It’s been about 24 hours since I crossed the finish
line. After a hot shower and a good
night’s sleep, I still haven’t shaken the chill from my bones, nor have I come
down from my natural high. This past
weekend has been the most physically challenging, and one of the most rewarding
and emotional weekends of my life.
It started early on Saturday morning. We set our alarms for 4:30 AM and made our
way to Pier 84. The sun had not yet
risen, the temperature was brisk, but the energy was high. We dropped off our gear, filled our water
bottles, grabbed some food and waited for opening ceremonies to start.
We had the option of walking either 13.1 miles or 26.2 miles
on day 1, and of course you can walk any amount – it’s not about the miles but
about the dedication. I told the girls
that my plan was to walk 13.1. That’s
what I trained for, although I secretly thought that it would be pretty amazing
to walk 26.2 miles all in the first day.
I know that Sabrina was determined to walk the entire day, and Iris was
pretty hyped up for it too. I told them
that I will see how it goes.
The first ten miles were a piece of cake. I had been training for seven months and the
most I had walked in training was 11 miles in one day. At 13.1 miles we stopped for lunch and I had
to make the decision – will this be my finish line for the day or should I go
on? I told Iris that I would walk to the
next rest stop, which was about 2 miles away and decide from there. As we started back, I started to get chills,
but I pushed through. I was starting to
mentally waver but I kept going. We
passed mile marker 14, 15, 16 and so on, and we walked. We were going to do it. I wasn’t going to stop.
Somewhere around mile 24 I started feeling a little
nauseous, but kept it to myself. We were
so close. I worried that I was getting
dehydrated, but I couldn’t fathom the idea because I was diligent about filling
up my water bottle at every single stop and making sure it was empty before the
next one.
Finally at mile 25 we were able to see the walking bridge
that would lead us to Randalls Island, and we got a sudden burst of energy and
hope. We crossed the bridge and made it
to our first finish line at 26.2 miles just as the sun was setting. We had accomplished our first goal, and we
had literally walked from sun up to sun down.
All I wanted to do was get our tent set up and sit down and
stretch my legs. Right before it was
fully dark, we got the tent up with the help of a volunteer. Although I wasn’t really hungry, we made our way
to the food tent. We had to stand around
for a few minutes to wait for another food delivery and all of a sudden I felt
as though the walls were closing in on me.
I told Sabrina that I needed to sit down or I was going to faint. She walked me to a table and got me some
food. I didn’t feel like eating, but I
did. I was scared to stand up to even
walk to the medical tent for fear of fainting, and my body was literally
shaking from the chills. I really just
wanted to go back to my tent but the girls were worried about me, so off to
triage we went, with each of them holding me up in case I got dizzy.
My blood pressure was okay and my pulse was fine, but my
body was clearly in a little bit of shock, maybe from the rapid change of
temperature. They put me in front of a
heater and wrapped mylar blankets around me to help retain my body heat and
they made me drink. Finally after about
an hour, I headed back to the tent. I
was too afraid to shower, for fear of passing out, so I went to bed as is, a
disgusting, stinky wreck. I put on 2
pairs of pants, 2 pairs of socks, 3 shirts, 2 sweatshirts, a hat and gloves. I stuck a disposable heating pad on my chest
and I climbed into my sleeping bag. It
was 39 degrees outside. I thought about
the day ahead of us and prayed that I wouldn’t have to tap out. I had worked too hard and had come too
far. Iris convinced me that the next day
would be easier, because we would “only” be walking 13 miles. We tried to fall asleep, hearing the sounds
of the wind, and the song “Rock you like a hurricane” on a loop blasting from
the neighboring haunted hayride.
We got up at sunrise after a horrible night of sleep. My legs were cramped, my mouth was dry and my
head was spinning. Not sure if I was
determined or stupid, I decided not to quit.
We got dressed, took down our tent, had some breakfast and started day
2.
Day 2 was very hard.
I was losing momentum and with each mile I was ready to be done. To pass the time, we chit chatted with other
walkers and heard their stories of why they walk. Many people had their shirts decorated, and I
loved their creativity. One person’s
shirt read, “For my daughter, so she can wear pink ribbons in her hair and not
on her shirt.” One young man had a shirt
that said, “Ladies – check your breasts or I will do it for you!” Every time I was ready to quit there were
people cheering us on, and I thought of the women going through chemo and
radiation, who are drained in every way possible, and so I kept walking.
This was my third Avon Walk but it was much harder than the
other two. I am 9 years older now, and
this time I walked twice as far on day 1 than I had the last time.
Finally we were getting close to the end. There were no more bridges to cross, no more
traffic lights to pass. We were on our
last stretch and we could see the finish line ahead.
We linked arms and walked together, and I could see my
family cheering us on. With tears
streaming down my face, I hugged my mom, an 11 year breast cancer
survivor.
My mom had been diagnosed in 2004, which is what motivated
me to participate in the walk back then.
In 2006 she decided to walk with me.
This past weekend, she reflected on the walk, and she commented that
“the whole weekend is about walking and crying.”
And she’s right.
We walked and cried for those that lost the battle.
We walked and cried for those who are going through
treatment.
We walked and cried for our courageous survivors.
We walked and cried for those who are yet to be diagnosed.
We walked and cried for our daughters, sisters, mothers and
friends.
And we walked and cried because maybe, just maybe, one day
there will be a time when we won’t have to walk and cry for breast cancer
anymore.
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