Let me rewind briefly. On my infrequent visits to downtown Chicago, I'd grown enamored with the skyscrapers the city held. There was something starkly beautiful about them, their outstretched yearning toward the sky, the sheer mirrored sides of endless glass. Everyone knows about the Sears (Willis) Tower, but my favorite was always the John Hancock Building, with its distinctive X's up the sides. On a memorable sixth grade trip to a Cubs game, we'd stopped at Water Tower Place to learn about the history of Chicago. After exploring the Pumping Station, we straggled through the mall, eventually coming out onto the next street over. I glanced up, and there, towering over me, was the Hancock. I craned my neck as far as it could go, watching the structure seem to curve back toward me, gaping at the unexpectedly overwhelming sight.
I eventually regained my composure, joined my classmates and had a good time at the ballpark. The Cubs may have even won - I can't recall. But I remember standing at the foot of the Hancock Center, being an insignificant speck on the sidewalk compared to its height. Thereafter I moved to Ames, Iowa for school, where the tallest building was probably an apartment complex in Campustown, and eventually on to Des Moines.
In terms of overall height, Des Moines' skyline is pretty insignificant compared to a city like Chicago (192 vs. 442 meter tallest). But our centerpiece skyscraper was, on its construction, the tallest building between Chicago and Denver, Minneapolis and Tulsa. And even more importantly, 801 Grand has character. It wouldn't have taken much to put up a bland rectangle in downtown Des Moines and claim victory with the tallest building in the region. Not doing so was a great decision by the designers, as it provided me with a downtown that held some skyscraper allure. From my first trip to Des Moines looking up at its angles, to my poorly-received attempt to sneak my siblings to its top story, I've had a fascination with this building for some time.
That's why, when the opportunity arose to climb it, I signed up immediately. What was then known as the "801 Grand Power Climb," a fundraising event for the American Lung Association, allowed participants to race up the stairwells from the ground floor all the way to the private club at the top. 41 flights of stairs for an opportunity to view my city from the highest vantage point possible - it seemed like a no-brainer. And with prior years' top times in the sub-ten minute range, it didn't even seem like much of a challenge. Which brings me back to eighteen M.
Brimming with nervous excitement, Id launched out of the starting gate, eagerly bounding up stair after stair. This worked well. For about 4 floors. I rapidly discovered the shocking decreases in air quality that occur in confined stairwells, especially with hundreds of runners panting their way up. My legs started to tire, but they were very secondary to my lungs. As I slowed from a run to a jog to a quick walk to a trudge, my breath felt like fire entering my chest. Floor numbers on large signs proudly proclaimed that I was still in the teens, and needed to reach 41 to finish. 16... 17... 18... And there it was. 18 M. What kind of cruel joke was it to put an extra floor between 18 and 19? All love for the beautiful exterior fled my mind as I mentally cursed the demented architect or engineer who drew up this floorplan. I clambered on, fueled as much by this anger as a driving urge to be done with the agony.
It turned out that 18 M was a mechanical floor for the HVAC systems and whatnot, and that it was in fact included in the tabulation of 41 floors comprising the climb. I eventually relented in hating the building or its designers and some time later caught my breath and enjoyed the view from the top. But it was in the realm of hours before my breath felt fully normal again. It makes for a good event for the American Lung Association. If you can't empathize with people who struggle for breath after running this event, you have either emotions or lungs of steel.
After our first try in 2008, Stacia vowed she would never participate again, and I agreed. It was hard, it wasn't fun, and it cost a lot in donations. But time can change a lot of things, and for various reasons I've been gradually reconsidering. You might call it a short-term memory issue, since I apparently can't remember how much I loathed climbing stairs three years ago. That may be partially true, but I have other reasons, too, and most of them are better than forgetfulness or plain old machismo. That's why this Sunday, while you lie snug in your beds, at 9:10 in the morning, I will be taking the first step of many vertical ones for the day.
I won't be climbing 801 Grand though. Due to construction conflicts this year, the event was moved to a series of three other downtown buildings. This was good news for me, as I doubt I'm in shape to do 41 floors again. With three sub-events, participants can climb one, two, or all three. I'm keeping my sights set realistically, and sticking to the EMC insurance building.
It's smaller than 801 Grand, but it's still 18 stories (and 99 meters) tall. And you know what, it's got some character too. When we gave my architecturally inclined brother a tour of Des Moines, this was one he selected as one of his favorites. Add in that it's for a good cause and is a nice physical activity and it sounds rather pleasant. Of course, I'm sure my opinion on that will change mid-climb, but at the very least there is one thing I know will go better than last time. EMC is only 18 stories tall. It can't have an 18 M.
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