Faith.
That’s the word that comes to mind, when thinking of last night’s performance.
Faith got out of cars, dressed in every imaginable shade of pink, and coursed toward the Idaho Center, anticipating the show. The color of the evening could be seen everywhere; on vendors, grandmothers, and police officers. It was evidence of a community coming together for a mighty good cause; the prevention of breast cancer.
My husband’s mother passed away before I could ever meet her. So did her sister. The disease took them both. The siblings still weep over their loss, over two decades later.
This cancer thing is dangerous; it’s nothing to mess with unless you have to. We wish no one had to.
On a night with so many women present, it was a funny thing; there were more injuries, more near-hazardous instances, than all of the other Stampedes I’d attended thus far. Anyone would know that the exclamations and the sympathies would be strong for the athletes involved, with an ocean of compassionate persons sitting in the stands.
Cowboy Joe Gunderson had a mean bucking horse throw itself onto its back to get rid of Joe. No dice. Joe was not going to give up. When the horse got back up, Joe Gunderson was still its rider. ‘Fringe Benefits’ would have to try to throw some other rider some other day.
Cody Teel, with a score of 80, held onto the bull for his full eight seconds, but when getting off, the bull made a move that sent Cody flying through the air. The audience audibly said ‘ouch!’ in unison.
Shawn Harris had a rough night, too. He had a bull’s hoof land squarely on his foot while scrambling to get out of the beast’s way. 'Soft slippers tomorrow' was the announcers' recommendation.
“We’re keepin’ the Justin Sports Medicine team busy tonight!” they said. That was certain. The announcers were clearly biased; when a bull didn’t meet with their liking, they mentioned that he’d look much better sitting next to a salad and a baked potato.
Another Harris had the luck with him. We were told that J.W. Harris was the Number Two ranked bull rider in the world. The bull he rode, Pop Tart, helped him (well, sorta) to get a score of an incredible eighty-nine points.
I guess the thought started to creep in the night before, when I realized that Cory Wall, the bullfighter, had been at the Stampede last year, right around the time his child was born. He was here when he probably wanted to be there, would be my guess. I’m looking around, and I’m watching these athletes get thrown into the air, and having their extremities crushed, and I’m thinking what anyone would be thinking:
Why do they do it?
I thought the same thing when I watched my new friend Danna going up and down the stairs, serving the people in my section their concessions. Her job must’ve been similar to being on the stair-stepper for a solid three to four hours. Yet she was pleasant to everyone she came into contact with. People lit up when Danna approached them. Her easy manner and cheerful banter put them at their ease. Both nights she’d served us; both nights I could have set my watch by her. She was back every twenty minutes, guaranteed.
Why do they do it? Why does anyone do things that are hard, dangerous, inconvenient, and often painful?
There are many reasons, I suppose.
We have to.
We want to.
We have a bigger goal in mind.
Our efforts aren’t always rewarded; we saw many a cowboy and cowgirl last night being handed their fair share of disappointment. A rope that missed its mark. A barrel that tipped, then another. A flubbed ride.
Sometimes it helped them to express their feelings. One cowboy, after practically face-planting into the dirt when being thrown, took a handful of soil and chucked it, accompanied by what looked like an expletive. Many athlete’s expressions gave their emotions away. It was evident that some were burdened with the attitude of temporary defeat.
Not every day could be their day.
But there was always tomorrow.
So understandable to want to throw in the towel; no one would’ve blamed them. We’d probably feel the same way in their shoes. The marvel is that they don’t. What on earth, observers might ask themselves, makes them keep going? How do they get out of bed, day after tiring day, when there is so much pain and frustration involved?
We could easily ask the same thing of the people sitting next to us last night. Mom, Grandma, Sister, Wife…how do you do what you do?
The only answer that I can come up with, in my naïve mind, having not been through it personally…is faith. Somehow, some way, they believe that things are going to turn out all right. Whatever life brings, everything is going to be, someday, all right.
It takes a strong woman to get back up again, when some beast has bucked her off, time and time again. But women by nature are strong. They’re the glue of the family, the mothers of all mankind.
We were surrounded by some real heroes last night; and not just those down in the famous Snake River Stampede dirt. They were everywhere. Some walked in the door, some rolled through in wheelchairs. Some were present by virtue of living in our hearts and memories; we take them with us wherever we go.
Faith.
Stronger than fear, and meaner than pain.
It’s what fuels the Snake River Stampede’s Stampede for the Cure Night.
For more information on Stampede for the Cure, or to get information about financial assistance so that you or someone you love can get a mammogram, click here.
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