Singing in the rain

photo by Fran Priestley

There are many four-letter words to be heard at the Susan G. Komen 3-Day for the Cure as we walkers force our muscles to keep moving and ignore the screaming yelps from our feet.  We're not proud of it, but sometimes expletives just make everything feel more doable.  Like taking that next step - up a hill.

This past Friday in Washington, DC, we walked our 20 miles in the worst four-letter word there is:
R-A-I-N.
We donned our yellow plastic ponchos and waddled through the streets of DC like demented ducklings.  FYI:  It is difficult to put a poncho on over a tutu, fanny pack, and glittery pink cheetah fairy wings.  Inside the ponchos, we created our own atmospheres thick with humidity.  In this way, we were wet from the rain on the outside and drenched from our own sweat on the inside.  We were awesome(-ly stinky).

What can you do though, right?  So, we walked on in the pouring rain.  Step after step.  Mile after mile.

The cheering stations were empty.  No rah-rahs for us.  Just the rain smacking us in the face.  By the time we reached lunch, we were all pretty low.  We got our bagged lunches (paper bags that quickly melted in our hands) and looked for shelter.  Someone had opened a dirty, nasty garage for us.  It was heaven-on-earth.

I sat in puddles and ate my soggy lunch wondering how I was going to use the port-a-potty while wearing a drenched poncho (and tutu and wings).  Because, in case you've never had to do that, it's not exactly a graceful situation to navigate.  Oh, and how I would finish the next ten miles?  I hated to admit it, but the whole situation pretty much sucked.

We left our lovely garage and began again.  Slurp, sludge, slosh . . . we walked.  I heard some grumbling in my head,"This is effing crazy!  Not brave, just crazy!  Can I do this?"

I needed to dig deep, so I began remembering my friend's perseverance through all her ovarian cancer treatments.  She never seemed to lose the hope that she would survive long enough for a cure to be found.  Despite set backs, disappointments, and everyone's sagging hopes, she held firm.

We walkers rounded the corner of Dupont Circle, normally overflowing with people cheering us on, clapping and helping us laugh away the pain.  Empty.

Except for one man, leaning against the wall, clutching his coat with his arms and clapping.  He called, "You can do it.  You can do it.  Thank you for doing it."

One man.

Hope in the shape of a solitary, cold, wet, desperate looking man.  One sloppy step after the next, I walked remembering my friend and the way she bravely fought until her body could no longer sustain her beautiful spirit.  I remembered the sound of her laughter and songs, the curve of her mouth when she grinned, the indomitable soul she courageously carried.

The rain continued to fall on us, every last step of the way.  By gripping tightly the memory of my friend though, the rain and everything else began to puddle at my feet, melting away, until I was left walking with her voice alone.

And it sang out, "You can do it.  You can do it."


*I'd like to thank Your Girls and Mine for trudging through all 60-miles with me and keeping me sane while we did it.  You Girls are AMAZING.  Also, a huge thanks to the volunteer Crew that took such good care of us along the way.  Without our Crew we are nothing.  Thanks.