The 200-mile Ride For AIDS was an emotional journey, not just a physical challenge for Sean Blay, 38, an East Lakeview resident who has faced HIV/AIDS head on for almost 15 years.
At 24, Blay was working for the City of Chicago with a "dream job." He was the Elite Coach for Chicago's Jump Company, working with and coaching elite-level gymnastics teams on floor and balance beam routines. His team traveled to Germany, Italy and every major event held in Chicago.
"I think I let it all go to my head and was very careless and reckless when it came to drinking and using various club drugs," Blay now admits. "At the time, city employees had United Heath Care, one of the best providers in the nation. So I took advantage of seeing a doctor regularly. On one of my visits, the doctor, looking at my chart, said, 'I don't see any recent blood work or HIV testing in your history.'"
So Blay was tested for STDs, and a week later was told that he needed to go to the doctor's office for the results—and that he should bring someone for support, be it a friend, partner or parent.
Blay, though, went alone, and his doctor told him he was HIV-positive.
"It didn't really hit me until that night, that I might be dying," Blay said. "I went into a downward spiral and started with heavy drug use and drinking non-stop, and yet couldn't tell anyone [about the diagnosis]. Finally my boss called me into her office and started interrogating me, wanting to know what was going on. I was always late for work; my choreography and performance were starting to slip; I wasn't paying attention to details. So I broke down and told her in confidence."
Blay hadn't even told his parents at that point; he didn't think he could. After all, both of his parents were ordained ministers, aligned with one of the largest churches in the south suburbs. They had raised their kids in church, where dad was a pastor preaching from the pulpit that being gay was wrong. "I didn't have any other upbringing—gay was wrong," he said.
Even though Blay had dropped several hints along the way that he was gay.
Blay went to Oral Roberts University, one of the largest Christian universities in the country—which was more his parent's choice than his. He was a drama, television and film performance major. On his 21st birthday, Blay's father came right out and asked if he was gay. Blay laughed and said, 'Of course!' His dad then started quoting Scriptures—and told him to get out of the family home.
Blay moved to Lakeview.
"My father was mentally abusing my mother, blaming her for their son turning out this way," he said.
Blay clearly had no family support to reveal he was HIV-positive.
His boss also proved to be unfaithful.
"We had just finished doing a huge Christmas fundraising performance. Four nights. Soldout performances and yours truly had all the money from the ticket sales," Blay said. "It was Christmas break and we had a week off from the Park District, so I had taken the money home and safely hid it in my apartment until I had to return to work. That Monday morning [while on vacation], my boss was calling around trying to get a hold of me to find out where I was with that money. She called my house and I wasn't there. She left a message. She called my parent's house and left a message in a very abrupt and disrespectful tone saying, 'Where the hell is your son? I can't get a hold of him! He has over $2,000 of Park District money. I don't care if he is gay or HIV-positive, he better not be using this money for his drug problem! I want his ass in my office immediately with that money before I fire his ass.'"
That's how Blay's parents learned of his HIV status.
"I felt so low, so alone, so depressed. I was ashamed [of myself]. I didn't want to see my parents. I felt so dirty and marked now that everyone knew. Not only am I a disgrace to my parents, but now the entire church would find out and I started losing friends left and right," Blay said.
That's when things really went downhill.
His dad drove from their suburban home to Blay's Chicago apartment. He found an extension ladder and climbed up to Blay's apartment window to get in.
Blay was passed out in bed.
Blay had taken every drug he had.
When he finally woke up, Blay's dad made him pack a bag and go with him back to the family farm in the suburbs. No words were spoken the entire drive home.
"A few days had passed and I knew I was scheduled for a doctor's appointment the following day. I went out to the barn and found a box of d-CON rat poisoning. I read on the box that it causes hemorrhaging to the brain of rats, so I thought, 'Great, I'll take it before I go to bed,'" Blay said. "I eat the Styrofoam-like substance and went to bed. I woke up in the middle of the night to go to the bathroom and realized it didn't work, so I tried again."
In the morning, he had a headache, but still went to his doctor's appointment downtown.
As his doctor was checking Blay's blood pressure and vitals, looking into his eyes and listening to his breathing, the doctor looked him straight in the eyes and asked what he had taken.
Blay tried to play it off and said, "Nothing."
But the doctor would not buy Blay's response. He said Blay's eyes were as black as coal, his vital signs were way off, and his breathing was sporadic.
Finally Blay came clean about the suicide attempt.
The doctor immediately made Blay sign a form and Blay then was being strapped to a gurney, en route to the emergency room.
His parents were contacted and by the time they got there, he was already in a secure part of the hospital.
"My dad arrived with three other ministers from the church," Blay said. "One of the guys told my dad that it looks like they are pumping his stomach. He is drinking charcoal. In front of all the ministers and my father I had to confess my suicide attempt and that I would be going away for 30 days."
Due to his month-long rehab treatment, Blay lost his job and moved back to the suburbs.
He also then started the HIV cocktail, as it was known back then—17 pills taken three times a day.
"I was attending outpatient therapy and continued to get better over the next six months," Blay said. "It was at that time when I also started teaching dance aerobics, which turned into more fitness classes, and I eventually got my certifications to become a trainer.
"I had a new goal in life and set out to train to become a Nike athlete and train for Sport Aerobics. My training and coaching for the Nationals had now relocated me to Miami's South Beach. I continued to live and work in South Beach as a trainer and eventually as a fitness manager of a brand new gym—until the hurricanes relocated me back to Chicago."
Hurricane Katrina hit, sadly, on Blay's birthday: Sept. 1.
Blay and his partner at the time, Dennis, endured five more hurricanes and Wilma ultimately did them in. Blay came back to Chicago; his partner returned to his native Long Beach, Calif.
The ex-partner died this past May 22.
"We were the best of friends and considered ourselves soulmates," Blay said. "I got a call from his brother saying he passed [away] in his sleep from heart complications."
Blay is riding in the annual 200-mile Ride For AIDS on July 9-10, and Dennis certainly will be on his mind.
"Our friends in Miami knew how much Dennis was supporting me for this Ride, so they took the money that they were going to [spend for] flowers at the funeral and, instead, donated to [Blay's] fundraising," he said. "We were both living with HIV, and they knew that's what Dennis would have wanted. The hardest part of this Ride will be the day coming back, because July 10th is Dennis' birthday. I will be a hot mess that day, I'm sure. But the riders, and crew members who are so dear and close to me, they have already told me that they will be there for me. So, on Sunday, July 10, I ride home [to Chicago] with Dennis being the wind on my back.
"Ironically, the week before he died, suddenly, we were chatting about how proud he was of me for doing the Ride, and that he and his gay brother were going to donate to the Ride. Dennis actually was working on plans to fly up here to support me for those days."
The 2011 Ride is Blay's first, the culmination of an eight-month journey, "to turn over a new leaf," he said. "I have always been into fitness, whether as an aerobic instructor or a personal trainer. I actually won a gold medal in 2000 for being the men's individual champion in class II for National Sport Aerobics. I knew it was time to get my butt back into training for something.
"I have a very close friend of mine who is living with stage four breast cancer and I wanted to walk for her in the Breast Cancer Walk, but she talked me out of it and made me realize that I should do something for myself this time. I needed to ride for my cause. I needed to take an opportunity to share my experience and my story with other people who are going through the same thing that I have been going through for the past 17 years.
"I have found the true me, [through cycling.] I am a fun-loving, caring individual who takes interest in everyone around me. I enjoy drinking socially with friends, but have overcome the need of drinking in order to numb myself from the pain. I also love working with children and teaching my after-school programs. I miss the fitness industry, but have found myself embracing a new fitness choice which is being on my bike."
Blay, who is now single, started his own dance studio a couple of years ago called Danz-ology. It is now a mobile dance program where he goes into schools to teach after-school programming, such as hip hop, cheerleading, tumbling, and ballet. That program is called Danz-on-the-GO.
"I want to start my program in a few more schools in the fall," Blay said, "and I'm still looking for that special someone to share good times with, although I have given up the online approach to dating and hooking up. It leads to disappointment and leaves emptiness inside. I will continue to live in Lakeview. I am looking forward to doing my first 10k [run] with my mom in September."
He also wants to eventually do the 575-mile San Francisco-to-Los Angeles bicycle ride.
"I've come to grips with things by living and learning from my mistakes," Blay said. "I take bits and pieces of what I've learned from religion, from all my tragic life experiences, and what I have found to believe what is right and wrong and I make it all work for me. I believe I'm a good person; I know I've impacted many people's lives for the good and will continue to share that information as long as I live.
"The thing that's still tough for me is what will I do when this Ride is over. Will I still have the support and backing from all the people I met along this journey to keep me on the straight and narrow? Will I find someone to share my life with who will accept me for my HIV [status]? It's still tough breaking the news to someone you obviously are really into and afraid of rejection or reactions."
Recently, for instance, Blay met some who he was interested in and explained his story; the guy left Blay immediately.
"The toughest part is dealing with ignorant people," Blay said. "HIV is, potentially, a part of everyday life for someone who is sexually active. You need to know your [status] and how you contract diseases."
After all, Blay has rebounded from rock bottom in 2007—when he weighed about 130 pounds and learned he had AIDS.
Blay was, at the time, living in Chicago and not taking his HIV medicine because he didn't have insurance and could not afford them.
"I felt good. I looked good. I decided it wasn't worth bothering with anymore. Wrong idea," Blay said. "I found myself partying again on weekends and hooking up with random people again. It was Mother's Day of 2007 … I remember calling off going to work because I had such bad diarrhea and kept vomiting anything and everything I drank or ate. I let this go on for a long time, way to long. It wasn't until October that someone told me about the CORE Center and gave me the number to call for an appointment. [The Ruth M. Rothstein CORE Center is a clinic for the prevention, care, and research of HIV/AIDS and other infectious diseases located in Chicago.]
"After becoming connected to a doctor and becoming enrolled into the program and completing my labs, I was sent home with medications for helping the diarrhea and giving me an appetite to eat. Four days later I got a call from the doctor saying she needed to see me ASAP. When I got to my appointment, she showed me my numbers and explained that I had somewhere between 40 to 70 T cells and the viral load was so high it was off the charts. I was considered full-blown [AIDS].
"I freaked out.
"Family members were concerned, but I didn't mention anything to them. It wasn't until Dec. 23, a little over three months [after resuming medication] that my doctor called to give me the best Christmas present ever. I had shot up to 200+ T cells and almost undetectable in my viral load."
Blay's relationship with his mom is as strong as ever. He calls her his, "best friend." However he is estranged from his dad.
"My mom has been my inspiration ever since she left my father," Blay said. "We both have had to start over, from scratch, with no help and hard work to get back up on our feet just to survive. She now is graduating with her associates' degree from the University of Phoenix and has enrolled in a bachelor's program. She has worked full-time during all of this, paying off her debt to the IRS and credit companies that my father owed. She now lives in her own house and works as a legal administrator to a lawyer in Crown Point, Ind., and soon will re-marry."
And the new-look, feeling-good Blay will be there, emotional no doubt.
