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The Wife of the Party

October 26, 2009 - Reporter Deirdre Fleming wanted to really experience what she was writing — and found herself getting carried away at the North American Wife Carrying Championships.

NEWRY — Hiking, kayaking and biking to learn about moose, mountains and wild places is a privilege. But after last weekend, I’m thinking the experiential journalism approach may not be the way to go.

This decision came after a guy whom I had just met turned me bottoms up and carried me over mud, logs, swamp and sand hill, all of it for the sake of this story. I blame ESPN.

But let’s start at the beginning.

The idea to enter the 10th annual North American Wife Carrying Championships without a partner came from Sunday River spokesperson Darcy Liberty. She said this odd approach to entering the event proved successful for the couple who won it two years ago. They met the day of the event near the registration desk and entered together as “walk-ons.”

Having a penchant for all things competitive, I decided this was how to cover it.

So Oct. 10, off I went to the North America’s Wife Carrying Championships at Sunday River to find a partner (though not a husband). However, most men asked to join me were there with their real-life partners. And understandably, these ladies were not thrilled with my idea. That or their husbands were too short.

After 45 minutes of searching for a wife-carrier, I went to Liberty with a last-ditch plan (rather than smartly ditching the entire plan).

“Go ahead,” I told her with 10 minutes to race time. “Make an announcement.”

Like Bob Barker she hushed the crowd of more than 2,000 and gave them my story: one lone woman and reporter looking for a partner. At least she didn’t give them my weight I thought as I watched a TV camera zoom in on Liberty.

It’s worth mentioning here that Team Portland Press Herald, which on this day would be me, doesn’t readily give up, which can be a good-bad proposition.

So it was that I found myself stepping in front of the ESPN cameraman and explaining that for the sake of journalism, in pursuit of great outdoor coverage, I was looking for a partner to truly cover this one from the field.

ESPN loved it.

“That’s great. Tell us if you find a partner,” the camera guy said.

Then he boomed something about “billions of viewers” and for a moment I had regret like any reasonable person would. But it was too late for that.

The wheels of fate were getting ramped up as Marc Bucklen walked by Liberty, she pointed at him, and then sent me toward Bucklen, who went to discuss it with his wife and friends.

Marc and Kelly Bucklen came to the event with five friends so Marc and the tiniest in the group, Michelle Ruscito, could compete together. Their hopes were dashed when registration closed.

However, this clan from outside Boston were Red Sox fans willing to scrap convention and win by some unconventional means. And I was it. By the time I came dancing over with an event T-shirt, the No. 63 bib number, and all of my humility held out in my hands, no amount of persuasion was needed.

“I like your spirit,” Marc said.

Minutes later, we were huddling and discussing strategy. My only solace in this weird upside-down race was my teammate was just as competitive as I.

“Are you nervous, too?” he asked as we pinned on our numbers; mine going on upside down.

“Yes,” I said while hurriedly sorting the pins. “But, I’m very competitive. I was an All-American in track in college.”

“Really? Then why don’t you do the run?” he asked with what sounded like seriousness.

The upside-down perspective was needed for the story, I explained. And he took off for a warm-up.

“He’s nervous,” Kelly Bucklen said. “Just tell him he needs to take tiny steps in the water hazard or you’ll dump. We scouted the course.”

At this point I considered myself very lucky to have found such a devoted and competitive team. But clearly, considering things is not always my strength. Moments later we were at the starting line, ESPN was filming the couple in front of us, and I became unglued.

I actually consider myself quite camera shy. But this was about victory, not vanity. The wife-carrying craze had taken hold. So I did the unthinkable.

Tapping the ESPN guy on the shoulder, I pointed to Team 63 and displayed the kind of trash talk reserved only for a great Hoya run to the Final Four.

“I found a teammate, folks. Leave it to a Red Sox fan to pony up!” I screamed into the camera pointing at Marc.

Then Marc flipped me; the ESPN camera zoomed into my upside-down face; and as I yelled “www.pressherald.com” with my index finger up (not realizing it was pointed down), we were off.

The next 1 minute, 19.75 seconds was a cacophony of cheers along the 278-yard course and an 11-year-old boy screaming and running alongside Marc. The rest was a mixture of grass, mud, water, and sand that shook and bounced. And thank goodness my face didn’t side swipe that log hurdle.

By the sand hill, my thigh muscles were in pain, but by then Marc had let go of my legs and was reaching skyward in victory. Next we were across the line, I was right-side up, and three different television cameras were on Marc, who was gushing as if we had won.

At least one team in our heat beat us, so the question of how we did so well had me silenced (for once). Later we’d learn we took 27th out of 46 teams but in the minutes after our race none of that mattered to Marc.

“We are the Walk-On Champions!,” he boomed later. And as Team 63 descended around us and I considered this merry band of friends who were my fans I thought, we did win in our own way.

“If I couldn’t do it, I’m glad it was you,” said Michelle Ruscito, Marc’s original teammate, and a woman I met 20 minutes earlier.

In fact, Team 63, strangers as we were, losers as we had become, captured the spirit of this glorious event.

Indeed, the Finnish Web site for the Wife Carrying Championships describes those who embrace the event’s enthusiasm as nearly heroic:

“The wife carrying is an attitude towards life. The wives and the wife carriers are not afraid of challenges or burdens. They push their way persistently forward, holding tightly, generally with a twinkle in the eyes.”

Something to keep in mind if you see that ESPN episode.

By DEIRDRE FLEMING, Staff Writer, Portland Press Herald, October 18, 2009


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Regions: Sebago


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