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Fruit, sweat, tears all part of Penn State fight against cancer
An unidentified dancer, center, is carried from the dance floor after collapsing nearly 48 hours after the beginning of the Penn State Dance Marathon, or THON, on Sunday in State College, Pa. The event was staged to raise money to fight childhood cancer.
Dancer Dan Laurenzi yawns Sunday afternoon during the THON. Dancers who finished the marathon were on their feet for 48 hours. The event, which began in 1973, this year raised more than $3.5 million.
THON dancer
STATE COLLEGE - Soaked in sweat and smelling of baby powder and oranges, more than 700 Penn State University students danced for 48 hours to raise money to fight childhood cancer over the weekend.
The 32nd annual Dance Marathon, or THON, raised more than $3.5 million for The Four Diamonds Fund, a charity that operates out of Penn State's medical school in Hershey.
The first THON, held in 1973, had just 78 dancers from Penn State's main campus and raised only $2,000. But the event has grown dramatically since then, with dancers from more than 20 Penn State campuses. Since aligning itself with Four Diamonds in 1978, THON has raised more than $29 million for the charity.
Here's how they do it.
The arena is dark in Rec Hall, and the dancers are sitting, conserving their energy. In a minute, the music will start and the dancers will rise to their feet and begin learning their song and line dance, a routine they'll repeat every hour for the duration of the event.
Soon the music is pulsing and the dancers are moving, surrounded by children and families who have benefited from Four Diamonds and THON.
The air smells of Gatorade and fruit and sweat as the dancers take turns on a plastic slide coated in baby powder. Around the corner, a small army provides massages to weary dancers. It's all part of an effort to keep the dancers as fresh as possible throughout their ordeal.
No one knows how much baby powder the dancers will go through before THON is over, but feeding the dancers is a chore unto itself, requiring hundreds of sandwiches and chicken fingers, thousands of bagels and bananas, 6,000 bottles each of Gatorade and fruit juice, 16,800 bottles of water and 2,800 Starbucks Decaf Mocha Frappuccinos.
Claire Bleecker and Aleah Missinger, 11-year-olds from York, are among a roomful of children practicing the line dance they'll perform with the official dancers later in the afternoon.
Claire is a THON veteran, but this THON is particularly special for her.
"I don't have cancer this year," she said, a smile spreading across her face.
"A lot of other years have been tough, a lot of sitting around the room because she just didn't have the energy," Claire's mom, Deborah Maguire said.
This year, Claire will dance with Aleah at her side, each wearing matching pink pants and sparkling smiles.
Fists pumping in the air, they chant: "Dancers, refuse to sit. We won't quit."
The floor is sticky from sweat and spilled drinks. Most of the children are gone, but a couple thousand supporters and spectators still mingle with dancers or watch from the stands.
Kristen Salvia and Karynne Manson were already in the infirmary, their feet packed in ice, when Mary Kaye Jacono arrived with sharp pain in her ankles and calves. The infirmary already has gone through dozens of rolls of athletic tape and uncounted blister pads, but so far no one has had to quit.
"At least I can still dance," Jacono said as a trainer taped her ankles. "That's what's important."
With 6½ hours left, the infirmary is full and many of the dancers appear dazed.
"I'm actually falling asleep," said Dan Laurenzi after being caught in a yawn.
That's a marked contrast to the kids, who have returned with more energy than ever, armed with squirt guns and giving no quarter.
Seven-year-old Elyse Shultz is using her newly acquired squirt gun to douse a THON volunteer, trying to make sure she leaves no dry spots. It's her second THON; Shultz was diagnosed with neuroblastoma, a tumor affecting the adrenal glands, at 14 months; she's now cancer free.
"The best part - I think the best part is everything," said Shultz, pausing only briefly from her water fight. "The dancers, getting to dance with the dancers, just everything."
A local cover band belts out 1980s hard rock, while athletics director Tim Curley serves as a barrier between two water-gun-toting antagonists.
There's a near-constant rain from the ubiquitous squirt guns, and the dancers seem - for now - to have found their second wind, re-energized by the knowledge that the end is near.
The final minutes seem to crawl, and dancers who can no longer stand are propped up by friends and THON workers. There's a final countdown to 7 p.m., and more than 700 dancers sit en masse, inert for the first time in 48 hours.
The final total of $3,547,715 is about $53,000 short of last year's total, but that doesn't bother Four Diamonds families like the DiRoccos, of Mechanicsburg.
Six-year-old Adam DiRocco, whose older brother, Alex, died two years ago from leukemia, enjoyed the toys and the dancers and the play room.
"It was good," Adam said.
