Chicago has the most recognizable skyline in the world. It’s not necessarily because of its grandeur, but because of its characters: The diamond-headed Crain Communication Center, the monolith that is the Aon Center and the piece de resistance—the Willis (Sears) Tower.
Boasting the title of world’s tallest skyscraper for nearly 25 years, the giant in the sky embodies the Chicago spirit—a big-shouldered leader of modernism standing out from the crowd. Starting with trips as a kid up to the Skydeck, one begins to recognize the behemoth as another marker of the city’s limits in perceivable altitude.
When presented with the opportunity to ascend 103 floors of glory, I jumped on it. Every year, the Shirley Ryan Ability Lab puts on SkyRise Chicago, a fundraiser to support the center’s work in adult and child physical rehabilitation. As part of the fundraiser, participants can either climb 2,147 stairs to the Willis Tower Skydeck or cycle a total of 3.2 miles.
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In preparation for the event, I trained on the StairMaster at my gym. Every few days, I’d aim for 103—accompanied by podcasts, remixes and YouTube videos. Every time, it was a challenge to stay focused and push to the end.
I woke up at 7am on a Sunday and made my way to Jackson Avenue and Franklin Street. I completed all of the formalities, signed in, got my bib and made my way to the starting line to begin the climb.
The music was blasting, the volunteers were cheering and the energy was definitely high. Regrettably, I used this surge as a reason to come out the gate in a light jog. For the first couple flights, everyone was in high spirits, probably running faster than they should’ve. I was suddenly winded by floor 12 and trying to catch my breath while still moving upward.
At floor 28, there were no more cheers or high energy to use as a distraction. The panting of fellow climbers became the new soundtrack of the ascent, as their echoed breaths filled the stairwell. By floor 38, other climbers were pulling over at various floors to catch their breath. I was asking every volunteer when the next water station would be, as if the number would change if I asked enough times.
Halfway up the summit, I was shocked by my naiveté. "This is nothing like the StairMaster," I thought to myself. "How could I be so unprepared? How am I going to make it to another 52 flights?"
The strain was no longer on my calves, but in my mind. I knew I’d finish, but I just didn’t know how I’d get there. Fortunately for me, if I just kept walking, I’d get to the top eventually.
Catching my break at each water station, there was undeniable camaraderie with other participants dumbfounded by how challenging the climb was. I was quickly reassured that I wasn’t the only one struggling and, after seeing similar red, sweaty faces at each water station, it became a group effort.
It was a mental challenge entirely by the time I got around floor 75. I was only in a competition with myself. The last water station was approaching in just a few flights. Although I was jealous of the seated volunteers cheering us on, they motivated me to push through to the finish line. A man’s hand-drawn sign at floor 91 was especially heart-warming; he greeted me with a hearty high-five and encouraging smile.
I could hear the cheers coming from the Skydeck around floor 95 and tried to finish the last eight flights the same way I started—jogging. That didn’t last very long as my calves and thighs were hardened by roughly 2,000 steps of exertion and I was quickly content with crawling to the final landing if I needed to.
I reached the summit at floor 103 and arrived to a party. Announcers called out your bib number and the crowd roared in celebration. The gasping climbers were adorned with an official medal, a bottle of water and a banana for recovery. I was proud I still had the wherewithal to celebrate, find a patch of ground to catch my breath and enjoy the views from the observation deck. Afterwards, I was more than happy to cheer on the other participants reaching the pinnacle of the climb.
During the mission to scale every floor, all sense of competition melted away. The fact that people still had time to root for each other between each panting breath was a refreshing reminder of the nature of connection. As a Chicagoan, my appreciation for the spirit of Chicago, and our awe-inspiring structures, has reached new heights.
