But The View From The Top Is Worth It...

Dear Friends,
The climb is in the books. As always it was hard and hot and painful and "why the hell do I sign up for this again every year???" But the view from the top...

(You can click on any picture to see a larger version of it, and you can leave comments if you wish by clicking the "comments" link at the bottom of the page).

Fastest male: 11:37 (age 40!)

Fastest female: 17:34

Me: 27:28 (and glad to finish...)

Before we started, there were general announcements and the Leukemia and Lymphoma Society introduced this year's honoree, Mason. He was such a typical 4-year-old; shy and a little grumpy (I can't imagine why, with 1,400 people looking at him at once...).

But one department had had a helmet made for him--a real firefighting helmet with red and white flame stripes on the sides, and a blue field on the front with stars--it was super-cool, and Mason was beside himself to get it. His parents talked a bit about their experience--Mason was diagnosed a year ago, and during last year's climb, he was doing his first treatments. His treatment will last 3 1/2 years, so he'll be done in May of 2010 (!)--he's currently four. His particular illness now has a survival rate of 90%, thanks in large part to research funded by the Leukemia and Lymphoma Society.

As I was in line for roll call for my battalion, a dad came by with his daughter in his arms, and she was giving out pictures of herself. Her name is Morgan Hylton, and if I had to guess, I'd say she's about 2 1/2 to 3. She was diagnosed with acute lymphoblastic leukemia on October 6, 2006. I gladly added her picture to my helmet. If you'd like to meet her or read about her, you can go to Care Pages and register, then go to member page "WeLoveMorgan". There are some terrific photos of her there.

So why am I telling you all this? This year, the stairclimb has been a lot more meaningful and emotional for me personally. I guess it's the events of the past year, Megan's challenges, the overwhelming support in

fundraising that I and the whole department have seen, and so on. I revised my personal fundraising goal from $1,000 to $1,500 two days before the event, and everyone stepped up, putting me well over the top before Sunday's event. BIFD has raised over $13,000 this year!

But meeting these little guys, hearing about my aunt's best friend who has lived with leukemia for nine years--these experiences put a real face on things that many of us (myself included) can't relate to or understand in any meaningful way. Having a 3 and 5 year old of my own makes it really clear that these kids are normal kids, just like any others, except that they're facing down a disease that no one should have to experience.

The stairclimb itself is a metaphor for what these patients go through. When you head into the tower, there are lots of people cheering you on, and about every ten floors there are more people to pour water down your back and shout words of encouragement. And the top is obviously amazing. But it is really hard to describe how tough those ten floors in between are--there is no one but you and your own thoughts to carry you through, and each step, each flight is another choice to push on or quit. I'm sure long-distance athletes understand this on a much deeper level than I do, but nonetheless. I always wonder how these people, these families, find the strength to press on another day towards an uncertain destination. But I do know that from the outside, every little effort, every step climbed, every dollar raised, every word of encouragement, makes a difference in some small way. I thank you all again for helping us make the event a huge success once again this year. So until next year...I guess I need to train harder if I'm to beat the 11:37 time... :)

Here's a shot just before entering the tower--I learned last year to keep all my gear open/unzipped as long as possible, to save the heat buildup until the very last second.

This one is from the 40th floor right after my bottle change (we enter on floor 4). 36 down, 33 to go. I can't believe I managed a smile... Our only exposed skin is our neck and ears, so evaporative cooling is non-existent.

And this one is from the top, floor 73!!! It's not a great picture, but you get the idea. You can see the port of Seattle to my left, and the Seahawks' stadium to my right. Is that a dry spot on my right sleeve?

This is a bit better closeup with helmet.

When I got home, I found this sign stuck in a pan of fresh Ghirardelli brownies that Kathryn and the kids had made (Ronan wrote, "GOOD JOB STAIRCLIMB" with a skyscraper and sun). I admit welling up a little tear or two...the exhaustion, the physical and emotional release, the sense of accomplishment, the juxtaposition of lives.

Ronan and I spent the afternoon making PVC hockey goals, and then having a cutthroat Stanley Cup playoff game in the street (Maple Leafs-Ronan vs. Avalanche-me) .

No day but today.