A Message from Cinderella

My 11-year-old daughter is in the midst of a stage career. Thus, her 42-year-old father is in the depths of the Dad version of that same career. With age comes wisdom, on and off the stage. Do I bring a seat cushion to comfort quartzite hard auditorium seats? You bet all of Broadway I do. As the kids say, "there is no shame in my game"  (eye rolls from all the women I live with and maybe all the women on Planet Earth). 

I realize the kids do not probably say that anymore. If anything, they text it. In a self-critique of my own modern communication style, I have been like a dormant volcano when it comes to blogging. I have not used this forum since the beginning of the calendar year. My typing fingers needed a boost and it came in an invitation to the ball. 

I was in the crowd for four consecutive nights of Bishop McCort's performance of Cinderella. In my pantheon of favorite childhood characters, which has never been released, I can attest, Cinderella was not on the list. I am more Wolverine and Tazmanian Devil and less refined /pure in spirit man, woman, or beast. With that acknowledged, I learned a lot of life lessons as a musical goer this May. Congratulations to all the humans who brought Cinderella to life and provided the following in an entertaining springtime sequence:

Lesson #1: Pumpkins are for all seasons. 

This fall to winter to whatever this is right now has felt extremely long. Of course, if you read through all my blogs, you would inevitably run into me criticizing unseasonable Johnstown weather. It is part of my Dad trajectory and an adult rite of passage. If you are in your 40s and do not frequently talk about the weather with friends and strangers alike, you are trending toward Cinderella's Crazy Marie, a wilderness woman who talks to herself and wears cabbage smelling garb. 

I really did not remember much about the story of Cinderella going into this week, but I did know that a member of the gourd family turned into a vehicle, which is of course, implausible. With the current state of gas prices, soon I will be trying to turn a pumpkin into a carriage that does not require gasoline. Crazy Andy near the garage. Thinking these thoughts, I listened to high school students sing their hearts out about impossibility and possibility. 

And that is the holding on to your pumpkin power. To give young people the opportunity to explore and entertain. To the students who starred as Cinderella and the Fairy Godmother, you had powerhouse performances and voices. Awesome stage presence that a younger audience can be inspired by. Ultimately believing, that anything is possible. 

The year my first daughter was born, 2015, gas was $2.51 a gallon on average. 

We can get back to this. Anything is possible?!?!?

Lesson #2: Surround yourself with good people. 

Prince Topher's right hand man is Sebastian, who can best be described as a prick. The high school student who played Sebastian hit all the right notes, irritatingly announcing words and appearing as if his eyeballs were going to shoot out of his self-righteous skull. He is unconcerned about the plight of the poor while reading off a scroll and calling people "ragamuffins", one of the most ridiculous terms ever created.  

The Prince grows increasingly suspicious of Sebastian, whose character faults often match up with adults on present-day, real-life power trips. Yet, for all generations and kingdoms, kindness overwhlems ridicule. And when you find the positive pack, run with them and far, far away from the ridicule roamers.

Finding a good woman is a start. I found mine. 

And because of that previous sentence, I got to golf on Sunday. (Bravo, Bravo)

To the teenager who played Sebastian, outstanding prick performance. 

Lesson #3:  Support sisters. 

On the stage for Cinderella, two real-life siblings played the roles of the zany stepsisters, Charlotte and Gabrielle. You could tell they were true sisters just by their shared, bombastic facial expressions and on-stage chemistry. They bounced around like kangaroos in dresses, wildly chattering about the state of their imaginations or lack there of. 

My daughters are 26 months apart and like Charlotte and Gabrielle, they have grown up together - hopefully in a more supportive environment (Madame, evil caregiver, not much care given and a ridicule champion). My youngest has often followed her big sister while creating her own path; over her sister's musical weekend, she had three softball games...which strikes the perfect balance of sport and theatre and parents going insane in a 72-hour time block.   

No matter what recreational or professional path they choose, Mom and Dad will be there to cheer them on. To the sisters who played Charlotte and Gabrielle, good luck with whatever road you go down and thanks for the on-stage comedy and connection. 

Lesson #4: The music never ends. 

My firstborn is building a stellar musical career and that is a testatment to the community. From Schoolhouse Rock! to Fiddler on the Roof to The Wizard of Oz to Cinderella, the common theme has been the fact that she has been surrounded by a tremendous cast of characters. And over those musical years there certainly has been strife and heartache in our part of the world and across our globe. Yet, the heartbeat of a community sometimes is best heard in a song; in lockstep choreography; in storytelling that only young people can tell. 

It starts with dedicated and inspired adults giving those young people an opportunity. I have tremendous admiration and gratitude for the men and women who give kids the musical start, direction, and guidance the world so greatly needs. To Cinderella's musical director, thank you for the years of frenzied commitment to our daughters. All three of you are great and share the quality of being, well, as Crazy Marie is described by Cinderella,"nuts". 

And I do admit that I did not need to see the Rodgers and Hammerstein Cinderella for a fifth consecutive night. I had enough - the right amount of enough. I look forward to the next stageshow and maybe, just maybe, Wolverine or Taz will be made into a Broadway production. After all, the Cinderella story is one of hope. 

Congratulations to all those local kids who sing and dance their way to the school year finish line. 

As the Fairy Godmother exclaims, "There is music in you".

Eleven Power

To end 2025 and begin 2026, like millions of other humans, I was binge watching Eleven, a super human, save the town of Hawkins, Indiana. Alas, Stranger Things came to a triumphant close. I apologize if I just spoiled the series for you. Blog reading comes with inherent dangers. 

A week and a half after I finished Stranger Things, my oldest daughter turned 11. While I do not think she can read minds or stick out her arms and launch enemies into the stratosphere, she is my super hero. She was born on a Saturday, the only Saturday I was scheduled to work that January, and immediately brought love into my life and secured my day off. Ever since, we have climbed together. And, unbelievably, she is now climbing pre-teen mountain. My climb is up the mountain for 40+ year old parents. It is full of glory and grandeur. I am just hoping my hair line peak stays strong as I reach this decade's mountain peak. 

Climb and pray. Climb and pray. 

While she never watched Stranger Things, my eldest child absolutely grew up along side Eleven, Will, Dustin, Mike, and all the other characters. When the show was released in the summer of 2016, she was stumbling and bumbling all over our house. I was trying to squeeze in science fiction episodes after she fell asleep; that sleep was sometimes graceful, sometimes strange, always eventful. 

As a child of the 80s, the nostalgia of Stranger Things was striking. My daughter grew. Characters developed. We added the much anticipated Daughter #2 in 2017. Seven months later, the Netflix thud could be heard for Season 2. And as each season went deeper and got nuttier, the kids were growing up - both on screen and in our home. My youngest daughter grew fond of anything that fell under the creepy category. Thus, Stranger Things was her hopeful haunt. With enough will power she thought she could break Dad down. If she tried hard enough, her will power could become Stranger Things' Will power. Sure enough, with less than an hour to go in 2025, she was sitting beside me in the Upside Down. I had to explain nine years of plot to an eight year old as we closed in on midnight. Now, that is the true Upside Down in this life. 

Her wiser sister had no desire for any of this nonsense, gravitating our youngest toward less creepy pastures. She holds the moral compass in their sisterly existence, and for that, I am grateful. We are counting on her to lead her younger sister up preteen mountain. 

Climb and pray. Climb and pray. 

And then there is Cambria County Box 11, another superhero of sorts with that number. This volunteer organization in our community supports 1st responders when they are called into action. My family got to learn about this dedicated group after a Crossfit workout on my daughter's 11th birthday. As a wordsmith, I was delighted by the numeric symmetry of the moment. If only Eleven was doing burpees with us at Bold Athletics that morning to really bring it all together. I imagined burpees being so much more fun when you have super human strength and preposterous pain tolerance. I have neither yet I do have something called "Dad Strength" which is my badge of honor and hope... 

"Take that, Eleven. Go ahead and save the world. I am picking myself up off this mat, sweating bullets" (internal talking to myself doing burpees).

In conclusion, I am thankful. For a daughter who has reached 11, another daughter on that mountainous trail, and to Box 11 for helping our community's 1st responders when they need it the most. When your world feels upside down this year, just take a step back or step up. No matter your age or what adversity is in store, we all have some climbing to do. 

Climb on. 

Songs of the Season

If December was a single sound it would be the combination of a dribbling basketball, referee whistle for a jump ball, a trumpet blare, a slide trombone honk, a soprano note, an alto note, a Dad snore, and of course, the peaceful call of a partridge in a pear tree.

With our daughters in the heat of band, choir, and basketball, it is a survivalist countdown to Christmas. Music, as it so often does this time of year, allows for reflection, hearty anticipation, or a healthy escape. The madness we create in calendars, bright lights, and elf migration can be countered by just the right notes at just the right time. 

Without further ado, my favorite songs of this December:

Manchild   Sabrina Carpenter

Didn't see this coming, did you?  Well, you must not live in a house with all women. Far from a traditional hymn, this song hit my airwaves this month and then I did what any traditionalist would do, I looked up the music video on Youtube. It features desert hitchhiking, explosions, an orca, questioning masculine intelligence, bubble bath pigs, and a cowboy chicken. It is four minutes of What The Frosty!?! 

If you happened to drive up our street on one December eve, you could see four humans dancing to the beat, singing high-pitch Manchild and having some sort of epiphany. 

One of the best ways to tackle December debauchery - dance it off by the refrigerator. 

On That Holy Mountain   Joe Mattingly

As members of the Bishop McCort elementary chorale, my daughters sang at the Advent of Christmas Concert. Held every year at St. John Gualbert Cathedral downtown, an adult choir combines with angelic children to create harmonious Christmas spirit. My wife and I got to enjoy this performance after climbing the mountain that is 5th and 6th grade basketball - back-to-back games in an afternoon slugfest. My eldest daughter, to her credit, transformed from scrappy baller to sweet soprano. My youngest, her basketball season over, sang from the front row as an inspired alto. She almost fouled out in one November baseketball game. In December, she melts hearts. 

This song was my favorite piece as it combined the adults, kids, and Mother Nature. "There shall be peace, led by all the children", a monumental line as we climb the mountain that is parenting. Proud of my girls for their gusto and years of praise singing. Grateful to the chorale director for her passion, humor, and Christmas crazed baton leadership. She is fierce and fantastic and fits right in with the kitchen dancing delirium that is our family. 

Silent Night   Joseph Mohr

Before the Advent spectacular concert, my girls performed at their school's Christmas concert earlier in the week, combining talents with the high school students. While there was a lot of highlights and standout performances, a 7-year-old piano player stole the show. His Silent Night quieted one and all. A statement song of calm and radiant beams performed by a brave and resilent young boy. 

This song has stood the test of time. 

And there is always a place for kids standing tall in the face of adversity. 

Days Like These  Luke Combs 

I will be the first to admit, I detest some of the December gauntlet. The hoopla can be a headache and I sometimes feel jarred in the crammed celebrations. Then, I have to take a step back and stop being a silly Manchild running around with cowboy chickens in the December desert. One of country music's top acts has brought me back down from Fa La La La Land with this simple tune. Luke sings of blue skies and the promise of green grass. Of being together and enjoying all of the trees, not just that one symbolic evergreen. 

And as we get closer to Christmas, I will appreciate days like these. Days when my kids are playing hoops and instruments, singing songs, and excited by what is to come. Days when peace on Earth seems like a longshot, but one sensational Silent Night might just get us there. 

To one and all, 

Have a Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year!

Gobble, Gobble, Gratitude

Here is hoping for a whole lot of goodness this Thanksgiving to Christmas season, but beyond the turkey celebrations and surge toward Santa, I will reflect on greatness. Like a pumped up pilgrim or enthused elf, I announce it is available to everyone...

I present to you...

The Great Outdoors! (Plymouth Rock pilgrim fist bumps, North Pole elf cheers)

The following November experiences all have one thing in common and it is being outside. Sounds simple and maybe it is, but there is emerging scientific evidence that there is something profound about stepping out into the elements, no matter who you are or what the elements are - just getting out there is the benefit.  A quote from a book I recently read on environmental neuroscience captured it all for this 41-year-old, young at heart, adventure brain:

"Children do not run through walls when there are no walls."  

At the beginning of the month, I had the luxury of going on a field trip where walls were not an option. This was due to the "government shutdown", a ludicrious two-word term our nation has in its absurdist back pocket. Due to this factor, our field trip had no access to buildings at the Flight 93 National Memorial, which turned out to be a blessing. I had been to Flight 93 twice before and this third trek was all on foot, all outside. Flanked by my fellow Bold Crossfit gym members, we blazed the trails and felt the sun and wind on a crisp autumn morning. The surrounding nature serving as a serene dedication to what happened on that field. To walk with friends and appreciate the fresh air, imagining what a group of people endured in their final moments in the sky. To hear the Tower of Voices wind chimes and realize that each morning could and should start with gratitude. To exercise and watch the autumn breeze meet a colorful collection of tree leaves...

And then there is the downtown Johnstown Christmas tree and its artifical evergreen majesty, relocated this season to Peoples Natural Gas Park. Light up Night is propelled by that towering tree but I will make my case for the night. Each year our family attends this event, and you could argue the PNG spot of 2025 was even more magical than centered in Central Park, but no matter where they stick that tree, you need the night. The Light Up phenomenon needs moon and stars. It needs imaginative kids looking up and wondering how Santa does it. Imaginations can only go so high when there is a ceiling. 

The end of this year's Christmas parade signaled for a believing mob to move as a herd. I felt like a concert going caribou trying to get as close as possible to the countdown. The bright lights came on, the herd rejoiced, and hundreds, if not thousands, walked the winter wonderland. And from Plymouth Rock to the North Pole, humans are inclined to form a community and to celebrate together. 

Thanks to all those volunteers for make the Johnstown Light Up Night and Christmas season what it is. If you keep the tree outside, the spirit will be strong. 

Strength is often associated with the physical, but the mental game is often what holds the true power. This year's edition of the Stackhouse Turkey Trot on Thanksgiving morning had a forecast that some humans would label anywhere from not ideal to torturous. 24 hours before race day, the temperature would drop about 25 degrees and the wind would howl like wolves scaring away all the turkeys. Rain had the potential to make the gobble, gobble trails into a googly moogly mud maze. As a board member and dedicated Stackhouse servant, I was raking starting line leaves to serve my fellow countrymen and countrywomen, but this act was more a selfish rouse and effort to stay warm. If I am good at anything, it is forest trickery. 

The 2-mile trot was well attended and the weather held up, meaning that all a fun run in wilderness need is for Earth to still exist. If you embrace "there is no such thing as bad weather", you prosper. Thanks to all the trailblazers on Thanksgiving morning, those dressed as turkeys, bundled up too much, and the nutjobs who wore shorts. We need each and every one of you blazing the trails, from the youngest competitor to the oldest athlete unwilling to retire his or her running shoes.

Show up. Lace up. Mind over weather. 

This November, my daughters got in our first sled ride of the season and three days later I was riding my bike through the Staple Bend Tunnel; I've run across the bridge above the Stonycreek River, taking a deep breathe and appreciation of the view; I've went on solitude hikes in Stackhouse to clear my head and count my blessings. My gratitude list grows as more miles are logged playing, walking, hiking, biking, and running. 

As we move toward December, kick it into gratitude gear. Believe in Santa, your community, and yourself. 

Whether you feel great, good, or somewhere farther south, think about stepping outside. That is the only way Santa gets to his sleigh. 

Happy Holidays, Johnstown. 

Halloween 2025

This Halloween, my family dressed as the following characters:

8-year-old: Phineas

10-year-old: Ferb

Mom: Candice 

Dad: Perry the Platypus 

If you have never watched Phineas and Ferb, it is a Disney Channel revelation of a cartoon. Two brothers - Phineas and Ferb - come up with backyard ideas that their sister, Candice, finds anywhere from suspicious to revolting. She continuously attempts to warn her oblivious parents of the cockamamie schemes of her younger brothers. Meanwhile, a crime fighting platypus named Perry is fighting off Dr. Heinz Doofenshmirtz, an evil purist of the skies. The madman versus semiaquatic mammal storyline interlocks with the sibling showdown each and every episode.

In short, it fits our family.  

As our girls have gotten older, our Halloween exploits have evolved or revolved. We have reprised costumes from years gone by for the nostalgia or comfort. I first was Perry the Platypus during the pandemic. I actually wore a Perry onesie to a farm in Virginia in 2020. There is no better illustration of how messed up Covid was than the picture of me as an out-of-state public Perry, masked, with parrots landing on my head. The birds believed I was one of them. I was disheleved and also believed I was semi-aquatic, semi-parrot, or going insane. 

5 years later, I decided a Perry trucker hat with matching T-shirt was a more socially acceptable way to parade around town as a 41-year-old. I still have the Perry onesie yet only plan to wear it outside of Pennsylvania during a Round 2, mid-life crisis.

Before any of this Halloween's tomfoolery, our family took our 10th weekend getaway to Creekside Resort, a Bedford County hidden gem in the metropolis of Clearville. Beginning in October of 2015, our family of four has done some glamping in cabins named Lily Pad, Beaver Lodge, and Turkey Roost out in the middle of nowhere. It has become our safe haven for a haunting good time in all seasons, but mostly in autumn when the leaves are changing and the hiking trail is surrounded by roaming wildlife. I have watched my girls grow up at Creekside and I will now pause to cry.

(Pause)

This year my parents occupied a cabin and so did my brother and his family. We roamed like the wildlife. We soaked in the glory of Mother Nature, family, and good health from frosty sunrises to fireside stargazing. I even organized a kickball game in apex heat on Saturday that I greatly enjoyed despite my brother getting the winning RBI and sealing my loss. Prior to this hit, both my nieces walked off the field due to their lack of enjoyment. And I may or may not have tossed my eldest daughter out of the game for foul remarks to her younger sister. 

Let there be peace on Earth and let it begin with family kickball.

On the Sunday we exited Creekside, our Subaru Ascent descended into Accident, Maryland. My daughters and I were excited to return to the Cove Run Farm Corn Maze. My wife was not excited as she associates corn mazes with getting lost and/or movie murders. I assured her that this is real life and small children routinely enter and exit the corn maze without the threat of abandoment or death. 

Prior to our maze escape this year, we ate lunch at Brewery and The Beast, a delicious play on words brewhouse. I ate a scrumptious smoked pulled pork sandwich. An hour later, after surviving the corn maze as a family unit, I spent quality alone time petting two pigs at Cove Run Farm. You bet your pork belly I thought about the irony and the table to farm experience I was having.

While I was in my pig confessional, my girls were feeding cows. My wife was not feeding cows. She was in deep, deep reflection on how this was not the life she wanted to live and she will never ever feed a cow. The Terrifier for her is The Farm. I reminded her how happy the girls were to be back and how I would be a terrible, terrifying farmer. 

We returned to our homeland safe and sound. Thanks, Cove Run. At least 3 of us will be back next year!

On Trick-or-Treat night, darkness fell as we walked the streets of Westmont and then Brownstown. Hundreds of community members were handing out candy or in pursuit of it. The wind would occasionally howl. A child would occassionally scream. One of my good friends, a 1st grader, would punch me after every candy he received. This has nothing to do with celebrating the holiday or his analysis of the candy. It is my fault - I have made myself an open invitation for rough housing so the sidewalk jabs and hooks to the spine are of my own doing. If you are a concerned community member and saw a youthful Sonic the Hedgehog fighting a grown man Perry the Platypus, I sincerely Do Not apologize. 

24 hours after the Trick-or-Treat, our family scattered all the candy on the living room floor. We did some inventory. I claimed the three Almond Joys. My 8-year-old tried to make a claim for a Joy but this was not a democratic process. She did not put up much a fight as she was in a sea of Skittles. We decided that many of the treats will be shipped to the military to get soldiers sugared up. 

Support the troops. Save parents. America. 

As I retire another Perry costume after another fun Halloween season, I take inventory of what matters most - we continue to count candy and our blessings together...continue to explore, gather, and laugh with gratitude for what we have...continue to be community driven and humor powered. 

"CURSE YOU PERRY THE PLATYPUS!!!!!!!!"  - Dr. Doofenshmirtz

 

Autumnal Intelligence

My wife and I recently finished the movie, The Martian. Yes, it came out in 2015 and it felt like we started the film 10 years ago. We actually heard the Netfilix intro thud at the beginning of this month, but finishing a home movie as a parent can feel like landing on Mars. The movie features Matt Damon stranded on the Red Planet for a God foresaken long time and in October 2025, featured two parents trying to operate an earthly home, stay awake past 9:15 PM, and lead two daughters to a bright tomorrow. 

Mission accomplished. (staying awake past 9:15PM was not accomplished multiple times yet we finished the motion picture). 

But, by no means was it easy - for us or Matt Damon - life can be quite challenging no matter what planet you are on. The Martian is full of scientific survival - astrophysics and all the mumbo jumbo that makes space travel and the magic of the movies a real thing. Prior to this entertainment expedition, I watched Conan O'Brien accept the Mark Twain Award For Humor. Conan spoke to what Twain has offered his readers over the generations as I wondered what Twain would think of the intellectual / not so intellectual world we are inhabiting today. How would the man who once used the phrase "mental kaleidoscope" react to artificially intelligent written words?

I have to believe Twain would be concerned for the sake of creativity. And as a fellow and less accomplished writer, my blog hope pitch (Chat-bhp) is that words will continue to be creatively generated by humans. Granted I am not using an ink well right now, but by golly, this is me (and then my wife posts on Facebook because I refuse to have Facebook). 

I certainly have put up limits to my social connectivity and I accept the consequences. I do not like Apps or online shopping. I use one App (for my gym) and I have to try shoes on before I buy shoes to wear to the gym - repeatedly try on. Then, I leave the store, come back a week later, and try the same shoes on again to refeel the feel. This is at a place known as a shopping mall. 

Also...

Hellno to Venmo. My Instagram is walking in the woods. I get instant gratification from trees and not knowing what other people are doing with their lives. Squirrels and chipmunks over Snapchat and Tiktok, all day, every day. Nothing against anyone who use these platforms - have at it. The world is your oyster - just stand on those platforms with some positivity - that's my secondary pitch - post and publish to congratulate and connect.  

The Martian is all about getting one man back home. It takes a lot of technology to get him back to Planet Earth (10-year late spoiler) but technology alone could not get it done. It took compassion, creativity, and grit. Nothing to artifically sweeten that deal. Just people thinking, talking, and working together for a common goal. 

Of course, The Martian is Hollywood and I am typing this in Johnstown. But no matter wherever you are, I encourage you to spread positivity in your own words, use technology to uplift, and consider aborting technologically driven message missions that criticize or divide. Dialogue on division is so prevalent because of the volume and all the ways it is amplified. In order to turn up the positivity, clear the fluff and nonsense stuff in your mental kaleidoscope.

As I finished this blog, my 8-year-old approached me and showed me how close her tooth was to falling out. She had a bloody napkin in hand. 

A new mission is upon us. 

Cheers to creativity, working together, and being a part of something bigger. 

I hate blood. 

Climb On

On the second Saturday of this September, my family participated in a Stair Climb challenge. The challenge, held @ First Summit Arena @ Cambria County War Memorial, was in remembrance of all the first responders who lost their lives on September 11, 2001. 

To generations of humans, when "9/11" is heard, it automatically resonates as an event, not a day. In the 24 years since the televised scene of the Twin Towers falling down, time and technology have worked together to try to capture the profound impact of "9/11" to a generation that was not on Earth in 2001 or too young to remember. The capture is in audio recordings, documentaries, and movies; in heartbreaking interviews and in heartpounding creations - the memorial and museum in NYC; the Flight 93 National Memorial in Shanksville. The appreciation primarily comes in the form of observation and reflection. 

The Stair Climb offered appreciation through exercise - an interactive and active way to never forget. 

Bold Athletics, the Crossfit gym I joined in December 2024, hosted the Stair Climb. Ten months ago, I did not realize how that membership would evolve into a fitness family, full of colorful characters and language, community engagement, and a united camaraderie in whatever workout is written on the whiteboard that day. My wife joined in February. My daughters have participated as Bold Kids and as Crossfit cheerleaders from winter to fall. The next generation. 

The Bold experience has been motivating, humbling, fun, hillarious, and at times, painful (during one workout, my attempt to do a final rep of toes-to-bar resulted in ass-to-floor). I recovered from that 41-year-old folly and had no thoughts of falling down the War Memorial steps this past Saturday. 

Ok, maybe a thought. But, it was less about me and more about the domino effect that it may cause. Luckily, first responders were on scene. 

When we arrived at the arena shortly after sunrise, the red, white, and blue started to burst, a community canvas of Crossfit and connection. There were familiar faces, a small army of Bold members, combined with firefighters, EMS, neighbors, and television crews. The hockey ice provided a cooling effect before close to 100 humans went on a 2,000+ steps journey. And in that journey, it is amazing how much heat and hope can be generated by people doing something together. 

It was an invigorating visual boosted by music and then silent reflection - at 9:03 AM, when the first tower was struck. At 9:37 AM, when the Pentagon was hit. At 9:59 AM, when a plane crashed into the second tower. At 10:02 AM, when Flight 93 crashed on a Somerset County field. 

And after every pause, we kept climbing. For every completed climbed lap around the arena, there were more burning calves and cheering climbers. At some point, a Ric Flair WOOOO revolution ignited. During this professional wrestler phenomenon, I looked down at my climbing tag. I was climbing for Paul J. Pansini, a firefighter out of Engine #10. He looked like a guy who had a sense of humor. 

I am not exactly sure why I picked Paul. Every participant had the honor of selecting a photographed climb tag of a person who paid the ultimate sacrifice trying to save others on 9/11. At some point during the WOOOs, I saw my wife stair climbing. Saw my daughters across the arena. I took a heartfelt second to look down at a smiling Paul and unleashed an emotion-packed WOOO. 

When I got home, I learned more about Paul. According to the National Fallen Firefighters Foundation, "on his off time, he was always with his wife and children, they went everywhere together. He loved fishing and hiking. He was also a very comical person and always had a smile." Paul was a lot like me. 

Those words were written by his wife. 

I am going to hang on to my Paul J. Pansini climb tag. I think we would have been friends if we ever crossed paths. I bet he would have had a hearty laugh watching me fall to the Crossfit floor after an incomplete toes-to-bar. He will continue to cross my mind as I try to be the best Girl Dad I can be. 

Thanks to Bold Athletics for organizing this event and giving my family an opportunity to be together to support a great cause. Thanks to the firefighters, police officers, and all the first responders who serve. There were no greater fist bumps on this Saturday then those given to firemen carrying 80 pounds of gear up-and-down War Memorial steps. Attitude of gratitude for those who show up, protect, and pave the way. 

And the biggest thanks goes to Paul J. Pansini, Firefighter, Engine 10. 

The best way to honor those we have lost...

Climb on.