Each step closer

Final flag goes up at The Washington Memorial
October 2012

Hubster and I leave in less than a week for Washington, D.C. and my seventh Susan G. Komen 3-Day for the Cure. I’ll be back with my Route Safety family, riding my bike through D.C. traffic and keeping my eye on the thousands of walkers dedicated to this cause—walkers that will take approximately 120,000 steps over the three-day event.

120,000 steps.

For each walker.

Math geeks, for the win: 

How many steps were taken during last year’s event with 1,500 walkers?

180,000,000 steps toward a cure.

And those don’t count the extra steps it takes to get to the porta-potty in the middle of the night.

Hubster even wears a tutu for a cure.

It’s amazing what people will do when they believe in something. Walkers at the 3-Day believe in a cure. They aren’t there for politics, but because of passion. They walk with blisters covering the soles of their feet because they need to do something bold to honor those they love, and there is no cancer awareness event more bold, more demanding, more brave than the 3-Day. No one asks you to walk farther or fundraise more.

Over the years, I’ve watched women walking just days after a chemo treatment (we miss you Bridget Spence). I’ve seen women sharing sunscreen to cover each other’s bald heads. I’ve met people who lost loved ones years ago, and those that are only months into the grieving process. I watched a man wearing a sequined bra propose to his girlfriend. I’ve met entire families that walk together year after year after year. I’ve even met a man who didn’t know anyone with cancer, but figured it was a good cause and he was all for a good cause (read A Man Named Carroll).

Brother-in-law or Mighty Thor?

Every year I come home physically exhausted, but emotionally invigorated, infused with hope and an I-can-totally-do-anything-in-this-whole-f-ing-universe spirit. That’s the power of taking 120,000 steps (or pedal pushes!) together.

It’ll be hard, knowing this is the last year for the event in D.C. I expect to go through my fair share of tissues.

She's so tired she can't stand,
but it won't stop her from
cheering in the walkers.

Crying used to make me furious. I’d start to cry, but instead of feeling some cathartic release, I’d end up with clenched fists and a boiling gut. Maybe I thought crying made me look weak. I don’t know. What I do know is that it makes me look like a constipated baboon. So—you know—not pretty.

But now, after six opening ceremonies and six closing ceremonies, countless stories at camp, pit stops, and on the route, and crying each and every flipping time, I understand that for life to be full, I’m just going to have to cry sometimes.

After 720,000 steps accumulated over six events, I understand that on the other side of the tears and snot and squenched up baboony-ness, is something pretty awesome. On the other side of the sadness, there is hope.

There is always hope.

We’ve just got to take the first step.

Thanks for helping me make the first step, BA.