Running: Alpena to Detroit

The trees are green and the leaves glisten with the early morning lake dew. The lake's whitecaps break against the pier. I'm running down the length of the sea wall with Amazing Grace riding on the wind next to me. The bag pipes and kilt are a familiar morning sight by now. The gulls are screaming as the boaters start their engines and leave the harbor. Running on the rocks. Don't slip, don't fall. There's moss , and spiders and shells. The waves are louder now, spraying me as I run by. The early morning tennis players are warming up while chatting about their kids. Their voices are indistinguishable from the gulls. They hit the ball out and I change course to throw it back. That's what you do here, no thought necessary. Biker after jogger after rollerblader pass by, all with a smile hello and a wave. Now I'm on the road. Mansion after house after shack go by. Victorian, ranch, box, all homes I know. Cars loll past - in no hurry to get to their 9 to 5s and instead more interested in the girl jogging by - honking hello. It's amazing how many I recognize. The blessing and the curse of a small town. I'm sure my dad will come home tonight telling me the City Manager wants me to even out my stride, or the cross county coach thinks I should really use my legs. You can tell the people who like their jobs by the music they're playing. Here, country music means happiness. It doesn't matter if you say you hate it, when you're happy your hand automatically turns the dial, tuning in to the local country station. Everyone has a favorite country song, one we start humming after the end of a good date or singing at the top of our lungs while speeding down the back roads. Closer to home now. Neighbors are watering their lawns and walking their dogs. I'm down to a walk now, every few moments stopping to say hello. Desperate for alone time. Next time I'll need to get up earlier.

***

I'm running. When I look ahead, there isn't a lake. There are no seagulls or the wind in my hair. I can't hear Amazing Grace playing from a set of old bagpipes. No kilt, no honking, no familiar faces. Instead there is a machine. The music in my ears is pulsating faster and faster, forcing me to keep up. Ahead of me the skyline. Six stories up, I see tower after tower. The people below are ants, they're moving so slowly, but each in their own deliberate stride. A whole mini-world functioning below me, and that's just this campus. As I peer down, some look up and wave. Six stories up, and people wave at the runner. Life surprises you. I expected fear, I expected danger and instead I got waving smiling strangers. My mind wanders from Wayne. I head down Warren, then Woodward. Woodbridge, Corktown, Indian Village, East side, West side. The city constantly changing. Desolate, prairie, wasteland, garden, ruin, murals. Urban meet rural. Rural meet urban. Now slam together, messily and completely and beautifully. That's what you are. You are the poor, and the rich. You are the planters and the urbanites. You are devastation that has hope overtaking you, act by act. You are pure potential. I look into the buildings: people begging for food, people shooting up, people crying, people angry, people hurting. Look right behind them. See them? Those people half hidden by the shadows of their hearts: people giving, people counseling, people comforting, people healing. Never have I seen so many healers.

You say this city is dead. People are slowly trickling out, lost hope trailing behind them. You say "Don't go there, it's dangerous." You say there's nothing good left there anymore. You say it's no longer worth the trouble. You say the people left there are scum, poor, sick, trash. You say it's a destitute slum. You fear I'll get shot, mugged, raped, killed just by being within its borders. You condemn it without seeing it, without opening your eyes and seeing it.

I say you're wrong. I say everywhere I look there are people who are building this city up. I say get off your ass and come here. Come and see what is moving in this city. I promise you, the people here care more about their city than you can imagine. I say these people will fight. I say they will go to hell and back for this city. They've done it before and they'll do it again. I say these people will never stop, will never leave, will never give up. I say there is something worth fighting for here. I say this condemned community is rebuilding with or without you. Open your eyes.

My focus comes back. Miles ago I lost myself in the color and beauty of my surroundings. Of the city I have spent so little time in, but have grown to adore. I look back down. The swarm has died down. Classes must have started. I look past the campus to the skyline. I've never felt such pride in a place. I've never felt so much pride in being from Michigan. This is city that is going to change everything.

I walk out of the room to the stairs. One, two, three, four flights. Down the hall, two rights and I'm there. Enter the room. Shut my door. I look out my window, closer to the ground this time. Spirit of Detroit before my eyes. If only you were to come. To see, really see. To feel and experience it. Then you would care.