In November, Davidson’s very personal story, Joan: Forty Years of Life, Loss, and Friendship with Joan Didion, was published as a Byliner Original on Byliner.com, which publishes original narratives by well-known writers in a digital format. The story is an account of the women’s friendship, their connection over writing and Didion’s tragic loss of her husband, daughter and personal code. The conversations between Davidson and Didion, her husband John Dunne and even young Quintana (she tells a sweet little anecdote about David Cassidy) concentrate around the craft. Davidson says writing was the glue of
their relationship.

It began in 1971, when Davidson decided to telephone Didion, who had just published, Slouching Towards Bethlehem, in hopes of talking shop with the writer.

“At the time it didn’t seem like a big deal. We had a mutual friend, an editor. He gave me her number,” Davidson says, sitting in a bustling Boulder coffee shop.  “Also, I was a reporter. I was trained at the Columbia School of Journalism to ask the unaskable question and to call anyone, to be brazen and fearless. But I didn’t expect to be invited to dinner, let’s put it that way.”

Davidson and her then-husband happily joined Didion and Dunne for dinner. From there, their relationship unfolded, despite the geographic barriers.

“They were living in California, and I was in New York. Whenever I went to California, I made a point of calling them. And then I moved to California in ’74, so I saw them a lot more,” Davidson said. “You know how in a friendship, one person calls more than another? I called probably 60 percent—certainly more than 50—but not 100. I made a point of continuing to stay in touch because I loved her writing. I would say she was a mentor, but that wouldn’t be accurate because she doesn’t like to be anyone’s mentor or to be responsible for anybody. I learned a lot from her and John. That was the centerpiece of our relationship: We were all devoted to writing but in very different ways. I was not in her category. She’s in her own category as far as I’m concerned. Just phenomenal.”

Davidson, who later moved to Boulder after years of living in Southern California and working in Hollywood, soaked in all that Didion emitted. Didion affirmed Davidson’s own fears and worries over writing. In the story, Davidson writes about the “low dread” Didion feels every morning before writing and how the 72-year-old author rarely speaks positively about her in-process projects.

“To know that someone so talented and accomplished and had already written acclaimed best sellers—her prose were being called that best prose being written in America today by The New York Times—was getting up and having low dread every morning. That was very comforting,” she laughed. “It’s like stage fright. It comes with the territory.”

Davidson was having trouble writing the introduction to her first book, Loose Change, and called Didion for advice. Davidson made her way out to Dunne and Didion’s home.

“I drove out there with the six pages of the introduction. We sat down at the dining room table, and she laid out the pages like this (each page spread out in front of her), so she could take a look at them all at once,” Davidson said. “She looked at it and read it. And I’m sitting there, hoping against hope that she’s going to tell me, ‘Oh, you are worried about nothing. It’s fine. Don’t torture yourself.’ She finishes, and she looks and says, ‘Well, you are really having trouble with this, aren’t you?’

“So, she looks at it and make suggestions. Not long, 10 minutes at most. I went home thinking that life was worth living, that I could make it work. I think that’s the most important thing that I learned from Joan: You can fix anything. If you have a draft, you can fix anything. It took me almost 30 years to really believe it, but now, it’s my code.”

Davidson has a portfolio that includes best-selling books, articles published in titles such as Harper’s Magazine, The New York Times Magazine and Rolling Stone, and a bounty of TV show credits. Despite the credentials, it’s become increasingly hard for her—and most freelance writers—in the unsure state of the publishing industry.

She had two major stories rejected by publications, so it was almost too much to handle when O Magazine, where Davidson is a contributing editor, rejected Joan.

“It was like three strikes, I’m out: three in a row, three big pieces that I had invested in,” Davidson said of recent unsuccessful pitches to major magazines. “There was a moment, when I said, ‘I’ve had a good run. I’m writing this was just for myself.’ But I wanted this to be somewhere.”

What seemed like a curse, became a blessing. Along came Byliner, when she had nearly given up. Her challenges are reflective, Davidson said, of the state of publishing.

“I didn’t have very many options. That’s the sad reality today. It used to be, back in the day, I could call up an editor and say that I’m interested in doing this and they’d say fine. But it doesn’t work that way. You have to write a proposal and by the time you finish writing the proposal, you could have written the article. They have to sell it up the line. It takes an enormous amount of time. But most importantly, I don’t have the contacts that I used to have. Almost every magazine I’ve ever written for has had many regime changes. …I can’t tell you how many wonderful writers I know who had best-selling books and wonderful careers who can’t get anything published now. Publishing is in disarray—both the book business and the magazine business. I didn’t have a lot of options.”

Eventually, she connected with the folks at Byliner, and they were happy to publish her story. They gave her an editor to oversee a hectic array of revisions to Joan. Instead of being a compilation of Q&As, Byliner editor Will Blythe, formerly of Esquire, wanted the story to flow like a memoir, so Davidson had to rewrite all 70 pages.

But the theme of the novel sustained through the editing process. At the heart of Joan is Didion’s revelation that her once-beloved Western Code had failed her.

“Even after her husband died, it was like, ‘Keep moving. Keep going.’ Even after Quintana died, her mantra was ‘maintain momentum.’ She went on a book tour. Book tours are horrible and they are stressful. …She did it and then she threw herself into doing a stage play. She didn’t really grieve,” Davidson said. “She didn’t really grieve until it was all over, and she got sick. And then it all hit her. When it did—you’ve heard of the dark night of the soul—this was a very, very dark night of the soul. To face that is enormous.”

When it was all said and done, the story was selected as a Kindle Single and an excerpt was published in Time. Joan was also given approval from its namesake.

“It was just an affirmation of our friendship because I was very nervous about showing it to her,” Davidson said. “When I did, she wrote me a thank you letter.”

Read an excerpt of Joan at saradavidson.com/books.html and purchase the story at amazon.com

She even traveled across New England with a 20-foot-long whale skeleton for a project called Whales on Wheels.

But then, Nichols Goldstein got married, had kids and eventually moved to Colorado. As Kipling might have said, mountains are mountains and sea is sea and never the twain shall meet. Or so one would think. After being in Colorado for a year, Nichols Goldstein got the itch.

“My true passion is about ocean awareness and citizen involvement and engagement,” she said. “…You don’t have to see the ocean to
protect it.”

So, about a year ago, Nichols Goldstein developed the Colorado Ocean Coalition to educate the community about climate impacts on the ocean environment. She started Blue Drinks, an ocean-focused version of Green Drinks, social meet-ups for those who work in the environmental field. And
in November, she hosted Making Waves in Colorado, which brought together some of the nation’s leading ocean experts for panels, workshops and education on ocean issues. That included speakers such as Sylvia Earl, chief scientist for NOAA and explorer-in-residence at National Geographic.

“I’ve had a lot of support from people across the country,” she said. “There is really nothing like this in the middle of the country. And there is a need.”

The coalition’s goal is to create a supportive ocean movement in Colorado, looking at ocean issues and addressing them. She even took a delegation to the Blue Vision Summit in Washington, D.C.

“We brought a big Colorado Ocean Coalition banner to D.C. with us, and people were like, ‘What the?’”

Now that the coalition has spread information and awareness of issues and grown a network of supporters, it’s time to determine the goals and outcomes for the fledgling organization. She said she’s not sure what exactly it looks like, but Nichols Goldstein sees good in the coalition’s future.

“Colorado residents have an outdoor ethic. People love to be outdoors and they love the idea of protection and conservation,” she said.

In her own words:

On Colorado: “We are a network of ocean-loving people a mile high. …Every week, I get so excited to meet different people here who are linked to the ocean. We can be a powerful force for conservation.”

On her following: “Many people in the area come from the coasts. They have a longing for a coastal connection.”

On conservation: “What we do has an effect on the environment. We need a higher level of awareness.”

On motivation: “Every third breath we breathe comes from the ocean. I think it’s appealing for people to do something to give back. There is a primordial connection to the ocean. There is something deep within us that connects us to the ocean. There is something that motivates and something that intrigues people.”

Why should Coloradans advocate for the ocean? “If you like to breathe, you care about the oceans. If you eat seafood, you care. …In Colorado, we have direct ties back to the ocean, and a lot of what we do ties directly to the health of the ocean. Even something as simple as how often we use plastics. It’s our lifestyle choices that impact the planet.”

Yes, school started early for the man who has been in public education since the late ’70s and who was the superintendent of Helena Public Schools in Helena, Mont., prior to making his way to Boulder County. Before that, Messinger served as the deputy superintendent in Weld County District 6. He’s spending the summer meeting all of the players and taking in as much history as he can.

“Once school starts, I want to give myself an adequate foundation so I can begin to set other goals—more operational goals—going forward,” he said. “My style would be that I need to have enough understanding and context to do that. I have my beliefs and my own values, but to see how they fit into this district and this organization, I need to understand the context here.”

In many ways, Messinger is still getting a feel for how BVSD’s situation compares to his work in other districts. Though, in his experience there are issues that all districts face: “I think as a profession, we are dealing with some of the same things: (working on) underachievement by some of our students, younger as well as older students. It’s a huge challenge for all of us. It’s a huge goal here as well as in Helena.”

Other universal issues are graduation rates as well as ensuring graduates have skills and knowledge to make them successful as they head to college or into the working world.

What is especially important to Messinger as he finds his bearings is how BVSD is different from other districts. The district’s unique challenges were among the reasons Messinger was attracted to the position, including the fractured nature of Boulder County’s geography.

“I think what is unique is that the BVSD really incorporates multiple communities that are geographically distinct, and they are distinct in their characteristics as it appears to me. Though, we are one school district,” Messinger said. “And as you might expect, there are differences in neighborhoods within those communities as well as with the parents and their expectations and teachers and their expectations.”

That’s not something Messinger has handled before, but he finds this as a positive quality of the district: “I think it’s a strength of a unifying school district to work with those different and diverse communities.”

It means he will have to do groundwork before he is comfortable in representing those diverse interests.

“The importance of my work early on is getting out into the communities—not just the schools but the communities,” he said. “So I can increase my understanding of things that are important to each community, I can make recommendations to the Board of Education as best I can, and so I know our communities well enough that I’m not recommending something that doesn’t reflect their values.”

In his words:

On taking the job: “It was opportunity and desire and the appropriate set of challenges that I had not dealt with before. It’s also a bigger district.”

On funding: “Colorado’s education funding levels have diminished, but a lot of states have been affected by this. What we need to do—state by state and district by district—is get a definition of adequacy and then figure out where we are in relation to that. If we are not where we need to be, then how do we go about securing adequate resources to reach that? It’s a challenge.”

On BVSD: “I think there are indicators that many things are going well. It doesn’t mean that things are perfect. But it does give you a strong position to work from, addressing some of the equity issues and making sure that all kids are experiencing success is an easier topic to address if you are building off a position of strength.”

On union negotiations: Messinger was recognized for his cooperative approach to working with teacher unions. “What we were able to do over time in Helena is build relationships between the governing board of the administration, the labor groups, the community, parents and non-parents,” he said. “We built relationships and in turn built trust. We went to work on the really hard topics. We had to realize that we were all—for the most part—working toward the same thing, and then we went to work and built a contract and initiated several activities and initiatives for students benefit.”

Photo by Dory Johnson

Teresa Robbins occasionally grabs a Snickers when she’s out riding. Sometimes, it’s a cup of coffee. Other times, she just wants to hang out with her friends or meditate with only her bike and the open road. Robbins’ philosophy on cycling—“I don’t want to race. I want to push myself, but I still want to have fun.”—has inspired the fast-growing women’s only bike ride known as the Venus de Miles. The ride started in 2008 with 661 riders; this Aug. 28, they expect more than 2,200 riders. There’s also a Venus de Miles Bike Club organized through Full Cycle. And Robbins said she hopes to eventually take Venus de Miles on the road as a national event series, starting with a Chicago ride in 2012.

“I see growth. There’s really nothing like this in the country,” Robbins said.

It was a circuitous path that led to the creation of Venus de Miles. It has something to do with the fact that, yes, Robbins saw a need for a fun yet challenging ride specifically for women. But it is also rooted in her want to raise funds for a group of students.

Robbins found her way into the role as director for VDM in 2007. She was working as an accountant for Greenhouse Partners, a Boulder-based marketing firm, and attended a symposium for Greenhouse Scholars, a nonprofit organization created by the firm that provides personal and financial support to high-performing, under-resourced college students from Colorado. At the symposium, Robbins was taken aback by the scholars.

“I was so bowled over by their passion and their enthusiasm,” she said. “What they have overcome is absolutely astounding. I wanted to make a difference.”

And then, it just seemed to happen. She didn’t know if they would even have 50 women at the first race. When almost 700 showed up, she says it was a dream come true.

“I wasn’t an event planner,” Robbins said. “I was an accountant. But I surrounded myself with a wonderful team of volunteers. We figured it out. And we are taking it very seriously.”

While the event includes men in drag, music, Trek demos, wings, burritos, chai and post-race cocktails, facials and massages, its foundation is in charity. Many of rides and races benefit some sort of nonprofit organization, but Robbins ensures that the focus is on the young scholars. They are at the ride, and they participate in the ride.

“We make sure it’s clear: The reason we are riding is for the Greenhouse Scholars,” Robbins said. “We also concentrate on the fact that we are empowering women and encouraging women to get outside. A lot of the women riding are being re-introduced to the sport or they haven’t been on a bike.

“It’s amazing to see the change you are creating in the scholars’ lives and in the lives of the riders.”

In her own words:

On progress: “The whole thing feels remarkable. Where I am most satisfied is getting to know the (Greenhouse) scholars. Their stories really resonate with me. I feel we are leaving a legacy.”

It’s all about preparation. Venus de Miles offers tips, injury prevention, training plans, diet plans, etc. in its Venus 101 classes.

On the ride: “When you cross the finish line, it’s such an accomplishment. It’s so rewarding. That feeling of sisterhood is unparalleled. That’s what fuels me and gets me energized.”

On biking: “It’s my sanity. It’s meditation. It’s time with my girlfriends. It’s a bike. I have to satisfy that.”

VDM implements GPS tracking this year, becoming the first road cycling event to offer it.

“We can see every rider on the course,” she said. “If your husband wants to see how far along you are, he can easily find out.”

Don’t know how to ride?

“We can teach you! …It can be really intimidating in Boulder, but it doesn’t have to be. This ride is for women who want to get fitter and become better.”

Photo by Joe Hodgson

Though he retired from competitive skiing decades ago, Jeff Olson still has Olympic dreams. This time though, the two-time Olympian is not working toward personal glory atop a podium—but rather using a possible Olympic bid as a mechanism for raising awareness of and curtailing the child obesity epidemic. Olson, who co-founded the Metro Denver Health and Wellness Commission and has served on Denver Sports’ bid and legacy committees, theorized during the recent TED X that if you give fitness a super-star makeover, kids will dig it. Here, he talks with us about healthy kids and Olympic dreams.

In His Words:

Inspiration: “I was at a medical conference six years ago, and we were discussing ways to get children active. It struck me that we were boring old adults and that we were talking about something that’s dictated in pop culture. For us to make an impact, health needs to be cool, hip and ‘the way we roll.’ We do this through entertainment, through technology and pop culture. And the end game is healthy, active lifestyles become just cool and hip.”

“This could be our Sputnik moment: to galvanize and energize a community about the Olympics and elevating sports for (our) youth.”

On the future: “I’m not interested in getting involved with the Olympics on the production side. It’s my alma mater. And I’m not interested in getting involved just to be involved. I’m interested in the beyond-sport impact.” Using Lillehammer as an example—the city boosted environmental causes during its Olympics—Olson thought, “What if we can do that
with health?”

“Denver has authentic culture. Colorado is the least obese state in country. But it’s still going upward. What if we could frame the whole reason for an Olympic bid in advocating a healthy lifestyle?”

Olson wants to be clear: “Colorado is not bidding for the Olympic games. I’m part of a group doing what we can to make this a reality.”

More than 60 years after Grandin, a CSU professor and the subject of a recent series on HBO, was diagnosed with autism, 15-year-old Micah Wilger’s Asperger’s syndrome inspired his mother to help found the Temple Grandin School for Asperger’s students in 6th through 12th grades.

Jennifer Wilger, director of curriculum and instruction at the Temple Grandin School, began working on the plan in October at Bridge School after she found out the school would soon close. Many of its students, like her son, relied on specialized education and understanding instructors, she said.

“We’re hope to create something for those kids who are really bright, who have passion, but may also have challenges in the social arena, so that they have a hard time fitting in, a hard time thriving and are not likely to reach their potential,” Wilger said.

Temple Grandin didn’t learn to speak until almost age 4, earned a doctoral degree in animal science, revolutionized feedlots and slaughterhouses, wrote six books and is a renowned speaker and Autism activist. But her diagnosis was more than 60 years ago, and the public’s understanding of autism is still limited.

Asperger’s was first made an official diagnosis in 1994, and medical professionals still argue about whether or not it should be classified as an autism-spectrum disorder.

It often goes undiagnosed until age 6, if at all, Wilger said, because Asperger’s doesn’t present as young as classical autism, which can be diagnosed as young as 12 months. One of the criteria of Asperger’s, however, is the lack of a clinically significant language delay, which isn’t as noticeable in younger children, she said.
Wilger said she considers her family lucky because her son’s diagnosis came when he was 3. He was an only child with a tick and a tendency to reverse pronouns. The diagnosis was a blessing, something she could work with, she said. At 15, Micah Wilger sings in a choir and does well in school, with pretty typical trouble in math: “He inherited my math gene,” Jennifer Wilger said.

The Temple Grandin School, which may find its roots in Boulder but will most likely grow out of Lafayette, would ideally be open to students this fall, Wilger said. In its first year, the school will be primarily funded by tuition. As students and potential teachers come out of the woodwork, Wilger said she hopes to avoid the struggles public schools’ special education services present.

“The services for Asperger’s are not good,” Wilger said. “It’s that whole blinded-by-their-strengths (concept). They’re so bright. They’re so verbal. They have so many other things that society labels as intelligent or, in many cases, gifted. …With budgets being what they are, social skills programming is very low and it’s never been high.”

In her own words:

On Asperger’s: “We really are targeting Asperger’s because it’s a defined thing that we can create a set of programming to meet their needs. It just so happens that there are several other related kinds of things that would benefit from similar
program components.”

On service: “Special education has tended to be a deficit model, serving a lot of kids with learning disabilities who are not cognitively smart or at least have gaps between different subjects or areas of their intelligence, so they fall through the cracks a lot, especially without a diagnosis. But even with one, they’re not going to get a lot of services.”

Seeing the truth: “I didn’t realize it with my son because he wasour first. Until we had our second and I thought of things he was doing, I thought, ‘Oh wow, this is really, really different than how Micah was.’”

On Micah: “(Micah) was very bright, very precocious. Adults loved him. His speech was very precise. He never talked baby talk. It was big sentences, big words. He memorized books, recited entire Dr. Seuss books at age 2.”

A new school: “The social skills for people with Asperger’s are very specific in nature. …The programming will be very individualized. The first thing I like to highlight for people is strength-based, whereas special education in schools is going to be deficit based.”

At the beginning of the new year, Cornelius Dupree, Jr. was released from a Texas prison after having served 30 years for a crime he didn’t commit. Many have commented on his apparent lack of bitterness and anger as he addressed the media outside the courtroom.

“I must admit there is a bit of anger, but there is also joy, and the joy overrides the anger,” he told reporters. “I’m just so overwhelmed with the joy of being free.”

What Dupree will probably learn is that in the months and years to come, the joy will eventually fade. The anger may not.

If there’s anyone who understands what Dupree is feeling now and will probably feel later, it’s Tim Masters. Three years ago this month, Masters walked out of the Larimer County Courthouse a free man after spending nearly a decade in prison for a Fort Collins murder he didn’t commit. Like Dupree, advanced DNA analysis proved what he’d maintained since he became a suspect in Peggy Hettrick’s murder in 1987, when Masters was 15: That he was innocent. Masters was overwhelmed by freedom and the advancements of society—everything from dialing a cell phone to reuniting with his family was mind-blowing and joyous.

But Dupree may also learn the lessons that Masters has in the past three years. For the wrongly convicted, obtaining freedom is unquestionably the most important step in rebuilding a life. But it’s only one step of many. Complexities range from trying to find a job to finding friends to finding someone to make a family with. Masters is still finding his way through many of those issues, while also trying to come to peace with his experience.

When Masters was freed, he had no friends outside the prison walls other than those on his legal team. He had no job and no belongings except what his family had kept for him in the hopes that he’d one day be free to use them. Immediately after his release, he survived on charity—once, while eating at Taco Bell, a woman who recognized him from the news handed him a check for $100. Attempts at odd-job careers, like getting into the storage-shed auction business to sell the contents on eBay, barely paid the bills of modern, everyday life, like rent and groceries.

“‘Normal’ for me would have been going back doing what I was trained to do,” says Masters, who worked in the aircraft maintenance field when he was arrested, a skill he learned in the U.S. Navy. “That was never going to happen. If I apply for a job and they go through a background check on me, even though my criminal record is clean, there are so many databases in this country that companies use for background checks that it’ll still pop up. Conviction, first-degree murder. …The future was looking pretty bleak.”

Inevitably, he faded from public view as his own role in his case came to an end. Still, the fallout from his wrongful conviction continues to make headlines three years later. District Court judges Terrence Gilmore and Jolene Blair, the prosecutors during Masters’ 1999 trial who were accused of withholding potentially exculpatory evidence from the defense, were at first censured by the Colorado Supreme Court for “impairing” Masters’ right to a fair trial and failing in their duties as lawyers. Then they were voted off the bench in November’s election, the first time in state history two judges were ousted in an election.

Once-respected Fort Collins Police lieutenant Jim Broderick, the cop who built the case against Masters and who was instrumental in sending him to prison, was indicted over the summer by a grand jury on eight counts of felony perjury allegedly committed during Masters’ case. Broderick faces up to 48 years in prison if he’s found guilty. He’s been suspended from the force, but the city is still paying his $102,000 annual salary and paying for his team of defense lawyers. His trial is pending.

Early last year, Masters was paid $10 million by Fort Collins and Larimer County to settle a wrongful imprisonment suit he’d brought against them. The settlement solved his employment problem, promising if he manages his money, he’ll never have to worry about applying for a job again. He invested much of it, used some to buy a 1910 farmhouse in east Greeley that he’s restoring room by room and has been quietly buying up other property in Greeley to turn into a modest rental housing business.

But while the money has been useful for easing his mind about making ends meet, it’s done nothing to pay him back for the years he’s lost. It’s had an unintended consequence that’s made it all the more difficult for him to assimilate back into daily life—already understandably distrustful of others’ intentions, it’s led him to build certain protective barriers, both physical and emotional. The settlement was widely reported in statewide media and Masters asked me not to be very specific about where he lives, out of concern for his safety. Those fears manifest in some of the house’s details—a tall fence, outdoor surveillance cameras, a security system that includes motion detectors in some rooms, and a pack of Rottweilers who are friendlier than they look.
Masters has become so wary of people’s motivations that he’s become something of a recluse. He doesn’t leave the house much and he’s made few friends since his release.

“My personal life, there’s pretty much nothing going on,” he says. “You never know if somebody wants to become friends with you because they know you have money and they think you’re going to take care of them or if they like you as a person.

“I don’t feel like I’m very good at communicating any more,” he continues. “I tried not to make too many friends in prison. I didn’t socialize much in prison. So I feel like my social skills are pretty lacking now. It was intentional on my part. I didn’t want to make a whole lot of friends in there. I just find that I’m a lot quieter than I was before I was arrested. As a kid I was quiet also. But after all those years in the Navy, I was in charge of a shop and I found out that I enjoyed talking to people in there. By the time I was arrested, I was a little braver about talking to people I didn’t know and I enjoyed having conversations.”

He laughs, then adds, “And then that just went to s**t.”

When it was clear that Masters was going to be released from prison, his lawyers told me one of their priorities was to get him into therapy so he could learn to cope with what had happened and to learn to define and work toward having a “normal life” going forward. Masters only went to one session.

“I went through 10 years in prison for a murder I didn’t commit. I had my childhood screwed up from the age of 15 on,” he says. “What are they going to do to help me? It’s done. You can spend all of that money just to go down there and bitch to them when I have family who are perfectly willing to listen to me bitch for free. …I’m sure it does help some people, but I don’t think it would help me.”

There’s little question that Masters still feels the sting of resentment and anger about what he’s been through. The one thing that could have helped, the cheapest and easiest thing those involved could have done, has never materialized. An apology.

“I’m past expecting an apology,” he says. “It would have been the right thing to do but I think that the people involved are still so arrogant that they won’t admit, even to themselves, that they made a mistake.”

As for his future, Masters has a book contract and has been busy writing his story in his own words. But beyond that, his plans are less concrete.

“I’d like to have a wife and kids but is it going to happen? I don’t know,” he says. “I’m not out there socializing, so it’s not easy to meet people if you’re not socializing.”

Despite the hurdles, he hasn’t lost his perspective. As he knows, it could be worse.

“Things are going better than they were three and a half years ago. Hell, even a year ago,” he says. “After all I’ve been through I’ll just be happy for whatever I have.”

“No speeches, no press releases, none of that. Just bam, it happened, which is different from how it usually happens,” he continued. “In 2010, it was an interim session. We didn’t have a new speaker of the house, we didn’t have a new governor. So this year, I gave my speech with all the full inaugural pomp and circumstance. This is the first time it feels like I’m president of the Senate. I was managing the place before, but now it’s a little different.”

The terms and dynamics are also different: a new governor, a Republican-controlled House and a $1.2 billion budget shortfall. The state legislature will also tackle redistricting, education funding and likely other hot-button issues such as immigration; he’s already banned Rep. David Balmer from the Senate floor after a redistricting incident. If the beginning of 2011 foreshadows the rest of the session, it’s gonna be a wild one.

On the Republican majority in the House: “We always had challenges working with the House in the past, even when Democrats were in charge. What we do down here is so situational. …They say timing is everything in politics. It is. You can’t change everything just because you have a different dynamic in one chamber or another. You do the best you can, and you get your bills out of your chamber and you hope for the best when they get to the House. That’s the attitude I’ve always had.”

Lessons from the 2010 session: “I learned early on that I got really emotional about some of the debates. …My job is to manage the activities, whether it’s the staff, how the bills come up in committees, when they come up on the floor, (or) which bills are prioritized as the caucus priorities. Just like in any business environment, when you have a manager who is emotional and gets spun up on things that don’t go the way they anticipated them to do, that’s a bad thing. My style was much more relaxed and easygoing toward the end of the session. I think you look at the controversial things that happened around the end of the session, specifically Senate Bill 191, the teacher effectiveness bill. It was a very different conversation in the House than in the Senate. In the Senate it was a very civil, calm conversation. In the House, it got out of control and it got to be an ugly conversation. It was a reflection of the evolution of my leadership style I think.”

Shaffer’s bills: “I have a tax check-off for an education funding bill that I’ll be bringing forward. I’ve been involved in Senate Bill 1, the first bill that we introduced this year. Sen. Bacon is the prime sponsor, but I’ve been working close with him. We call it the knowledge-based education fund: trying to capture efficiencies in government spending and use those efficiencies to backfill cuts that we will have to make to K-12 education. I’m working on constitutional reform to make it more difficult to amend Colorado’s constitution.”

Tough conversations: “Once we get into the budget, that will dominate everything that we are doing. …The decisions we are going to have to make are going to be very difficult.”

Ralston eventually broke both bones in his arm and used a dull knife to cut through the tissue and nerves.

Since that day in 2003 when Ralston freed himself, it’s been what seems like a whirlwind for the Boulder resident. His book, Between a Rock and a Hard Place, was published in 2004, and he’s gained notoriety across the world for his act of courage. He’s become a husband and a father. His son Leo is now 10 months old.

And now there’s the hubbub surrounding Danny Boyle’s new film, 127 Hours, in which actor James Franco plays Ralston during the most horrifying and freeing moments of his life. With talk of Oscar nods and reports of audience members fainting during the amputation scene, the film has thrust Ralston’s shocking story into the public conscious once again.

And frankly, he couldn’t be happier about it.
Yellow Scene: You’re getting a ton of attention and media interest for the film. How are you enjoying it?

Aron Ralston: Some of it’s really fun. You get to travel to film festivals and premieres, both international and domestic. We’ve been able to enjoy a lot of it together. My 10-month-old baby is now a world traveler. He’s coming overseas with me soon: We’re going to London and Paris for international film premieres. It’s been pretty cool. We were just in Los Angeles and I was on the Tonight Show on Friday. We had a lot of fun with that.

Most meaningfully, when I’m out at a screening or I’ve been able to share my experience in person or through the film, people who have been touched by it are able to share back with me. That’s really special. When it’s had some kind of an impact on someone’s life and they are there to tell me about it. It’s not unusual for them and, well, me to end up in tears.

YS: What is it about the film that touches people?

AR: From what they tell me, it’s that there is something more important in life than the pain or suffering that any of us might be experiencing. I’ve had some late night Facebook messages almost every evening. …It gives someone a sense of courage. If I did what I had to do in that canyon, then they can do what they need to do in their lives. Especially for people who have gone through illness or disease. In particular, with amputations, there is a loss or grieving. Just a hard time in life.

So, it’s pretty special (to share the story with them). There are things that people share with me that are like, ‘Wow.’ I was up in Carbondale and one woman was maybe 70 years old, and she was telling me how she fell at her ranch 100 yards from her front porch. She had broken her femur. She said she had already seen the film and knowing my story, she sat there and said to herself, ‘What would Aron do?’ ‘Aron would crawl!’

She crawled her way from her pasture to her ranch house and called for help. I was honored. It’s humbling to hear that someone had that kind of an experience and draws some inspiration from what I went through.

YS: Being with you—either by reading the book or seeing the movie—through such a powerful experience, I’m guessing people feel quite a connection with you.

AR: Especially, with the film. The film is a transporting experience. You are going off to the canyon from the seat in the movie theater and living that week of my life, being out there and then being trapped and then finally being liberated. It’s very powerful on film. It does take you on a journey, and it lends itself to being a vicarious experience. You feel like, ‘I’ve been there, I’ve been through it.’

YS: So, obviously you’ve seen the movie. How do you like it?

AR: I love it. I think it’s one of the best movies I’ve ever seen. It’s phenomenal. They took my experience and not only told it so powerfully and authentically that people do feel like they are experiencing it but also that I’m happy with it.

My sister told me that even after the second time she saw it she had a hard time watching it—remembering that it wasn’t actually me, that it was James Franco. She had to work to remember that, and I think that’s a compliment to the film. I’ve been blessed that they did such an amazing job with it. I’ve always wanted it to be a film, so it could reach people—beyond those who had heard about it or read the book. They can go to a movie theater or eventually watch it at home with Netflix or something. It’s available to them.

The more I hear from people, the more I know that it works in a very special way.

YS: What do you hope people get out of the film?

AR: I think it’s really like, they get whatever they need out of it. At the very least, they go into it going, ‘Oh, this is the movie about the guy who cuts off his arm.’ You basically know the plot of the film, but at the very least, they walk out understanding that there is something much greater to this story than it being about an amputation. It’s really about: What’s more important than the pain of cutting off your arm? If you were facing your death and you had a chance to consider it, what would you realize is important in life?

I think it gets into some aspect of what is common to all of us: the human spirit. It’s something that is there for all of us. We experience love. We experience liberation and the desire for being free and loving. We experience all of those emotions, and those emotions have a lot of power.

When we are detached from those emotions—as I was in the canyon—you can understand that, yes, I cut my arm off, but I was smiling when I did it.

People can see it in the film. It’s euphoric. It’s so intense. There’s James Franco cutting his arm off, and it’s been so intense that some people have passed out. But you get through it, and if you didn’t pass out, you are probably cheering. It’s triumph.

You need that feeling of hope and inspiration and encouragement and uplift and seeing someone else triumph over their adversities. To me, that’s the blessing of this story. It’s been a gift to me. It’s been a gift to my family and our relationships. And it’s been a gift to other people, showing them that their adversities can be gifts too—that they might be able to smile at the moment they do something so outrageous or horrific, like I did. I think people see that: They see the gratitude and joy of being alive.

YS: OK, wow.

AR: (Laughing). That got heavy. I also hope they enjoy it, and the soundtrack is really good. And I hope they find that it’s a fun movie to see.

YS: What sort of role did you play in the production of the movie?

AR: They had me involved in every step of the way. The first email I had from one of the producers was from back in 2003, when I was still in the hospital. They’ve put in a good 7 1/2 years of work, and there’s been virtually nothing that happened without me being involved with it. Not to say that I demanded that. It’s just that they wanted me to be a part of it.

Once they had Danny Boyle as a director, he reassured me that he wanted to tell the story very authentically and wanted me to be a part of it to ensure that authenticity.

I worked on the screenplay with him and the screenwriter Simon Beaufoy. I worked with the production and art designers on the costumes and the gear and the canyon. We went out to (Blue John) canyon several times in advance as well as for filming, and they had to respect that place. Not just in how they portrayed it but in the physical impact, so that they left it in pristine condition. That was very important for me. I really can’t even tell you how spiritual of a place that is for me, and because it’s a wilderness environment. I don’t want it to turn into a circus and damage the essence of that place.

They were very respectful of it.

YS: Was there anything you lobbied to get into the film? A detail or a moment that you thought would be important for the audience?

AR: They were so focused on getting the details that I didn’t really have to push for anything at all. If there was one thing that I lobbied for—just because in the screenwriting stage, it’s not something you would write into a script; it’s what comes out when the actor is acting—it was the smile during the amputation.

(In the film) James Franco has broken his arm and he’s feeling it, but he knows he’s getting out of there. He is no longer trapped, and he cackles almost maniacally, like [Ralston cackles]. It’s like the mad scientist laugh in that eureka moment. It’s like, ‘I’m gonna get out of here!!!’ I lobbied for that smile, so the audience could have something not just to be horrified by or repulsed by. But at that point, it’s a triumph and you want the character to get out of there. You are cheering for him.

I think Danny got it. He wanted this to be an uplifting story and not a horror film.

YS: Is there anything that you didn’t want to be in the film?

AR: I definitely had to understand why the cinematic elements were important in some of the scenes. Like early on, the movie starts with James Franco riding his mountain bike up through the desert.
I was like, ‘I’m not that good of a mountain biker. It was really not that adrenaline-filled of a ride. I was grinding my way into a headwind for three hours on a dirt road. Like, how much more boring could you be?’

But they wanted to spice it up so you could understand who is this guy, what he was doing out there, what this is all about. It made sense, but they would have to explain things like that.

It’s like providing a back-story without doing a whole back-story. There were a lot of times when they had to explain why the adaptations were necessary, but I had a conversation with the screenwriter. He explained, ‘Sometimes fictionalization can actually lead you into a more essential experience of truth.’

YS: Has it ever become difficult explaining or talking about amputating your arm?

AR: No, this was a beautiful experience. For me to cut my arm off, it was to get my life back. It’s weird, but it was one of the greatest experiences of my life. I literally was smiling.

I was euphoric to the extent that I almost passed out. I had to keep myself restrained during those moments. Sure, it was extremely painful, but I was going to get out of it. The pain wasn’t going to kill me. What was more dangerous was that I would pass out and go unconscious from being so excited.
For me, it can be difficult to talk about it, but it’s because it’s difficult to convey that idea. It’s hard to get through our general impressions of disgust and horror. That’s a hard thing to contemplate. It requires you to stretch your imagination. It’s hard to think, first of all, ‘Wow, what sort of place do I have to be in my life to contemplate cutting my arm off?’ When I talk about it, I take people to the depths of a really horrible place, which was being trapped and knowing I was going to die. And in that context, then I think people do understand that getting out of there at whatever cost was the greatest thing that could happen in life.

YS: How did you help convey not just the technicalities but the entire experience to James Franco?

AR: It was firstly through the book. Danny gave him the book to read and so the first time we met, he had read the script and read the book and had been selected for the part. So, the first thing James and I did was watch the video that I had made while I was trapped.

I had got my little camcorder out, and starting on the second day, I had made diary entries to make a video journal to be my last will and testament. I could say goodbye to my loved ones. By the end, I was in such a place that I think you could see it on the video, I had done everything I could. I had made multiple attempts already to try to cut my arm off, but I didn’t have a knife sharp enough to get through the bone. How could I possibly do it, if I can’t get through the bone?

I was reenacting this for James in a hotel room. I described that finally I figured out the riddle: I didn’t have to cut through the bones, but I could use the boulder to break through the bones and then just cut through the softer tissue around it.

His face was all lit up and his big eyebrows were arched. It’s wild to be reenacting my experience for an actor who’s later going to re-reenact it. And he did a really incredible job.

YS: Do you think this experience has influenced how you are as a father?

AR: Yes, I think that being a parent is such a transformation in itself. Sometimes it can happen reluctantly or grudgingly.

I have realized that cutting my arm off wasn’t a sacrifice. It was something I needed to do to gain something very valuable to me, which was my life and my freedom. Likewise, there has been a radical change in my lifestyle in the last two years, and it’s been anything but a sacrifice. It’s just what I needed in order to bring a new blessing and gift into my life, being a new father.

A lot of folks go from one stage in their life—being a 20-something with a career to being a parent. It’s a big change to go through the experience of having a child. You have to realize, ‘This isn’t about me anymore, it’s about the child and about the relationship and family.’ That could be the biggest transition of people’s lives. …I’ve had to struggle with it too, but I learned in the canyon that relationships are the most important thing.

If that means I go skiing less, than who cares?

YS: Are you still getting outside or out into the wilderness?

AR: Well, outdoors, yes. Wilderness, uh, not so much.

I get outdoors every day with Leo and my wife Jessica. We go for walks down to Boulder Creek. We walk along the paths. Or up Mount Sanitas. Or we just go down to Pearl Street and watch the squirrels and look at the flowers. Through him, I have a much different appreciation of the outdoors.

I still got up and climbed a dozen mountains this summer in Colorado. But again, it’s a different focus. It’s about being with my friends. It’s about spending time with them, rather than because it’s an accomplishment.

In 2002, Garcia McCullough was diagnosed with MS. It started with blurred vision, but over time, her body was hijacked by the disease: Legally blind, unable to walk, drive or put two words together, struck with tremors throughout her body, her doctor told her the goal was to make sure she didn’t get any worse. Not better, not worse, just the same.

“That wasn’t working for me,” she said. “I couldn’t take care of my kids. And friends were taking care of me.”

Years later, Garcia McCullough is full of life, passion and positivity with no signs of MS. It took speech therapy, physical therapy, acupuncture, yoga, a self awaking and yes, a few small miracles. One of those miracles, certainly, was meeting Youle, who came over to offer her new neighbor some help

“I had heard that the woman who moved into the house next door had MS. She was 36, had kids and was using a walker,” she said.

Youle, a yoga teacher, hardly knew what MS was, but she had found a book with some applicable yoga positions. It was a painful process; almost anything would cause Garcia McCullough to have tremors. But they worked on it: breathing, talking, using alternative medicine techniques and doing yoga. And they worked on McCullough’s personal issues—focusing on her confidence and self worth.

“The more she healed her spirit, the more her body healed,” Youle said.

She began walking with a walking stick, and then walking on her own. She rediscovered her bike, got her driver’s license back and even started kickboxing.

“It was like, I had this crappy roommate who I was just giving a room to,” Garcia McCullough said. “It wasn’t going to leave until I told it to leave.”

The two had gone through something almost miraculous, and they knew they wanted to share the experience. Garcia McCullough was a bit nervous about it at first. But she soon realized the potential.

“I feel guilty. I don’t have a cure or an answer. And people want a cure,” she said. “Then a friend said to me, ‘All people want is hope and inspiration. You can give people hope.’ Then I was free. I saw the light.”

They created an experience that could help anyone: a workshop in wellness inside and out, a seminar on hope.

“Hopeology becomes their story. It has been our story, but it becomes theirs,” Youle said.

In Their Words:

On her Hopeology cohort: “She’s like my sister. It’s a beautiful relationship. She believed in me,” Garcia McCullough says. “She had the vision. I was just a willing
participant.”

“People say it’s a miracle. I say there are small miracles. It’s the healing process. I had good days but then I had some really bad days.
Every step was a small miracle. It’s the fight along the way and the journey. I see it, like, life is a miracle,” she says.

On the future: “(Hopeology) could help so many people. I think the goal is to help people,” Youle said. “To share Hopeology all over the world.” And “to get on Oprah!” Garcia McCullough adds with a laugh.

“The day I moved into our new house, I met Maura,” she says. “Little did I know how that would change my life.”

“We want people to realize everything works out in the end. If it’s not working out, it’s not the end,” Garcia McCullough says.

On alternative techniques: “Reiki scares some people because they don’t understand it,” Youle says. “But absolutely everyone can learn to do it. It isn’t the practitioner’s energy that comes through—we’re just a conduit. People have forgotten that we are electricity—energy. EKG’s, EEG’s measure electricity. …Reiki is like acupuncture—it helps clear out our electrical/energy channels.”