Holy War

After 24 hours spent waiting in line to enter Lavell Edwards Stadium, the gates finally opened at 6:00 p.m. in preparation for the battle royale to take place between the two opposing forces.

Brigham Young University, a college founded by the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, has a strong history of athletic excellence in football. Besides the 1984 National Championships under their belt, they have also attracted nationwide attention for their exceptional program that has raised the likes of Steve Young, Chad Lewis, Jim McMahon, Ty Detmer, and many up-and-coming stars like Ziggy Ansah, Kyle Van Noy, and Daniel Sorensen.

The University of Utah has a similar history of athletic excellence, but the author chooses to forgo a detailed explanation due to the emotional instability that resulted from Saturday's night game on ESPN, nominated the "Holy War."

The two defensive lines battled and matched forces in a consistent back-and-forth exchange of possession while offenses struggled to make big plays. BYU had a particularly hard time capitalizing on point-scoring opportunities, missing their first field goal and never officially crossing the lines of the end zone to score a touchdown.

Not to dwell on the specifics of the game, I would like to recount my experience of what happened that day leading up to the game, and the incredible fatigue that unexpectedly occurred.

Because of the change in student seating arrangements, many college students brought their sleeping bags, mattresses, and blankets to reserve their spot in line for the upcoming rivalry game. I arrived at 12:30 a.m. with 3 friends to mark out territory and secure our spot to be one of the first allowed into the stadium the next day. With a restless night among the chattering students, we remained stalwart in our decision to maintain our position and took turns traveling to our apartments to freshen up and return to the line. By noon stadium officials were supposed to stop allowing people out and in of the line ... which resulted in a barrage of students rushing to the line to get a spot. To our dismay, the staff was incapable of sticking to their guns and for the next six hours we were cut time and time again, diminishing our chances of getting a front row spot. Periodically, stadium staff took the liberty to deprive students of all nonessential items; the first to go were mattresses, cots, and sleeping pads. An hour later, chairs were banned, followed by coolers, blankets, food, and every other item that would not be allowed into the stadium. They even forced students into the line in the heat of the sun, negating them the opportunity to relieve themselves of the heat in the shade that was less than 6 feet out of reach. As the gate opening approached, pandemonium broke out. Free t-shirts were given, drinks were handed out, and more and more people jumped in with any acquaintance they could find towards the front of the barricaded line.

Emotions were high as people started getting heated about the amount of students cutting. Even I was frustrated with my "friends" who thought that it was perfectly okay to just hop the rope and stand by me. Finally at six o'clock the gates opened and everyone furiously pushed their way into the stadium to get the best vantage point possible. I didn't even have time to get my ticket scanned because of my impatience with the slow employee trying to read my all-sports card. I snatched it out of his hands and took off to where my friends and I had earlier decided to rendezvous. I was finally able to calm down when my position was secured and I could sit my weary bum down on something other than cement.

The remainder of the game doesn't need to be recounted. The unfortunate loss of BYU only added to the headache I took home with me after 4 hours of screaming, whistling, clapping, and stomping. Utah once again had bested us, and to add insult to injury, it was on our own field. I dreaded the thought of going to church the next day to hear the jokes the bishop would be delivering from the pulpit since he was a stalwart fan of the team from the north. Our pride was hurt, our hopes were dashed, and we will not be vindicated for another 3 years. Only time will heal the injuries sustained on the 21 September 2013.

Team IronDean

I am a marathon athlete.

From the beginning of my gingery childhood, I have always had a fiery thirst for competition and speed. I watched my older brothers compete in their

cross-country running events in high school and college, and I dreamed of following in their footsteps. I wanted regional championships … state championships … national championships … and Olympic gold. One day my name would rest forever among the nation’s greatest long distance runners.

Fast-forward fifteen years: October 5, 2012. After four months of speed training, hill repeats, and endurance testing, I was finally huddled around the campfires with the other 7,000+ athletes that would be racing down the red rock canyons of St. George, Utah to pave my way to Boston. Every athlete seethed with emotion, charging the atmosphere with excitement and anxiety. Because my predicted finish time was fast, I found myself with a special bib that opened access to the “Elite” corral.  Was I cheating the system? I had never even run a marathon before!

The race start came faster than I anticipated. Before I had enough time to psych myself out, I was crossing the timing strip that meant no turning back. Quitting was no longer an option, especially due to the symbol I wore over my heart and the person who was not capable of running by my side that day.

Team IronDean: to someone unfamiliar with my family’s story this name means nothing. It symbolizes the person I am and the man I have become because of my experience with terminal Glioblastoma Multiforme brain cancer. Don’t misunderstand that statement to mean I have been diagnosed with that horrible disease. I am simply surviving brain cancer as I support my father Dean, aka IronDean, in his battle against that monster.

Even though the past thirteen months have been plagued by worry and fear at times, my experience with terminal illness has sweetened my life as I cherish a renewed desire to fortify the bonds that already existed among my siblings and parents.

If it hadn’t been for his diagnosis and surgery just four months earlier, my dad would have been racing by my side. As I soared down the canyon highway, the thought of my father’s strength combining with mine filled me with inspiration and motivation. I was racing with IronDean. My eyes watered as I felt that strength fill me with energy and hope. He was waiting with my mother at mile 23 of the race.

I let gravity do its job as I cruised down the final hill of the canyon to the city entrance. There I saw them, cheering with as much gusto as they had when I was in high school. Screams filled the air. I may have startled my parents by my reaction at having seen them, but soon the screams were mutual as they responded with cheers of their own.  I held up the “I love you” sign that my mother taught us to use since we were children and yelled, “I love you Dad!” as I tearfully tried to keep up my pace. With a 37^th overall finish and a 2:43:50 time I couldn’t contain my emotion as I sobbed and hugged my parents who had made it to the finish line after our first sighting. 

This was only the first outpouring of the strength that I have received from the example of my father, as he has tirelessly fought to beat this disease and stop it from controlling his life. I receive strength from my mother who has held us by the hand and guided us through the dark times that come with this disease. She has been an example of faith and calm in a storm that would destroy most. She has tethered us to the Gospel of Jesus Christ: a reservoir of hope and happiness. Even in the ugliest times, we have seen the hand of God as he has performed miracle after miracle for our father and for our family. I would take this cancer from my dad in a heartbeat if I could, but I thank God for the blessing that it has been in strengthening me personally and bringing my family together as we lift and support one another. Cancer has not heard the last from Team IronDean.

Just a small tidbit of information. I signed up today (September 9, 2013) to run Boston Marathon 2014. TEAM IRONDEAN!