By Jerry Knapp
The 9/11 memorial stair climb at FDIC 2012 was absolutely spectacular. For me, it tied together many key points that have helped me and will continue to help me in my fire service career. Of course, FDIC is an outstanding event in itself and always has a huge impact, but this little addition really captured my attention. Who else would have the opportunity to do a climbing route around Lucas Oil Stadium during a convention with a few hundred other firefighters? The next time we watch the New York Giants beat the Indianapolis Colts at our fire house, I can say, “Yup, I was up there, climbing for Andy.” Andy Fredericks was a friend of mine; he was murdered by terrorists on 9/11. The stair climb was an opportunity I simply could not pass up. In some small way, it touched me and made me feel as if I had paid something back. No tears, no blood, but a lot of sweat.
None of us are getting any younger, and opportunities like this should be jumped on with both feet. Climbing 110 floors to honor those Fire Department of New York (FDNY) members who died on 9/11 sounded honorable–but 110 floors? What if I cramp up and can’t finish? What if my legs will not do it? Most importantly, what if I don’t do it–the greatest disappointment of all would be that I’ll never know if I could! Like most firefighters, I’m a risk taker, for better or for worse. The plan was to go.
This was my first time, so I decided to wear shorts and running shoes. At the check-in area and start point, there a nice couple was handing out self-contained breathing apparatus (SCBA). Most guys took one and wore it for the climb. First, I thought I would not–but then, how would I know if I could if I did not try? About half the firefighters wore full gear. I was assigned a pack and wore it for the climb because it seemed like a good compromise. What’s another 30 pounds anyway?
Leaders of the National Fallen Firefighters Foundation (NFFF) briefed the group before we started. It was not a race but an effort to honor those who were killed and injured. It seemed like a good cause–put out some effort and sweat to pay homage in some small way. They said we could rest along the way. How could you rest when you even consider the circumstances of the day we were attacked? If you want to do a memorial climb in your area, contact the NFFF for assistance.
There were two tables with name tags and pictures of the 343 FDNY firefighters killed in the attack on America that day. We were directed to pick up a badge, attach it to our pack, and climb for that person. I looked hard for Andy’s picture, but it had already been taken. Then I saw Firefighter VanHine. I worked with him in a small career department for a short time before he went to FDNY.
There was a moment of silence throughout the entire stadium when the buzz of the exhibits and everything else halted after a short prayer. Then we were off.
It seemed almost like a fire or an emergency call, like coming out of the firehouse and responding. We came out of the tunnel under the stands, turned and started up the stairs. People were watching, cheering us on, but we had to watch the stairs and every step so as not to fall. Similar to a call: We had a basic description; we were to climb the equivalent of 110 floors, the height of the World Trade Center. This would be accomplished on a three-lap course. Sizing up that information drew panic–three laps around the stadium up and down every stair??? Maybe we should strike a second right now! Thankfully, the course used only the end zone seats and stairs and two floors of the concourse.
Up the first flight, from stadium level to the concourse, then a walk to the next stairs. “Was this safe?” I wondered, expending this kind of extreme effort. Our egos and the cause were going to get in our way of resting when others continued on. Would we push ourselves beyond safe limits? Would this extreme physical effort result in heat injuries, heart attacks, or worse? It was at this point, early in the climb, that the class I was at the previous day really made sense. Jason Brezier, a Marine Corps officer and FDNY firefighter, drove home the point that we should not be focused on the culture of safety, but rather a culture of survival. If I heard him correctly, he said that the end state for our training should include the following to ensure our survival:
- Mindset for survival
- Situational awareness
- Mental toughness
- Physical fitness
- Tactical discipline
- Technical proficiency
In the Marine world, I visualized it like this: better to be able to expose yourself to danger for a short time, shoot straight and kill the bad guy than to be “safe” and try to deflect his bullets with your shield. The hazard never goes away. In the fire world, better to be trained to be able to effectively and aggressively extinguish the fire rather than create a drawn-out firefight with longer times, more hazards, and increased danger for members.
A mindset for survival: This was described as part of the process to change from safety mode to survival mode. It would be safer to be sitting in the stands with a cup of coffee watching. But in the long run, is that really safe? The better shape I’m in, the better chances of my survival.
Situational awareness: The climb would force us to be aware of where we were in the course, manage our abilities, watch for cramps and shin splints, and so on.
Mental toughness: We need to set the bar high for our firefighters, and this was a good point: climb 110 floors. It was a realistic effort of what we are asked to perform at working fires, both in terms of level of effort and duration.
Physical fitness: We must think of and prepare ourselves to be an athletic professional. When the alarm sounds, we are expected to work in the micro climate of our personal protective equipment at 100 percent humidity, 100º F. You can’t do that if you are not fit, period.
Tactically disciplined: This was a climb, not a run. I wanted to run, but clearly that was not the right thing to do.
Technically proficient: Swinging your arms while climbing up really helps provide some momentum.
At the end of the first lap, the guy just ahead of me said we did it in 21 minutes. We talked at the top of the next stretch of stairs. He and his bud were from North Carolina. We talked, laughed, and pushed on. Two more laps would make this almost an hour workout.
A few guys dropped out after only a few flights. Clearly they were not in shape; how do these guys function on the fireground? Are they safe? Will they survive? What effect will they have on their other members and department and the effectiveness of their company?
About halfway through the second lap, a guy in gear was sitting in a stadium seat, sweat was pouring from his head and face, and he had a 1000-yard stare. I stopped and asked if he was okay. He was not–he was close to becoming a heat casualty. Another guy helped. We took off his coat. He started to cool down, regained his awareness, and was going to be alright. He drank from his bottle of water. We pressed on.
That short stop did nothing but make my legs feel like hardening concrete. Will they work? Can I get them going again? Is this safe, or am I learning the culture of survival? As we go up and down the same flight separated by hand rails, we see the same faces. Guys on both sides start to encourage each other. Hey what’s your name? Jerry. The guy I see midway on each lap goes by Soomey. We look for each other and high-five each other on each successive flight.
The second lap finished; Ted noted that we did 19 minutes for the lap. Pretty good.
The guys in full bear are really working hard. When I sweat, my wet shirt feels cool. On the other hand, the body heat just cooks those inside their gear. We are learning survival firsthand. It is great training.
Someone in the crowd starts the chant U-S-A, U-S-A. We all join in, and the woman behind me, wearing a pack, says she is outnumbered. I ask her what she means. She is an assistant chief from the western part of Canada. We chat. She asks, “Are we supposed to sprint to the finish line?” Sprint to the finish line? What the hell? As Deputy Chief Billy Goldfeder would say: WTF! She was a WTF–Well Trained Firefighter. Clearly, her mind is set on survival; she is aware of her situation, mentally tough, physically fit, has been disciplined so far on the climb, and without a doubt has paced herself with excellent proficiency. Sprinting to the finish sure did not sound safe, but the faster we got off the course, the better our chances of survival.
As I’m thinking about it, she takes off running about 400 yards (meters in her world) from the finish line. Testosterone being what it is, I take off, saying to no one in particular but out loud, “I’m not going to let her beat me to the finish line.” My legs are feeling good. I am not that winded, and the sweat of my shirt is keeping me really cool. Down the stairs I go, certainly at an unsafe speed. The gap between us is increasing. Damn! She is moving, her feet flying on the short steps of the stadium. On the concourse, it was flat; I catch up. Up the long, no-moving escalator that seems to go forever (but is really only about two full floors). Across the concourse again, I am right with her and gently mention that I am not going to let her beat me to the finish. She speeds up. I should have said let’s cross together. She puts her head down and speeds up again. We make it down the last flight to the stadium floor. She is faster on the steps, but I am faster on the flats. We cross the finish line together, hug, turn our packs in, and never see each other again.
Ted and his bud had gotten ahead of me somewhere. I think they did a short run across one of the concourses. I finished right behind them: 57 minutes, spending 17 minutes on the last lap. My survival quotient was getting better. Soomie was in the line behind me and finished just after I turned around at the line. A high-five and a hug, and we laughed. We talked as we walked out. He is a Detroit firefighter. The picture of the fallen FDNY firefighter he was climbing for looked eerily like him. We talked about that, God, and fate for a while. We shook hands and parted ways.
If you have not done the climb, you must next year. It is an excellent event for a good cause, and it will make you consider survival over safety–plus it’s just great fun and a super leg workout.
Here are a few thoughts to help improve your eating habits and exercise habits both at home and around the firehouse:
- When you first start to work out, don’t kill yourself! I used to run once or twice a week. I’d run really hard and long–and painfully. Thinking about the run the next day was torture. So I would not run or work out consistently. Try this: run until you get tired; then stop, walk, recover and run again when you feel better. Run and walk every day or every other day. You will be amazed at how quickly you get in shape. One day after a couple of weeks, you will be running, not feel tired, and just keep going. It is a great feeling!
- Take one small step to eat better. Firefighters are dying of heart attacks, not in death-defying rescues of women and children. Buy a container of your favorite kind of nuts and put them on the counter where you can see them. Instead of reaching for your favorite chocolate chip cookie, grab a few nuts. Make a bowl of fruit salad or get some of your favorite fruit and put it in the front of the refrigerator. When you go in there to make a raid, it will be the first thing you see. It will be already prepared, so just dig in with your fingers or a fork. Just make a few little changes. They will accumulate for a significant improvement.
- Just eat one little bit less. You want an ice cream sundae? Just get a medium-size instead of a piggy size. You get your ice cream and help out your diet at the same time.
See you next year at the FDIC Stair Climb!
JERRY KNAPP is the assistant chief for the Rockland County (NY) Hazmat Team and a training officer at the Rockland County Fire Training Center in Pomona, New York. He is a 35-year veteran firefighter/EMT with the West Haverstraw (NY) Fire Department, has a degree in fire protection, and was a nationally registered paramedic. Knapp is the former plans officer for the Directorate of Emergency Services at the United States Military Academy in West Point, New York.
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