Chicago Day 3

On Sunday we woke up bright and early.

You’re probably thinking 7:00, maybe 6:00. No, we woke up at 5:30. In. The. Morning.

Even Lupin, who is the most hyper, morning creature that ever existed, was not happy about it.

However, with my dad running the Chicago Marathon, the last thing we were going to do was miss out on the fun (he bribed us to go).

So, with sleepy eyes and lots of coffee, we piled in a cab and headed down to Grant Park.

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The streets were packed with runners and spectators jostling around, fixing on numbers, scarfing down bananas and running to make their start times (no better way to start running 26 miles than running to the start. People are crazy).

We took a seat, nothing burns more calories than watching other running marathons, and watched the sun come up.

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Finally, when the sun came up and it was his start time. With a kiss (punch in the arm) and a wish of luck, he marched off to the start . . .

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And we marched back to bed.

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However, we had to make one quick stop to the most typical Chicago tourist spot for Chicago’s newest downtown (pup) tourist.

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As-per-usual, he was very cooperative.

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After whispered promises of treats and cuddles at the hotel, he finally agreed to one picture.

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After our alarm went off a few hours later, we made our way back to see what we could of the finish.

Due to the Boston marathon, security was extremely tight. Only the runners were allowed through the gates at the start and the finish.

After 40 minutes of waiting, we finally caught quick glimpse of our guy through a gate. Which was promptly followed by manic jumping and excited screams of “LETS GO MUFASA!”.

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Some of us were more impressed than others.

“26.2 miles? Please. I do that every morning chasing the ball in the yard”

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With big, proud grins on our faces, we maneuvered our way through the crowds to find this smiling face.

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A shower and nap later, it was time to head (limp) over for celebratory drinks at my favorite cocktail lounge.

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Coq d’Or is the whiskey bar right inside the Drake.

You walk through the doors and feel like you stepped back in time.

It wouldn’t be surprising to find fabulously styled women and dapper, well-dressed, fedora wearing men at the bar.

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I highly recommend the old fashioned.

Even this guy liked it.

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A few drinks later, we called it an early night.

What? It’s exhausting watching people run 26 miles.

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