Running with the Pope
I’ll take all the help I can get
The moment I truly began to heal was in 2011. Physically, mentally, and emotionally. It wasn’t apparent at the time, but I can see now that it was when things began to pivot.
I was slowly coming back to running and was asked if I knew anyone who could be a fitness runner at Canyon Ranch. The high-end spa in Tucson was world-famous for its healthy living initiatives and celebrity clientele.
I thought about it for some time, really trying to be helpful. Then I thought, “Why not me?”
I got the job.
For someone coming out of cancer treatment, trying to get back to any semblance of health, Canyon Ranch was exactly what I needed. But even then, I doubted myself. Cancer hadn't erased the patterns that got me there—self-destruction, lies, and running away. Was I still all the things Ron taught me, or was I ready to be a better version of myself?
Canyon Ranch was the perfect place. I'd run with guests twice a week, get a workout and meet all kinds of people - including celebrities. More often than not, I'd take a close look and say, "Oh, that is you," realizing the level of their fame. One day I'm running with a movie star, and the next, I'm running with the guy who figured out how to extract clean water from fracking. Let's just say, I am no longer amazed at how people make money.
One time, a woman mentioned she managed a family fund. I asked her how long she’d worked there, and she said it was HER family’s fund. It was Penny Pritzker, Obama’s commerce secretary and daughter of the founder of Hyatt Hotels.
One I always remember is a woman hired to be one of the official photographers of the Pope. Both John Paul and Benedict. She had fascinating stories about being so close to history.
I was becoming more familiar with Catholicism and the Pope in 2011, too. I'd just become the track and cross country coach at St. Augustine Catholic High School. Working at the school was my first job after cancer, and I needed to be there. Like Canyon Ranch, the school was a healing place for my head and heart.
It was there that I got to meet Bishop Kicanas. The staff told me he knew the Pope. Like, had met him in Vatican City.
So here I am in 2011 meeting the Bishop and running with one of the Pope's official photographers. I'm one degree separated from the Pope. I may as well be running with the Pope.
But if I’m honest, this wasn’t my first experience with a Pope.
In 1988, I was lucky enough to spend a summer in Europe. Backpacking, a Eurail pass, deciding each night where to go the next day.
It was here among my travels that I met Noel Cox. An Australian on an 18-month walkabout around the world. Our paths crossed in Barcelona in a second-story hostel along the Ramblas. We were stuck there for two weeks in July because the trains were on strike and we couldn’t get out of the country.
We became fast friends, touring about the city, staying out late, and trying to talk to girls.
We toured the Ramblas, saw Gaudí’s La Sagrada Familia, and almost got mugged. I remember to this day when Noel looked at the would-be mugger threatening us with a pocket knife, shouting, “That’s not a fucking knife, get the fuck out of here!” as he swung his backpack at the thieves. Crocodile Dundee, indeed.
During our first week there, Noel lost his passport. When he found it in his locker a week later, we might have sold it for cash.
Might’ve.
But a sudden infusion of cash sent us on our way to Amsterdam. Trains were an odd thing back then. You’d read the timetable, you’d get on and hope to get where you were going. As we were preparing to leave Barcelona, I don’t know how or why, but Noel showed up at the train station with a chicken.
A real, live chicken.
I don’t know the backstory, but this gray chicken with white spots and a bright red comb on its head was not happy. It squirmed and clucked in Noel’s arms.
“How the hell are we going to get this on the train?” I thought.
But what do you know? Once we found seats on the train, the chicken settled into Noel’s bag, quiet as a whisper.
Back in 2011, I did not tell Bishop Kicanas or the photographer anything about Noel, the chicken, or the Pope. I didn’t know if they’d believe me.
Noel and I traveled to Amsterdam with that chicken. At hostels and pubs along the way, putting the chicken on our table was always a source of conversation and a way to meet girls. Sort of like a puppy, only with feathers.
After a few days in Amsterdam, we decided to head to Rome and Vatican City. We heard the Pope was addressing travelers, and we wanted to be there. We splurged with the extra cash and got a sleeping car, the chicken finding a space next to Noel on his pillow.
By the time we arrived in Vatican City, the chicken had taken to riding on top of Noel’s weathered backpack. Vatican City was packed. Backpackers sporting flags from around the world converged on the city. Catholic or not, it was the place to be. To put it in 2026 terms, it was Coachella, and the only act was the Pope.
Was Europe a healing time for me? A little. Europe gave me a sense of independence and freedom I had never experienced. But Europe was also an unexpected detour. One that I took to hide out and avoid accountability for bad grades, quitting running, and life.
After our Europe adventures ended, Noel came to Flagstaff on his walkabout across the world. He drank my fraternity brothers under the table, one at a time. He taught us dirty Australian songs and drank a Coke at the Grand Canyon. We told tall tales from our trip around Europe, the passport and the chicken. When we woke up, Noel was gone, with a simple note left on the table: “Thanks for the fun, mates!”
Telling those stories to my friends, I was reminded that Noel and I had been separated in the jostling at the Vatican, and the Pope addressed the crowd before we could reconnect.
I was close to the balcony and actually saw the Pope exit via a side door into an alley. It was like seeing a rock star. To my great surprise, Noel was there in the alley, too, holding the chicken.
I watched for a minute as the Pope tried to get around Noel and the chicken. He paused, looked at Noel and the chicken, and then made the sign of the cross. I'm not Catholic, but the Pope just blessed Noel. That has to be huge, right?
I pushed my way toward the alley looking for Noel through the crowd.
Noel and I found each other in that alley in Vatican City after the Pope spoke, and I excitedly asked, “Noel! You met the Pope. What did he say?”
Noel said, “He made the sign of the cross, mate, and said, ‘you and your friend—take that goddang chicken and get the hell out of here.’”
Now, is the Europe chicken story true? Probably not. Then again, I did go to Europe in 1988. I really did meet Noel. I truly was just one degree separated from the Pope through the photographer and Bishop Kicanas.
You’ll have to trust me on the chicken.
My friends like the chicken story and always ask if I will include in the book. I’m not sure. I may have to find my way back to Vatican City and ask Pope Leo if he’s met Noel. Or the chicken.
🤣
You have to include the chicken story in the book.