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Community Corner

Riding The Waves Of Race to Mackinac

Columnist Christine Wolf writes in from Michigan as her son and husband participate in the 333-mile sailing race across Lake Michigan.

I’m on a journey to Mackinac Island in Michigan, driving with my younger two children to greet my husband and oldest son as they cross the finish line of the Race to Mackinac. Five of the eight sailors -- including Mike and Henry -- are Evanstonians. 

Two years ago, my boys participated in their first Race to Mackinac. I was a wreck, but I wasn’t alone. Not only were my guys new to the task of sailing 333 miles across the mighty Lake Michigan, but -- for the first time in the race’s then-103 year history – two sailors died on the course as violent storms flattened boat after boat after boat. During the worst of it, as countless sailors issued Mayday calls, their families and friends posted panicked Facebook messages begging for information; the online race tracking system had crashed, leaving so many of us wondering where our sailors were.

That year, my feelings of worry never left. It was a paralyzing sense of helplessness. I wanted to know my boys were safe. I wanted to get messages to them -- or at least hear their voices. Most of all, I wanted to let them know we were there, no matter what. 

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My boys and their six crew members got through that race, shaken forever by the memories of circumstances beyond their control. I wondered if they’d ever race again, and I know a few of them wondered the same. What I’ve seen is that they all came out stronger and more determined to go back. To face those uncertain circumstances and apply that life experience toward overcoming even the most challenging, unseen forces. 

This year, the race feels utterly different. I'm still worried about them, but not for the same reasons. The winds are light -- and when I say light, I mean they're non-existent. I'm watching the crew's progress online, wondering at what point in this slog of a race the sailors will start running out of sunscreen, water, and most importantly, patience. I haven't started worrying about food yet since they're eating like kings. I know this because the night before the race, Mike and I bagged and froze some of the most delicious Evanston-area cuisine for the crew, including risotto and Bolognese from Dave's Italian Kitchen, vindaloo from Mt. Everest and pizza from Giggio's. Al fresco dining never tasted so good. Granted, they may run out of food soon, and at that point, I can only hope they don't go cannibalistic, especially since my son's the youngest crew member...

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As I write this, the sailors are no doubt frustrated by the lack of speed as biting flies feast on their ankles. Such a different set of circumstances compared to the race two years ago.

Funny how life works, isn’t it?



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