A few years ago, I participated in the Marine Corps Marathon to raise money for HIV/AIDS awareness. It was one of the most difficult things I've ever done on purpose. I am not an athlete. Don't really want to be either. But I have to say, though I loathed every step I took to train for that event, my body was fantastically toned and I was actually strong for a little while. I reverted to my couch potato ways immediately following the race and am still there.
I mention that because I learned a lot about myself and my ability to endure tough situations from that time. I am once again in a marathon situation, but this time I don't know where the finish line is. I won't know until God tells me that its time.
That's a little harder to prepare for.
Saturday, I participated in my first Race for the Cure. I personally raised over $400 and my team raised over $1500. All for breast cancer research. I went into this event thinking that it wouldn't be that difficult, since it was only a 5k. There was a 1 mile option, so I was aware that I didn't have to force myself to do three miles if I didn't feel up to it. I thought I had mentally and physically prepared myself for the race.
I wasn't ready.
From the moment I stepped on the subway platform to head to the Mall... I felt exposed and stripped bare. Survivors were given pink t-shirts to wear, all other registrants had white shirts. I was moved to tears when I realized that I was the only pink shirt in my subway car. However, when I got off the subway to walk to the meeting point... the abundance of pink shirts caused me to cry again.
I know the statistics about the number of women and men with this disease and yet... my breath stopped when I saw the abundance of pink shirts. As people walked by, many with their kids in strollers or holding hands... I noticed a lot of remembrance signs. Again, had not prepared myself for that and I cried at each passing sign... "in memory of grandma"... "we love you mom"... so forth.
By the time I walked the two blocks to meet my team -- I was an emotional mess. I sobbed uncontrollably for awhile, while my teammates hugged me and tried to console me. I don't even know if I had a chance to explain to them why I was so upset. But it was completely overwhelming. I think a really hard part of it was that I went to the event alone. I needed someone there to hold my hand. I couldn't say that to anyone but I realized later on that I needed that.
My team joined another team, IASK, to walk in honor of three breast cancer survivors. I was one of the three ladies that was so honored. The other two were Fran Robinson and Venessa Bates. The IASK team (which means, I am my sister's keeper) had participated in the walk for the past 5 years... so they were better prepared and not as emotional as I was. I was grateful for that. Those ladies helped me and my team to complete the walk.
The Race for the Cure was well-organized, very energetic and generally a good time. Even through my tears and heartache, I felt love from everyone I saw. Once on the mall, my pink shirt put me in a special club. I hugged and was hugged by many of my breast cancer sisters. It was randomly wonderful. As we stood in line to pick up gifts, we exchanged our bc-lingo. "How long have you been a survivor?" "Did you have radiation too?" And so forth. I am comforted and disturbed by the notion that sharing my medical history with strangers has become normal for me. There are people in the world who don't know my name, may never cross my path again and yet... they have been briefly privileged to know my intimate medical history.
Its strange. And yet, the comraderie is so wonderful because you know that they completely understand everything you have been unable to adequately express to others in your life.
I didn't complete the 5k. When I noticed the signs for the "short route", I bowed out and did the 1 mile. It was enough. I was definitely tired after that walk and I was happy that I didn't force myself to complete 3 miles in an effort to prove something to strangers.
Somehow though, my friend and I failed to cross the finish line and so I did not receive my survivor medallion at the end. I didn't even know it was missing until I was standing in line to pick up my fundraiser gifts and I noticed several of my pink shirt sisters with the medallion around their neck. Eventually, I asked one sister and she explained what it was and as we continued to exchange our breast cancer lingo -- you guessed it -- I burst out into tears again.
I do not know why this is all so damn hard, all the time.
That lovely lady gave me her medallion and that touched my heart even more. I was a muddy, exhausted mess by the end of it all. The Mall was madness because it had rained in DC for days prior to the walk. My shoes, my sweat pants... just soaked with mud. But I didn't really care.
At the end of the day, all that really mattered was that women and men from around the globe gathered together to pay their respects to those who have fought this disease.
I was lucky enough to run into some friends (some of the DC Sistagirls who walked with other teams) and I was boosted by seeing familiar faces. But it was a hard day emotionally.
Later that day, I learned that one of the ladies we walked in honor of had actually passed away the day before the race. I never had the chance to meet Fran Robinson. Just after my diagnosis, one of the sisters from IASK mentioned her to me and suggested that we get together and talk. I wasn't up for it then. I was wallowing in my own self-pity and naturally figured that ... there was time for that later. Sadly, there wasn't.
It seems that there just isn't enough time to do it all. I feel compelled to honor myself and respect my own emotional needs. But I also am realizing that when the opportunity presents itself for me to connect with another breast cancer sister, I need to move beyond my own comfort zone and make more of an effort to do so. Participating in the Race for the Cure was a big step out of my personal comfort zone and I think that it was worth it.
I am looking forward to doing the event again next year. Hopefully I will be less emotional about my journey and will be able to see things without tears in my eyes.
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