I won't lie to you; Christmas is my favorite time of the year. Call me old fashion and naive, but I still believe in the magic of the season. However, my belief in that magic seems to die a little more with each passing year. When I was a child, the Christmas season began after Thanksgiving, and not before Halloween. Stores advertised their 'Black Friday' ads the week of Thanksgiving instead of after Labor Day weekend.
Aside from the greed and commercialization aspect that capitalism has contributed to the destruction of the magic of Christmas, more importantly is the deterioration of the spirit of Christmas. A time when we strive for peace on earth and show compassion and goodwill towards our fellow man. If you need any proof of that, just turn on any local newscast the day after Thanksgiving, and you can be subjected to a couple of men or women on the ground trying to pummel one another over a 32" HDTV. Never mind the fact that it is probably a discontinued model from a manufacturer that has a bad consumer satisfaction rating; in the end, it's the fact that you scored on a once in a lifetime deal! Or it's the parents that must keep up with the Jones' by buying their 6 year old a $500 gaming system or iPad because they don't want to have their child look at them in a negative light by not always getting what they want.
Every year as I continue to observe the withering decay of the magic and spirit of Christmas, I have often stopped and wondered what the jolly ol' elf Santa Claus would think of how Christmas has changed and how he has had to adapt to the changes? Well, my wish has come true. I got the opportunity to speak with the man in the red suit and ask him some questions about that very thing. So, settle in and be prepared to surprised by the revealing answers that St. Nick is about provide.
Shaun Floyd: First of all Mr. Claus, let me first begin by offering my sincerest thanks to you for your willingness to take some time to be interviewed. It really means a lot.
Santa Claus: Well, you are welcome! At first I thought it quite disturbing that a man in his 40's would still believe in me, but after talking about what you wanted to ask me, I thought it was a perfect forum to get some things off of my chest. Besides, as many parents have told their kids for many generations; 'If you believe in Santa, he's real', so I shouldn't judge.
SF: So are you saying you are in fact not real?
SC: If I'm not, this is going to be one hell of a short interview now isn't it?
SF: Fair Enough. So before we get into the heart of this interview, let me ask you this; there have not only been many questions as to whether you exist or not, but also how you came to be 'Santa Claus'. How did this all begin for you?
SC: Well, I certainly didn't have aspirations to become a beloved cultural figure. That came from my upbringing as a child.
SF: What was childhood like for you?
SC: Well, not many people know this, but I was given up by my parents. My father had abandoned my mother after I was born and she couldn't afford to raise me. So, she wanted to make sure that I was properly taken care of and had dropped me off on the porch of a family living in a neighboring town in Sweden, and those people would come to be my adoptive parents, who happened to be The Kringles.
SF: Wow! I never knew that. Did you harbor any feelings of anger or resentment towards your mother and father for giving you up like that?
SC: At first I did, but I realized that my mother had my best interests at heart, so I was able to forgive her easily. My father on the other hand...
SF: Have you met your birth mother and father?
SC: I have met my mother. She is a nice lady. She is the one that I get my jolly personality from. Never met my father and after what my mother has told me about him, I have no desire to.
SF: May I ask what you did find out about him?
SC: Well, he was German while my mother was Irish. He was a bit of an ogre who liked to drink. My mother thinks he was the one who taught Hitler the philosophy that he would eventually dominate Germany with, but I can't prove that. I can only speculate that theory, but I think it holds a little validity since he abandoned me and my mother because I was a red-headed blue eyed child instead of being a blonde hair and blue eyed lad that the Nazi's wanted to continuously breed.
SF: Oh my God! That's horrible!
SC: Don't feel bad, I came out on the winning end. I was raised by a loving family that had a penchant for making toys and making people happy.
SF: And we have all been beneficial as a result of it.
SC: Word up.
SF: So, the reason I wanted to talk with you is to get your views on how Christmas has changed since it began for you, and how you have had to adapt to the changes and the impact it has made on you?
SC: I appreciate it. It's good to know that some people still have the ability to think critically.
SF: I guess the first question I have is how have your operations at the North Pole changed and evolved?
SC: It was a pretty standard and smooth running operation through most of the 20th century. Then the 70's came along, and everything went downhill from there.
SF: How so?
SC: *deep sigh* Gosh, where do I begin. Well, I guess it started when our new crop of elves began work in the mid 70's. Oh wait, I'm sorry, I'm not allowed to say elves any longer because it's not politically correct. When our new crop of 'vertically challenged childhood entertainment engineers' came on board. They began speaking with some of the long term VCCEE's around the shop about the working conditions and the hours and about being fairly compensated with health care and wages. So in 1979, they decided to form a Union and went on strike.
SF: Are you kidding?
SC: I’m Santa, I never tell a lie. You should know, you had a pretty light Christmas that year if I recall.
SF: Actually…you’re right. I think all I got that year was clothes. I thought it was because I had ended up on the naughty list for some reason.
SC: Nope, it was because of the strike. A lot of kids were pretty pissed off that year. Can’t say I blame them, but we released a statement that said due to the Russians invading practically every country near them, we had to limit the amount of travel in fear of being shot down by the communists. In reality it was because we were so backlogged with toy orders that we couldn’t keep up with the demand. We tried scab workers, but they couldn’t build a wagon to save their lives, so we had to scrap the toy orders that year.
SF: So the workshop is now all union?
SC: Not any longer.
SF: How were you able to break the union?
SC: Every 4 years we had contract re-negotiations, and I would end up meeting their demands for the most part. However they forgot one little detail; Part of the job of being Santa Claus is to keep up to date with the trends of toys. I started noticing right around the mid 80’s how technology and electronics were evolving. I kept that piece of information in my back pocket. I started buying up stock of Apple, Microsoft and Nintendo. After accumulating a good deal of stock, I was able to attend stock holder meetings. When the VP’s, CFO’s and CEO’s started noticing me at these meetings, they were curious as to know why I was there. I told them how interested I was in how technology was impacting toys and I wanted to inform myself and learn a great deal more. Before you know it, I am able to strike a deal with these corporations to sit in on board meetings to hear and see the new toys being released and touring their facilities of how they were manufactured. Fast forward to 1993, I get word that the internet is about to be launched. So I strike a deal with some people to sell off some of my stock in exchange for software designers, engineers and other tech-savvy labor. When the contract talks of 1993 came about, I was able to cut the dead-weight loose. If they didn’t have a degree in electronics of any type, you were out of a job. That alone cut my overhead drastically! So as a result, I was able to break the union.
SF: So all of your helpers now have technology backgrounds.
SC: Yes. Another area that has changed with our operations is that we had to expand our facilities a great deal. We now different manufacturing plants dedicated strictly to gaming consoles, computers, electronic tablets and so forth.
SF: Do you still make any toys like dolls, footballs, blocks or anything like that?
SC: No, that’s all outsourced to other areas. Besides, I can’t manufacture footballs anymore. Roger Goodell and the NFL not only trademarked the term ‘football’, but they hold the patents for manufacturing footballs, so if I were to make them, I would have to get oral and written consent from the NFL to do that, and I’m not about to give that Nazi Goodell a share of my pie. Guy reminds me of my father.
SF: That’s ridiculous!
SC: That’s America. It’s quite a litigious culture you guys have developed.
SF: So if you have had to expand operations, how much of the North Pole do you cover these days.
SC: Not as much as you think. The whole thing, shops, manufacturing plants, housing, etc. used to cover about oh….I would say 26 square miles, but thanks to global warming and the ice caps breaking off, we are having to re-think are strategies. Right now, we are investing in a fleet of house boats for housing, and are in talks with certain countries to use some of their carriers to help transport our equipment to Antarctica and rebuild shop there.
SF: How sad! You will no longer be able to live in the North Pole.
SC: Tell me about it. I’ve called that place home for hundreds of years. It’s going to be tough, but you have to think about the big picture.
SF: Speaking of age, I have to admit, you are in pretty fit shape and look great for your age!
SC: Thanks…wait, you’re not coming on to me are you? Not that I have a problem with homosexuals. In fact I have quite a few helpers that are, but I personally am all about Mrs. C’s cookies.
SF: No sir. Just paying a compliment.
SC: Very good then.
SF: Do you pack on the pounds during the fall to get ready for the long haul on Christmas Eve, or is the bowl full of jelly a suit modification?
SC: In the old days, it was all me. Like Mrs. C used to say, ‘With a tool like mine, you gotta build a shed’, but thanks to Obamacare, my health care plan was sub-standard, I was dropped from my plan, and given the weight I was, no other insurance providers would touch me. So, in order to get health insurance I had to drop a bunch of weight and get in shape.
SF: So has a memo gone out to the children to not put out as much milk and cookies this Christmas?
SC: Actually, no but you bring up a something that I would like to get off of my chest. Do you know the amount of cookies and milk I have consumed over the years? So many that is has made me not only a type two diabetic, but also lactose intolerant! What the hell are these parents teaching these kids?! Don’t get me wrong, I’m all for enjoying a sweet treat now and then, but when you hit approximately half a billion homes, that’s a lot of calories! Why in the hell can’t these parents tell their kids to put out a plate of fruit or a nutrition bar?! By the way, would a 5 Hour Energy or cup of coffee be too much to ask? I’m not saying every house, but if I could get one per time zone, it would help me to stay alert when I’m behind the wheel of the sleigh.
SF: Behind the wheel? I thought the reindeer drove the sleigh?
SC: They used to up to about 20 years ago, but then PETA decided that I was treating the reindeer unfairly and inhumanely by (to use their words) “shackling them with the reins of oppression and slavery” and “exposing them to harsh elements of the bitter arctic cold”. Whenever I flew over San Francisco or Boulder, I would be hounded by these PETA demonstrators calling me filthy name imaginable and trying to set my reindeer free from their reins. So I finally decided that I would take matters into my own hands. I contacted NASA to see what they could do for me and they built me a pretty sleek sleigh that I can get to and from my destinations pretty quickly. It even has stealth technology which is pretty kick ass. So, with the exception of the standard 8 reindeer that I kept strictly for show, I set the rest of the reindeer off to roam the arctic wilderness freely.
SF: That was a noble gesture of you Santa.
SC: Yeah, well the bitch of it was that as soon as I set them free into the wilderness, a good majority of them were gunned down by hunters. Last time I checked, they were close to being on the endangered species list, but did PETA come up here to protest that travesty? HELL NO! Had they stayed with me, they would at least be alive and well, but that’s PETA for you; Heads too far up their own asses to see the overall effect of their actions.
SF: True. Getting back to your sleigh, it brought up another question I wanted to ask. How are you able to hit all the children’s homes in just one night?
SC: Ah yes…one of my most closely guarded secrets. However, if you stop and really think about it, it’s really not that difficult to figure out.
SF: Would you be willing to indulge me and explain it?
SC: *Pauses and contemplates* Well…I suppose. The secret comes down to two things really, Government and Religion.
SF: Government & Religion?
SC: That’s right. Oh, and time zones. I forgot time zones. You see, being at the North Pole, (for now anyway), I have the vantage point of being able to start my course at the International Date Line. If I start there on December 24th, and work my way towards Western Europe, I’m actually losing a day once I cross the line, so I gain some time. Now, you heard me mention government and religion. This is how those two come into play. You have to remember that while China is a undergoing an industrial revolution, they are still a communist nation. Communists don’t believe in me or what I provide, so right there you are eliminating over a billion households I have to drop presents for. As I continue to move west from China, you have the Middle East. Muslim religion does not recognize me since they think I am a sign of Capitalism, so I can avoid all of those nations. Africa celebrates Kwanza; Israel celebrates Hanukah, so now I’ve eliminated half of the planet. The only areas I have to focus on are Western Europe, Canada, Mexico and The Americas.
SF: But that’s still quite a bit of territory to cover.
SC: True, but I also have the advantage of the naughty and nice list. If we go off of that it eliminates another half of my workload.
SF: There are really that many naughty kids?
SC: Have you ever been to Philadelphia? There are some nasty snot nosed brats that live in that city. Hell, they booed one of my helpers at an Eagles Game in the ‘70’s. I took that to heart. I think I’ve dropped perhaps 2 dozen toys there in the past 40 years. But I’m getting off track here.
SF: There are still cities like Boston, New York Miami and Chicago that still have large populations. Those have to take a lot of time?
SC: That’s right, and back in the day I was always in danger of getting caught when I hit L.A. and San Fran. However, thanks to technology and the NSA, I was able to find a way around that challenge.
SF: Please explain.
SC: I will if you would stop interrupting me.
SF: Sorry.
SC: *Scowls* ….after my Christmas run of 2002 nearly cost me my identity; I placed a call to the White House. Since the Patriot Act had come into fruition, I decided to use it to my advantage; I spoke directly with President Bush and explained my quandary to him. He was willing to help me out by providing me with a huge supply of wire taps, internet taps, bugs and GPS devices to place in homes across the nation. So in Christmas of 2003, I had a couple of my workers escort me on the trip. While I was placing presents under the tree and in stockings, they were planting bugs, taps and GPS trackers in the homes. After we had finished the trip, I contacted the NSA and they confirmed that the devices I had planted were working.
SF: So what’s the point of all of this illegal activity?
SC: Actually it’s illegal by your country’s laws. I’m a foreigner visiting your country for a night and I have diplomatic immunity.
SF: *Scowls*
SC: Hey, hate the game not the playa.
SF: Please continue.
SC: We then put GPS trackers on each child’s gift. When I fly over the home, I’m able to throw the gifts over the sleigh, a parachute then pops out and the GPS device leads the gift down to the home. Once it arrives, the parents will receive an email and text alert to let them know their gifts have arrived so they can put them under the tree and stockings.
SF: That’s pretty impressive.
SC: Thank you. We are hoping to streamline it even further by incorporating drones. If we can, I can sit in a base centralized at the North Pole and guide the drones to the appropriate houses.
SF: Interesting. Anything you would like to say in closing?
SC: *Pauses* actually, yes I would like to say something to the children. I would like to thank the children who have continued to believe in me. Nothing gives me greater joy than to see a smile on a child’s face and the warmth of joy and hope in their hearts. With that being said, you are also very spoiled. I don’t blame you, but I blame your parents. Do you really feel that you need an iPad at 6 years old? What happened to reading a book, and allowing your imagination to create the environment for you? What happened to coloring in a coloring book to test your artistic creativity? What happened to just wanting a doll or a football? More importantly, what happened to a parent saying ‘No’? Instead you demand high end electronics that kill your creativity and imagination. You become slaves to a box or a gadget. The sad thing is that it’s not enough. It wasn’t that long ago that children would be happy with a few gifts and then one big one, but not any longer. Today’s children and parents feel that they are entitled to have everything they want, and when you grow up to be adults like your parents, you will find out the hard way that the real world doesn’t operate that way. So I am asking you the children to become the examples your parents have forgotten. It’s okay to ask me for a gift, or even two, but what about those children who have never had the joy of receiving a gift? More importantly, ask something I can’t provide for you. Peace, kindness, joy and goodwill to others. Those are gifts you can all benefit from.
Tuesday, December 10, 2013
Tuesday, September 7, 2010
The 2010 3 Day Walk for the Cure. Day 1 conclusion
As the pink mass makes its way onto the sidewalk and winds its way down the northeast side of the Mills, some of the early morning rush hour commuter’s honk their horns in support of our solidarity. I unzip the portable speaker attached to my hydro pack strap, fire up the ‘day 1’ MP3 player and hit random. What will be the first song to christen this journey I think to myself? I hear a man’s voice say ‘let’s kick it off with something like this’ and a fuzzy distorted guitar sound starts pulsating the speakers with a boogie woogie blues shuffle followed by a heavy pulsating back beat of bass and drums. The song is ‘Night Train to Memphis’ by Tab Benoit. Now THIS is how you start a walk!
However, the three ladies, one man ensemble directly in front of me doesn’t share my enthusiasm. Apparently if a song doesn’t blast out some monotonous techno beat with a bunch of ‘yo yo’s’ and thirteen letter expletives, Ebonics, and poor grammar along with it, it’s not ‘real music’. I thank God, I’m older, wiser, and more mature, because if their music was the music of my generation I would have to follow the advice of one Peter Townshend and fulfill the ‘hope I die before I get old’ mantra of ‘My Generation’. I weep for the future of music. Hell, I weep for the future of the English language spoken properly from the mouths of future generations. I don’t care though. This is what I need to start my walk off with. “I’m a night train, rollin’ nine hundred miles! Can’t you hear me comin’? I ain’t stoppin’ ‘til the mornin’ light!” (Okay, forget what I just said about the proper grammar.)
We’ve gone about a half a mile by now, and we are heading into the first residential neighborhood. I see a big green and white sign that says ‘Quiet zone! Allow these residents to sleep in.’ ‘You are kidding me right?! I’m building momentum here! I can’t switch it off now!’ I think to myself, but reluctantly I obey the request and follow the herd through the shaded neighborhood road listening to cadence of feet walking along the dirt and dragging across the asphalt. I am tempted to increase my pace and pass some walkers at this point so that I can get to the un-quiet zone sooner, but alas, there are no passing lanes up to this point. It looks a lot like the rush hour commute I am fortunate to have missed this morning.
Behind me on my left, I hear a woman’s voice say ‘Wow, I’m going to have to walk with you. You have the right idea.’ I turn to see a thin blond woman wearing a black baseball cap with her hair in a ponytail and glamour shades smiling at me. I chuckle and inform her that if she can keep up, she can stay on board the music express as long as she would like to. We exchange pleasantries and begin to make small talk. Her name is Kate and she works in the world of financial services (Banking to be exact) and has driven all the way from Edwards, (which is 15 miles west of Vail or approximately a two and a half hour drive) to participate in this event.
We then tell each other our reason for wanting to be a part of this event. Hers is a result of a kind heart, generous spirit and family history, in which her Mother, and Aunts have battled with the disease. I explain that the common thread we share is with our Aunts and that we are both fortunate to have them still fighting their battle.
The topic then turns back to music in which Kate asks me ‘If you could pick one song to be your theme song or what describes you the best, what would it be?’ I tell her that it is an impossible question for me to answer with all of the music I love and the music I have yet to discover, that I couldn’t pick just one song to describe or resemble myself. She asks me to give it some thought anyway, and as she asks this, she pats and rubs my left arm. I take a glance towards her left hand and notice that there an engagement or wedding band is not present.
‘Uh-oh’ I mutter under my internal breath. Stalling for time to think of something that might throw her off or make her think if she’s ever heard of the song I will pull out of my head, I ask her ‘What would yours be?’ Without skipping a beat she proclaims ‘Black Betty!’ The library in my brain pulls the band’s name ‘Ram Jam’ in .04 seconds, and then begins to try to sift through the lyrics of the song. Basically Black Betty has a job, hails from Alabama, and is of a Black Widow/tramp. Now I know why there is no ring on that finger and how she can afford to live in the plush Vail Valley area.
I humor her and tell her that is a pretty good choice. She then prods once again about my choice, in which I tell her it would have to be ‘Gonna Raise Hell’ by Cheap Trick. She begins to let out a laugh and clap her hands in agreement exclaiming that it appears that song would fit me. I’m not sure how I should take this, but I side to the error of caution and assume that she thinks that our theme songs are soul mates, and therefore we might be as well. As we turn the corner, I see Pit Stop 1 ahead. When we arrive, she heads for the hydration and food tables while I duck into a line for the port-o-potties and try to remain incognito, and hopefully she will have lost sight and mind enough to think that I have already left without her in tow. It works.
Just about 3 miles in the books, and I’m feeling good. I decide to break the rules and turn my MP3 player back on since I’m starting to see visible signs of life in the neighborhood watering their lawns. I pass a few walkers along the way and I think about slowing down to get to know a little bit about them, but they are too engrossed about talking about their work, their own lives or the girl who looked horrible at her wedding and didn’t deserve to get married in the first place. (Their words, not mine). I decide to increase my pace and lengthen my stride to get away from the petty gossip.
As I break away and go solo in my travels, I come up on a older couple. A little lady of about five foot five and her walking companion who I presume is her husband. As I come up alongside we exchange pleasantries and introduce ourselves to each other. The man in his early sixties is John. He’s sporting a Jimmy Buffet style grey baseball cap, has glasses and a bright pink beard. His wife Nancy, has short sandy curly hair, dawning glasses as well and is keeping her pace with the aid of two walking sticks.
I start up a conversation with them by asking them if this is their first 3 Day event and what got them involved with it? John tells me it’s their second time around and that the reason they are doing it is for their Granddaughter who has lost her battle. The amount of hardship these two people have had to endure because of cancer is too much for me to really put into words. I could but it would be it a novel in itself.
We turn onto Simms Avenue and we are starting to head west over the very busy sixth avenue. As we turn, the three of us notice that there is large pink line of humanity that stretches as far as our six pairs of eyes can see. Cars speeding along Sixth Avenue, as well as that crossing over to Union Avenue are honking their horns showing their support. The traffic noise is to the point that I can’t hear the speaker blasting my MP3 player which is only about two feet from my left ear.
As we cross over the bridge onto Union, we see throes of supporters holding up signs along the sidewalk, clapping, waving, yelling and cheering at every walker. Encouraging us, and more importantly, reminding us why we are doing this and thanking us for doing this as well. I shout over to John and Nancy, “That’s gotta make you feel pretty good this early in the morning.” John tells me that that is one of the reasons why he and Nancy are doing this for a second year in a row and why they are also going to travel to Seattle for the event up there. “The amount of people that come out to show their support for what you are doing is very rewarding. It lets you know that there are people out there who still care and who support those of us who believe so strongly in such an important cause.” John is right. I start thinking of the illuminated Grow the Community’ balloon that I stared at about 4 hours ago in the twilight and how it asked to grow the community. It looks like the seeds were planted and it’s already starting to grow.
John then asks me how I got involved, and I share my story, and I mention how my wonderful girlfriend Jenna was the one who was really responsible for exposing me to this cause, and that she is one of the medical captains at the event. Nancy then asks ‘You mean Jen the redhead that wears the hula skirt and coconut bra?’ I laugh and then exclaim ‘You know her?’ Her and John and Nancy both tell me that they met her last year and that they have become part of the 3 Day family, and how lucky I am to have her as my girlfriend. It’s starting to really dawn on me just how small the 3 Day world really is.
I tell John and Nancy goodbye for now and speed my pace up to get to the next pit stop. Hunger is starting to set in and I’m running low on the fluids in my hydration pack. As I start to speed my pace up, I see that a few walkers have decided to pit early at the Starbucks and treat themselves to coffee and pastries and enjoy the day. I find this strange and a little sad at the same time. These people have been asked to walk a journey of 60 miles for breast cancer, yet these people have only walked four miles and they can’t sacrifice their Starbucks fix for the weekend? I remind myself that I’m not one who should be judging, but I’m starting to wonder just who has their heart in this cause and who doesn’t?
It’s at this point that this site adds some fire to my tank and I start picking up the pace of my walk, and before I know it I have gone past the six mile mark and I’m now at pit stop #2. I grab a banana, a granola bar and a refill on the Gatorade/water mixture into my hydro tank. I take a moment to unload my pack, and stretch out a little bit. As I am doing this, my ears pick up on some of the others sitting on the lawn of the park where the pit stop is located. I hear complaining. I hear whining. ‘It’s so hot already.’ Really? It’s only 9:30 in the morning sweetheart. If you think it is hot now, you are going to be in a world of hurt in a few hours.
‘I’m so tired of walking already.’ is another one I hear. Seriously? You’ve barely walked six miles! Did you not train for this? You only had what, between six and nine months to train for this? I actually hear one lady complain that they don’t have her desired flavor of Gatorade on hand. My impulse is to walk up to this woman and ask her which position she would like to be in; finding out that a pit stop does not have her flavor of Gatorade or being one of the unfortunate ones that we are walking for? It’s at this point that I decide to strap my pack back on and continue my walk. Apparently someone didn’t spend enough time reading the mission statements on display this morning. Once again, I try not to judge, but it’s really hard when people participate in an event such as this, and try to make it about themselves.
As I start up the hill, a gentleman happens to say something to me. I can’t exactly remember what it was, but I think it had to do with how warm it was already starting to get. He’s speaking with a Canadian accent because he ended his question with ‘eh?’ Wow! I think to myself. Someone came all the way from Canada to participate in this! How cool is this! We begin to walk up the hill together making idle chit chat. Somehow we get on the subject of people who collect Magic the Gathering cards, and he then begins to speak with a Scottish accent. It’s during this time that I notice that he is walking with a hikers pack with all of his camping gear on it, bedding and all! Now I’m asking ‘God, why me? What is it about me that attract those individuals with a screw or two loose?’
I formally introduce myself and extend my hand out for a handshake. He introduces himself as Scott in his Scottish accent. He then starts taking in his regular dialect. I can’t help but wondering if I’m dealing with someone that has multiple personality syndrome? As we start chatting, I ask him what he does for a living, and he tells me that he is a deputy county sheriff who works in the county jail. Now it makes all the sense in the world! I didn’t know it right then, but this would be the person that would be my walking partner for the next 3 days, someone that I would build a brotherly bond with and someone who would become another member of the pink mafia.
My next question to Scott is about the load he is carrying on his back. He explains to me that it is not wise to pack on one hour of sleep. Apparently the instruction on the 3 Day website on what to pack and what not to pack weren’t very distinct and did not clarify that there was an area that you could drop all of your camping items at the shuttle truck and they would be transported for you. I feel bad for the man. It’s going to be in the low to mid 90’s today and he’s carrying an extra 40 pounds of gear on his back that he didn’t need to carry!
I tell him that we can flag down a sweep van and ask if we can get his gear transported to camp somehow so that he doesn’t have to carry it for the next 15 miles. He shrugs it off and says that it’s not necessary. That’s when he reveals the true reason why he’s carrying it. He is wearing a pink shirt with names on it written with a permanent marker. One of the names on the shirt is his Mothers. She has lost her battle with breast cancer. He says ‘Well, the way I see it, my Mother carried me around for nine months, so I figure I can carry an extra 40 pounds for a day for her.’ My faith that people have their heart in this event for all the right reasons has just been restored.
We reach our third pit stop and decide to take a breather and allow our feet to get a break as well. The only shade that is currently open is behind the port-o-potties. Fortunately the wind hasn’t kicked up and these port-o-potties haven’t been completely destroyed yet, so we take our chances and cop a squat. We enjoy a snack and some water while Scott trades out his socks and shoes for another pair of each. He offers some foot powder to me and I politely decline. He gives me a look as if I’m crazy due to the amount of walking and heat we will be subjected to. It’s at this time that I show him my secret weapon, Bodyglide, and assure him I’m good to go.
As we strap back up and get set to continue on, a member of the 3 Day crew says hello to me and asks me if I would like to carry one of the flags that was carried up to the survivors ring? The flag is colored in pink with a black border and in big white letters it says ‘Healing’. I feel honored to carry this flag since it is a moment of ironic symbolism for me as my Aunt Beth is healing in the Midwest from her battle with the disease. I ask Scott to snap a photo of this moment. This memory is now preserved, and I thank the young girl and we continue on our way.
Along the journey Scott and I get to know each other. We talk about our interests, and among other things, politics in which we both discover that he’s a liberal Republican and I’m a Centralist that leans toward being a liberal Republican. He tells me the story of his sister in law and her current battle with a form of breast cancer that according to her doctors is a new form of cancer that they haven’t encountered before, and I tell him my family’s history with this disease. We’re talking about some interesting and deep subject matter, but it’s becoming a very pleasant journey.
By the time we reach lunch, the flag has become very heavy, and I ask one of the crew members if I could give it to them so that someone else might be able to carry it. The crew member asks me to approach some groups of walkers that are currently sitting in the shade for lunch. I walk over and ask if someone in this group would like to carry this flag? The silence is deafening, to which I reply “Please, no crowding, one at a time please.” Only a couple of people saw my attempt at making light of the question. I then go over to the other group and ask the same question, and get the same response. I tried. I walk back to the crew member and inform her that the group took a vote and that the overwhelming silent majority have voted her as the honorary flag bearer and I go sit down to enjoy my turkey and Swiss sandwich.
Scott and I finish up with lunch and hit the road. We’re halfway through day 1. We continue to talk about the things that have gotten us up to this point in our lives. Mistakes we’ve made, loves we thought were true, but were truly poisonous, and courtesy of my Cousin, dance down the sidewalk to the occasional Lady GaGa, Black Eyed Peas tune, or thanks to me, the occasional Sly and the Family Stone song. Despite the heat, despite the fatigue, despite the aching joints and muscles, we are enjoying every step of this journey.
After travelling through one of the posher neighborhoods of east Lakewood, and temporarily bringing down their property values as we walk through proudly displaying our pink pride and blasting Lynyrd Skynyrd and Kid Rock, we arrive at pit stop 4. It’s Jenna’s pit stop and it’s a safari motif, and standing there in all of his/her glory is the man/woman him/herself. The sexiest/scariest crossing guard one could ever lay eyes on. Standing six foot four, wearing a pink hat with white fringe, a black and pink leopard print dress big tits and flip flops, it’s none other than Michael’s alter ego Lady GuyGuy, and he’s the star attraction for every walker to come into pit stop 4!
Walkers, residents in the neighborhood, and drivers passing through are pulling over and getting out of their cars to walk over and behold what they are witnessing. They are asking if they can pose for pictures with Michael because this is truly a moment that they can begin a story with ‘You aren’t going to believe what I saw today!’ There is something to be said about just how popular a burly bald headed cross dressing specimen of a homo sapient can really be, but this is the 3 Day, and at the 3 Day this is an event where some like Michael can pull this off and make it work and look good!
I introduce Scott to Jenna, and the rest of the Pink Mafia, and only one thing comes to mind, and it’s a question. A question that Scott up to this point has probably answered about a dozen times already; Why are you wearing so much on your pack?! So, for the 13th through 15th time today, Scott explains to them why he is carrying so much on his pack and the real reason why he has chosen to do so. Everyone finds it touching and while they think he is still crazy, they understand why he is doing it. I explain to Michael that he is a deputy county sheriff and works in the jail. Michael laughs and says “Now it makes sense.”
I give Jenna and Monica an update on how I’m feeling and doing, get some preferential health treatment (One can get that when his girlfriend is a nurse), and Scott and I are back at it taking with him what must have been a very surreal memory of Michael. As we get down the road a ways, I explain to him that Michael is a retired law enforcement officer and also served as a Federal Corrections Officer. Scott laughs, and says “Now it makes sense.” Eerie I say to myself.
The heat is starting to become more of a factor in our fatigue now. Scott is sweating so much it looks like he just jumped into the pool with his clothes on. I’m holding my own, but I can feel that my shirt is drenched to my skin. No matter how much of the Gatorade/Water mix I drink, it doesn’t seem to be helping in cooling me off, quenching my thirst, or keeping me energized. It doesn’t help that we are in the heart of Lakewood at Wadsworth and Quincy during Friday afternoon rush hour traffic either with nothing but black asphalt lots, streets and concrete sidewalks everywhere we walk, but we continue to push forward.
As we start winding around the last neighborhood of the route, I notice that we are getting close to camp. We are about 3 miles away now and are coming up to pit stop 5, the final pit stop of the day. The MP3 player starts playing a song that is a much slower tempo song, ‘I Was Here’ by Lady Antebellum. For a few brief moments it takes us out of our pace, until the phrase kicks in. “I want to do something that’s better, with the time I’ve been given and I want to try to touch a few hearts in this life, to leave nothing else but something that says I was here.” In the mid ninety degree heat with the sun beating down on my arms, I begin to get goose bumps all over my body. That phrase sums up one of the many reasons why I am here. I get my second wind.
As we walk up, we are greeted by two groups of women. The first group is all dressed up in cat apparel holding up a sign that says ‘Kitties for Titties.’ Have I mentioned how much I love women that have a sense of humor? The next group is some walkers who come up behind Scott. They are numbers 20, 21 and 22 in the question of his packing strategy, in which he told them the real reason why he had been carrying the weight for 18 miles now. One of the ladies comes up to him with tears running down her face telling him how touched she was that he was doing that for his Mother.
We arrive at pit stop 5 to see Jenna and some of her medical crew helping out the other members of the pit crew. One of her crew members asks me a question that gives me a headache. She says to me, and I am quoting this “Wow, you’re pretty white. I hope you are wearing a lot of sunscreen? You are right?” I have a response in my head, and the response is ‘Really? I’m white? WOW! Thank you for the revelation that I’m pygmentally challenged! All these years, my parents told me I was born a poor black child, and yet alas just before I turn the age of 40, you give me the gift of exposing their cruel charade by providing me with the truth! Thank you oh goddess of obvious scientific and medical knowledge, thank you!’ SERIOUSLY?! You are a medical professional and this is the question you ask me?! Please tell me which hospital you work for, so that way I know to avoid it in a life and death emergency! What will your first question to me be? Do you know that your blood is red? However, I refrain from going with what is in my head, bite my bottom lip and reassure her that yes, I have 2 cans of 50 SPF in my pack and I’m lubed up and ready for action, which seems to confuse her for a moment, to which I’m convinced she is writing out her own prescriptions for medical marijuana.
We try to leave for the final part of the day’s journey, but Scott has been quarantined for the time being. Due to the amount he is sweating, the medical crew is worried that he may have or develop heat exhaustion. I’m half tempted to ask the medical crew to examine the genius who asked me about my skin care preparation for walking all day in the sun.
After 15 minutes, he’s given the green light to continue and we leave. As I fire the player back up, the song ‘Winning It All’ by the Outfield starts playing. I couldn’t have picked a better selection. ‘Won’t be afraid, got so much pride, and I’ve never been a loser, and I just can’t lose tonight, winning it all!’ That picks up our pace. The end is near.
We turn west onto Bowles Avenue and take the opportunity to walk under some trees that are providing shade. One mile down, and James Brown usher’s in ‘I Feel Good (I Got You)’. Scott and I take this opportunity to dance our best James Brown down the sidewalk to the delight of passing motorists honking their approval. Two miles down. We look to the south, and there it is. A sea of pink and white tents and canopies, camp! We’ve both never been so happy to see a campsite before in our lives! We see the safety rep by his Harley standing tall with his sleeveless orange safety shirt and long pink goatee.
We get up to the intersection we have to cross. He congratulates us for making it and that we have just a half mile to go. We cross Wadsworth to get back over to Bowles. I can see and hear a group of crew members standing at the entrance cheering the walkers as they come into camp. With each step we take, the cheering gets closer, and as we turn back to the south, there they stand. Crew members, medical staff all are cheering us as we enter into our campsite, each one of them giving us a handshake, a hug or a high five for a job well done.
As we cross the official ‘finish line’ I am greeted by my Uncle who I hadn’t seen since early that morning snapping a photo of the accomplishment and giving me a hug afterward. We head up towards the field where a sea of pink tents is set up. I walk down row X to see Jenna, Chris, and the members of the Pink Mafia waiting to greet me. After resting for a little bit and taking the much needed combination of ibuprofen and acetaminophen, (I can’t mention the brand names since they are copyrighted) Jenna and I head to dinner where we enjoy a nice steak with mushroom sauce, roasted potatoes, salad, and a slice of apple pie.
In the middle of dinner, an announcement is made that the final walker is coming in. This is a celebration in the world of the 3 Day because the final walker has the honor of raising the Komen flag at the campsite. Most of the walkers get up from their tables to circle the flagpole and cheer the walker in clapping to the Black Eyed Peas ‘Tonight’s Gonna Be a Good Night’. (I am repulsed by this song for reasons I will not go into in this, but for how many times it is about to be played at this event, it is a bitter pill I must swallow.)
As the walker comes in, they attach the flag and raise it to the top amid a barrage of cheers. We did it. I did it. 21.6 miles and I walked every step of the way. Now it’s time to relax and absorb the events of what happened today and to hopefully create more memories tomorrow when I, Scott, the Pink, Mafia, and the rest of the Pink Warriors take on day 2.
However, the three ladies, one man ensemble directly in front of me doesn’t share my enthusiasm. Apparently if a song doesn’t blast out some monotonous techno beat with a bunch of ‘yo yo’s’ and thirteen letter expletives, Ebonics, and poor grammar along with it, it’s not ‘real music’. I thank God, I’m older, wiser, and more mature, because if their music was the music of my generation I would have to follow the advice of one Peter Townshend and fulfill the ‘hope I die before I get old’ mantra of ‘My Generation’. I weep for the future of music. Hell, I weep for the future of the English language spoken properly from the mouths of future generations. I don’t care though. This is what I need to start my walk off with. “I’m a night train, rollin’ nine hundred miles! Can’t you hear me comin’? I ain’t stoppin’ ‘til the mornin’ light!” (Okay, forget what I just said about the proper grammar.)
We’ve gone about a half a mile by now, and we are heading into the first residential neighborhood. I see a big green and white sign that says ‘Quiet zone! Allow these residents to sleep in.’ ‘You are kidding me right?! I’m building momentum here! I can’t switch it off now!’ I think to myself, but reluctantly I obey the request and follow the herd through the shaded neighborhood road listening to cadence of feet walking along the dirt and dragging across the asphalt. I am tempted to increase my pace and pass some walkers at this point so that I can get to the un-quiet zone sooner, but alas, there are no passing lanes up to this point. It looks a lot like the rush hour commute I am fortunate to have missed this morning.
Behind me on my left, I hear a woman’s voice say ‘Wow, I’m going to have to walk with you. You have the right idea.’ I turn to see a thin blond woman wearing a black baseball cap with her hair in a ponytail and glamour shades smiling at me. I chuckle and inform her that if she can keep up, she can stay on board the music express as long as she would like to. We exchange pleasantries and begin to make small talk. Her name is Kate and she works in the world of financial services (Banking to be exact) and has driven all the way from Edwards, (which is 15 miles west of Vail or approximately a two and a half hour drive) to participate in this event.
We then tell each other our reason for wanting to be a part of this event. Hers is a result of a kind heart, generous spirit and family history, in which her Mother, and Aunts have battled with the disease. I explain that the common thread we share is with our Aunts and that we are both fortunate to have them still fighting their battle.
The topic then turns back to music in which Kate asks me ‘If you could pick one song to be your theme song or what describes you the best, what would it be?’ I tell her that it is an impossible question for me to answer with all of the music I love and the music I have yet to discover, that I couldn’t pick just one song to describe or resemble myself. She asks me to give it some thought anyway, and as she asks this, she pats and rubs my left arm. I take a glance towards her left hand and notice that there an engagement or wedding band is not present.
‘Uh-oh’ I mutter under my internal breath. Stalling for time to think of something that might throw her off or make her think if she’s ever heard of the song I will pull out of my head, I ask her ‘What would yours be?’ Without skipping a beat she proclaims ‘Black Betty!’ The library in my brain pulls the band’s name ‘Ram Jam’ in .04 seconds, and then begins to try to sift through the lyrics of the song. Basically Black Betty has a job, hails from Alabama, and is of a Black Widow/tramp. Now I know why there is no ring on that finger and how she can afford to live in the plush Vail Valley area.
I humor her and tell her that is a pretty good choice. She then prods once again about my choice, in which I tell her it would have to be ‘Gonna Raise Hell’ by Cheap Trick. She begins to let out a laugh and clap her hands in agreement exclaiming that it appears that song would fit me. I’m not sure how I should take this, but I side to the error of caution and assume that she thinks that our theme songs are soul mates, and therefore we might be as well. As we turn the corner, I see Pit Stop 1 ahead. When we arrive, she heads for the hydration and food tables while I duck into a line for the port-o-potties and try to remain incognito, and hopefully she will have lost sight and mind enough to think that I have already left without her in tow. It works.
Just about 3 miles in the books, and I’m feeling good. I decide to break the rules and turn my MP3 player back on since I’m starting to see visible signs of life in the neighborhood watering their lawns. I pass a few walkers along the way and I think about slowing down to get to know a little bit about them, but they are too engrossed about talking about their work, their own lives or the girl who looked horrible at her wedding and didn’t deserve to get married in the first place. (Their words, not mine). I decide to increase my pace and lengthen my stride to get away from the petty gossip.
As I break away and go solo in my travels, I come up on a older couple. A little lady of about five foot five and her walking companion who I presume is her husband. As I come up alongside we exchange pleasantries and introduce ourselves to each other. The man in his early sixties is John. He’s sporting a Jimmy Buffet style grey baseball cap, has glasses and a bright pink beard. His wife Nancy, has short sandy curly hair, dawning glasses as well and is keeping her pace with the aid of two walking sticks.
I start up a conversation with them by asking them if this is their first 3 Day event and what got them involved with it? John tells me it’s their second time around and that the reason they are doing it is for their Granddaughter who has lost her battle. The amount of hardship these two people have had to endure because of cancer is too much for me to really put into words. I could but it would be it a novel in itself.
We turn onto Simms Avenue and we are starting to head west over the very busy sixth avenue. As we turn, the three of us notice that there is large pink line of humanity that stretches as far as our six pairs of eyes can see. Cars speeding along Sixth Avenue, as well as that crossing over to Union Avenue are honking their horns showing their support. The traffic noise is to the point that I can’t hear the speaker blasting my MP3 player which is only about two feet from my left ear.
As we cross over the bridge onto Union, we see throes of supporters holding up signs along the sidewalk, clapping, waving, yelling and cheering at every walker. Encouraging us, and more importantly, reminding us why we are doing this and thanking us for doing this as well. I shout over to John and Nancy, “That’s gotta make you feel pretty good this early in the morning.” John tells me that that is one of the reasons why he and Nancy are doing this for a second year in a row and why they are also going to travel to Seattle for the event up there. “The amount of people that come out to show their support for what you are doing is very rewarding. It lets you know that there are people out there who still care and who support those of us who believe so strongly in such an important cause.” John is right. I start thinking of the illuminated Grow the Community’ balloon that I stared at about 4 hours ago in the twilight and how it asked to grow the community. It looks like the seeds were planted and it’s already starting to grow.
John then asks me how I got involved, and I share my story, and I mention how my wonderful girlfriend Jenna was the one who was really responsible for exposing me to this cause, and that she is one of the medical captains at the event. Nancy then asks ‘You mean Jen the redhead that wears the hula skirt and coconut bra?’ I laugh and then exclaim ‘You know her?’ Her and John and Nancy both tell me that they met her last year and that they have become part of the 3 Day family, and how lucky I am to have her as my girlfriend. It’s starting to really dawn on me just how small the 3 Day world really is.
I tell John and Nancy goodbye for now and speed my pace up to get to the next pit stop. Hunger is starting to set in and I’m running low on the fluids in my hydration pack. As I start to speed my pace up, I see that a few walkers have decided to pit early at the Starbucks and treat themselves to coffee and pastries and enjoy the day. I find this strange and a little sad at the same time. These people have been asked to walk a journey of 60 miles for breast cancer, yet these people have only walked four miles and they can’t sacrifice their Starbucks fix for the weekend? I remind myself that I’m not one who should be judging, but I’m starting to wonder just who has their heart in this cause and who doesn’t?
It’s at this point that this site adds some fire to my tank and I start picking up the pace of my walk, and before I know it I have gone past the six mile mark and I’m now at pit stop #2. I grab a banana, a granola bar and a refill on the Gatorade/water mixture into my hydro tank. I take a moment to unload my pack, and stretch out a little bit. As I am doing this, my ears pick up on some of the others sitting on the lawn of the park where the pit stop is located. I hear complaining. I hear whining. ‘It’s so hot already.’ Really? It’s only 9:30 in the morning sweetheart. If you think it is hot now, you are going to be in a world of hurt in a few hours.
‘I’m so tired of walking already.’ is another one I hear. Seriously? You’ve barely walked six miles! Did you not train for this? You only had what, between six and nine months to train for this? I actually hear one lady complain that they don’t have her desired flavor of Gatorade on hand. My impulse is to walk up to this woman and ask her which position she would like to be in; finding out that a pit stop does not have her flavor of Gatorade or being one of the unfortunate ones that we are walking for? It’s at this point that I decide to strap my pack back on and continue my walk. Apparently someone didn’t spend enough time reading the mission statements on display this morning. Once again, I try not to judge, but it’s really hard when people participate in an event such as this, and try to make it about themselves.
As I start up the hill, a gentleman happens to say something to me. I can’t exactly remember what it was, but I think it had to do with how warm it was already starting to get. He’s speaking with a Canadian accent because he ended his question with ‘eh?’ Wow! I think to myself. Someone came all the way from Canada to participate in this! How cool is this! We begin to walk up the hill together making idle chit chat. Somehow we get on the subject of people who collect Magic the Gathering cards, and he then begins to speak with a Scottish accent. It’s during this time that I notice that he is walking with a hikers pack with all of his camping gear on it, bedding and all! Now I’m asking ‘God, why me? What is it about me that attract those individuals with a screw or two loose?’
I formally introduce myself and extend my hand out for a handshake. He introduces himself as Scott in his Scottish accent. He then starts taking in his regular dialect. I can’t help but wondering if I’m dealing with someone that has multiple personality syndrome? As we start chatting, I ask him what he does for a living, and he tells me that he is a deputy county sheriff who works in the county jail. Now it makes all the sense in the world! I didn’t know it right then, but this would be the person that would be my walking partner for the next 3 days, someone that I would build a brotherly bond with and someone who would become another member of the pink mafia.
My next question to Scott is about the load he is carrying on his back. He explains to me that it is not wise to pack on one hour of sleep. Apparently the instruction on the 3 Day website on what to pack and what not to pack weren’t very distinct and did not clarify that there was an area that you could drop all of your camping items at the shuttle truck and they would be transported for you. I feel bad for the man. It’s going to be in the low to mid 90’s today and he’s carrying an extra 40 pounds of gear on his back that he didn’t need to carry!
I tell him that we can flag down a sweep van and ask if we can get his gear transported to camp somehow so that he doesn’t have to carry it for the next 15 miles. He shrugs it off and says that it’s not necessary. That’s when he reveals the true reason why he’s carrying it. He is wearing a pink shirt with names on it written with a permanent marker. One of the names on the shirt is his Mothers. She has lost her battle with breast cancer. He says ‘Well, the way I see it, my Mother carried me around for nine months, so I figure I can carry an extra 40 pounds for a day for her.’ My faith that people have their heart in this event for all the right reasons has just been restored.
We reach our third pit stop and decide to take a breather and allow our feet to get a break as well. The only shade that is currently open is behind the port-o-potties. Fortunately the wind hasn’t kicked up and these port-o-potties haven’t been completely destroyed yet, so we take our chances and cop a squat. We enjoy a snack and some water while Scott trades out his socks and shoes for another pair of each. He offers some foot powder to me and I politely decline. He gives me a look as if I’m crazy due to the amount of walking and heat we will be subjected to. It’s at this time that I show him my secret weapon, Bodyglide, and assure him I’m good to go.
As we strap back up and get set to continue on, a member of the 3 Day crew says hello to me and asks me if I would like to carry one of the flags that was carried up to the survivors ring? The flag is colored in pink with a black border and in big white letters it says ‘Healing’. I feel honored to carry this flag since it is a moment of ironic symbolism for me as my Aunt Beth is healing in the Midwest from her battle with the disease. I ask Scott to snap a photo of this moment. This memory is now preserved, and I thank the young girl and we continue on our way.
Along the journey Scott and I get to know each other. We talk about our interests, and among other things, politics in which we both discover that he’s a liberal Republican and I’m a Centralist that leans toward being a liberal Republican. He tells me the story of his sister in law and her current battle with a form of breast cancer that according to her doctors is a new form of cancer that they haven’t encountered before, and I tell him my family’s history with this disease. We’re talking about some interesting and deep subject matter, but it’s becoming a very pleasant journey.
By the time we reach lunch, the flag has become very heavy, and I ask one of the crew members if I could give it to them so that someone else might be able to carry it. The crew member asks me to approach some groups of walkers that are currently sitting in the shade for lunch. I walk over and ask if someone in this group would like to carry this flag? The silence is deafening, to which I reply “Please, no crowding, one at a time please.” Only a couple of people saw my attempt at making light of the question. I then go over to the other group and ask the same question, and get the same response. I tried. I walk back to the crew member and inform her that the group took a vote and that the overwhelming silent majority have voted her as the honorary flag bearer and I go sit down to enjoy my turkey and Swiss sandwich.
Scott and I finish up with lunch and hit the road. We’re halfway through day 1. We continue to talk about the things that have gotten us up to this point in our lives. Mistakes we’ve made, loves we thought were true, but were truly poisonous, and courtesy of my Cousin, dance down the sidewalk to the occasional Lady GaGa, Black Eyed Peas tune, or thanks to me, the occasional Sly and the Family Stone song. Despite the heat, despite the fatigue, despite the aching joints and muscles, we are enjoying every step of this journey.
After travelling through one of the posher neighborhoods of east Lakewood, and temporarily bringing down their property values as we walk through proudly displaying our pink pride and blasting Lynyrd Skynyrd and Kid Rock, we arrive at pit stop 4. It’s Jenna’s pit stop and it’s a safari motif, and standing there in all of his/her glory is the man/woman him/herself. The sexiest/scariest crossing guard one could ever lay eyes on. Standing six foot four, wearing a pink hat with white fringe, a black and pink leopard print dress big tits and flip flops, it’s none other than Michael’s alter ego Lady GuyGuy, and he’s the star attraction for every walker to come into pit stop 4!
Walkers, residents in the neighborhood, and drivers passing through are pulling over and getting out of their cars to walk over and behold what they are witnessing. They are asking if they can pose for pictures with Michael because this is truly a moment that they can begin a story with ‘You aren’t going to believe what I saw today!’ There is something to be said about just how popular a burly bald headed cross dressing specimen of a homo sapient can really be, but this is the 3 Day, and at the 3 Day this is an event where some like Michael can pull this off and make it work and look good!
I introduce Scott to Jenna, and the rest of the Pink Mafia, and only one thing comes to mind, and it’s a question. A question that Scott up to this point has probably answered about a dozen times already; Why are you wearing so much on your pack?! So, for the 13th through 15th time today, Scott explains to them why he is carrying so much on his pack and the real reason why he has chosen to do so. Everyone finds it touching and while they think he is still crazy, they understand why he is doing it. I explain to Michael that he is a deputy county sheriff and works in the jail. Michael laughs and says “Now it makes sense.”
I give Jenna and Monica an update on how I’m feeling and doing, get some preferential health treatment (One can get that when his girlfriend is a nurse), and Scott and I are back at it taking with him what must have been a very surreal memory of Michael. As we get down the road a ways, I explain to him that Michael is a retired law enforcement officer and also served as a Federal Corrections Officer. Scott laughs, and says “Now it makes sense.” Eerie I say to myself.
The heat is starting to become more of a factor in our fatigue now. Scott is sweating so much it looks like he just jumped into the pool with his clothes on. I’m holding my own, but I can feel that my shirt is drenched to my skin. No matter how much of the Gatorade/Water mix I drink, it doesn’t seem to be helping in cooling me off, quenching my thirst, or keeping me energized. It doesn’t help that we are in the heart of Lakewood at Wadsworth and Quincy during Friday afternoon rush hour traffic either with nothing but black asphalt lots, streets and concrete sidewalks everywhere we walk, but we continue to push forward.
As we start winding around the last neighborhood of the route, I notice that we are getting close to camp. We are about 3 miles away now and are coming up to pit stop 5, the final pit stop of the day. The MP3 player starts playing a song that is a much slower tempo song, ‘I Was Here’ by Lady Antebellum. For a few brief moments it takes us out of our pace, until the phrase kicks in. “I want to do something that’s better, with the time I’ve been given and I want to try to touch a few hearts in this life, to leave nothing else but something that says I was here.” In the mid ninety degree heat with the sun beating down on my arms, I begin to get goose bumps all over my body. That phrase sums up one of the many reasons why I am here. I get my second wind.
As we walk up, we are greeted by two groups of women. The first group is all dressed up in cat apparel holding up a sign that says ‘Kitties for Titties.’ Have I mentioned how much I love women that have a sense of humor? The next group is some walkers who come up behind Scott. They are numbers 20, 21 and 22 in the question of his packing strategy, in which he told them the real reason why he had been carrying the weight for 18 miles now. One of the ladies comes up to him with tears running down her face telling him how touched she was that he was doing that for his Mother.
We arrive at pit stop 5 to see Jenna and some of her medical crew helping out the other members of the pit crew. One of her crew members asks me a question that gives me a headache. She says to me, and I am quoting this “Wow, you’re pretty white. I hope you are wearing a lot of sunscreen? You are right?” I have a response in my head, and the response is ‘Really? I’m white? WOW! Thank you for the revelation that I’m pygmentally challenged! All these years, my parents told me I was born a poor black child, and yet alas just before I turn the age of 40, you give me the gift of exposing their cruel charade by providing me with the truth! Thank you oh goddess of obvious scientific and medical knowledge, thank you!’ SERIOUSLY?! You are a medical professional and this is the question you ask me?! Please tell me which hospital you work for, so that way I know to avoid it in a life and death emergency! What will your first question to me be? Do you know that your blood is red? However, I refrain from going with what is in my head, bite my bottom lip and reassure her that yes, I have 2 cans of 50 SPF in my pack and I’m lubed up and ready for action, which seems to confuse her for a moment, to which I’m convinced she is writing out her own prescriptions for medical marijuana.
We try to leave for the final part of the day’s journey, but Scott has been quarantined for the time being. Due to the amount he is sweating, the medical crew is worried that he may have or develop heat exhaustion. I’m half tempted to ask the medical crew to examine the genius who asked me about my skin care preparation for walking all day in the sun.
After 15 minutes, he’s given the green light to continue and we leave. As I fire the player back up, the song ‘Winning It All’ by the Outfield starts playing. I couldn’t have picked a better selection. ‘Won’t be afraid, got so much pride, and I’ve never been a loser, and I just can’t lose tonight, winning it all!’ That picks up our pace. The end is near.
We turn west onto Bowles Avenue and take the opportunity to walk under some trees that are providing shade. One mile down, and James Brown usher’s in ‘I Feel Good (I Got You)’. Scott and I take this opportunity to dance our best James Brown down the sidewalk to the delight of passing motorists honking their approval. Two miles down. We look to the south, and there it is. A sea of pink and white tents and canopies, camp! We’ve both never been so happy to see a campsite before in our lives! We see the safety rep by his Harley standing tall with his sleeveless orange safety shirt and long pink goatee.
We get up to the intersection we have to cross. He congratulates us for making it and that we have just a half mile to go. We cross Wadsworth to get back over to Bowles. I can see and hear a group of crew members standing at the entrance cheering the walkers as they come into camp. With each step we take, the cheering gets closer, and as we turn back to the south, there they stand. Crew members, medical staff all are cheering us as we enter into our campsite, each one of them giving us a handshake, a hug or a high five for a job well done.
As we cross the official ‘finish line’ I am greeted by my Uncle who I hadn’t seen since early that morning snapping a photo of the accomplishment and giving me a hug afterward. We head up towards the field where a sea of pink tents is set up. I walk down row X to see Jenna, Chris, and the members of the Pink Mafia waiting to greet me. After resting for a little bit and taking the much needed combination of ibuprofen and acetaminophen, (I can’t mention the brand names since they are copyrighted) Jenna and I head to dinner where we enjoy a nice steak with mushroom sauce, roasted potatoes, salad, and a slice of apple pie.
In the middle of dinner, an announcement is made that the final walker is coming in. This is a celebration in the world of the 3 Day because the final walker has the honor of raising the Komen flag at the campsite. Most of the walkers get up from their tables to circle the flagpole and cheer the walker in clapping to the Black Eyed Peas ‘Tonight’s Gonna Be a Good Night’. (I am repulsed by this song for reasons I will not go into in this, but for how many times it is about to be played at this event, it is a bitter pill I must swallow.)
As the walker comes in, they attach the flag and raise it to the top amid a barrage of cheers. We did it. I did it. 21.6 miles and I walked every step of the way. Now it’s time to relax and absorb the events of what happened today and to hopefully create more memories tomorrow when I, Scott, the Pink, Mafia, and the rest of the Pink Warriors take on day 2.
Wednesday, September 1, 2010
The 2010 3 Day Walk for the Cure. Day 1 part 1
Friday August 27th 2010; the first day of the 3 Day.
I hear Jenna tell me that it is 2:40 in the morning in the language we all have at that hour; sleepy English a.k.a. sleepenese. I’m trying to comprehend just how long it has been between this very moment and when I turned off the T.V. It has been 3 hours 10 minutes to be exact. Mental note; my last vision on the tube should not be Saddam Hussein telling Satan how much vegetable oil they went through in bed, especially when you need to get as much sleep as possible in a limited time frame. It tends to make for some confusing dreams. Damn you South Park season 4! (In case you were wondering it was 14 gallons).
As I stumble into the shower, I take a few moments to stand solitary for the water to wake me up, thinking about what I’m about to embark on. It’s been 364 days since I made a commitment to Jenna that I would participate in this event. I remember the exact moment when I made that decision, but I have time to think about that on day 2 when it’s the one year anniversary of my decision, and I have already planned out how I’m going to mark it. Right now I have to focus on getting my mind and body ready for today. Van Halen’s ‘Right Now’ is now stuck in my head, and that seems to be an ally as I’m finally starting to feel more human.
I walk into the bedroom and start to get ready. Body Glide is the first part of the wardrobe. It helps to prevent the chafing and the blisters on your body and feet. I won’t get into details, but go on a power walk and when you are done, think about where you are developing any uncomfortable chafing, and you will soon understand just how important this stuff really is. After buttering myself up, I look at the shirt I have chosen to wear on this first day. It was a gift from Jenna’s Mother Donna from last year’s 3 Day event in Chicago. It’s a bright Pepto Bismol Pink and on the front of the shirt in bright yellow letters spells out today’s affirmation; CANCER SUCKS. It’s the perfect shirt to wear to get me into the mentality of transforming into a Pink Warrior.
After throwing on the necessary clothing, I start putting on my shoes. At the beginning of my training walks, I wouldn’t be able to put in two miles before I would develop very painful shin splints that would debilitate me to have to hobble back home. These shoes have corrected that problem. They are the most expensive pair of athletic shoes I’ve ever owned, but it was worth it. These shoes have been my transportation on every training walk since May of this year. They’ve enabled me to get stronger with each walk I increased my overall mileage on. Not only that, but this was the pair that Donna bought for me. She bought them when she came out for Jenna’s graduation from nursing school. I’ll never forget what she said to me. She said that “You are walking for me and for others and this is an event that means a great deal to me and my family, and for that it’s the least I can do for you.” I thank God once again for blessing Jenna in my life, and now I thank God for Donna’s big heart and warm generosity. It is only fitting that I start this journey in these shoes and hopefully finish the journey in these shoes.
I see my Uncle stumble by my bedroom door doing the sleeper shuffle on his way to wake up as well. It is starting to sound like we have all gotten the same amount of sleep. I take the opportunity to go over the last minute things I need to pack into our duffle bag while Jenna tears through the kitchen multi tasking the last minute details; filling hydration packs with ice, water and Gatorade while cooking eggs and bacon to make breakfast wraps on our way to opening ceremonies, and making sure we have everything packed into our industrial strength tote. I hope we are going to be able to fit all of this into a Kia Rio.
When Jenna gets into this state, I have learned to just stay out of her way. It’s not that I don’t want to be helpful in assisting her in getting things packed, but she considers herself to be a packing queen and when she has a plan of how she wants things done, she keeps it to herself. I have found out the hard way if I try to get involved it only causes problems in the same vein that moving brings people closer together. For now, I’m on a need to know basis; if she needs me, she’ll let me know.
We notice that we are running behind. Jenna has to be at opening by 4:00 AM since she is a medical/crew captain and the clock is reading 3:20 and we haven’t even hit the 24 hour McDonald’s for coffee yet. We would prefer Starbucks but the closest 24 hour Starbucks to us is a hop, skip, jump, walk, jog, run, sprint, drive, and flight from our abode, and it’s almost $3 more than the coffee offered at Mick D’s. It’s a no brainer here.
We haul out all of our gear to the curb and my Uncle begins to strategically put the items in the trunk of a car the size of a roller skate, and he succeeds at it with a little room to spare. We both used to manage space. That’s right. We both MANAGED SPACE! Which is why he drives a roller skate and I drive a car that has tires in the literal sense. They are round and were once made of rubber. That’s how well managing space pays.
We’re loaded up, and now it’s time to hit the road with Jenna continuing to display her mad multi tasking skills by making breakfast wraps in the backseat of a Kia Rio which consist of scrambled eggs, and bacon in a whole wheat wrap; the breakfast of champions. We roll through the McDonalds drive thru to see that a sign has been posted on the display screen that orders cannot be taken at the drive thru menu area and we are instructed to pull around to place our order directly at the window. We are confused by this for two reasons; One, the monitor appears to be working, displaying images in color, and in HD quality nonetheless, and two, if you can still hear our order through the drive thru speaker, why can’t the person inside taking the order listen to what we want and take and process the order to his co-workers that are responsible for making the order, especially when it only consists of a drink order? I look at the clock on the car stereo and it reads 3:37 AM. It’s too early to try to explain logic to the graveyard shift at a McDonalds. Just give us the damn coffee!
At 3:40 our drinks arrive. One large Diet Coke and three medium sugar free vanilla iced coffees which are in fact are LARGES. Jenna checks the receipt and we were charged for mediums on the coffees. I guess there are benefits for other people’s mistakes/incompetence. Perhaps they took pity on us that we had to give our order to them face to face and not through a squawk box. Jenna says the one thing that is on my mind as I begin to sip 48 oz of chilled caffeinated goodness. ‘God bless that McDonalds.’
As we pull into the Colorado Mills parking lot, we are directed through a mini obstacle course to get in line to unload our cargo. As I step out of the car I set the drink carrier on the roof of the roller skate to assist in pulling out our gear out of the trunk. As Jenna grabs her hydro pack she turns to grab the drink carrier off of the roof in which the third iced coffee designated for our caffeine addicted friend Chris, has decided to make a break for it and spring from the carrier and jump to its untimely demise on the black asphalt, and partially on Jenna’s leg. I look at the horror as I sip the last of my coffee. I hope that this isn’t a sign of things to come.
We grab our gear and start transporting it to the gear trailer when we are met by a young crew member who volunteers to take our gear from the point where we are at and transport to trailer X. Jenna gives me a kiss and tells me she needs to go see who out of her crew has arrived at this point, and my Uncle heads back to park the roller skate. I sling my hydro pack over my left shoulder and head towards the area where opening ceremonies are to take place and take a moment to look around and take everything in.
There are two large semi trailers parked on each side of the stage. The first trailer I see has the mission statement of the Susan G. Komen Foundation The statement reads “Everyone Deserves A Lifetime” with a photo of an African American woman smiling with pride and happiness to the right of the statement as she is walking. The trailer to the left of the stage displays the Susan G. Komen 3 Day For The Cure logo with a pink ribbon emblazoned to the right of it and to its left a photo of a young woman wearing a pink bandana on her head with her face beaming a wide smile looking towards the sky carrying a pink boa as she crosses the finish line of her journey.
I decide to delay taking this in for a moment and walk across the parking lot towards the area that are dominated by white canopies. One is designated for late check in walkers, one is a place to purchase merchandise from the 3 Day store. I look for my Uncle and the roller skate to rendezvous with him. I see a vehicle I recognize and notice it is our friend Chris who is pulling into crew the event. Chris is a member of The Hooter Scooters, which is our team name. Chris was originally scheduled to walk this journey with me, but due to the economic climate, our fundraising resources were not enough to meet her minimum and she could not walk. However, she has been able to crew, so the effort was not a loss.
I meet her at her car and we take a few minutes to share the events of the previous night and our morning up to this point. I then have the task of regretfully informing her that her extra grande sugar-free iced coffee decided to commit suicide rather than fulfill its mission which was to provide creamy iced goodness for the sake of alertness. Being the kind hearted person that she is, Chris understands. I can’t say I would have been as understanding that early in the morning.
Jenna finds us and gathers us to meet up with the other crew members on our way over, I see my Uncle making his way across the parking lot with two cameras hanging off of his neck. I meant to start a pool taking guesses at how many pictures he would snap during his time here, but the coffee has yet to enter my bloodstream. We meet up with Michael, Monica, and Barry along with some other members of the Pink Mafia. Michael to this point is dressed up the most to this point sporting the pink hat and earring, but that is tame for him as everyone will discover later on this afternoon.
My Uncle meets the group and asks the group to assemble for some group pictures and then assembles us in front of the large pink sign that says ‘Inspired’. Jenna and I take a snapshot together, and then we have Michael and Monica join us for a group photo. After the photo op, I then break away to take some time to read the illuminated pink balloons with the mission statements. I grab my camera and take pictures of every one. ‘Grow the community-Share the love-Walk with a stranger’. Another one says ‘Cheer A lot-Give each other the hero treatment on the route and in camp. ‘Kindness rocks-Go the extra mile and make someone smile’. The thought that immediately enters my mind after reading these is ‘I wish these balloons were posted everywhere across this country. Perhaps we would be in a better place as a society.’
I then come up to a white canvas tapestry highlighted with pink dots. At the top of the canvas is the word ‘Imagine’. This is where you can write down your goals are for this event. I walk over to a table and take a sharpie and write ‘For my Aunt Beth, and to become a 60 mile man.’ I place this pink dot just below the word Imagine. Now I’m getting focused. I then walk by another table where white strips of paper are sprawled out across the table. It is a flag that they will raise at opening ceremonies to remember the fallen. I write down the names of the fallen who have impacted me. Grandma, Betty, Barb, Janet.
On the stage, the PA system is playing some ambience music, mostly songs to inspire and make a person think of the reasons why they are here. I step up to the guardrail of one of the black and pink Komen inflatables. The guardrail has pink banners hung from it with the “Everyone deserves a lifetime” mission statement. Amy Grant’s ‘I Will Remember You’ is now playing on the PA system. I stretch my arms along the railing, bow my head, close my eyes and I begin to pray.
I thank God for his grace and love that I’m healthy enough to participate in this event. I pray for the health of each and every walker participating in this event and ask that he shines his grace upon all of us on every step of the route of every day, and that each walker may be blessed to reach their goal that they have set for themselves. I pray for courage, strength, and the endurance to fight when exhaustion wants to prevent me from achieving my goals. I also pray that I may meet many people in this event that will make an impact on me in a positive way, that I perhaps can make a new friend or two along the way and that the Pink Mafia may continue to grow in numbers.
“Knowing how you made me laugh. Sweet echoes of you from the past. I will remember you” As I hear Amy Grant sing that verse, I continue my prayer. I pray that the spirits of those we are walking for are walking along with us on our journey. I pray that my Grandmother Betty walks with me. I pray that my Aunts Barb, Betty and Janet are walking with me as well, and that I can carry their spirit along with me. I pray that my Aunt Beth will know that she is on this journey as well and that she knows that I’m doing this for not only her, but for all of them as well as Jenna’s Mother Donna who is a survivor. I walk for the friend’s whose lives were impacted by this disease by losing a member of their family. “I Will Remember You” Amen. I open my eyes and feel a peace within me. I’m ready to start this journey.
Dawn is filling the Mills parking lot and the place is now a sea of pink. I see humanity of every walk of life. A fit guy wearing a Mr. April sash and a pink Mohawk, which prompts me to remember that, I have forgotten one element to complete my pink warrior ensemble. I run over to Jenna and she breaks out the pink dye and dyes my goatee an obnoxious shade of pink, but it’s not obnoxious to these individuals.
People are beginning to stretch out their bodies and are getting ready for the start of the journey, and taking a cue from them, I begin to do the same. After warming up, I then file into the holding area in front of the stage for the beginning of the opening ceremonies. I am starting to feel a little like a stranger in a strange land once again. There are many people here who are assembled teams, and I am a solo walker, because all of my teammates are part of a crew.
I take a look to my left and see a group of six women. They are all wearing pink chiffon skirts with teal tank tops. Some are wearing bandanas while others are wearing little pink cowboy hats. Each one of them is wearing a sheriffs badge on their tank top next to their team name which is ‘Titty Titty Bang Bang’ I take advantage of the photo op. I love women that have a sense of humor.
Then, a booming voice fills the PA system that announces the national spokesperson for Susan G. Komen 3 Day Walk for the Cure, Jean Fromme to the stage. She gives the Denver crowd an enthusiastic good morning and then begins to motivate us with some stretching exercises to, quote Hans and Franz, ‘Pump us up!’ Then she begins to speak to the crowd and remind us all why we are there. As we listen, I begin to see people carrying flags file onto the stage, down the center walkway and around the holding area.
The flags are numerous, and they all have one word on each of them. ‘Birthdays’ ‘Anniversaries’ ‘Dreams’ ‘Discoveries’ ‘Generations’ etc. These are the reasons WHY we are walking. Then another group of ladies walks onto the stage this time carrying pink flags. They all walk down the center walkway towards the center of the ceremonies to a white platform with a flagpole which is called ‘The Survivor Ring’. Once again, each flag has one word on it. ‘Father’ ‘Mother’ ‘Daughter’ ‘Aunt’ ‘Sister’ etc. This is WHO we are walking for.
As the survivors make their way onto the stage, they place the flags in the holders around the ring and then turn towards the flagpole and surround it. The spokesperson then asks us to think of who and why we are walking and as the flag of white paper strips with all of the names of the fallen on them fly in the cool mountain breeze, we all say the name of why we are there. I say Beth’s name even though she is a survivor. I would have said the names of those I had written on the paper, but they were too numerous.
As Jean makes her closing remarks, the survivors all turn towards the huddled pink masses and raise their arms in victory to show that this weekend will be one of victory, of triumph, of awareness, and of hope. We then get the green light to make our way out of the holding area and begin our walk. I follow to the left of the stage and as we walk in single file, I look up to notice the flags of why we are walking are the gateway to our journey. Every member of all of the crews; medical, safety, etc is lined up. Every one of them cheering us on, wishing us good luck, and giving us all high fives and pats on the backs or shoulders. As I make my way down the line, I see Jenna with her pink Energizer bunny ears on her head. She gives me a big kiss and tells me ‘Good luck baby! I love you!’ We turn east and walk through the gate where a crew member scans our credential badges. The journey has begun.
I hear Jenna tell me that it is 2:40 in the morning in the language we all have at that hour; sleepy English a.k.a. sleepenese. I’m trying to comprehend just how long it has been between this very moment and when I turned off the T.V. It has been 3 hours 10 minutes to be exact. Mental note; my last vision on the tube should not be Saddam Hussein telling Satan how much vegetable oil they went through in bed, especially when you need to get as much sleep as possible in a limited time frame. It tends to make for some confusing dreams. Damn you South Park season 4! (In case you were wondering it was 14 gallons).
As I stumble into the shower, I take a few moments to stand solitary for the water to wake me up, thinking about what I’m about to embark on. It’s been 364 days since I made a commitment to Jenna that I would participate in this event. I remember the exact moment when I made that decision, but I have time to think about that on day 2 when it’s the one year anniversary of my decision, and I have already planned out how I’m going to mark it. Right now I have to focus on getting my mind and body ready for today. Van Halen’s ‘Right Now’ is now stuck in my head, and that seems to be an ally as I’m finally starting to feel more human.
I walk into the bedroom and start to get ready. Body Glide is the first part of the wardrobe. It helps to prevent the chafing and the blisters on your body and feet. I won’t get into details, but go on a power walk and when you are done, think about where you are developing any uncomfortable chafing, and you will soon understand just how important this stuff really is. After buttering myself up, I look at the shirt I have chosen to wear on this first day. It was a gift from Jenna’s Mother Donna from last year’s 3 Day event in Chicago. It’s a bright Pepto Bismol Pink and on the front of the shirt in bright yellow letters spells out today’s affirmation; CANCER SUCKS. It’s the perfect shirt to wear to get me into the mentality of transforming into a Pink Warrior.
After throwing on the necessary clothing, I start putting on my shoes. At the beginning of my training walks, I wouldn’t be able to put in two miles before I would develop very painful shin splints that would debilitate me to have to hobble back home. These shoes have corrected that problem. They are the most expensive pair of athletic shoes I’ve ever owned, but it was worth it. These shoes have been my transportation on every training walk since May of this year. They’ve enabled me to get stronger with each walk I increased my overall mileage on. Not only that, but this was the pair that Donna bought for me. She bought them when she came out for Jenna’s graduation from nursing school. I’ll never forget what she said to me. She said that “You are walking for me and for others and this is an event that means a great deal to me and my family, and for that it’s the least I can do for you.” I thank God once again for blessing Jenna in my life, and now I thank God for Donna’s big heart and warm generosity. It is only fitting that I start this journey in these shoes and hopefully finish the journey in these shoes.
I see my Uncle stumble by my bedroom door doing the sleeper shuffle on his way to wake up as well. It is starting to sound like we have all gotten the same amount of sleep. I take the opportunity to go over the last minute things I need to pack into our duffle bag while Jenna tears through the kitchen multi tasking the last minute details; filling hydration packs with ice, water and Gatorade while cooking eggs and bacon to make breakfast wraps on our way to opening ceremonies, and making sure we have everything packed into our industrial strength tote. I hope we are going to be able to fit all of this into a Kia Rio.
When Jenna gets into this state, I have learned to just stay out of her way. It’s not that I don’t want to be helpful in assisting her in getting things packed, but she considers herself to be a packing queen and when she has a plan of how she wants things done, she keeps it to herself. I have found out the hard way if I try to get involved it only causes problems in the same vein that moving brings people closer together. For now, I’m on a need to know basis; if she needs me, she’ll let me know.
We notice that we are running behind. Jenna has to be at opening by 4:00 AM since she is a medical/crew captain and the clock is reading 3:20 and we haven’t even hit the 24 hour McDonald’s for coffee yet. We would prefer Starbucks but the closest 24 hour Starbucks to us is a hop, skip, jump, walk, jog, run, sprint, drive, and flight from our abode, and it’s almost $3 more than the coffee offered at Mick D’s. It’s a no brainer here.
We haul out all of our gear to the curb and my Uncle begins to strategically put the items in the trunk of a car the size of a roller skate, and he succeeds at it with a little room to spare. We both used to manage space. That’s right. We both MANAGED SPACE! Which is why he drives a roller skate and I drive a car that has tires in the literal sense. They are round and were once made of rubber. That’s how well managing space pays.
We’re loaded up, and now it’s time to hit the road with Jenna continuing to display her mad multi tasking skills by making breakfast wraps in the backseat of a Kia Rio which consist of scrambled eggs, and bacon in a whole wheat wrap; the breakfast of champions. We roll through the McDonalds drive thru to see that a sign has been posted on the display screen that orders cannot be taken at the drive thru menu area and we are instructed to pull around to place our order directly at the window. We are confused by this for two reasons; One, the monitor appears to be working, displaying images in color, and in HD quality nonetheless, and two, if you can still hear our order through the drive thru speaker, why can’t the person inside taking the order listen to what we want and take and process the order to his co-workers that are responsible for making the order, especially when it only consists of a drink order? I look at the clock on the car stereo and it reads 3:37 AM. It’s too early to try to explain logic to the graveyard shift at a McDonalds. Just give us the damn coffee!
At 3:40 our drinks arrive. One large Diet Coke and three medium sugar free vanilla iced coffees which are in fact are LARGES. Jenna checks the receipt and we were charged for mediums on the coffees. I guess there are benefits for other people’s mistakes/incompetence. Perhaps they took pity on us that we had to give our order to them face to face and not through a squawk box. Jenna says the one thing that is on my mind as I begin to sip 48 oz of chilled caffeinated goodness. ‘God bless that McDonalds.’
As we pull into the Colorado Mills parking lot, we are directed through a mini obstacle course to get in line to unload our cargo. As I step out of the car I set the drink carrier on the roof of the roller skate to assist in pulling out our gear out of the trunk. As Jenna grabs her hydro pack she turns to grab the drink carrier off of the roof in which the third iced coffee designated for our caffeine addicted friend Chris, has decided to make a break for it and spring from the carrier and jump to its untimely demise on the black asphalt, and partially on Jenna’s leg. I look at the horror as I sip the last of my coffee. I hope that this isn’t a sign of things to come.
We grab our gear and start transporting it to the gear trailer when we are met by a young crew member who volunteers to take our gear from the point where we are at and transport to trailer X. Jenna gives me a kiss and tells me she needs to go see who out of her crew has arrived at this point, and my Uncle heads back to park the roller skate. I sling my hydro pack over my left shoulder and head towards the area where opening ceremonies are to take place and take a moment to look around and take everything in.
There are two large semi trailers parked on each side of the stage. The first trailer I see has the mission statement of the Susan G. Komen Foundation The statement reads “Everyone Deserves A Lifetime” with a photo of an African American woman smiling with pride and happiness to the right of the statement as she is walking. The trailer to the left of the stage displays the Susan G. Komen 3 Day For The Cure logo with a pink ribbon emblazoned to the right of it and to its left a photo of a young woman wearing a pink bandana on her head with her face beaming a wide smile looking towards the sky carrying a pink boa as she crosses the finish line of her journey.
I decide to delay taking this in for a moment and walk across the parking lot towards the area that are dominated by white canopies. One is designated for late check in walkers, one is a place to purchase merchandise from the 3 Day store. I look for my Uncle and the roller skate to rendezvous with him. I see a vehicle I recognize and notice it is our friend Chris who is pulling into crew the event. Chris is a member of The Hooter Scooters, which is our team name. Chris was originally scheduled to walk this journey with me, but due to the economic climate, our fundraising resources were not enough to meet her minimum and she could not walk. However, she has been able to crew, so the effort was not a loss.
I meet her at her car and we take a few minutes to share the events of the previous night and our morning up to this point. I then have the task of regretfully informing her that her extra grande sugar-free iced coffee decided to commit suicide rather than fulfill its mission which was to provide creamy iced goodness for the sake of alertness. Being the kind hearted person that she is, Chris understands. I can’t say I would have been as understanding that early in the morning.
Jenna finds us and gathers us to meet up with the other crew members on our way over, I see my Uncle making his way across the parking lot with two cameras hanging off of his neck. I meant to start a pool taking guesses at how many pictures he would snap during his time here, but the coffee has yet to enter my bloodstream. We meet up with Michael, Monica, and Barry along with some other members of the Pink Mafia. Michael to this point is dressed up the most to this point sporting the pink hat and earring, but that is tame for him as everyone will discover later on this afternoon.
My Uncle meets the group and asks the group to assemble for some group pictures and then assembles us in front of the large pink sign that says ‘Inspired’. Jenna and I take a snapshot together, and then we have Michael and Monica join us for a group photo. After the photo op, I then break away to take some time to read the illuminated pink balloons with the mission statements. I grab my camera and take pictures of every one. ‘Grow the community-Share the love-Walk with a stranger’. Another one says ‘Cheer A lot-Give each other the hero treatment on the route and in camp. ‘Kindness rocks-Go the extra mile and make someone smile’. The thought that immediately enters my mind after reading these is ‘I wish these balloons were posted everywhere across this country. Perhaps we would be in a better place as a society.’
I then come up to a white canvas tapestry highlighted with pink dots. At the top of the canvas is the word ‘Imagine’. This is where you can write down your goals are for this event. I walk over to a table and take a sharpie and write ‘For my Aunt Beth, and to become a 60 mile man.’ I place this pink dot just below the word Imagine. Now I’m getting focused. I then walk by another table where white strips of paper are sprawled out across the table. It is a flag that they will raise at opening ceremonies to remember the fallen. I write down the names of the fallen who have impacted me. Grandma, Betty, Barb, Janet.
On the stage, the PA system is playing some ambience music, mostly songs to inspire and make a person think of the reasons why they are here. I step up to the guardrail of one of the black and pink Komen inflatables. The guardrail has pink banners hung from it with the “Everyone deserves a lifetime” mission statement. Amy Grant’s ‘I Will Remember You’ is now playing on the PA system. I stretch my arms along the railing, bow my head, close my eyes and I begin to pray.
I thank God for his grace and love that I’m healthy enough to participate in this event. I pray for the health of each and every walker participating in this event and ask that he shines his grace upon all of us on every step of the route of every day, and that each walker may be blessed to reach their goal that they have set for themselves. I pray for courage, strength, and the endurance to fight when exhaustion wants to prevent me from achieving my goals. I also pray that I may meet many people in this event that will make an impact on me in a positive way, that I perhaps can make a new friend or two along the way and that the Pink Mafia may continue to grow in numbers.
“Knowing how you made me laugh. Sweet echoes of you from the past. I will remember you” As I hear Amy Grant sing that verse, I continue my prayer. I pray that the spirits of those we are walking for are walking along with us on our journey. I pray that my Grandmother Betty walks with me. I pray that my Aunts Barb, Betty and Janet are walking with me as well, and that I can carry their spirit along with me. I pray that my Aunt Beth will know that she is on this journey as well and that she knows that I’m doing this for not only her, but for all of them as well as Jenna’s Mother Donna who is a survivor. I walk for the friend’s whose lives were impacted by this disease by losing a member of their family. “I Will Remember You” Amen. I open my eyes and feel a peace within me. I’m ready to start this journey.
Dawn is filling the Mills parking lot and the place is now a sea of pink. I see humanity of every walk of life. A fit guy wearing a Mr. April sash and a pink Mohawk, which prompts me to remember that, I have forgotten one element to complete my pink warrior ensemble. I run over to Jenna and she breaks out the pink dye and dyes my goatee an obnoxious shade of pink, but it’s not obnoxious to these individuals.
People are beginning to stretch out their bodies and are getting ready for the start of the journey, and taking a cue from them, I begin to do the same. After warming up, I then file into the holding area in front of the stage for the beginning of the opening ceremonies. I am starting to feel a little like a stranger in a strange land once again. There are many people here who are assembled teams, and I am a solo walker, because all of my teammates are part of a crew.
I take a look to my left and see a group of six women. They are all wearing pink chiffon skirts with teal tank tops. Some are wearing bandanas while others are wearing little pink cowboy hats. Each one of them is wearing a sheriffs badge on their tank top next to their team name which is ‘Titty Titty Bang Bang’ I take advantage of the photo op. I love women that have a sense of humor.
Then, a booming voice fills the PA system that announces the national spokesperson for Susan G. Komen 3 Day Walk for the Cure, Jean Fromme to the stage. She gives the Denver crowd an enthusiastic good morning and then begins to motivate us with some stretching exercises to, quote Hans and Franz, ‘Pump us up!’ Then she begins to speak to the crowd and remind us all why we are there. As we listen, I begin to see people carrying flags file onto the stage, down the center walkway and around the holding area.
The flags are numerous, and they all have one word on each of them. ‘Birthdays’ ‘Anniversaries’ ‘Dreams’ ‘Discoveries’ ‘Generations’ etc. These are the reasons WHY we are walking. Then another group of ladies walks onto the stage this time carrying pink flags. They all walk down the center walkway towards the center of the ceremonies to a white platform with a flagpole which is called ‘The Survivor Ring’. Once again, each flag has one word on it. ‘Father’ ‘Mother’ ‘Daughter’ ‘Aunt’ ‘Sister’ etc. This is WHO we are walking for.
As the survivors make their way onto the stage, they place the flags in the holders around the ring and then turn towards the flagpole and surround it. The spokesperson then asks us to think of who and why we are walking and as the flag of white paper strips with all of the names of the fallen on them fly in the cool mountain breeze, we all say the name of why we are there. I say Beth’s name even though she is a survivor. I would have said the names of those I had written on the paper, but they were too numerous.
As Jean makes her closing remarks, the survivors all turn towards the huddled pink masses and raise their arms in victory to show that this weekend will be one of victory, of triumph, of awareness, and of hope. We then get the green light to make our way out of the holding area and begin our walk. I follow to the left of the stage and as we walk in single file, I look up to notice the flags of why we are walking are the gateway to our journey. Every member of all of the crews; medical, safety, etc is lined up. Every one of them cheering us on, wishing us good luck, and giving us all high fives and pats on the backs or shoulders. As I make my way down the line, I see Jenna with her pink Energizer bunny ears on her head. She gives me a big kiss and tells me ‘Good luck baby! I love you!’ We turn east and walk through the gate where a crew member scans our credential badges. The journey has begun.
Tuesday, August 31, 2010
The 2010 3 Day Walk for the Cure. THE INTRODUCTION!
Thursday August 26th 5:30 PM, the day before the 3 Day.
I just woke up from a 20 minute power nap. I swore to myself that I would not take any power naps today since I intentionally kept myself up late the night before so that I would be tired enough to go right to sleep tonight since Jenna and I have to be up by 3 AM the next morning to get ready. Technically I don’t have to be at the event until 5:30 AM, but because she’s a medical captain, she has to be there at 4 AM, and I’m willing to go early if it prevents having to drive and store my vehicle at $50 per day. So much for non-profit eh? Regardless, I hope that my taking a power nap is not a trend of failed promises to lead me into this weekend.
I take a quick refresher shower to snap me out of the brief sleep state I’m in. It gives me a chance to think about the upcoming dinner appointment with Jenna and her 3 Day family. I have already met two members of this family at last year’s 3 Day event, Michael and Monica. Michael is about six foot six, bald, glasses and sporting a grey goatee. He’s a retired federal correctional officer. His wife Monica is probably a foot shorter than her other half, and bald as well. That should say it all about the prowess and attitude that she has which makes her about six eight.
These people are both pretty protective of Jenna. However, I passed her Mother’s test, so I am on the right track. Besides Jenna has informed Michael the reason why I have shaved my head for this event and from what she has relayed back to me, my reasons have seemed to have earned their respect. That’s one of the things that this event represents to me. Respect. Respect for the survivors, those who have fallen, and those like Jenna, Monica and Michael who have travelled across the miles to walk or crew events totaling in the double digits.
There’s one thing I have yet to do to complete on my list before I’m ready for the 3 Day event however. It’s the final playlist for my Day 3 MP3 player. Days 1 and 2 have been completed but the third day has been a bit of a quandary. This is a big deal to me. I can’t foresee the condition my body will be in by then. Will I be in decent shape or will I have to start the day being dropped off to the first pit stop to get clearance to walk due to blisters, cramps, shin splints, etc?
Motivation is key here, and music has always provided that for me in life. Those who know me on a deep and personal level know this about me. It may not seem important to most, but I am not like most. The songs I take with me on this journey are going to provide the soundtrack to my memories. Songs like Sly and the Family Stone’s ‘Everyday People’, Eminem’s ‘Lose Yourself’ or something simple like Manfred Mann’s ‘Do Wah Diddy’ could provide a memory that will stick with me for the rest of my life, and not just me, but perhaps other walkers when I walk in front, alongside or behind them while the music blasts out of my $20 portable speaker setup to help keep pace. Those first or last few miles could help provide that extra spark they need to keep going. I may be overdramatizing it a bit, but for me, it is vital that I get this right for my journey!
Time is short however. It’s 6:05 P.M. and I need to leave by 6:30 to head to the Colorado Mills Mall to rendezvous with Jenna and the Pink Mafia. Luckily my ears have been paying close attention during my training walks to determine what has worked and what hasn’t to give me the chill down my spine to give me the goose bumps on my arms or allow my musical soul to shout a guttural ‘YEAH!’ to give the order to my adrenal glands to stand at attention and give the marching orders to tell my legs to keep moving on. ‘Movin’ On’. Bad Company does that. That’s a good one! I need to throw that one in the mix.
As I hurry to scroll through the organized mess that is my digital library, I find the last few gems to add to the mix to give me the right amount of balance, variety and time to make it through day 3. Just in time too! I look up at the clock to my left and see that it’s right at 6:30, at which time my phone alerts me to a text message. Jenna has informed me that they have finished up with their crew meeting. Perfect timing! I grab the necessities; wallet, keys, spectacles testicles The Beatles ‘Abbey Road’ and the requested 6 pack of the specially crafted ‘Pink Ribbon’ ale made especially for this event, a raspberry wheat ale, and head out the door.
As I pull out of the parking lot, Jenna calls and gives me the specific area that they are parked at Colorado Mills. Thankfully I’m making good time. Rush hour traffic seems to have thinned out and the delays are miniscule. ‘Come Together’ is playing on the radio. This to me is symbolic. The perfect song to put me in the right frame of mind for this dinner. Thank you John Lennon.
As I get on to Sixth Avenue, ‘Something’ is the next track to play. It gets me thinking how I got involved with this cause. It was because of Jenna. She explained to me when we first started dating why it was so important to her and why it was one of her deepest passions in life. It really touched me and moved me how much it meant to her. That memory is helping me to remember why I have made a commitment to do this. “Something in her smile she shows. That I don’t need no other lover.” Thank you George Harrison.
As I pull into the Colorado Mills Mall parking lot, I see Jenna’s vehicle, and the members of the pink mafia. Jenna decked out in her bright red ‘Medical Shirt’, and Michael and Monica dressed in the aqua ‘Crew member’ shirts. Michael is sporting a pink ribbon earring, a blue and white ‘Mr. August 2010’ sash and a pink farmers hat with white feather trim on his head. It has the signatures of names of walkers and crew he has met in all of the 3 day events he has participated in. I cannot find a space big enough to add a signature. That’s how many events he has done. This man has a big head, and a big heart. Monica has her sunglasses on top of her bald head which looks like a Velcro patch at this point, and boldly points that out to Michael and how much that bothers her, as she gets out of the car. She’s bold, she’s spunky, and she doesn’t take crap from anyone. She may be small but has a big heart as well, and I admire that.
As I greet everyone, I am introduced to Barry. Barry is another long term member of the Pink Mafia and he’s here to crew this event. He’s a seasoned pro and boldly shows his allegiance to the cause by displaying his pink cowboy hat with buttons such as ‘Cancer Sucks’ and ‘F*ck Cancer’ and pink highlights in his pepper colored beard. This man speaks my language and my attitude. All I know is that I’m looking forward to getting to know these people over the course of the next 3 days.
Jenna piles the Mafioso in her car and Barry rides along with me. He asks me if I’m looking forward to the event, and I tell him I am, and I’m ready. He then asks me if this is my first walk which I tell him that it is. I am then treated to being a student in ‘Hydration 101’ and Barry is my professor. I start to wonder if Barry realizes that Jenna is my girlfriend of close to 19 months and that she is a nurse and has taught me the ropes of how to properly prepare walking in the 3 Day, but I allow him to teach. As I mentioned earlier, he is a seasoned pro and any knowledge for the veterans is welcomed.
After taking a scenic route, we arrive at El Sol for dinner. Jenna and I discussed about where to go to dinner a few days prior to this and we both decided to treat the family to some authentic Colorado Mexican cuisine since a majority of the family assembled is stationed in the Midwest, and having lived there for 5 years myself, the Mexican food does not compare to what we have in the West, and we want to give a good impression of Colorado. I guess there is a benefit to illegal immigration, but I will digress from that topic.
As we sit down at our table, I’m introduced to Dawn who is from San Diego. A perky little blonde and a Mother of 3, she is sitting next to Jake who has actually planned the route for the event, and could easily be Michael’s twin brother bald head, earrings and all. I start to wonder if I should jump into the conversation because I’m starting to feel a little like a stranger in a strange land, especially since Jenna has now remembered that she has forgotten something back at the Mills and has left to go and retrieve it. There’s some good news.
However, it works to my benefit. While I may not know exactly what they are talking about directly, they are talking about the Chicago 3 Day they were all involved with including Jenna which she has informed me on. I look at this as an opportunity, so I stay quiet and reserved and observe and listen. Barry taught me that. The observe and listen part that is, and that’s what I do. I pour my Corona in a glass, give it a splash of lime and start paying attention to the conversations to pick up on the character of these people.
The Corona is going down way too smooth, and before I know it, I have consumed it to its last drop. I debate ordering another one because I have been in training after all. Then I look down at the tank attached to my mid section and stop kidding myself that I’m a dedicated athlete in training and order another one. Monica looks over at the two empty bottles, gives me a wink and says “That’s it Shaun, have a few beers before you walk 20 miles tomorrow!” It makes me laugh, because I know it is coming from a place of caring and concern and from a seasoned veteran. I let Monica know that I’m okay and that after living in Colorado for 33 years, that I’ve picked up on some tricks of the trade.
Jenna arrives in time for the food to arrive and we all enjoy a delicious meal. I decide to carb load on the burrito platter smothered in green chile, giving little to no thought or regard to the havoc it could do to my digestive system while I’m walking tomorrow morning. They say that it’s not a race, but they never said that it wasn’t a race to the front of the line to the port-o-pottie in an emergency situation, and that constitutes as an emergency in my book!
After dinner has been consumed, we get the thumbs up of approval of a job well done on the choice of venue for dinner from the Pink Mafia. That’s huge to me and Jenna since Michael and Monica own a catering business in Chicago and Monica is about to throw down her chef expertise on a show on Food Network in mere months.
As the gang files out, I acquire a new passenger to my vehicle in Jake along with Barry in escorting them back to their hotel. Barry lets Jake know that I’m Jenna’s boyfriend and that this is my first walk, and I’m once again a student of Hydration 101 and Jake is now the professor. As I said earlier, wisdom from the veterans is always welcomed, and there are no egos to display when it comes to doing this event.
We arrive at the Courtyard Marriot and I drop off Barry and Jake and say my good nights to the Pink Mafia with handshakes and hugs all around and words of ‘Good Luck tomorrow’ and ‘Enjoy it’ to encourage me. I give Jenna a kiss and tell her I will see her at home. I call my Uncle who has selflessly offered to be our transport at 3:30 AM to head on down to my place so he can crash on the couch. It’s 8:40 PM and I still have one more stop I need to make before I can head home. I start doing the math and realize that by the time I fall asleep, I could be looking at only getting 3 hours of sleep before the start of the journey. I guess taking that power nap wasn’t such a bad idea after all.
After finding another pair of athletic shorts at the Evil Empire known as Wally World, I roll down the window, turn up ‘Abbey Road’ and motor on home. ‘The Big One’ Medley is playing and it has come to the part of ‘Carry That Weight’. I’m starting to pat myself on the back of my choice of music for this night. Lots of symbolism and inspiration I’m picking up. I start to focus on the reason why I’m committing myself to this journey.
It’s for my Grandmother Betty. It’s for Aunts Barb, Betty and Janet, and while they were not taken by breast cancer directly, it was a form of cancer nonetheless. It’s for Jenna’s Mother Donna who is a breast cancer survivor and is still going strong, and it’s for my Aunt Beth who is still fighting her fight and is winning valiantly. This is what I need to take with me tomorrow morning. As I pull into my parking space, and turn off the car, the stereo plays the final verse of ‘The End’. “And in the end, the love you take is equal to the love you make.” Thank you Paul McCartney.
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