Don't Gouge Me!

Detroit's Campus Martius Park (August, 2005)

The past four years I've used the streets, alleys, parks and sidewalks of the city of Detroit as my personal training ground. The past two months I've grinded out on a nearly daily basis training runs through the best and worst areas of this town. In the process I've witnessed the slow demolition of the 1915 Statler Hotel, Lofts and condos shoot up where blight and neglect once reigned, and the newly constructed Campus Martius park bring life back to the heart of downtown and excitement to my daily training runs. I've run past patrons of Orchestra Hall in black tie attire on the same block as the homeless and peddlers shouting words of encouragement. Today, I'm watching as the city cleans itself up and puts some makeup on for company as thousands of tourists will flood the streets for Super Bowl XL at Ford Field. I've been able to cover more ground and explore the unseen urban landscape by exchanging my car keys for a pair of Brooks running shoes. This has given me a unique sense of ownership for a place I roam about logging mile after mile.

This feeling of ownership, however, found its limits yesterday afternoon. Returning to work in the middle of the day, I found that the parking garage I routinely park in was full with Auto Show attendees. I was forced to explore the city in search of cheap and available parking. Each attempt was thwarted by a "lot full" sign until I finally found a familiar paved lot in Greektown. It was patrolled by some guy in a little booth. I found an open spot, parked and began walking toward the booth to pay. "How long you stay," barked the guy as if I was ruining his day. I told him I needed to park the rest of the day. He then demanded that I leave his lot. He claimed that his lot was for short term parking only. The sign on his booth read $5 per day, all day. Despite his blatant dishonesty, I inquired how much it would cost to park "short-term." He insisted $15 was a fair price, used some colorful language, and threatened to call the police if I didn't move my car.

I was being gouged by some sleazy crook, on the same street that I routinely use for training. Had my running shoes been on hand, I could have ditched the car, and simply run back to work. Instead I was forced to concede defeat and give up ownership of the pavement I wished to temporarily use. The same pavement I've pounded over 100 miles on already. As I walked in my dress loafers nearly a mile back to the office, I thought about what had happened. In my running shoes I have the ability to travel and explore this city without limitation. No parking meter, road block, construction barrel, or one way street sign can stop my run. Without them, I'm forced to drive, take a bus or ride a bike and succumb to other people's rules about where I can and cannot go. There is a certain amount of freedom with my training that I'm starting to truly appreciate. I'm not a tourist. I don't have "short-term" business in this city. I've got 26.2 miles to complete without the aid of a gasoline powered engine. I plan on using this city's streets, alleys and lots for the next three and half months. So, I'll leave my car keys behind and hope that my slimy friend in the booth doesn't re-attempt to get in may way. He may find a size 12 foot print on his chest if he chooses to do so, because I'm not stopping.