Dawn at Grant Park starts quietly. You feel the air cool off the lake, hear the radios check in, and sense the focus settle in. Athletes scuttling like cattle to their respective corral, and the occasional lost tourist wondering where they need to be. As a bike marshal for the women’s wheelchair division, the work begins long before the starter’s horn. The role is part guardian and part guide: scan the asphalt for hazards, keep intersections clear, alert the eager onlookers, relay course conditions, and hold a steady line so the athletes can race theirs.
What never gets routine is witnessing the blend of strength, strategy, and composure these athletes bring. Wheelchair racing is not just power; it’s precision. Wind direction matters. When to surge matters. From behind the handlebars, you notice the micro-decisions that add up to a race: a glance to gauge the pack, a subtle shift to find clean pavement, a decisive move when the road opens, and when to push before a climb. The effort is visible and relentless, built one rotation at a time.
Perseverance is the thread that runs through everything on race day. It’s athletes who train through winters, spring rain, and summer heat. It’s volunteers who show up before sunrise and stay until the last finisher. It’s the neighborhoods that bring music, hand-made signs, the buzz of vuvuzelas, the clattering of bells, and voices that don’t quit. Perseverance looks like grace under pressure, the ability to focus on the next meter when the last one hurt, the choice to keep moving forward when no one would fault you for easing up. It’s rallying the crowd to give the athletes as much energy as possible.
There’s also a quiet choreography to the operation that appeals to the technologist in me. Radios calls, route planning, medical readiness, traffic timing, and on-the-fly adjustments all come together like a living system. It’s a masterclass in coordination and communication where every role matters. When it works, you feel it; the course flows, the city breathes, and the athletes get a fair, fast race.
The crowd noise builds as you approach the turn on Roosevelt after that long stretch on Michigan, up that cruel mountain before the finish pulls everyone forward. By the time we turned off before Columbus, you catch the final surge and the last reserves of strength. The privilege of riding alongside this level of determination changes what you think is possible on and off the course.
Thank you to the Chicago Marathon organizers, course marshal coordinators, fellow marshals, CPD and first responders, medical teams, and the thousands of volunteers who make a major city feel like a connected community. Most of all, thank you to the athletes for their trust and for reminding us that excellence is a habit, not a moment.
If you’ve considered volunteering, consider this your nudge. There’s a place for you on a bike, at an aid station, in gear check, or guiding runners, and you will leave with a deeper appreciation for accessibility in sport and the power of people working together.
