Firefighting for Clean Air

My mom works for the American Lung Association, (and is pretty much cool shit,) and is actually the like super cool/amazing web designer person. She also happens to be the unofficial volunteer coordinator of the family and close friends for Fight for Clean Air climb.


Every year, Ambria and I volunteer and hand out t-shirts. Originally we needed the volunteer hours for school, (which required 300) but there was actually something else that kept us coming back every year after we graduated high school.


The firemen.


To be as simple as possible, at the end of the race there is the final race of the firemen. Basically what happens is the different firemen districts go up in teams, some in full gear with oxygen, and some without the oxygen. And after climbing the forty flights of stairs, they get to the top where Ambria and I sit at our t-shirt table. After all that climbing, they get pretty over heated. And like any normal person they take off the things that make them hot.


And that is exactly what Ambria and I wait for every year. It's like a freaking sexy-hot firemen calendar shoot. They are all hot and sweaty and sexy-gorgeous. And they usually strip down to their boxer briefs and lay on the floor panting. And Ambria and I sit there and smile and say things like, "Good job!" and "You look hot!"


And then we hand them their t-shirts and smile seductively and say with a southern twang, "Oh you can have one, sweetie, you just can't wear it!" And those boys smile at us with their sexy smiles, some even wink.


Oh, how I like the stair climb.


Of course, this year was almost no different. Gina just joined Ambria and I.


For the most part, the stair climb went smoothly. There were some hiccups, like the fact that there were no 2XL shirts to be found until almost the end of the race. Or that the specialty shirts that had a name list didn't have the whole list of names and thus there were not enough of them, (or any smalls). And the final hiccup came when there actually wasn't enough regular shirts either, and so Ambria and I were stuck taking names from some very cranky people, including a lady with more caked on foundation than my Grandma Shirley.


Of course, nothing really could out do the firemen.


They were pretty smoking hot this year, and even smelled deliciously of campfire and man.


We weren't ready for them. It was in the middle of the race when we heard the distinctive chirping of the oxygen tanks. Ambria and I kind of looked at each other as we pulled out our chairs to sit and watch. Gina wasn't sure at first, but was delighted to see the first yellow coats.


They came and practically collapse on the ground. Panting and hot, one couldn't get his oxygen beeper to turn off, so ended up banging it on the floor.


We all sat and smiled and clapped for them. They were troopers after all.


Finally they all made it up, and slowly, coughing and sweaty, they came to our table and got the shirts they wanted. Some were shirtless, some with their helmets left haphazardly on their heads. They were all grateful for the shirts they got, and one particularly hot one gave us all high fives.


My little brother didn't see the appeal, but he was a boy after all.