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.
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