NYC Marathon · Nov 6, 10:08 AM

My brother Chris flew in to JFK from San Diego last Friday to run the NYC marathon. We met at PENN station and took the train out to New Jersey to celebrate my Dad’s 65th birthday with him. Our mom had driven 716 miles that day, from New Buffalo, Michigan to Whippany, New Jersey. After all that driving she made a Harvey Wallbanger birthday cake for our dad, and for dinner, a huge salad with avocado, cauliflower, arugula (everything I love) and pasta with a meatball and sausage sauce.

Chris and I came into the city at around noon on Saturday. We went to the Javits Center to check him in for the race and check out the expo. Then we headed down to the Spotted Pig for Cuban sandwiches and a couple beers. I showed him more of the city and a friend of his and a friend of mine came to hang out. My friend got to know Chris a little bit over dinner and the next day she shared how impressed she was with him. What impressed her was not only the career change my brother made, but the way he did it.

Chris was a CPA for 7 years with Ernst & Young. He was really dissatisfied with the life but instead of complaining and curse the world, he plotted his escape and did it in a well-executed, mature way. After completing his Masters of Divinity at Loyola University in Chicago, he got a job as a chaplain in a hospital in San Diego, where he lives with his wife, Amy.

Falling back an hour helped but it’s never easy to wake up before 6:00 am. Chris did, on his own, in a cold tenement apartment off Canal Street. He ate his bagel with peanut butter that he had in his bag since Thursday and made it down to catch the Staten Island Ferry, and then the bus that would take him to the starting line.

About two and a half hours into the marathon I spotted him at 125th and 5th Ave., unzipped my velour Fila warm up jacket and gave it to my friend. (This Fila suit is so amazing; it’s a size XXL from 1992. It’s the equivalent to a Medium today but in ’92 I guess you were something else with “baggy” gear. I wasn’t something else. I was wearing tight green Gerbaud’s. I was on some skinny cowboys but they came back around. Thanks though Lenny, for the hand me down Fila.) I jumped in with Chris at mile 22.

He told me he was glad to see me, but that he was hurting. He didn’t show it. I started getting tired after two blocks but I was excited to be running next to him and to be able to grab a water or Gatorade and hand it off to him. Getting tired after two blocks was a little exaggeration but I had to work to keep up with him.

Here’s how down Chris Sikora is…every time he’d see a cop, he’d run in front of and to which ever side of me to keep his unregistered brother out of sight of the cop. Mile 22, 23, 24, 25, covering up his little brother. No one wished death upon me or tried to tackle me but a number of people yelled out, “He’s not registered.” I wore the busiest Young Philosopher t-shirt though, figuring it a good decoy because a marathon number could easily get lost in the logo and dinosaur skulls and picture of Toussaint sprinkled over the shirt.

Whenever I’d hear someone yell about me running in the race I’d think of these four people who got my brother Joe and I kicked out of a 1991 Chicago Bulls vs. 76ers play off game. This is Learning to Fly-era Jordan. I’m almost 11 and I know every word to Michael Jordan’s Playground when every dunk is coming on Come Fly with Me 1990, and my brother’s and I can still tell you every word Karl Malone and Horace Grant say about Michael Jordan in those videos. A friend of my dad’s gave him these two tickets because he couldn’t go. Our dad gave them to us, dropped us off at the game and came back to pick us up. The seats were really good, first balcony, and Joe and I were having a great time not having to look around a pole or sitting up in the nosebleeds. There was a rally in the third quarter and people started throwing papers and signs around in excitement. I had a thick Chicago Tribune cardboard sign that said, “Go Bulls,” where the “o” was a basketball and the “u” was a bull. I was going to take it home and put it on my wall but instead folded it into a paper airplane, a big heavy one, and heaved it just after an announcement came over the loud speaker that anyone who throws anything on to the court will be ejected from the stadium. The airplane made it onto the court, close to the Bulls’ huddle. I don’t remember if I was excited, I probably was, but shortly after a cop starts from in front of us, walks toward us, Joe and I look back, pretending, “Oh who threw something???” and these two thirty-something couples were pointing at us. If that doesn’t make you stereotype a certain type of person and despise them for years, I don’t know what does. The cop picked Joe up by his neck, gave him the standard speech, “You think you’re tough guy?” And before there’s time to respond, “What? You’re a little faggot?” and on and on. When we got outside we were pretty close to the playground where our dad would park if he took us to a game. It was a little ways away from the stadium but it was cool because you’d give a kid two bucks and he’d watch your car and make sure it didn’t get broken into (a job I may be doing soon). There were some guys playing basketball (you probably won’t laugh at this unless you knew what the neighborhood around Chicago Stadium was like in 1991) and when they were down on one end Joe ran onto the court to the other end, jumped, and touched the rim. I can’t remember exactly what he said when the kids came back down to the other end but it was something like, “I can dunk a tennis ball.” We walked back by the stadium and waited for our dad to pick us up.

I pumped Chris up all I could and cheered on other runners who were losing steam but just before the runners reentered the park, around mile 26, I hopped a barricade and then coughed up a ton of phlegm as a police office asked me what I was doing. I just played dumb and asked her what she thought of the race. I made my way around Columbus Circle and met up with Chris at the “S” pick up spot where the runner’s sweats that they took off before the race were waiting for them. Chris ran the race in just over 3:07. We were looking pretty good on time as we jumped on the A train at 79th Street. He just had time to take a shower, pack his bag, and catch a 6:05 flight out of JFK to make it back to San Diego.

After all the excitement of the race and being with my brother I went to see Into the Wild. While I was watching the film I could only think about how much I suck. I’m like the kid in the movie, reading books, searching so hard in this world (but I’m not much of a camper; I’ve chosen to carry out my search in cities and I’ll leave my journals detailing my mission to be found when I’m dead) and I was just hanging out with the guy who has found his way. (Although there is no such thing as permanently finding one’s way, Chris has that basic ground work to re-find it when it’s time to do so.) He knows that the clothes don’t make the man, clubs and bars and fancy restaurants don’t matter much, most of what’s given to us by the media is a joke. Check out this Pimp C interview. Pimp C is cool but Chris is on a level beyond him as far as being the least fronting-ist dude around. You’ll never hear Chris talk about his accomplishments or what he’s going to do because he’s too busy doing it and helping others along the way.

When we were walking into the subway Chris told me he was sorry he didn’t warn me before the race that he wouldn’t talk much when he was running but he wanted me to know that when he’s working at the hospital, sitting with someone who is grieving the loss of a loved one, sometimes just being with that person is a great thing, and thanked me for being there with him.

— Young Philosopher

Comment

1. I just had a really, really good time reading this.

   — house nation · Nov 6, 11:45 AM · #

2. Neat to relive the weekend through your eyes.

   — Dad · Nov 7, 02:20 PM · #

3. As the friend who was fortunate to meet your brother, it was wonderful to meet a man who seems to be in such peace with the sequence of his choices, his life and his being. Should we all be so fortunate. I was proud to be thrown the Fila jacket while sniffling emotionally and trying to snap black and white film photographs of you jumping into the race – your hand extended onto Chris’s back as you greeted him. It was a really great day. Thank you.

   — W · Nov 7, 02:42 PM · #

4. Albin, it’s always great to read YP. This was another good one.

   — Tom · Nov 7, 05:41 PM · #

5. Albin, your a pretty good brother yourself. It is great to read of your genuine appreciation of your family.

   — Joseph Nakis · Nov 8, 06:07 PM · #

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