Two Men Enter...Why I Walk
Update: Thank you all for your support! I cannot tell you how much I and my family appreciate it.
For those of you still considering donating, checks must be postmarked by 4/23/12!!
Every three minutes a woman is diagnosed with breast cancer...
Today’s blog post is a little heavy, and I apologize for getting all heavy on you, but I wanted to take a moment to talk about something very close to my heart.
 |
In May I’ll be walking nearly 40 miles over two days to raise money and awareness for breast cancer research and treatment. This will be my second time participating in the Avon Walk for Breast Cancer. The first was in 2010—my sister and I decided to commemorate the one year anniversary of our mother’s death from breast cancer by doing something big and grand, and the Avon Walk seemed like just the thing. The walk was…grueling, to say the least. And I wasn’t able to finish. The day before the walk, I found out I had a torn patella tendon in my left knee—I managed to get 24 miles before the knee gave out all together. People say that is a huge accomplishment. It felt like a defeat.
After the walk, people asked why on earth I would do this to myself. “Why can’t you just give them the money,” asked a nurse who was looking at my damaged feet a few weeks later (I had developed runner’s toenail and four nails had fallen off). “Why do you have to walk? And 40 miles?! It seems barbaric.”
For me, the answer is very simple—I walk to test myself. To find out exactly how strong I am. Because breast cancer is coming for me; of that, I have no doubt. My family tree is littered with cancer, and straight through the direct line of four generations of women is a giant arrow, pointing right at me. And I wonder, when my turn comes, what kind of cancer patient will I be?
 |
Far too many people have to fight cancer. It seems like everyone I know has been touched by cancer of some sort. And I’ve watched friends and family be whittled away by cancer—surgery to remove tumors, surgery to remove organs, chemotherapy, radiation therapy, cell stem transplants, experimental therapies—until there is nothing left. And then they die anyway, and I wonder: what was the point? What was the point of the suffering, the agony, the loss of dignity, the hard-scrabbled, clinging by your fingernails? Was it really worth it? Is the few extra months eked out by all that fighting worth it when the quality of life is so low? Or is better to go out gracefully, accepting rather than at war with the inevitable? Not raging against the dying of the light, but walking hand in hand with it, like an old friend.
But, then there are those who beat the odds. Those who, if they had simply laid down and waited to die, wouldn’t be here today, in remission, cancer free for a year, five years, ten years. And I know some of these people as well; I have them in my life today BECAUSE they chose to fight.
 |
Either choice is a gamble—gamble to fight and possibly lose, gamble not to fight and possibly lose out. It’s a hard choice, one we each have to make for ourselves. And, so, for me, the Avon Walk is a sort of Thunderdome where I get to test my odds: two men enter (me and cancer) and one of us leaves. How strong am I? How determined? How plain ornery and stubborn and able to travel on the fumes of that stubbornness when all else is gone? In 2010, I chose to fight—injured, in pain before we even started, I chose to walk. At mile 11, when the pain became visible and people started urging me to quit, I had them wrap my knee and I kept walking. At mile 17 I had them lance my blisters and I kept walking. By mile 22 I could hardly lift my feet to take another step, crawling along at a 30-minute mile pace (down from the 17-minute mile I had started at). When I stumbled into the rest stop at mile 24 I knew I couldn’t go another step. And I realized all my fighting, all the pain, had been for nothing. I had lost anyway. And that didn’t sit very well with me.
 |
This May it will be back to Thunderdome for me. And I’ll be looking for a different outcome. Because I’d like to think I’m the fight and survive type.
 |
please support me - in order to participate in the walk I have to raise $1,800. Funds are used in breast cancer research, prevention, and treatment. Any amount helps!
Click the link above to pay by credit card. If you prefer to pay by check or money order please make it payable to "The Avon Walk for Breast Cancer" and send to:
Avon Walk for Breast Cancer - Boston
33 Broad Street, Suite 700
Boston, MA 02109
Attention: Anne Holden
IMPORTANT: Please write "walker #231607 - Terri Bruce" in the "memo" field and be sure to send the donation to the attention of Anne Holden.
Thank you for your support!
Comments
@T.W.: LOL, yes, that is true, but sometimes we need an obstacle (like a ridiculously long race) to find out what's in our heart. I think the old saying about courage being defined as the willingness to say "well, I'll go just one step further. Okay, well, just one step more" is true. Sometimes we do things we didn't know we could do because we just keep putting one foot in front of the other.
Love your comparison to Thunder Dome.
Good luck in the walk this year.