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Detroit by Burke Schmidt

To some of us an event has a hue. The most vibrant come from the occasions that have great energy and enthusiasm. The softest occur in areas of great pastoral beauty. In terms of regional marathons, Victoria, Portland, and Newport certainly rank among the brightest. The softest without question would be the Avenue of the Giants for the beauty of surroundings.

This concept of hue came to mind most clearly when I ran a marathon in Detroit, Michigan. There, the hue ranged from gray to bright. The spectator enthusiasm was high but felt almost artificial. It wasn't till much later while talking with a person who was raised in Detroit that I found out that the city had long been considered the murder capitol of the country. That explained a lot. That was the reason strangers were unwilling to engage in conversations during the event, why the volunteers rarely smiled, and there was little joviality at the finish line.

Maybe some of the hue of Detroit came from the event's proximity to September II. The October 20 Marathon originally was to have been truly international with a trip through a tunnel into Canada and returning via a large bridge back into the city. Instead it wound up under the scrutiny of the Canadian United States border inspections officials and the Canadian part was dropped. As a result, the course was changed significantly and close to the day of the race. So to be fair, the hue at the beginning was bright, but almost immediately became gray, mostly a product of the times.

The start was near beautiful skyscrapers in a much developed and obviously successful area, known as the Renaissance Center. After running less than a mile we passed burned out and razed buildings on deteriorated roads. We then crossed a bridge and ran on a place called Belle Isle, where Formula I race cars were known to have raced the same roads as we, but at speeds nearing 200 miles per hour. A somewhat humbling comparison.

The course continued through numerous examples of splendor and squalor to the very end. We ran by the brand new baseball stadium constructed of stone, cement, steel and glass, and then almost immediately passed the decrepit weathered wood old Detroit Tiger home field. The entire course was on concrete for all but about a quarter of a mile, and that quarter was on cobble stone bricks.

Looking on the back of the finisher's medal, I found the inscription, Detroit Tricentennial, 1701-2001, the three hundredth anniversary of the city, no wonder. Once I read that, the variety of hue became clear, and it changed my image to include that brownish gold shade of old classic paintings.