Page 40 of Free to Live
Even as we edge closer to the start line where all of the CPD and CFD racers are beginning to gather, I ask, “So, on average, how many of you pass out because your egos get in the way of common sense?” At Joe’s blank look, I gesture to the full fireman’s gear he’s wearing. “Running over three miles in that? Likely going full out so you can have bragging rights?” Quickly, I unsnap my water bottle from my waist pack and take a sip.
Joe eyes the rest of the guys at the start line dressed similarly to the way he is before leaning in to murmur, “I’ve never had a problem with my ego, Holly. It’s not finishing first that’s important.”
My eyes widen. It must be the Freeman brain that Phil’s instilled in all of us because that sounded a hell of a lot like flirting. And no way is that possible.
Stepping back, Joe snaps off a salute. “See you on the race course,” he says before he jogs over to join his colleagues. I regain my wits long enough to see him heft an oxygen tank on his back and secure it. One of the other guys come up and raps him on his helmet. Joe shakes his head before he does the same.
“Hols, can you hear me?” Em’s excited voice comes through my earpiece. With the noise at the start line, I can make her out, barely.
“Yeah.”
“Ali’s telling Keene at the finish line.”
No. Freaking. Way. “Are you serious?” I yell over the cacophony of noise.
“You know that’s how she told him about Kalie. So, after they cross the finish line together, she plans on giving him something. She says he’ll understand immediately what’s happening.”
“Damnit, I’m not supposed to be at the finish line until the end of the race,” I growl. Em pauses.
“Hold on.” There’s silence in my ear. Em comes back on. “She said to tell you she doesn’t plan on starting until fifteen minutes after the last runner starts. Keene thinks this is because she’s working the event. Since they have a bet on who is going to win against one another and not anyone else, it doesn’t matter when they start.”
“So, what you’re telling me is I get to sprint to get to the finish line,” I drawl sarcastically. Faster than my marathon-running sister and my brother-in-law who is so in shape, the Army still regrets saying he should ride a desk.
“Pretty much. You’ll have about ten minutes to make it before they do.”
I growl. Without my camera gear in my backpack, that would be completely doable. With the extra forty pounds on my back, I’m going to feel like I’m running a Spartan Challenge for one.
“I’ll make it. Now, go away.”
Em laughs in my ear.
Ignoring her, I regain my focus. I switched cameras today to my Nikon D5 DSLR for the race. With the ability to shoot fourteen frames per second and auto refocus, it’s the perfect camera for this kind of event. Beyond the fantastic clarity and speed this camera offers me, one of the best parts is during a lull, I can use the built-in Wi-Fi transmitter to upload the photos to our corporate cloud. Right now, I have a zoom lens on my camera. Even though more light can be let into the picture, I need the ability to capture the action from wherever I am at the start. Fortunately, I can adjust the light somewhat based on where I’m standing and using the filters I packed in my custom-made backpack.
Swinging the soft leather backpack off my shoulder, I unzip the front and check it for the fiftieth time to make sure I packed my prime lens as well. Once I find a good location, I want the clarity the prime lens will give me. Sighing in relief, I slip it back on. This bag, a gift from my family a few years ago for Christmas, was one of the best presents I ever received. It gives me enough space for more than one camera, as well as multiple lenses and filters.
Just as I secure the straps tight around my chest and waist, I see Chief Drever and Chief Bianco make their way to the stage with Cassidy. Boldly stepping before the start line in front of the police and fireman, I ignore a myriad of wolf whistles and catcalls as I assume they’re directed at the combined chiefs’ direction. Nothing like the men and women in red and blue giving some grief to one of their own, I think with some amusement. My camera captures the confidence in my sister’s stride, the laughter on Chief Drever’s face, and the discomfort at being in the spotlight on Chief Bianco’s.
“Welcome to the fourth annual Collier Police and Fireman Victims Assistance 5K!” Cassidy calls into the microphone she just turned on.
There’s a loud roaring behind me. I discreetly move to the side. I want to be able to take shots of what happens next, but there’s a way to do so with respect and honor for the men and women behind me.
“Before we start, we’d like to bring up the Collyer A Capella Choir to sing the national anthem,” Cassidy says into the microphone. A small group of boys and girls come out followed by a girl dressed in Collyer’s High School dress uniform who is carrying the United States flag.
As I’m looking through my viewfinder, I hear helmets being swept off. Up on stage, Chiefs Bianco and Drever turn and salute. A beautiful stillness washes over the crowd as the group begins singing the lead-in. Francis Scott Key’s immortal words he originally penned rings out in the morning air to the music combined with the English drinking music “To Anacreon in Heaven” that became our national anthem in 1931.
Chills race up and down my arms. It has nothing to do with the morning coolness and everything to do with the flutter of my heart as I absorb the feeling in my soul as we all stand together to fight for what’s good and right. It might not be something as monumental as a war, but the people who are impacted by the death of their loved ones fight this battle every day.
Even Joe.
When I was proofreading the materials about the Victims Assistance Fund earlier this week, I saw Mary’s name listed. There was an asterisk next to it with a note that although she was not a member of the CPD or CFD, Victims Assistance was able to provide help to the Bianco family upon her death.
Today is for you too, Joe, I think to myself fiercely, as the whooping that occurs at the end of our national anthem breaks out. I swipe at the tears obscuring my vision.
“Before we turn you all loose on the course, Chiefs Bianco and Drever have a few words. Chiefs?” Cassidy turns the microphone over and steps back.
“We’ve lost brothers and sisters to the blue line,” Chief Drever opens.
“And the red line,” Chief Bianco adds.
