From "why me?" to "why me?" Race for the Cure 2011

This past Saturday I participated in the Komen Foundation's Global Race for the Cure. When I signed up for the event months ago I decided that now that I was out of active treatment, I would do my best to raise money and awareness of the disease. I set a goal of 50 team members and $5000 raised.

I fell short of both goals.

But I am still ecstatic about the event and the opportunity to do something for someone else and to meet and talk to lots of survivors and supporters of survivors. My excitement about the Race for the Cure began to wane in the two weeks leading up to the event. The reality of the experience was hitting home and I was sad about all of the loss and pain and sadness that I know is the other side of breast cancer. The part I try not to talk about or think about too much. The time in my life when I constantly asked... "why me?" 

I reminisced over the things that I had been through. I thought about all of the people who had supported me during my journey with breast cancer. I thought about the friends that I made -- some who have fought breast cancer multiple times, and others who died fighting -- and I wept for all of us. One of my closest and oldest friends did the race with me and she called me the day before with a little bit of trepidation in her voice. She was nervous about the race and wanted to confirm that I really would be there. I assured her that I would be there and I pretended to be in great spirits. But honestly, I was so very sad.

I confessed to a couple of people the day and night before the event that I was emotional. You see, I remembered the sea of pink tshirts from previous events (survivors wear pink tshirts and supporters wear white) and how it just broke my heart to see all of these women (and men) who fought so hard for their lives. I tried to shake the tears away but they would not stop falling. The night before the race, I didn't go to sleep until 3am. I had to be up at 5am to be on-time to meet my team.

When my girlfriend and I arrived at the Mall, I felt energized. I honestly was awed by all of the work that the Komen Foundation had done to make this event so spectacular. There were vendors everywhere and people walking around and pink, pink, PINK... as far as the eye could see. It was, in a word, beautiful. The weather was wonderful and my spirits had rebounded a bit. I was happy to be there. Getting through breast cancer requires a team effort. You have your medical team, your home support (hopefully), your faith and any and all tricks you learn about to help you get through treatment. Although you feel alone in your fight, you are definitely not alone. The Race for the Cure is a very grand gesture to show the world that patients and survivors do not stand alone.

As the race got underway, I had the chance to hang with the mother of a friend (another survivor) and she and I discussed the difficulties of our journey and how we were thrilled to be able to participate in the race one more time. The crowd was young people and old people, and babies and men and all races and cultures... all walking in step together with laughter and smiles. I was once again, simply awed. At one point in the walk, another survivor walked past me and my friend's mother and she said... "Congratulations ladies"... and walked on past us.

Her remark hit me hard. I teared up for a moment because I realized in that moment that yes... we were very fortunate and blessed to be here. To be able to walk several miles on a mild summer day on our own was indeed a blessing. And it hit me..."why me?"

Earlier in the day I ran into a team of former work colleagues. I worked with them years ago and they were walking in the memory of one of our co-workers who passed away in 2009. (RIP Robin Johnston) When Robin passed away, I could barely remember who she was. She died in April 2009 and I was home on disability (still). Recuperating from my mastectomy that January and finishing up my radiation treatments. My brain was foggy and my temperament was lousy. Since her death though, I have spent many moments trying to recall our work relationship and trying to remember her more clearly. And I have. In the days leading up to this year's Race for the Cure, I remembered that Robin was a very nice person, a very kind spirit. We did not work in the same department and our interactions were few but she was always kind and smiling when we did talk. Generally speaking, she was nice and I did like her. And two years ago, this disease took her away from us.

Why me... crossed my mind repeatedly for the last mile and during the hour or so that we spent on the Mall after the race ended. Three years ago I asked God, why me? Why did I have to get breast cancer? And on Saturday I asked Him again why me? Why was I still here when so many others were not? He didn't answer me... or maybe He already has by giving me the desire to keep blogging about this disease and its impact on the world.

If you haven't been personally impacted by breast cancer, I pray that you never are. But I also pray that if you have been impacted by this disease... please know and believe that there are millions of people in your corner. Whether you are a survivor or the supporter/co-survivor of a survivor, we are here for you. I am here for you.

PS. I wanted our team to raise $5000. We ended up with a team total of $3905. Not bad at all. Next year, I want to shatter that record.