I can hardly believe it has been 29 years.

At this point 29 years ago, my dance partner, Bob Pavey, and I were deep into rehearsals for what would become one of the most extraordinary experiences of my life: competing in the 1998 Gay Games in Amsterdam.

I tell the complete story in my book, The Prairie Has a Rainbow, but for this article, I wanted to go back to where we were 29 years ago, not yet standing on the competition floor, not yet knowing how the story would end, but preparing for a dream that had begun to consume our lives.

It Started With One Question: How Do We Begin?

Bob and I began preparing in March 1997, nearly a year and a half before the Games. Looking back, those 18 months were a whirlwind of rehearsals, remarkable people, and touchstone moments I will remember for as long as I live.

In the beginning, however, we had one very basic question: How do we start?

We both agreed there was one person we needed to call first, Ronnie Leverett. Ronnie was one of the premier dancers in the five Smooth dances, and we knew we needed someone with his experience to help us begin this journey.

We reached out and scheduled our first lesson.

Ronnie would eventually choreograph our Slow Waltz, but I still remember how strange that first lesson felt. I had not been on a dance floor in almost 20 years. I was 43 years old, returning to something that had once been such an important part of my life, but after two decades away, the dance floor felt both familiar and completely foreign.

That first lesson changed everything.

From that point forward, for the next 18 months, Bob and I were in a dance studio virtually every day, for at least an hour. We practiced, learned, stumbled, corrected, practiced some more, and gradually became the competitive dance couple we hoped we could be.

Then Shirley Ballas Changed the Plan

In December, we were taking a lesson from Shirley Ballas, who told us we were doing very well with the five Smooth dances. Then she presented us with an idea we had not considered:

Why not compete in the five Latin dances as well?

Bob and I weren’t convinced.

Five dances already seemed ambitious. Adding five more meant doubling the choreography, training, technique, costumes, and pressure.

Shirley had a solution.

She choreographed part of a Cha-Cha and told us to work on it for the next month. She would be returning in January and would evaluate our progress then. If she thought we could do it, she would recommend that we add the Latin competition. If she didn’t think we were ready, she promised to be equally honest and tell us not to do it.

So we practiced.

And practiced.

When Shirley returned in January, she gave us her answer.

We were doing it.

Suddenly, Bob and I weren’t preparing to compete in five ballroom dances at the Gay Games.

We were competing in all ten.

And Then Came Amsterdam

What happened when we finally reached the competition floor is something I will never forget.

Bob and I took first place in both disciplines.

Even writing those words nearly three decades later brings back the emotions of that experience. We had begun with two men wondering how to start. Eighteen months later, we were standing at the Gay Games having won both of the ballroom dance disciplines in which we competed.

Recently, this story came full circle in a way I never expected.

My brother Brad discovered that back in 1998 he had printed copies of our score sheets from the Gay Games website. After all these years, he still had them, and he sent them to me.

Thank you, brother Brad.

Holding those score sheets again was like opening a door to 1998. The numbers on those pages aren’t simply scores. For me, they represent hundreds of hours in dance studios, the people who helped us, the frustrations, the laughter, the exhaustion, and two men who decided to see just how far they could go.

The photos accompanying this article include one of me holding two of the shirts I wore during that remarkable period. One is from the actual Gay Games competition, the other is from a show Bob and I performed after we returned home. I’ve also included our scorecards from the days we competed, along with the copies Brad printed from the Gay Games website all those years ago.

I have been fortunate to experience many remarkable moments in my life.

This one along with a handful of others, stand apart.

Not simply because Bob and I won, although I remain incredibly proud of what we accomplished. It stands apart because of everything it took to get there, the decision to return to dance after nearly 20 years, the people who believed in us, 18 months of preparation, and the courage to walk onto that floor and compete.

Twenty-nine years later, I can still remember what it felt like.

And I suspect I always will.