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If you know me, then you probably know that the reason I do most anything is just for the anecdote I’ll get at the end of it. This rationale could explain my latest endeavor in joining the Pride of Arizona marching band.
Band camp was the event that brought me into the fold. Lasting for a week in mid-August, it involved practicing in a heat that feels like someone’s sitting on your chest and licking your face.
For someone who has never marched before to suddenly be thrust into an (...)