On August 19-21, I walked nearly sixty miles in three days as part of the Susan G. Komen 3-Day event. It’s a fundraiser for the Susan G. Komen foundation, to raise awareness and money for the fight against breast cancer. My aunt was diagnosed with the disease last fall, which led me to register for the walk this year. Sadly, she lost her own fight this summer, but still serves as an inspiration in my life.
August 19
Day 1 followed a 19.7 mile route from the Southwest metro, through downtown Minneapolis, along and over the Mississippi River, to Grand Avenue in St. Paul. I woke up early (4:30, hello nerves!) to shower, and get my stuff together and in the car, and have some breakfast and coffee. Then I woke up my sister, she got ready, we woke up the kids, and drove toward Southdale Center and the start of the course. We had to stop for gas on the way there. And then we arrived, and it was so full of people, and busy, and crazy, and PINK. Everywhere with the pink. I wore green. It made me much easier to see in the crowd.
As a walker, I had to move to the “holding” area for the opening program – so I gave kisses & hugs to my wonderful kids and sister… and got ready for things to start. There was music, and stretching, and more music, and then a motivational “why we’re here” speech, and then 8 survivors walked to the center ring to raise a white flag with the names of loved ones being honored in the walk. Then there was more music, and the walk began. Official start time – 7:30. Time I actually got to start the route – 8 am-ish.
There are 5 pit stops on each route, featuring food, beverages, medical assistance, and bathrooms to help keep all of the walkers happy and healthy. I finished this route, and took a bus back to camp. At camp, volunteers made of up local football and hockey teams helped located my gear bag and my tent site, and put everything together while I swapped hot sweaty shoes for the coolness of soccer slides. Then it was off to the dining tent, the shower truck, the foot & back massage station, the evening camp show, and an early bed time so I could get up and start all over again on Saturday. I stayed at home each night, even though I had a tent - that was more for changing and napping. Sleeping in a bed with my own pillows was the best thing ever. My sister came to camp to pick me up. It was good to see her.
August 20
I woke up with sore and swollen feet, and a congested head. I was sure I was insane, and I was a little bit dreading how hard I knew it would be to put my feet in my shoes, and be willing to walk anywhere. Once the shoes were on, it seemed a little more possible.
The polite description of my day:
Day 2 held a 22.6 mile circular route through Maplewood, St. Paul, Shoreview, along Lake Vadnais, and back to camp. I only made it to Pit Stop 4 on this day – 16.8 miles into the route. My left knee disapproved of a downhill slope, and objected by popping out of alignment. I caught the bus back to camp and made friends with the wonderful sports medicine team in the medical tent. After adjustment and tape, I was ready for the evening’s entertainment and dance party after dinner. Yes, you can walk 36.5 miles and still dance.
The description in my head:
OMG my feet hurt. Is that another blister? I hate these shoes. Who's stupid ass idea was this? Seriously? I've only gone 2 miles? Are you kidding me? Then I saw a dad and a daughter wearing "Sisu" shirts. My feet warmed up. I snuck a cup of coffee. It got better. First pit stop with a potty break -It's a wonderful thing when you can finally pee! And I ran into a friend who's done the walk before and survived. So I didn't catch the bus at the first pit stop. I kept walking. And my sister was going to be at the cheering station at mile 5, and she was waiting so I had to keep going. I made it to lunch, fixed the blisters, called my sister and told her to skip the next cheering station or I'd steal the care and we'd go play hooky at the movies instead. She stayed home, and I kept walking.
For me, Day 2 is still the horribly awful day. It's hard to remember why you're walking. It's hard to remember this is a walk for a lifetime, and not a death march. It's hard to walk when you have a blister named Texas on your right heel, and a blister named California on the left. It's hard to walk when it's hot. And you're tired. And you STILL have 30 miles more before the end comes. Everyone feels this on day 2. (Okay, maybe they don't name their blisters). It's the hard slog of a day.
Day 2 was also the day that I truly came to appreciate the safety crews, and the cheering sections, and the funny signs and reminders posted on the route. I started the day coming into Pit 1 thinking I just wanted to take the bus to lunch, and then to camp, and then go to sleep. Instead of giving up at Mile 3-ish... I made it to mile 16.8 (Pit 4) before I physically couldn't go further without risking greater injury. And I could do that because of the support crews, and the people along the route offering positive words of encouragement, and thanks, and ridiculously funny signs and costumes. I took the bus back to camp after Pit 4, and it was hard to know I didn't finish that day. I've gotten over some of my disappointment since then by recalling that this is a walk for a lifetime - not a death march after all. PS) I still think Dr. Gary and Dr. Steve in the medical tent are heroes!
August 21st.
Day 3 was a 17.6 mile route past the Maplewood Mall, my own town of North St. Paul, and St. Paul through Battle Creek Park, along the river, and up to the state capital. I woke up excited, and ready to go. This day of walking flew by for me. I’m not sure if it was the excitement of having come so far already, the tape on my knees and blisters, or just the sheer energy of everyone involved that we had “only” 17.6 miles to go. My sister and hundreds of other supporters were at cheering stations along the way – and the burst of energy, and joy, and appreciation from everyone along the route made it possible to ignore the sore muscles and aching feet, and just keep going all the way to the closing ceremony.
For more than a week, I've been trying to find the right words for how it feels to come to the end of this walk. I think I don't have them. It's one of the hardest things I've ever done. And then you walk through park entrance where the walk ends... it's lined with survivors, other walkers who've finished, volunteers, safety crew.... and they are all cheering you on - happy and proud of you, thankful for the effort - It's a feeling that defies explanation, but makes me both laugh and cry to remember. You hurt, but you're done. You get a t-shirt that feels too hot to wear, and a pink rose, and the chance to sit and have a snack, and stretch, and reflect. And then everyone gathers together again for the closing ceremony - and I give up even trying to explain that one. 2100 women and men who've just finished this long crazy walk for a single purpose - a world without breast cancer.
This year was my first year walking, and I wasn’t sure what to expect other than a lot of walking, and a lot of pink. Both of those expectations were met. Then they were surpassed by the overwhelming spirit of strength, and fight, and camaraderie among the other women and men that I met. Everyone has a different reason for walking. We walk for those we love. We walk for those we’ve lost. We walk because we can. I can’t cure cancer. But walk 60 miles? I can do that. A world without breast cancer is worth it to me.
Will I do this again? Absolutely. I think I'd be crazy not to.
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