Alaska: Day 24: 7-29-93: The Poem

Today was the third day in a row in which the racers had to push themselves double marathon distance (50-55 miles), but you couldn't tell by looking at them -- their endurance is unbelievable. It was a close finish today, but when the smoke cleared, there was a new leg winner . . . Michel! I couldn't believe it! I was truly happy for him -- he deserved a bib. Tony was second, and Andre had to be content with third place for the second day in a row (Not that he had anything to really worry about, as once again, the 3 wheelchairs all came in within split-seconds of each other -- Andre's accumulated time still had him squarely in first place).

After the race, I lazed around a bit, swinging on the Wasilla Community Center Swings and soaking up some glorious ( and uncharacteristically hot) Alaskan sunshine. I also spent an hour in the community center's library, perusing the latest edition of The Guiness Book Of World Records. Imagine my surprise when Wayne Phillips came over and showed me his name among the sports' records. In 1987, before his stroke, Wayne traveled by bicycle from Vancouver to Halifax in an incredible 14 days. When you take Wayne's record, toss in Kem's accomplishments and add the Olympiads to the mix (Michel, Ken, Jeff, Tony and Andre all competed in the 1992 Barcelona Paralympics, the latter -- as I previously mentioned -- taking home gold), the high-caliber, world-class athleticism of the "competitive racers" becomes strikingly clear. But the best thing about this marathon is that many of the racers aren't even here to compete/win -- they just want to successfully complete it as a personal challenge . . . and have a little fun along the way (Bob and Steve, affectionately nicknamed "The Plodders" for their habitual last place finishes, actually stop along the route to take pictures!). It's this type of eclectic mix (among volunteers, as well) which makes this experience so amazing and enjoyable.

Dinner tonight consisted of moose steak (a little too stringy and dry for me) and halibut. After dessert, it was time for the highly anticipated, but entirely unrehearsed, talent show. At first, I thought I would get together with about a dozen other volunteers (The YSI guys) to do a spoof of the race. But about an hour before the show, I had a sudden inspiration, and I hashed out a poem which encapsulated my thoughts and emotions of the past week. I entitled my poem, "The Wheel," and I thought it was pretty good, yet I was a little nervous at the idea of reading it in front of everyone. But then I realized that, good or not, well delivered or not, my poem HAD to be shared. I really needed to release my emotions, to unleash my metrical catharsis before the very group that inspired the feelings -- before this motley crew of strangers who had become a community of friends inside 9 days time.

But first I had to wait a while, because I wasn't due to go on til the latter part of the evening. So I sat back and watched the Talent Show unfold. I can honestly say that it was one of the best amateur productions I've ever seen. I mean everyone was good, most displaying true talents. The comedy sketches were hilarious, spoofing everything from the camera crew to the racer's idiosyncrasies to Jeff's nubs (he played a three-legged dog with a bladder problem to uproarious effect -- I'm still shocked he did it!). Huggy (one of The Eilson boys) sang a moving rendition of Pearl Jam's "Black," Jim juggled flaming tennis balls, and even Don got into the act, playing guitar and singing an amusing ditty called "Boogers." But by far, I think the image which will remain most indelibly emblazoned in my mind is the pair of pasty full moons chucked by the film production crew members, Trent and Jeff.

As fate would have it, it was my turn to go next. Once again, I was starting to question whether my poetic recital was such a good idea -- virtually every other performance was comedic, and I wasn't sure whether the audience would be able to switch gears so abruptly and radically (I mean, from butt cheeks to verse?!) But there was nothing for it, so I walked to the microphone in front of the stage, and I read the following poem:


"The Wheel"

60 strangers, world's apart, that Fate has intertwined;
Volunteers and instant peers, their minds and hearts aligned.
A human web, crisscrossed threads, supportive strands of steel;
Thus connect and erect, the spokes inside The Wheel.

13 racers, athletes, all challenging themselves;
Pushing hard, and harder still, so deeply do they delve.
Strength, endurance, courage, zeal -- authenticate the racer's seal;
Amalgamate and circulate, the hub within The Wheel.

Grueling wheelchair marathon, "Land of the Midnight Sun";
Rolling hills, dampening chills, flat tires, cramps (and fun).
Hundreds of miles behind us, a million more to steal;
A lifetime of pavement and potholes, the road beneath The Wheel.


Maybe I just read it well with well-timed pauses and dramatic flourishes, or maybe the poem was good in its own right (maybe both), but either way my words seemed to touch upon -- to give voice to -- what everyone was feeling, because it had the desired effect: the audience of my peers was stone silent during the recital, and many eyes (including my own) were brimming with tears before it ended. I can honestly say that I've never felt more intimate with a large group of people in my whole life. For a brief instant, I felt like . . . I don't know . . . like I was inside these people -- it's corny, I guess, but it's like we were momentarily all of one mind.

Then it was suddenly over. The poem ended, the crowd applauded and the spell was broken.

What happened next is a bit blurry, but I remember pats on the back, thumbs up, high fives and wet eyes. Everyone wanted a copy. Joe's wife said she wanted to get it published, and Kem wanted it in his movie. The judges even awarded me "The Sensitive Guy" award, a bouquet of wild flowers. As gratifying as all the praise was, none of it was as important to me as the fact that I had touched them, reached them, connected with them -- the personal feelings expressed in my words had somehow summarized the collective consciousness.

After the show, Chase taught Valerie and I how to play "Go" (the game that Scott is really into), and then we all went to bed.