I also feel much stronger as a person, knowing I can push myself through anything, and I believe that a true journey through Detroit can do that to any being.

“Running Down a Dream and Finding Detroit”
Stephanie Hitztaler
University of Michigan
Graduate Honorable Mention

I have a confession: I lived in the Detroit environs nearly four years before I recognized the city as more than an eerily empty place that became surprisingly dark at night. My delayed discovery of Motown’s heart and soul was not intentional; instead, it happened to coincide with a personal journey upon which I embarked in the summer of 2005. It was at this time that I began my first endeavor to train for a marathon. My other confession is that Detroit was not my first choice to initiate this challenge and thrill of a lifetime. I originally dreamed of making the marathon debut somewhere else. But, in the long run—quite literally—Detroit proved the best for reasons I could not know at the time.

When I set out to the city’s interior very early on a late October morning, anticipation swarmed through my core. I hardly noticed the maze of streets as I navigated the contours of my own mind, garnering the mental strength that would ultimately push my body across the finish line of the Detroit Free Press/Flagstar Bank Marathon. The pre-dawn gridlock jolted me momentarily back to reality. Of course, what else could be expected in Motown, even at this very early hour? My ingrained impressions, however, were about to change.

Before I knew it, we were off and running. The dissipation of pre-race anxiety exposed my senses to the dynamic world surrounding me. As the sounds of runners became second nature, my ears let in the first tangible awareness I had of Detroit. The unhurried rhythms of Latino music floated off porches, accompanied by the warm smiles of musicians. Their presence was so heartening, and a gentle reminder to go easy at the beginning. We still had time to run and lots of it.
After I heard a part of Detroit in this small enclave, I then saw it from the amazing vantage points of the Ambassador Bridge and a riverfront road in Windsor. I drank in panoramic views of the city with a clarity that would have eclipsed me had I not been on foot. From the bridge I glimpsed a sprawling section of heavy industry, reinforcing the stalwart roots upon which this place was built, and then prospered. From the eastern shore of the Detroit River I saw a story of perseverance contained in the sleek downtown buildings. Despite its turbulent past, the city still managed to emanate a sense of pride.

Before long we were but small specks among these imposing buildings, cheered on by family and friends that infused drab surroundings with a throb of vibrancy. Parts of the race were lonely, tinged with desolation and desperation, like many parts of the city. Yet, the race was far from over. Fans reappeared, and at every turn a new facet of the city was revealed, the most memorable coming when I least expected it. Warm autumn sunlight bathed us as we entered the green oasis of Belle Isle. It was a lovely world flanked by glistening water and permeated by the chiming of church bells, evoking memories of the Old World. But, this place was Detroit.

Thoughts of the diversity, complexity, and mystery of Detroit and its people drifted in my head, helping to block out the pain of steadily constricting leg muscles. At that moment I thought that the Lion’s stadium where this journey would end had to be the very best part of Detroit. But we weren’t done yet: the shaded, wide streets of a stately, old neighborhood enveloped and cooled us before the home stretch.

In retrospect, the marathon was less about running to don the finisher medal than it was about being integrated into the wider world of people and place. On that day I saw Detroit again for the first time. I heard its varied voices, caught the scents in its air, and tasted its cool water.

In retrospect, the marathon was less about running to don the finisher medal than it was about being integrated into the wider world of people and place. On that day I saw Detroit again for the first time. I heard its varied voices, caught the scents in its air, and tasted its cool water. I lived fully and deeply in Detroit, if only for a fleeting moment. Along the 26.2-mile course I sensed the city’s struggles that intermingled with my own, and felt its potential, just as I grasped for my own to reach an unprecedented milestone. Detroit gave me the foundation and inspiration to continue running marathons, and to keep exploring new places. It was the starting point of something new. I wish that this feeling of renewal, coupled with recognition of place and unwavering optimism for the future, would fill people of the Detroit Metro area, especially today. There is simply too much to lose otherwise.

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