Published: July 08, 2009 02:52 pm      

Walking the Walk

One Man's Journey, Entry 10

When the words were announced over the auditorium speakers, I just about had to prop up Robert “Greek” Fochalis to keep him from falling down. He was stunned, in disbelief that we would have our campers recognized for obtaining the best overall score by any cabin.

I couldn’t believe it, either.

What had just happened that fateful June day is, for the first time in my nine years of volunteering at the American Legion Mountaineer Boys State camp, our cottage had been recognized as the best cabin with the highest award the group presents – the William Fugitt Award. It’s the place where both “Greek” and I serve as counselors.

We walked through the building to a round of applause from parents, peers and post-secondary students alike. I motioned to our campers – individuals who were soon to be high school seniors – for them to join us on stage. We ascended the make-shift stage and accepted our framed certificate, and I was asked to speak. The only words that I could think of – since I hadn’t really thought our cabin would win the award – were thank you’s to the other counselors and to the kids.

The award was for the kids and won by those kids in our cabin. For me, however, it was a fitting conclusion to this portion of the journey.

With this being an annual camp, my last two trips to Jackson’s Mill, W.Va., to attend the week-long camp was literally a painful experience. It wasn’t because of the children making life miserable. It certainly wasn’t because my many friends, also counselors, failed to attend this year.

I put the blame squarely where it needs to go: myself.

At the camp, you walk everywhere you need to go – be it to another cabin, the dining hall, or the assembly halls on the campus. Unlike my day-to-day routine of sitting behind a computer and managing newspaper sales, I walk up to six miles a day during this week.

Doing that as a 340-pound man was a task, a chore I wasn’t ready for year-in and year-out. After the first day, my body ached and my joints moaned like dusty hardwood floors in a 200-year-old house. To get through the week, I often used runners for what I needed, sending the campers in my stead. Or I would hop in my car to go up to a building within a tenth of a mile of where I was at.

I accepted the fact that I put my body through this hell because I was too unwilling to make a change. I was miserable by the time the week ended, and I thought every year about not returning to the camp.

What a difference a year made in me!

Now more than 70 pounds lighter than my last visit to the camp, I was astonished by my energy level. I fully expected, as in years past, that by the end of the first day I would be worn out, beaten, ready to come home.

But that didn’t happen. Not Sunday, nor Monday, not even Tuesday. My energy level all three days was adequate, and only after Wednesday did my body begin to feel the toll of four straight days of walking.

Even Wednesday, I wasn’t exhausted; my body only told me to take it slower. Through the first three days, I played every sport the camp offers during free time. I had easily walked four miles each of those days. I had even continued my exercise schedule each day, running around the campus at least 1.25 miles daily.

When the camp ended this year, I – like always – was glad to see the campers leave and return back to the real world. This time, however, it wasn’t because I was so tired that I couldn’t continue the camp.

This time, it was because I knew I had reached in my life a zenith I hadn’t ever expected to climb.

As unexpected as winning the top award was, so, too, was my weight loss and newfound energy. Both accomplishments let me know that I have more I can do, more I can achieve.

And both these victories prove that I not only have crossed a finish line on the first part of this journey, but I also many more laps to get me to where I am going.