It had started for me as a fantastic tribute to a hometown hero.

Yesterday, on Sunday afternoon, Albuquerque threw a parade and then had a convocation on the city’s Civic Plaza to recognize Holly Holm, the seasoned Southpaw who gave invincible Ronda Rousey a shellacking in November’s UFC Bantamweight World Championship fight. Holly, as gracious as she is gritty, was due to arrive downtown at 1PM, and many fans in the city started converging on the area around noon.

We had talked about it on Friday and decided it was worth a visit, so Tim, my boss at work, and I met at the office about an hour before the parade officially started, knowing that there would be many interesting moments to capture with the lens. Tim, an amazing photographer, stepped out of his car in the parking lot and draped two professional cameras around his neck, and then we walked from the parking lot in front of our office on Gold Street over to Central Avenue, and then on east a block to Central and First where, in a large open lot, vehicles for the festivities gathered.

Besides the fire engines and an old 60’s Ford police car used for festivities such as these, there was a half-ton pickup truck surrounded by people and decorated with red and white balloons. And there were 8 to 10 vintage cars, and several people with clipboards mingling with the nicely dressed people in the area. Joining them all was the Manzano High School marching band (significant, because Holly went to Manzano).

I had texted my sister to see if she was coming down to join us for the fun- after all, she was in reality my true link to this world of Albuquerque fighting. It was her own journey in life 7 or 8 years ago and her personal hunt for some sort of exercise situation that engaged her and helped her to focus that led her into Winkeljohn’s Gym. In a short time after dallying in the sport, she was learning how to move like a boxer, learning how to kick, and soon after that, she was in gloves and headgear, and she was sparring.

Inevitably, her path at Winkeljohn’s would end up crossing Holly’s- if only as acquaintances, if only as fellow female fighters in a gym full of aspiring athletes. Holly was a local celebrity, but she was still an up-and-comer, and, well, Holly was Holly. She taught at the gym, and my sister was there quite a bit. She, like many of the other regulars training there, certainly recognized my sister’s persistence, and development, and intensity.

My sister was coming downtown, she told me, but she was a little late- her family was finishing wrapping presents and some other Christmas duties. She was out the door. We have a parking pass for you, I replied, and I told her I’d meet her at the lot (since customers without permits would pay $6 to park there today).

I followed Tim on over to the parking lot where we looked at the vintage cars for a bit, and then watched as crowds gathered on Central north of First. A trolley vehicle sat on first near the intersection, and in a short time, motorcycle police arrived and parked for a moment in the lot. My sister, getting off the freeway nearby, texted me, asking for directions to the lot. I’ll meet you there, I said, and so I left Tim to go give her the parking permit.

The sky was clear and blue and the air was crisp- perfect for a parade- and as I left Tim and then crossed Central north of the intersection, I stood in the road and stared up the street completely lined on both sides with fans. The parade was probably still 20 minutes out, and the throngs were there. This wasn’t some slouch parade. This was the real deal.

When I met my sister at her vehicle in front of the office, she was wearing her silvery puffy coat- a lightweight version of the Michelin man outfit that covered her torso in a nouveau chic way. Under her open coat was her blue Holly Holm “Preacher’s Daughter” t-shirt she had picked up at the Jackson-Wink Gym opening a month and some before. She was ready to roll for the show.

I don’t pretend to know boxing very well, much less MMA combat. I wouldn’t describe myself as a gym rat. I am actually intimidated quite often by athletes and their discipline and focus and intensity, probably because I struggle to maintain any one of those at a time. And I certainly do not like to hurt anything. I’d rather catch and release spiders in the house than kill them.
I do not like seeing animals or people in pain or being hurt. But I do like sports.

And it is this particular sport that my sister introduced me to. A sport rife with human drama, demanding determination, persistence, pain, and passion.

My sister and I walked back to find Tim in the staging area parking lot, and when we arrived at First, behind the trolley now sat the vintage cars, and in front of it the marching band was mustering. Small clusters of people lined both sides of the road, and Tim was in the street talking to a car owner. Right away, my sister recognized several people from her gym, including Mike and Heather Winklejohn, who were participants in the parade, along with Greg Jackson, Mike’s partner in the new gym, and another of Holly’s trainers. My sister was reticent to blitz the celebrities- “It’s their day”, but in time Heather drew near enough Kristi could go talk to her. I stood alone, watching my sis and then looking around. Over there, near the trolley, talking to a handful of people, was Mayor Berry. And near him was Governor Martinez, also mixing with a small circle.

Soon, the motorcycle police wheeled out onto First, slicing up between the colorful, chromed cavalcade of cars, headed for the front of the parade column. And right after that, the guest of honor arrived in a pickup in the staging area lot. Holly and her husband emerged from their vehicle to a short spatter of applause which then rose as she they neared first. It was about parade time. My sis was back by me, watching as the Holly and her entourage were greeted with nearby clapping and cheers, and cameras and cellphones raised to snap their pictures. Holly and her dad and her family members slowly made their way to the trolley as Holly stopped and patiently signed photos and other items for a number of fans. As she got to the trolley, a loud cheer arose. The people knew their hero was here, and the parade was about to begin.

Tim had assumed his role as photog-in-chief and was skillfully finding places to snap a myriad of photos. My sis and I took it in for a bit, and then I asked her if she wanted to go get a position on the street to watch the show fire up. Sure, she said, and then we walked north of First, across another empty lot, to join the throngs on Central.

it was at about this time I kick myself that I didn’t have my phone out and my camera on, because it was one of those moments that collapsed time, and reminded me that my sister has been, from when she was a little kid, a remarkable person.

Before we got to the end of the lot, she grabbed my arm and said, Hey, can you wait a minute? I want to go get a picture of the horses. Back on First Street behind us, a mounted patrol of four officers on huge and beautiful animals sat at the back of the parade queue, waiting to enter the river of festivity. And that’s when it happened.

My sister turned, and beneath that long shiny coat, she broke into a trot, her long legs falling into that familiar, bounding stride. For a moment, I was on the playground at Tomasita Elementary School, and I saw her in a retro dress, running in that energetic lope that has been hers all her life. That jaunty gait that has exemplified her passion and energy for life and for living, and for getting in there, no matter what she has been involved in, and mixing it up, as hard as necessary, to see the desired results occur.

I was stunned for a moment, because that was my 50 year old sister, running just like the big sister I’ve always known and loved. And looked up to. And admired. Like a champ.

The parade went on after she took photos of the horses, and we went on over to the Civic Plaza to see the masses and to cheer Holly and to hear her speak.

After the event though, as I drove home, I had enjoyed the momentous celebration, but I recognized that the most meaningful event of the day, for me, was not found in the Mayor or the Governors’ speeches, or in the crazy fanfare of the cheering masses, or in the deep and endearing words a gracious Holly shared, but rather, it was what I experienced in those few seconds. The photo I missed with my phone but I caught in my mind.

Watching my amazing sister in her shiny coat and her blue Holly shirt running gracefully towards those horses.

Holly was deservedly the city hero yesterday, but I was grateful to spend the afternoon with one of my heroes as well. And to witness the beautiful run of the champ.

—

Tim’s photos from the event can be viewed by clicking here.