She wanted Coldstone ice cream, birthday cake remix, specifically. And not one of the seven people who carried Erin Bankey's belongings out of the Bryce Jordan Center after standing for 46 hours was going to argue the request.

Too bad she couldn't wait up to eat it.

"I was passed out by the time they came back," said Bankey, (junior-advertising and public relations), who danced in The Interfraternity Council/Panhellenic Dance Marathon for The Blue and White Society.

That was about 6 p.m. Sunday, less than two hours after Bankey had survived the challenge of her life. She slept until 6 a.m. yesterday, brushed her teeth and went back to sleep for five hours. Then she did the unthinkable.

"I got up, and I went to my class," Bankey said.

An advertising project was due, she said, and missing it was unaffordable.

"I skipped my other class," she said in a justifiable tone. "There were four other dancers in it, and it was packed, so I feel I wasn't missing that much."

She said she didn't feel much pain, but admitted that her feet were "sensitive" and her back was a little sore. And perhaps it was still too early, but Bankey was asked if it was all worth it, the sacrifice she made, the pain she endured, the ride that will always stay with her.

"I feel really great right now,"

Bankey said as she finished dinner at The Corner Room yesterday. "It was a worthwhile experience. And it's something that I'll definitely always remember."

****

The first hour and 40 minutes Friday evening were reserved for instruction, as if the glaring guideline, the one that took the precedent, could not have been more crystal: Don't sit for 46 hours.

They danced to the tune of being a baller, learned when to stretch this way, learned when to turn about and, most importantly, the right way to shake their money makers.

All for the kids.

Of course the money was the tool by which many hoped and prayed would bring this demon to its knees someday soon. The demon -- the cancer -- brought them all together, which makes the "why" quite simple.

And now Bankey has joined a collection of individuals who, for a deed to be remembered forever, are part humane, part insane.

But we are still early in the game late on day one, and aches and pains are sparse. Right now, the speakers are thumping, and smiling is aplenty. Right now, mental is drubbing physical. Right now, it is still a party that has lasted slightly longer than the invitation stated, but no one knows, no one cares, because they are enjoying each other's company, still overwhelmed with their new home.

"I'm a beast [right now]," Bankey said.

****

It's almost 1 Saturday afternoon and Bankey, or "E-Bank" as her friends call her, has already changed her sneakers six times. She has yet to exercise her right to have a foot massage because neck massages have sufficed so far. Still, she confesses to the discomfort.

"My feet and legs hurt," said Bankey, constantly flipping her weight from one leg to another as if to alleviate some pain. "But being tired is not an issue."

And by midday Saturday, she is holding up. On the floor there has been chatter of a couple of people who have fainted, some who have been relegated to the Bryce Jordan Center's training room, and one person who was out of the race after eight hours, barely a 9 to 5.

Some of Bankey's friends are dancers, too. Bankey said she has to remind herself to keep them near throughout the process, as if they muster enough strength from a group to keep each person planted.

"When you're alone it starts to hit you," Bankey said. "When you're dancing and with everyone, it keeps your mind off everything."

The thing about Thon is you are never sure if the dancers know exactly how much longer they have until it ends. But the gym leaves clues. There is the daylight that seeps through ramps leading from the concourse. There are the cell phones that come onto the floor with visitors. If that fails, sometimes you know by the reactions of people in the stands.

"I love how it gets more crowded as the bars close," said Erin's close friend Christine Murawski, who was also a dancer.

And this, late Saturday night/wee hour Sunday morning, was about the time when Murawski noticed that Bankey had been missing for an hour or so.

Bankey was in line, finally exercising her right to a foot massage.

"Waiting for a massage is one of the worst parts of Thon, because you're just standing there, and there's no entertainment," said Trevor Kress, family and relationship chairman for The Blue and White Society and a Thon 2006 participant.

Bankey had felt lightheaded as someone in line was making a joke, expecting Bankey to respond. When she didn't, help was at her side immediately as she was escorted to the infirmary. Dehydration was the diagnosis, and it's easily treatable. She was back on her feet soon after, with a plastic container of berries in hand, on the floor in time for mail.

****

There is always an emotional breaking point. And by now, around 3 a.m. Sunday, frustration is at its zenith and any jolt of inspiration helps. Bankey is in line for her fix, but her every move is heavy. She talks less and every other word is preceded by a big gulp.

There is a huge bag of mail and two boxes waiting for participant 273B, Bankey's Thon number. Bankey went straight for the boxes.

Inside the box there are energy bars and a letter with a line that reads: "24 hours is a long time, love, Grandma."

"If only there were [24 hours]," Bankey says with a slight smirk. "I love her, she gets the whole process confused."

Five letters into the bag and it's as if every word brings with it another tear.

"At the drop of a hat," Bankey said, clearing her eyes and fidgeting, unsure of what to do next. "I just start crying."

But with each piece of mail, Bankey regains a bounce in her step. There must have been at least 20 letters, but there is one line that pulled her through: "Whenever you get tired, remember you are dancing for Brandon."

****

He is only 7 years old, loves Penn State football and is an avid swimmer, just as Bankey was in high school in Rochester, N.Y. In 2004, Brandon Loose was diagnosed with neuroblastoma, a form of cancer that affects the nervous system. Kress estimates that Loose was around his Thon dancers for all of 10 minutes over the weekend. He's shy around girls, and Bankey was one of six female dancers for The Blue and White Society.

"He wasn't really feeling being out on the dance floor so much," Kress said.

But as Sunday morning approached, it was Loose's spirit that drove his dancers.

On the cusp of Family Hour, the dance floor looks like the crowd rushed it.

Bankey is notified of someone who is there to see her. Her 15-year-old sister, Bridget, along with a family friend, made the trip from New York.

"I had no idea it was this big," said Bridget, as she looks up into what now is a sea of color.

After their embrace, they departed as the slideshow for Family Hour was beginning. Bankey, Murawski and Kress look on as they hear the stories. They listened to Amy Tetter, a 17-year-old who started chemo in 2005 for Hodgkins disease, and whose brothers all shaved their heads when they found out Tetter would have to. They learned about Colby Hoch, a boy who lost his battle with cancer at 5 years old in 1997, but whose mother still attends Thon because, as she said, "We as parents can't thank you enough for the hope you all bring."

And by then, T-minus two hours, almost all in the building have lost their battle with composure.

And when it was over, when the all the songs were sang, when the results had been revealed, Bankey finally had a brief moment to reflect.

"It felt good, but it was sad at the same time. Everything we've worked so hard for this week is over," said a burnt-out Bankey on the Jordan Center floor.

It was as if all they endured had brought them to this point -- $5,240,385.17 reasons why the search for a cure isn't over, but just beginning.

"The last four hours are a totally different feel," Bankey said. "This is what Thon is supposed to be about."