Running with the Shadows

 

 

I remember the day I lost my pappy. How lost I felt, and how terribly sad the world felt.  The only granddaughter to this blue eyed man with an incredible sense of humor, uncanny wit, and a pleasant ability to find pleasantry in just about anything. He loved to work with his hands, staying busy most of the time.  Even as he aged, he still worked tirelessly in his huge vegetable garden.  He glowed bringing in freshly harvested carrots, peas, tomatoes, and delicious red beets; which would get scrubbed up and proudly served for dinner.  Fast -forward a few years, and my grand mothers soul was slipping away with her health.  Nanny had lost her souls mate, and never was quite right again.  My grandmother died the morning of my birthday.  I will never forget the phone call, or the feeling of the cold Vermont morning and the sensation of the wall behind my back as I slid against it to the floor in tears listening to my fathers voice crying on the other end that she had been taken home.   As I walked up to her casket before it was lowered into the ground next to my grandfather, my stomach wretched, and my heart thumped hard and painfully into my throat.  I tossed sunflowers into the hole. One for each of us, and then cried hard as I thought of their bodies lying deep beneath the earth.

 

A few days later, I awoke and gazed into Lake Champlain.  I lubed up my bicycle, aired up the tires, and decided I would head out for a long ride among the back rural roads of St. Albans, VT.  Mile after mile I cried in sadness.. until I spotted my shadow. 

Gazing upon the shadow I remembered that the same hands that were holding my handlebars contained all of my grandparents, and therefore my shadow reminded me that we would always be together.  That summer I rode more miles than I had ever ridden in an entire summer,  hundreds each week.  Each time I road I fell more in love with my shadow, and more in love with my family that would forever be with me. 

 

Since the cycling trauma, I have fallen away from cycling purely because of the fear.  Perhaps my fear is without blame, as my shadow almost joined them in heaven.  I have found my breath again through running.. a sport that I quite simply always hated. “I’m only running so I can do triathlons”, I would always say… “Running hurts..”, was my normal statement.  Struggling with an auto-immune disorder and a Chiari made everything hurt when I pounded pavement, but the more I told myself I hated running “BECAUSE”, the more it would define itself to be a chore… instead of a gift, and something I could love.

 

Then came that day.  The day I finally walked again.  I walked from one side of the rehab center with my therapist Robyn, who held my wound vac in one hand, my catheter bag in her pocket, my heart rate monitor in her other pocket, and managed to maintain my wheel chair behind me as I slowly inched steps across the floor with my walker.  My back wounds seeped from underneath my dressings onto the floor and my head became faint.. I was about to faint.  Down I went, back into my wheel chair, blood pressure cuff quickly wrapped around my arm, and a tender voice saying “You did it Colleen.. it is ok, we got you.. you did it.. all the way across the room!”. I slept the remainder of the day, with the exception of wound changes.. and I dreamt of running.. running with a shadow.

 

A year later, when I was finally able to try and walk fast without a walker I decided.. “Forget walking, Im going to run”.  I dreamed of running.  Weird considering how much I hated it before.  Across the first finish line in New Haven I ran.. Averaging about 13 minute pace for a 5k.. Full of gratitude, I hugged the doctor at the Yale Orthopedic medicine tent.  “I had my pelvis SCREWED back together! Just one year ago! I still have a huge hole in my butt! I still have a giant 18 inch wound on my leg, and a hole in my abdomen, but I JUST RAN! HOW COOL IS RUNNING?”.  That was it. Suddenly, I loved to run.

 

For the first time I felt pain unlike I ever felt it in my life.  Lupus is painful.  Chiari is painful, brain surgery is painful, fracturing your foot is painful, Cryoglobulenemia is painful.. Add a 30 ton freight truck running over me worth of new injuries and I was in for more pain than I ever thought the human body could handle.. and all I wanted to do was run.

 

Running was scary, Running was uncertain. With running came balance, my head had been shaken, my gate was off, and my legs were weak.  Every step of a jog felt like landing a 300 pound body.. I needed someone to run with me.  Along came the love of my friends, my husband, and more friends.. willing to run beside me.. willing to remind me that it was ok that I was struggling with my breath, I wasn’t dying again.. not this time.. I was simply exercising.  Since the trauma almost 19 months ago, I have completed over 20 finish lines.  All of these finish lines have been with someone beside me, until today.

 

During St. Patricks weekend my brother said to me that he would be my shadow running beside me, because his body wasn’t ready to run. He ruptured his Achilles and it also ruptured a bit of his heart and soul.  I could never imagine his journey as he laid there unable to provide for his family.  Thinking of him being in my shadow brought me back to my grandparents.  “Sis, when you look down at the road, know I am running alongside of you”.  That St. Patricks Day I ran a half marathon in NYC. The weather was cold, I had absolutely no pain management.. and I was struggling.  Panic began to take over my body as the pain had set in and then the sun cast its warm rays upon me and I saw my shadow.  “There you are nanny, pappy, and Erin”. 

 

Today I found myself back at another starting line, only this time I knew I could not run an entire half marathon.  Yesterday I found myself in the ER after episodes of vomiting due to scar tissue build up in my stomach, and an enlarged kidney.  Even though I was struggling in so much pain, my desire to run fueled me to ask the doctors if I could at least run the 5k portion of the race.  They said yes, and I never gave a second thought to the fact that I would need someone running beside me.

 

Standing in the starting pen with hundreds upon hundreds of runners, I noticed all of the Sandy Hook Tshirts around me- honoring the many children and teachers that were killed fifteen minutes from where we stood.  I gazed down at my shadow and thought, “Ok Erin, nanny, pap, and all of you angels.. let’s run this 5k”.  Running with the shadows.  As I ran along the 3.1 miles I breathed in the air around me, and looked down at not only my shadow but all of the shadows of everyone running around me.  We are never alone. We are always running with the shadows.

 

To my grandparents.  Thank you for teaching us love and strength.

To my brother, you will always be my first hero. I love you dearly.

Yale Journal of Medicine Article

Here is an article that the Yale Journal of Medicine published. Thankful to my family and God for bringing me this far. The article is very graphic, so please be warned. 

Thank you for reading my blog. Remember to thank your emergency service providers in your communities,  and blood donors. 

 

Siochain

No, there is no luck.  I do not mean to sound like a pessimist, rather a realist.  Luck is when you believe in chance, I believe in fate.. and the power of Grace.

Yes, Im Irish. I am also a smidgen of other things, and last year I crossed a finish line just six months after laying on my death bed.  The day was March 17th,  and the event was the Leprechaun 5 miler race and 2 mile walk.  The 2 mile walk took close to two hours trudging along smiling and in pain complete with a wound vac, a suction system attached to a large hole in my coccyx, and a colostomy bag…. Did I mention the walker? My pelvis had just been screwed and wired back together six months prior.  I had close to three feet of missing skin, and pain beyond imagine.  I met a woman who was in a situation two years prior that had damaged her shoulder and left her with some brain trauma, and so we crossed the line together.. her with her cane, and me with my walker.. smiling.

The press was ecstatic, calling it the “Luck of the Irish”, but I knew better.  We were more than two cute brunettes with blue eyes and stories.  It was not luck, it was Grace. It was the work of a vast team of dedicated Yale trauma surgeons and nurses.. it was the best of the best Intensive Care Nurses that watched over my body day in and day out for weeks on end, and it was the unconditional love of family, friends, and the healing power of God.

I am not exactly sure why my life was brought back, but I do know luck had nothing to do with it.. Sheer will and determination from myself and those around me caused this body to heal as far as it has.. and crying out to our heavenly father for mercy brought the ability to walk again, and now jog.

When I was at Gaylord Rehabilitation Hospital over a two month span, they taught me to walk again.. and cared diligently for my wounds.. The hospital would not let me go home as I was too severe of a trauma, and knew Gaylord was the perfect fit.  That is where I first learned of Achilles International.  Throughout the months of rehab I began getting in touch with incredible people such as Trisha Meili who invited me to meet the staff of Achilles in Central Park and allowed me to invite my friend Erin who crossed the finish line with me on March 17th.

My emotions were never as conflicted as they were at the Hope and Possibilities Race in Central Park. I struggled seeing so many others that were severely disabled, and felt uncomfortable slipping  myself into that category.. Clearly there were those worse off than Erin and I.. Who were we to be amongst those with no arms and legs? Those with life altering diseases?  I had to remind myself that I had Lupus, Cryo, and already went through brain surgery. Still, I was not one of those that were disabled, was I too good? Was I that full of pride?

I struggled to accept my new body, I struggled to accept my new mind which dealt with short term memory and word recognition.. I struggled with my new limitations. I struggled with ME.  When we begin everything with “I”, we easily get swept in our own world of pity and a lack of acceptance.. That is when I began looking outward, away from those that fixated on their traumas, and  looked at those that overcame.  I found myself getting agitated at others for complaining about their sore back, or headaches.. I found myself becoming bitter. It is time to focus on others.

Grace. We, not I. Together. We need one another. Relativity. Strength. Humility. Perseverance.

These became words that I needed to permeate into my every weeping pore.. until my soul could accept myself and move on.    It was not until shortly after hearing the news that a long distance friends daughter became stricken with cancer that I felt myself become more motivated than I ever had.  This young girls face beaming on my computer screen as she lay in a hospital bed full of IV tubes.  She was full of hope.  So I began running, jogging more like it.. more than ever before.. Because I could.. the pain reminded me of my path, but my breath kept me in check with those words that circled my existence- Grace, Together, Relativity, Strength, Perseverance.. and a new word.. Hope.. Funny how it seems to come full circle to the Hope and Possibilities Race with Achilles. Next month, I have the honor of running for this little girl I barely know that has inspired me.  This past weekend, I finally  jogged over 13 miles.. I did it slowly, and with discomfort, but none the less.. completed it.

Here is a link to the Half Marathon for Rowan http://www.gofundme.com/1oeadk

Today, as I was standing inline to purchase some training gear my phone beeped and I got the email that brought more tears of joy than I have ever cried in public.  I was accepted into the NYC Marathon as a sponsored Achilles athlete.  I quickly called Erin, who was also accepted.. and then sat in the truck and sobbed.. The NYC marathon will be exactly one year later from the first event I did six months after being run over… crossing in two hours.. barely walking over the finish line.. and one year later will have the ability to jog across a finish line as an Achilles Athlete. You know what that is called? A miracle. It is far from luck.  My brother has told me this entire time, “Sister, keep looking up.. keep looking forward..”  Well, brother.. I have and I will with each step right across the finish line in New York.

By the Grace of God.. Go I.. By the Grace of God.. GO US.

Thank you Achilles. I am humbled and full of gratitude to run as an Achilles Athlete. Thank you.

http://www.achillesinternational.org

Siochain my friends.

With Peace and Chain Grease,

Colleen

Breath

www.youtube.com/watch?v=XOkce8DmWKs&feature=fvwrel

I struggle with breath. Not because mine is stinky, although I do consume a large quantity of garlic and hot peppers.  I do not struggle with asthma, emphysema, congestive heart failure, or any of the other many many reasons one might struggle with breath.  I struggle because of a dark cloud of memory that hangs over me. My breathing began getting labored when I was run over.. The pain was so severe and the sight of my broken and ripped body was overwhelming..They kept saying “I cant believe she is still conscious!”, well.. that was because I focused hard on my breath. I knew I must keep breathing, and screaming.. With breath comes life.. right?

When I made it over the Q bridge going into Yale hospital, the pain was becoming too severe to stay awake.. the fight was far too difficult, and yet I knew I must keep breathing.. my breath was labored, my stats were being yelled out.. and suddenly I breathed my last breath on my own.  After I was resuscitated, a machine breathed for me for over 35 days.  My lungs expanded and contracted robotic-ally. I was part machine, part life.  The ultimate nightmare of disassociation.

When they began breathing trials on me, they would turn the machine back and ask me to try and breathe.. nothing.. “Come on Colleen, breathe”.. nothing.. My fogged mind, glazed over eyes, pain, and complete confusion simply wouldn’t allow my brain to communicate with my lungs.

For several days they tried breathing trials on me, patiently standing over me and coaching me to take a breath.. nothing.. I simply lay there in sweat gazing into never land, and wishing I was laying in a cool pool of water with a big breeze brushing over  my face.. or at least thats what some of my “dreams” remember.

Since Ive been “Awake” and able to take my own breaths again, I still have a panic associated with that day.  I fear sitting still, I fear laying still, I fear standing still.. Stillness brings me back to breath.  Breath brings me back to death.

Interesting for the woman that always spoke of the power of breath and life.. now the sound has become somewhat of an enemy.  So I run, with incredible pain.. but I can put in ear buds.. feel the blood soar through my heart.. drown out my breath, and live.. I can ride  my bike.. with the wind whipping so quickly past my ears, and the sounds of dancing leaves that I can not hear my breath.. and I weight train, and I elliptical… so I can not be still… I don’t want to be still any longer.

Eventually, our breath catches up with us.  It must.  Our breath is also nourishing our cells, our organs, our smiles.. and our tears.

A few years ago I had a salmon tattooed on my forearm.  It embodies an owl, a koi tail, a gaelic harp, and Celtic water. I wanted it to remind me of the importance to never give up, always swim upstream until your death.. but stay wise with the wisdom of the owl.. never stop listening to the music.. and always keep your cool… After brain surgery, I went through panic in a similar way but much less intense.  The salmon was a way for me to have something to anchor myself with.

Perhaps it is time to embrace my salmon a little more these days as I start taking Yoga again.. Which is honestly one of my worst nightmares. Sitting and laying still and focusing on breath.

So. Namaste.

By the Grace of God, Go I.

A

A Beating heart is music to the soul.

Take your hand and place it over your heart.   Tune out the world for a moment and listen to the inside rhythm of your being.  Close your eyes and imagine this remarkable organ taking in the musical notes of your body and pumping back out the melody of your soul.  With each heart beat, blood is sent to every part of your being.  Look upon your fingers, your toes.. gaze upon your face in the mirror.  You are alive because of the beating of your heart.   Every vein, every artery, every cell is nourished because of this incredible machine within you working every second of every day to keep you on this earth.  When I was an avid cyclist, I prided myself in only being fueled by my heart and lungs.. Who needed a car when I had those two free incredible sources of renewable energy?

When we are babies our parents often lay us atop of their own hearts when we sleep.   When Sean and I were dating in high school he would often place his hand atop of my heart when we had conversations.   As an adult I would look back on our relationship and always found it remarkable that a teenage boy would do that.  When we reconnected as adults seventeen years later and established a relationship- he once again placed his hand on my heart during a conversation.  He looked me in the eyes and said “My heart is inside your heart, so always take care of it”.  When we said our vows of marriage, we placed our hands on one anothers hearts.   Since then, whenever  we would find ourselves uprooted we would become once again grounded by the simple act.

On October 8th, My heart worked in over time. The rhythm of my being was in panic mode. My heart struggled at war and pumped as hard as it could to keep me going, until my music had completely run out.  When countless strangers worked tirelessly to make my heart pump once again, my body lay in a  what seemed like a hopeless state.  As medical staff “refilled my tank”, per the words of my trauma surgeon.. My heart finally responded to the compressions of so many tireless hands and began beating once again.  My “tank” as Dr. Baumgaertner refers to it continued to bleed dry and CPR was once again needed. The very act of grounding and compassion, love, and strength of hands being laid upon my heart was being done with a force unlike my heart had ever known.. and today I type this blog with a beating heart.

Last night, panic settled back into my heart and my heart struggled with flashbacks of CPR, Death, operations, being in a coma, and the horrid memories of the force of that large freight truck.  I awoke in a pool of sweat and fear.  ”Sean, please place your hand on my heart.. I need to get my music back in tune”, I asked with a soft and tattered whisper.. “Remember, my heart is in your heart, so when your heart is weak I am here to help it be strong”, he said with a tender voice.

We never know what tomorrow brings.  We never know how the winds of change will blow, however we do know we all have an incredible rhythm from our own hearts.  As the morning sun beams through my dining room windows warming my face and chilled fingers I am reminded of the incredible music given to me from so many blood donors which now fills the orchestra of my soul.  Thank you from the bottom of my heart..

 

 

 

 

 

Red Cross..We all bleed red.

I remember my first certification class in Burlington, VT at the Red Cross building.  The small air conditioners were humming, the room felt rather stuffy, and we filed in and took our seat in a small room.  In walks an instructor, eyes wide open and beaming with a smile.  The class took most of the day, and we learned basic life saving skills such as cardio pulmonary resuscitation, rescue breathing, first aid, and the Heimlich maneuver.  I clung onto every bit of instruction with bated breath. I LOVED THE CLASS.. so much, that I came back and took the Infant and child CPR class, the defibrillator training, and the HIV/AIDS courses so I could teach about HIV/AIDS prevention and safety.  A few months after taking these courses, I learned we had the opportunity through AmeriCorps (of which I was an AmeriCorps volunteer at the time), to have FURTHER Training and become certified to teach these incredible life saving skills.

I signed up, and began the classes to take this incredible information to others.. When I learned I could be a paid instructor, this was even more of a WIN.

I had the honor of teaching at hospitals, armories, schools, daycare, summer camps, businesses, and town centers.  I met hundreds of incredible people from around the state of Vermont that wanted to be certified, because they wanted to help.

After a year of teaching PT for the Red Cross while working full-time in the non-profit sector, I decided I wanted more.. so I enrolled in the University of Vermont College of Medicine and took the EMT course. This was 6 credits in 6 months.  I absorbed it like a sponge and loved learning rescue skills, life saving skills, and seeing how beautifully the Red Cross curriculum weaved in with the Emergency National Care system.  Harmoniously.  Upon completing the course, I began running rescue.. again PT, while continuing my FT work.

The scope of people who I was working with came from every level of poverty, gender, race, culture, and religion.. and guess what? They all bleed red.  They all felt fear.  They all wanted to live.. even those that tried to die through suicide, when their plan failed.. they fought to live.

I even had the privilege of working in Guyana for a month with the Red Cross/Red Crescent teaching basic First Aid, CPR, and HIV/AIDS instruction to indigenous villages that were getting sick and dying due to the AIDS epidemic. I loved the Red Cross. Across the globe and on the equator.. the same humans needed the same basic skills to live.. to survive.. We ALL BLEED RED.

Eventually I had to stop my emergency work, and my PT work with the Red Cross as my role as the Executive Director of a non-profit had become too demanding.

Fast forward a few years and I find myself accepting a job in CT.. although I should have listened to my inner “gut” and not taken a job which was had a shaky and unsolid financial floor, I took it on as a challenge.. (Lesson learned, sometimes.. listen to your gut.) Sometimes, your heart tries to trick your gut.. gut always wins**

When I was in that traumatic event last October on my way home from work, everything I had learned and studied unraveled before my eyes… From glimpsing at my own mangled body and quickly assessing my own trauma and the severity there-of, to the screaming sirens from the ambulances I use to drive, to the bystanders that most likely took those CPR course and immediately came on scene.. checking.. calling.. caring.. to the blood, I bleed.. COMPLETELY out.. that was RED, just like everyone elses blood around the world.. To the fact that my heart was failing because it could not pump so well anymore.. to the trust, I needed to take in all those care givers.. who had no idea who I was.. they simply desired to save a life.

As I lay there receiving chest compressions for minutes on end, just like I taught so many hundreds on Red Cross dummies.. they counted out loud.. “One, Two, Three… ” as someone bagged breathed for me… “One, Two, Three….” and finally.. THUMP BUMP, THUMP. BUMP… All the bags of blood that were rushed into the trauma OR from hundreds of people had finally made its way back to my limp heart.. THUMP BUMP.. “We got her.. she’s beating”.

Just like that.. Saved…

Fast forward ten months later and many pints of many people’s blood, and I stand in a room with people rushing around.. It is an hour from the blood drive opening its doors.. The room looks much like a triage room. Tables with empty bags ready to accept blood, tables set up for donors to lay on, small sections corridored off to ask personal questions regarding their choices throughout life to determine if their blood can be accepted, and even a kitchen with smiling faces preparing free sandwiches for hungry donors after they give.

Then, the doors are open.. the phlebotomists, other staff, and volunteers already look exhausted.. this may be their 6th day straight of working a blood drive.. sometimes 9-12 hours on their feet… collecting blood.. and its ALL RED.   The donors walk in, HAPPY… no one is crying, or getting their arms twisted to get a thick needle stabbed into their vein while someone helps syphon it out.. no, they are SMILING.. because they are giving.  What beauty. Suddenly the energy of love fills the room. Smiles erupt. People are becoming heroes.

In my case, One blood drive wasnt even enough to keep me alive.  Truly humbling.  However, I received and gave countless hugs.

If you really want to meet people who are the salt of the earth, go to a blood drive.

In the end, we all bleed red.. In the end.. The Red Cross and Emergency Response teams are our immediate link to surviving and living.

Thank you Red Cross.  You make my heart beat.

Gaylord gave me hope and helped me have a second chance.

SO, incase you haven’t gotten it yet. I LOVE CYCLING.  I also love giving.  Cycling + giving back = Joy.

I have had many organizations aid in bringing me this far.  One of them was Gaylord Hospital and Rehabilitation Center.   When I was about to be discharged, I knew when I got back home I had another solid year or more of surgeries and medical treatments.  This equated to the potential for serious depression and anger.  As one who studied psychology in college, worked as an EMT, and spent years in the non profit sector doing social service, I knew the best way to get out of my own head was to help others.  When we help others, we help ourselves.

I spent close to two months of my life as an inpatient at Gaylord. It was TOUGH. I was in a bed 22 hours a day, had four to five hours of wound care a day, daily shots, IV treatments, 1-2 hours a day out of bed in physical or occupational therapy with a wheel chair, catheter bag, wound vac, and heart rate machine attached to me.. spent countless tears in there.. and also received HUNDREDS of hugs by caring nurses, doctors, and staff. Learned what “patience” is supposed to be like when given care in the medical field.. always had a sympathetic touch, always had staff that believed in me, laughed with me, cried with me, and challenged me. Every night my husband would spend at my side.. they treated him like he was my extension (of which he is), I was admitted into Gaylord after almost two months at Yale. They transported me in an ambulance and wheeled me into the room. I was hoisted onto my hospital bed by three people. The first week I simply screamed and cried in pain and fear as the last month of my life was simply gone. One of the PT staff looked at me and said, “You are going to walk out of here, Do you believe me?”. I looked down at my broken and ripped open body and sobbed harder..What sort of mean woman was she to tease me? My head nurse Tina would come in and give it to me straight, “You will fight this, your a fighter to even be alive.. but this will be the toughest and longest fight of your life”. Well, three months after I was resuscitated TWICE I Did walk out of that hospital.. and made it home for Christmas. They promised me they would do whatever it took. When I came home, Gaylord had my home wound nurse set and ready to care for me, along with my PT and OT staff.

On December 16th, I told my nurse at Gaylord my scheme.  She smiled and said, “Sounds Awesome. I want you to meet Tara Knapp and Todd Munn”.  Tara is the Vice President of Development and Todd is the Director of the Sports Association at Gaylord. When the entered my room, I was embarrassed to speak with Gaylord Admin while I still had a catheter, a beeping wound vac, and bed head.  I introduced myself and asked if we could orchestrate a cycling tour.  They listened carefully as I explained my passion for cycling, my desire to give back.. and my hope to never stop advocating for the rights and education of cyclists.  Todd went on to explain the adaptive sports program.  I learned of the free clinics they offered to people with disabilities which included cycling, kayaking, and more.. This was right up my alley.

Since I had recently been let go with my employer due to the accident, I was heart sick and needed to “work” as much as I could, when I could.  Work equates to volunteering in between naps, wound changes, appointments, and therapy.  Regardless, taking on the cycling tour was a dream come true.

After much consideration, we began seeking places “off road” as I was run over “On the road”.  CT is home to some crazy drivers, fast paced society, and not the most environmentally friendly place Ive ever lived, but it does have some gorgeous fast, flat, PAVED trail systems… You can take them from New Haven into Mass and only be on main roads 10% of the time.  AWESOME.

Tara and I began having planning meetings at my home once a month to establish all the needed components and began seeking sponsors.. I decided to go for low amounts of sponsorship donations and share my story.. This seemed to work

Our current financial and on ground support sponsors include: Devils Gear cycling shop in New Haven  and Jamis Bicycles (of which was the bike I was riding when run over by a freight truck, and Im happy to report her kick ass frame is still intact).  Our sponsors for donations and support include Tifosi Sunglasses, and more.. We are hoping Zanes will still come through (hint) as they mentioned wanting to donate items.. and even Dunkin Donuts, Pea Pod, Giro, Diageo, and others.  We are also still looking for a t-shirt sponsor.

Those who want to raise additional funds and help us reach our goal of $ 10,000.00 can win some pretty fantastic prizes.. and the “know” that they helped Gaylord purchase three new adaptive bikes for people with disabilities.

Help me, help Gaylord give the gift of healing and health to others. You won’t regret it, and I promise you will have fun and meet some of the best souls on earth. http://www.gaylord.org/Home/WhyGaylord/SportsAssociation/SportsAssociationEvents.aspx

— Oh, and as a foot note.. I am volunteering for all of this.. No, Im not getting paid.. So SSDI, I still hope you come through with benefits.. Thank you.

With peace and chain grease,

Colleen