Planes, Trains, & Veronica Escobar (The Brooklyn Way) by BG

The wheels on the left side of the plane literally exploded with a sound that was loud enough to scare the entire flight on the runway at JFK in New York City.

No more than 30 seconds before this jolting double-BOOM-clap, the pilot casually mentioned that “something looks a little off with our landing gear and we need to head back to take a closer look and have it checked out,” as he u-turned the plane back to the gate, like a cautious Dad arming the cockpit of his minivan. Packed rows of annoyed travelers collectively grown, assuming we’d add roughly another hour before we could be back on track, putting us in at 10P instead of 9PM. As those calculations were being made and texting thumbs tapped away, the plane was rocked, immediately dropping down and leaning a few feet off balance on the left side of the aircraft, prompting the captain to bark back on the PA system, aggressively yelling, “STAY SEATED STAY SEATED STAY SEATED STAY SEATED,” without the usual friendly, corporate greeting and tone.

Now the wing tips on the left side seemed to be only a few inches off the runway concrete as we leaned like a massive bird-shaped Jenga Tower out on the tarmac, in the middle of nowhere, wondering just how fucked we really were.

However, this story really begins days before on the flight that brought me to NYC. The flight that started as normal as any. The flight where I recruited someone who showed serious interest in November Project, not just the fake kind that ends with a dismissive show of amusement. Let’s go back to Thursday. Let’s go back to Veronica Escobar.

Veronica Escobar is a flight attendant for American Airlines. I know this because I crowded her space in what captains and flight crew call “the galley,” on my flight from San Diego to JFK this past Thursday morning. Ya see, I stand up during most all of my flights starting the moment that the seatbelt sign goes off. Usually, when the busy crew begins to see the cubic feet that I’m taking up inside the already small workspace, I make sure to introduce myself and let them know that I’m in their world; A handshake, eye contact, and a name exchange can take most annoyed worker bees and turn them back into people who feel appreciated (as long as you tell them they’re appreciated). Veronica Escobar, like a large percentage of the world, still hasn’t been to NP, and still doesn’t even know what NP is. But there she stands, looking up at me in her navy blue uniform that gives a timeless look. She is small, middle aged, white, and has a half-smile that is timid and sweet. Veronica Escobar was the only flight attendant in the team of 3 who actually cared about the answer to the question, “So, what do you do Brogan?” My recruiting craft at this point in my NP life is pretty solid, but incredibly, by the time the flight landed, she had read the November Project Wikipedia page, like’d the Facebook page, seen our YouTube page, found the book and watched the entire NP documentary “Showing Up.” When we were about to land she came over to my seat in the back row and shook my hand, saying that what we [I thought of all of you] were doing was really good for this world. She said this as she smiled and shook her head in disbelief. Her only question was, “When are you coming to Las Vegas to build a tribe? [the city she’s based out of]” There was something about the way the word “tribe” rolled off her tongue that showed her study of this social experiment was thorough. She buckled back into her jumpseat and I craned my head onto the top of the headrest which pointed my face directly to the ceiling. I thought of Ben Omeara for no specific reason, and thought he’d have high-5’d me for a perfectly aggressive and soft sold NP push to this flight attendant. Minutes later AA Flight 94 was on the ground in New York. Quickly. I met NPSF’s Laura Green, NYC’s Paulleak, and Worldwide POW at the baggage claim, and we quickly dashed off into the world of berets, jokes and hip Brooklyn vibes. Veronica Escobar may have done more genuine NP homework, in the shortest amount of time, at the highest elevation above sea level, in the history of the movement. I wondered which city, if ever, she’d eventually show up to. I was proud to have connected to yet another person who sees the value of NP. Thursday on the East Coast was well underway and Veronica Escobar was already up in the air on her next flight full of grumps and fun folks, appreciative and otherwise. NP was on her mind and yet another storyteller was out there in the world.

Two very important things were happening this weekend in the great state of New York. Number one, was number 40.

On Friday morning at 6:29 AM, in the center of Fort Greene Park in Brooklyn New York, the 40th NP tribe joined the movement led by two amazing, powerhouse leaders, who did a solid job throughout their pledge process, as they were surrounded by BK’s locals who wanted to bring NP on officially. In a world full of insane rivalries that drive crosstown competition, one of the coolest pieces of the morning was to see how supportive the co-leaders and the members of the New York City tribe were on such a big day; Day 1, for the newest community. The workout was hard, the vibe was strong and 40th tribe inside this worldwide movement is distinctly Brooklyn. Sierra. Jeanie. Brooklyn. I’d say ‘welcome to the family,’ but you ladies have been a huge part of this all along, and we’re just pumped that your love of NP is wild enough to take charge and make things happen.

So, Friday afternoon comes and Laura and I are off, on a Northbound commuter train, for the second piece of the weekend; The North Face Endurance Challenge at Bear Mountain, a race we’ve now been doing for the 6th straight year. Tribes from New York, Philly, Boston, San Diego (rep rep), and more, would gather at this location roughly an hour outside of NYC to take on the Marathon Relay, a four loop team race that usually sees two or four racers that add their loops up for a total of 26 miles. It seems like forever ago that NP took the original win at the event, and at the same time, all of the momentum that we’ve built since still makes me shake my head in disbelief. Our partnership with The North Face can be seen in the gear that our Co-Leaders wear with pride and paint. It can be seen in the events some of our tribes pull off, and of course how it’s laced into our social media. Currently, it can be seen as we plan & attack the logistics around our annual NPSUMMIT. But if you really want to see the partnership in live time, head to the Marathon Relay at any of the locations for this race series, and you’ll see NP’s gathering drastically boosting the vibe, attendance, and camaraderie in an already well established event, put on by an industry leader.

Where were we? Right, the train, with Laura. She and I chatted the entire trip about life and summit ideas. For new folks to NP, Laura’s been Co-Leading this vehicle we call NP since we only had 3 tribes and 4 Co-Leaders. She has been through the highs and really-highs of being a passionate leader. She’s cheered, raced, inspired, trash-talked, and trained with countless humans since she built her tribe in early 2013. Laura works with Bojan and I on a weekly basis to keep our communications on time and sharp, as well as pushing NP to stay true to the core, while challenging us all to stay fresh and funny. I trash talk her on a daily basis but she really is one of our favorite people in this now 40 city posse. So to get a full train ride with her to connect was lucky and very rare. Like 9th graders, Laura’s dad picked us up at the Beacon station and we drove another 35 minute to her childhood home where The Serbian met us. For a trio that connects multiple times per week via FaceTime and phone, we took full advantage of this in-person afternoon to build the movement even stronger.

Bojan and I shared a room Friday night and exchanged our usual fart contest and “Good Night Snipers” greeting before drifting off. Something always makes me laugh when I think of the many variations of arrangements that he and I have stayed in around the world – Sometimes gross, sometimes siiiiiiick. There’s nothing nicer than the hotel we stayed in back in Shanghai (Four Seasons) April of last year, nothing more haunted then The Whitcomb in SF’s Tenderloin, and nothing more story-worthy than the upcoming BU dorms he booked for the Summit next month. Like a well rehearsed show, the lights go out, he farts, I laugh, I fart, he laughs, he says, “bless you,” (years later I don’t know if he knows that is funny or if he thinks that is the correct thing to say when you hear a fart), then we both take turns saying “Good Night Snipers,” in a tone that children would use at bedtime when speaking to their dolls. We laugh again, fade eyelids, close scene, then the next day arrives.

With a predicted ‘100% chance of rain on raceday,’ we were happily surprised to see very few drops falling from the sky as we woke up on Saturday morning. But, in true NP form, by the time we got to the race, it was fully raining. A little less than an hour of standing around and the race was off, with my Serbian friend leading the charge for the first 20 feet off the line, Laura went second, she passed off to her older brother “Ironman Chris”, who passed it to me to take the fourth leg. The trails were a muddy, rocky, stream-woven mess, that made trail wannabes like us, super pumped, and a little nervous. This was the kind of race where going both feet all the way submerged into puddle number one was the way to go – Nobody was staying dry, and it made the most sense to just get it over with early instead of tip-toeing around like you’re from SoCal. Roughly 1/2 through my leg I came upon Jeanie doing a struggle-strut through the dark/rainy forrest. She wasn’t happy, in fact, she was pretty freaked out, in a small panic. Her main mental hurdle was about falling – She is a very good runner, but as a New Yorker, Jeanie is all road, all the time. Trail running is newer to her, but this was more like slip-and-slide meets American Ninja Warrior, than it was like trail running as seen in Runner’s World magazine. Based on the blood and mud covering everyone at the finish line, it was rare if you didn’t fall that day at Bear Mountain and Jeanie knew it. As I closed in on her I thought of Ash & Eugene, two Co-Leaders out here in California who stuck with me for a brutal 11 miles of walk-jog-running after my epic bonk in the 50K. On that day in December, there was little I could say to either of these leaders to get them to keep going and leave me solo – They’d found me in a hard spot, they were committed to keeping me moving, they pushed a ton of shitty jokes, and they were going to deliver me to the line. On that day in December 2016 I finished my hardest run of my life and could not have done it without them. So, Jeanie needed a boost. I stuck with her to share an experience, to support and try to give us both a more fun moment to remember. We quickly disected what she was freaked about. We took the same exact line through the rocks and puddles, with her on my heels, we cheered for one another, as we loudly thanked mother nature. We controlled the mood. At one point I stopped Jeanie in the middle of the woods and yelled that we were NOT HAVING ENOUGH FUN. Before she knew it, two giant fists full of mud were being caked onto her cheeks, rubbed into her forehead, and even into her eyebrows. She laughed hysterically and did the same to me without asking. The tiny runner behind us, floating in a perfectly white running jacket (how she kept it that clean I have no idea), slowed just long enough to read our gesture that she was next. She smiled and didn’t say a word as the mud mask was applied. Thick woods all around us, rain coming down, laughing owned all of us, and off we went. Running should be fun sometimes, and in shitty times, we should remind one another of that. In the 50K, Eugene & Ash had been off course and were on track to be OFF TRACK by an additional few miles. They’d given in to salvaging a great day, which months later would help push the vibes in these New York mud masks. In the final quarter mile of the race, a fast fucker from Boston’s tribe named Astronaut (or something) dashed past me, putting his team on the podium in third place. I’d forgotten that we were even racing. Jeanie finished with her NYC Leadership team, sumo-wrestling a giant blowup shark as she tumbled and rolled over the finish line. Jeanie is going to fit into this family just fine. Laura shook her head with the rest of my team – I’d blown the race, it turns out we were 4th place, and yet I’d just had one of the best trail experiences of my life. I didn’t take time to explain my experience to my teammates, I just took it on the chin. Chris left immediately with his family. Laura laughed more. Bojan said very little.

I’d brought my yellow North Face tent to stay at the course and run the half the next day (training for the Marathon at Summit in June, lots of leaders are). When NP Virginia Beach Co-Leader “Red” saw me shivering and soaked an hour after the race was over, and the downpour picked up somehow even more, he strategically unveiled the fact that his AirB&B a few miles away had a hot tub….? This was the moment when I officially stopped exploring. What I didn’t realize was that he was sharing the house with a who’s-who cast of NP Boston core regulars. It was like a college frat house and youth hostil all wrapped into one. Seeing these faces that I used to see multiple times each week was a treat and made me feel like I was right at home. I talked with Liz Morvant about how she was turning 30 this fall and how she was single and wondered if she was on track in life (After a push on how life was coming to her and age was nothing, I joked that she was totally fucked and would die alone). I shared a few of the usual laughs with my Sports Coach, Mr. Tommy Layman (possibly the largest, most detailed NP tattoo by the way). Like seeing Emily Saul at the race throughout the day, there was a shared vibe with these crazies from Boston that I needed. We didn’t speak much about Ben’s passing, but it was felt in the hugs and the stories told. Two hours in the hottub, a serious catch-up with Red (seen in photo, far left), and I passed out in my tent, hidden in the one room in the house that had a door sign that read “Please Stay Out Of This Room.” I’m not even a badass anymore, I’m just trying to lay down without slowing the loud house-party going on upstairs. In the morning, Red was already up and so was much of the house. I slammed a slowly melting solo cup full of hot coffee on our way to the start of the half. Red was as funny as if it were noon, or beer o’clock, or he was leading his tribe’s bounce. His new girlfriend Maggie sat behind me (seen photo right) and gave commentary on the animal house we’d just left. Minutes before the start they dropped me and made their way to D.C. and Virginia Beach. The sun was out. The North Face crew was happy and supportive.

The race went off and I couldn’t stop from thinking “I’m out here today because I’m so uncommitted to my training that I have to sign up for a half so that I get my miles in while I’m on the fucking road?! What a weakling?!” The rain was gone and sunny blue sky was all we had. I laughed as runners moaned over the puddles, steams and mud, having no idea what the mud spa was like just 23 hours ago. But something happened as the plan to negative split the run began to actually go as planned; I felt good. Like, actually good. Not tired, fast, hungover, or anything other than good. My stride fell into tempo with a shorter dude next to me who looked my age, yet way more serious about his running (all kinds of compression socks, blade sunglasses, and modern Headsweats headwear). We didn’t speak as we rubbled up and over shit that came our way. I kept thinking that I could run this guy into another 5 miles before breaking his heart as I pushed to another level – Who do I think I am? Just after the Mile 9 marker he looked to me and said something that nearly made me stop. “I turn 50 years old today, today is my birthday and this is what I’m doing.” What the fuck!?!? Steven had just told the absolute wrong/best person in the race this little piece of news. I broke the news about all of you people and our shared culture of birthdays. He did that thing where he acted like he did’t want me to make a big deal of it, and yet the dude had just told me, which points to the fact that any kind of celebration would make him feel good. As if taking a test in a row of 12-14 runners, all face down in our desktops of roots and rocks, we huffed & puffed our best Happy Birthday anthem without missing a beat and without anyone hitting the ground. Steven smiled and said that he wouldn’t want to be anywhere else on earth. We laughed, we, the collective chain of strangers, proud that 50 could look so fit, fast, and light. Steve, wherever the fuck you are, I’m proud of you, man.

In the last 1.5 miles, Mary Arnold, Co-Leader of NYC’s tribe, was bouncing on her 50K legs from the day before, in the woods, cheering on runners as she pointed them into the last turn that would take us to the line. I didn’t even say anything, I just smiled and shook my head. NP has superheros, both in the tribe and leading the tribe. Mary is a spokesperson for what it means to train a ton, race a lot, nail goals, nail events, bring people together, but most of all, put on a face that’ll bring others up, just when they need it. I found her and her husband Michael at the finish line and took a ride back to Harlem where they live. Transported away from mud and trees and Steven and the Animal House and the Dunk Contest and hottubs and rain and hydration and sport, I found myself walking down the insanely wide sidewalks in Harlem New York, on Mother’s Day, heading to get pizza with two locals who seemed to know half the diverse pollution of faces that floated by. Like my time alone in the woods, caking on mudmasks, and signing to strangers, I couldn’t help but think of how fucking lucky I am. I’m lucky to still have college friends like Bojan and Laura in my life, to have a stream of good friends who share the love of November Project, and I’m extremely lucky to have the support from people who can make all of this happen; the humans, not just the brand behind The North Face. Like a clubhouse they’d been going to for a decade, we stepped down into a basement level Italian spot. I order the wrong beer that came out looking like a mini champagne set-up, including a baby ice-bucket, a look that makes a dude from Wisconsin blush with embarrassment. We only had time to trade 20 good stories from our running/drinking/exploring past before a yellow cab took me to JFK. I clicked to follow #ECSNY to see who I’d been sharing the weekend with. Soon enough we were back at the airport, making the last four days seem like a dream. I walked my giant backpack through TSA, tent and all, before the gate agent red-tagged it, basically checking my pack for free. Just before the thrower put my pack below the San Diego bound flight, I grabbed my book, my charger, and the jacket Bojan had let me borrow.

“Folks we’re going to be 12th in line for takeoff, which means we’ll be about 20 minutes behind schedule, but we can most likely make that time up once we’re in the air, just as long as we don’t hit too much weather. Current weather in San Diego is clear, breezy, with temperatures just over 73 degrees, flight attendants please remain seated for takeoff.” A few last texts to Goldie, “Home soon,” to Pow & his wife Candice, “Thanks for hosting on Thursday night,” and to my mom, “tried you a few times, taking off now, Happy Mother’s Day.” Digital crack helping pass the time, 30 minutes rolled by before the pilot came back on, letting us know about the odd look and feel of our landing gear. The u-turn was made, the explosion went down, and two hours later we all tip-toed off the balanced plane onto a set of rolling stairs that were manned by fire fighters, police, and a few alien looking guys in hazmat suits – airport security doesn’t fuck around. A man in his mid 20’s wearing a Cuba flag printed tank top smiled and said in a upbeat squeak to himself and all of us, “well at least we get to see these hot firefighters.” The entire flight was brought back inside and attacked a pile of Sun Chips and cans of soda – I love how basic people become in these airline inconveniences, as if Sun Chips would actually distract the fact that it was now 8:20PM and the chances of us getting to California tonight was very unlikely, but it was working. I texted my wife Goldie that her airport pickup at home wasn’t going to work and that I’d keep her posted (words like “explosion” and “landing gear” and a “dramatic pilot” didn’t make those texts – she worries). I stepped up to a bar a few gates away and ordered two burgers while downloading the full weekend with Laura who was still at her parents house. We got off the phone, the burgers went down like water, and then a voice from the end of the bar called out from behind a 3/4 full glass of wine and a book, “MR GRAHAM!” No uniform this time, Veronica Escobar was sitting alone, fresh off her shift, with just over 3,000 miles of flying since we’d last talked. This time there was little room for a handshake, she knew our culture by now. The bartender laughed – She must see strange shit all day with regulars, burger racers, and everyone in between. As if I were seeing an old friend from my rowing days, I couldn’t unlock my eyes. Still with a thick layer of mud and sweat all over my entire body, we shared a drink and talked even more NP, not onto the advanced 201 course material. “How do you decide who leads? What’s the biggest tribe? Should I read the book or go to the workout first?” She was on fire as if we’d put our conversation down for only an hour, not the 98 hours that it had been. I paid my bill and we hugged again.

The flight, now on a new plane, left on-time at the new 10PM departure time. The flight crew seemed exhausted as the sturdy landing gear tucked up under the plane that now flew over NYC. I was beaming from my run-in with Pow, Paul, Jeanie, Coach, Red, Laura, Bojan, Jerry, Candice, Steven the Birthday Boy, Timmy, Dean, the mud spa, Mary, Harlem, Bear Mtn, my tent, MC Jeff, Kim Maeves, Fowler, Tommy, Liz, Bits, Jesse, Sierra, Saul, Tom, the Animal House, and of course my newest long distance recruit and spokesperson for NP, Veronica Escobar. We landed at 1:30AM, in bed by 2:15AM, and bounced at NPSD at 6:29AM – Truly living the dream.

Remember, none of us do anything alone. We can always point to those who brought us to where we are and thank those who deserve credit and love. November Project belongs to all of us and we need to use it to bring more people into our lives.

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