This afternoon, I walked with a friend who doesn’t walk as often as I do. As we walked, she commented on how much faster my pace was than hers and encouraged me to walk ahead of her. She suggested that I wasn’t “getting anything out of my walk,” and therefore shouldn’t be held back at her pace. I explained to her that I don’t need to walk fast or hard, I simply need to walk. In my thinking, any walk is a good walk, and any walk is training.
I walk all the time. And every time I walk, I think of it as a training walk. If it is just a mile or two, and the event is 10 months away, it is a training walk. If it is 15 miles, and the event is 3 weeks away, it’s a training walk. If I am wearing jeans and sneakers, it’s a training walk. If I am wearing all my walk gear, including a water bottle and a fanny pack, it is a training walk. You get the point, right? Every time I get my sneakers on and hit the pavement, I am training. Right now, I am training for my 12th walk (my 17th event, but crewing takes a different sort of training!). “My” 3Day is still almost 7 months away. And yet, I am training. Matt and I started training for the 2010 3Day as soon as we got home from the 2009 3Day.
Preparing for a 3Day walk takes lots and lots and lots of training. It’s not just about getting into good physical shape; it’s so much more. I think of it this way: to be ready for the 3Day, I must train my body, my head and my heart.
Train my body.
My feet and legs are going to do a lot of work in those three days. They deserve to build up to it. I have learned that my body really needs to be trained fresh year after year. Training gives my feet a chance to develop new calluses, and my leg muscles the time they need to gain the strength and endurance to go the distance. Training to walk also prepares parts of my body that can’t be trained any way other than with lots and lots of walking. For example, joints need lots of training. Given an average stride, my hip and knee joints will bend about 200,000 times each in those three days. Training for miles and miles beforehand gives them a chance to make all those bends without giving in or giving up.
Train my head.
The 3Day walk is a brainy event. I am thinking all the time out there. I’m meeting new people, hearing stories, seeing new places, and trying to focus on all of it. During my training walks, I am training my head at balancing all the opportunities that will come my way during the 3Day. When I am out on a training walk, I love to talk about past 3Day events or spend miles planning our current fundraising projects. We also try to watch the scenery around us, drawing one another’s attention to a bird or critter, or to try and find a bird based on its birdsong. Hours into a walk, my head can get tired and distracted, so I need to train myself to be focused and keep me, and those around me, safer on the actual event. Training walks prepare me for the many ways that my head will be engaged during the 3Day walk.
Train my heart.
This is probably the most important training for me, and possibly the hardest. My training walks are a chance to reflect on walks of the past, think about my reasons for walking, and prepare my heart for the work it will face during the 3Day.
I’m not talking about cardio-training, but rather about training my heart to handle the pressure that will grow inside my chest as I move through those three days. My emotions will ebb and flow from joy and elation to fear and sadness in an unpredictable unending circle. Each training walk is an opportunity to think about all the reasons I have for being a part of the 3Day, and to train my heart for the emotions of the event.
Here’s what I am training my heart to be ready for:
First thing in the morning, my heart will work hard as I see the smiling faces of total strangers waiting at the starting gate to cheer for the walkers. They’ll be yelling and handing out high-fives. All I’ll be doing is walking, and yet these people will make me feel like I am a true hero.
The day will move forward and before I know it, the young woman walking alongside me will call my heart into action. She’ll be telling me her story. She’s 20 years my junior and yet she has already lost her sister, her mom, and last spring, her breasts. And here she is walking in this event. My heart will be in full swing as she will stop, take my hand, and thank me (who she has just met) for my commitment. She will be thanking me?! Okay, heart – keep me moving.
After lunch, my heart will be taking a rest as I walk alone for a few miles. I’ll be dog-tired, my dogs will be barking and I’ll be looking dog-eared. The heat and exhaustion will be sinking through me, threatening to drag me to a stop. I’ll turn the corner and see a fire truck ahead. It’ll be a big, red hook and ladder, the kind that causes young kids to dream of being firefighters. This truck’s ladder will be fully extended and I’ll see a swarm of firefighters, spending their day off dressed in pink. They’ll have made a bursting fountain of cold water to soothe the tired walkers. As groups of icy walkers laugh and dance our way through this torrent of man-made rain, I’ll hear the firefighters chanting, “3Day Walkers save lives!” Totally refreshed, my heart will gladly carry me through the next several miles. Thank you, heart – keep me going.
At the end of a long day, my body and my head will have carried me about 20 miles, but it’s my heart that will soar as I see those pink gates welcoming me into the most beautiful city I have ever seen. It looks like miles of pink tents when you see camp at the end of the day, and that sight stirs my heart with far more emotion than one expects from tents. As I approach camp, I’ll feel aware of, and connected to, every story of every walker and every crew member waiting to be a part of my community for the night. Everyone I walk past has his or her own reason for being there. Maybe they’ve lost someone or maybe they’re celebrating that nobody close to them has been struck by this disease. Maybe they’re on this journey to test their fortitude, or maybe to rejoice that they have finished chemo. I wish I had time to hear every story. But at night, as I rest my tired body in the cocoon of my pink tent, I hear the murmurs of all the walkers around me, and my heart knows that their stories have become a part of who I am. My heart rests with this knowledge and sends me off to sleep to walk again another day. This is what I have trained for.
Wednesday, March 24, 2010
Monday, March 8, 2010
What's In a Tattoo?
Last Thursday, I went with my 20-year old son, Zak, and a friend of ours and we all got tattoos. This was my third ink, and they have each been special, but this is the first time that I have branded myself with a declaration of commitment and personal passion. This tattoo is not a declaration of just one person; it is a declaration of my passion for thousands of people, and thousands of miles. My new tattoo declares forever my passion for The3Day walks. Adorning my leg is a blue 3 entwined with a pink ribbon. It feels great to have it there, like it has been waiting to be born.
The decision to get my tattoo at the same time that Zak was getting his first started out just as a mom being there for and with her son. I’d been thinking for a few years of getting this design in ink and when he started talking about getting a tattoo, it seemed like good timing. Funny thing is, I didn’t realize until we were there how perfect it was to have him along for this particular declaration. As we shared the tattoo party, I reflected on my son’s connection to my 3Day experiences.
Zak was part of my journey to The3Day from the very start. My first walk was dedicated to my friend Mary Kaye, who was battling breast cancer in the wake of having lost her husband to pancreatic cancer just a year before her own diagnosis. My friendship with Mary Kaye was really borne of our boys’ friendship with one another. If not for the persistence of my son and hers in their need to stay connected it’s possible that Mary Kaye and I might have missed the chance to be in one another’s lives in a deep and meaningful way. If not for Zak and R’s friendship, it’s probable that Mar and I would have only been once-in-awhile friends. So because of his role in the start of that friendship, Zak was a part of my 3Day journey from before it even began.
When I started training for my first walk, I was unprepared for the amount of hours that one must dedicate to walking. My son quickly turned the training from a chore into a pleasure by joining me on our local bike path. He’d ride his bike for miles up and down the path cycling past me, then riding alongside me then falling behind me. And then he would start all over again. He could have been out with his friends; he could have been home playing games. But instead, my 11-year old boy was keeping me company and cheering me on so I could train. When I hit the streets on my first 3Day event and saw the bike safety crew patrolling our route in the same looping manner, I would smile each time thinking of my own safety crew back home.
Above all, Zak holds a vital role in my 3Day memories. He made it possible for me to complete all 60 miles of the most physically demanding 3Day I have walked yet. Each event has had it’s own challenges and demands; but the most intense for me was the Boston 3Day of 2002. As any New Englander will tell you about our spring weather: anything goes – and that weekend it sure did.
Day One was a perfect, sunny, clear day around 70 degrees with a slight breeze. I walked most of that day with Matt, celebrating our “walkaversary”. It had been one year since we had met on the 3Day. A lot had happened in that year and I was so grateful to have him along as my walking partner, and rapidly moving towards being the life partner that he is today.
We had a perfect day for walking, and at the end of our day relaxed on the lawn outside the dinner tent playing cards with some other walkers. At dinner that night the announcements included a weather forecast that sounded a bit threatening. Rain was coming in and was expected for all of Saturday. They advised covering our tents with extra layers of plastic and to be prepared for a wet walk.
I made a phone call to my ex-husband, Mike. Our hometown is about 2 hours west of the route planned for Day Two and he had offered to bring our kids eastward to cheer along the walk route. I was really looking forward to seeing them among the cheerleaders. I called to see if the forecast might be impacting his/their plans. He laughed and told me that since they could sit in a dry car and we’d be the ones walking in the rain all day, he didn’t see any reason for their plans to change. I was happy to hear it and reflected on how fortunate our kids are that we have been able to be friends in the wake of the end of our marriage.
The rains whipped in during the night and by morning, it was pouring in earnest. Back in those days, walkers packed every thing up each day to have our tents and personal belongings moved to the next ‘tent city’ site. We dressed in everything we could, packed up our stuff and our tent and headed out for the day. Less than an hour into the walk, Matt’s wimpy windbreaker was failing and the temperatures were dropping. I called Mike again to check in about his plans with the kids. He confirmed that their plans were the same and that they were on the way. I asked him to bring a raincoat for Matt to borrow and he agreed. We kept on walking. It continued to rain and the temperature continued to drop.
It was getting cold for May, but as long as we were moving, it seemed okay. There were a lot of walkers dropping out from the cold. I called Mike again. He said, “You’re still walking? It’s snowing here on our drive!” I was shocked at the thought of snow in May, glad that it was just cold rain for us. And then just minutes later the sleet started. I could continue to share all the details of that morning’s walk, but you get the point. My brand new gore-tex raincoat was soaked through, stuck to my icy skin. When we stopped for a lunch break, I changed from old wet socks to fresh wet socks, huddled in the shelter of a high school’s doorway overhang. The 3Day offered warm buses and options to get dry and head back to camp. But we were stubborn and determined to keep walking. Looking back, Matt and I have reflected that it was unwise for us to keep walking. We were cold and wet and not making the clearest decisions. But we also determined to finish what we had come to start. At the most difficult points in that day, I couldn’t help but think of Mary Kaye, and think of all the times that she didn’t have a choice about when to give up. If she could keep fighting to survive, surely I could walk through one cold wet day.
Just at the point when I was so cold each step hurt, Mike called to say that he thought they were close. I could hear my son exclaim, “Look at all those porta-potties!” We conferred on directions and they were pulling up alongside us minutes later. I don’t usually use my cell phone on the route, but that one time I was certainly grateful to have it along. We ran up to the car and opened the door to greet them, and to get the raincoat that I’d asked Mike to bring for Matt. What a surprise we had! Mike is an outdoorsman, and had brought piles of gear for us to change. We jumped into the back of his small wagon into what looked like most of the inventory from a closeout sale at Outdoor Adventureland. There were dry sweatpants for Matt and big yellow, fisherman style pants and jackets for each of us. The kids cheered us on as we struggled to change in the back of the car. I had to stay in the wet pants I’d been walking in, but everything else for both of us was changed into dry stuff. Hugs were exchanged all around and we asked Mike to drive onto the next rest stop to check in on us before he and the kids turned back towards home.
So on we walked. It felt better, but I was still shivering. The pants I was wearing were drenched to my skin under the yellow rain pants. I was icy cold. I was disheartened that we had made it this far and that we might still have to give in to the elements. Mary Kaye wouldn’t give up, I thought. We approached the rest stop, and I ran over to the car. I looked at my son, the only person close to my size…”Please?” I asked him, “Please can I have your pants?”
I’d love to tell you that it was a Lifetime Movie Special Moment. I’d love to say that his eyes lit up and he rejoiced in his chance to help me. More like, he reluctantly relented. But he handed over the prize of his dry pants and I was able to change out of that icy layer. Dry and warmer now, I hugged my boy and thanked him. I told him that he had given me the one thing I needed most to be able to complete my day. Embarrassed by his pantlessness, he smiled with a new understanding. “You’re welcome Mom. I’m glad to do what I can.”
Warm and dry, we continued to walk. The whole mood of the day changed for us from that moment. We were strong again, and could laugh and share our story with the other walkers who had survived into this second half of a very long day. The sun even came out in the afternoon and we walked into camp (indoors that night) feeling victorious. We talk about that day often over the years. If not for the support of my family, I never would have finished walking that day. I might even have succumbed to the hypothermia that threatened me at lunchtime. If not for my son’s supportive gesture, I would have a different story to tell about my own survivor-day.
There was a moment of connection for my son and I that day. It might not seem like a big deal, but for a 12-year old about to sit pants-less for two hours in a car with his dad and his little sister, loaning me his pants was a very big deal. Zak gave up something he really didn’t want to because he knew I needed it more than he did. And in the years between then and now, I have known that I can count on him for that level of support. I can ask him for anything and he will give me what I need. He is just that kind of person. He gives of himself freely and often no questions asked. People can count on him. I don’t think he’s ever had to hand anyone his pants since then, but I know he would if he needed to.
I trust that every time I look at my beautiful new tattoo that years of 3Day memories will scroll through my thoughts. At the top of that scroll will be the look in my son’s eyes when I thanked him for helping me survive my walk. May we all have that kind of opportunity to recognize it when we have helped another person.
The decision to get my tattoo at the same time that Zak was getting his first started out just as a mom being there for and with her son. I’d been thinking for a few years of getting this design in ink and when he started talking about getting a tattoo, it seemed like good timing. Funny thing is, I didn’t realize until we were there how perfect it was to have him along for this particular declaration. As we shared the tattoo party, I reflected on my son’s connection to my 3Day experiences.
Zak was part of my journey to The3Day from the very start. My first walk was dedicated to my friend Mary Kaye, who was battling breast cancer in the wake of having lost her husband to pancreatic cancer just a year before her own diagnosis. My friendship with Mary Kaye was really borne of our boys’ friendship with one another. If not for the persistence of my son and hers in their need to stay connected it’s possible that Mary Kaye and I might have missed the chance to be in one another’s lives in a deep and meaningful way. If not for Zak and R’s friendship, it’s probable that Mar and I would have only been once-in-awhile friends. So because of his role in the start of that friendship, Zak was a part of my 3Day journey from before it even began.
When I started training for my first walk, I was unprepared for the amount of hours that one must dedicate to walking. My son quickly turned the training from a chore into a pleasure by joining me on our local bike path. He’d ride his bike for miles up and down the path cycling past me, then riding alongside me then falling behind me. And then he would start all over again. He could have been out with his friends; he could have been home playing games. But instead, my 11-year old boy was keeping me company and cheering me on so I could train. When I hit the streets on my first 3Day event and saw the bike safety crew patrolling our route in the same looping manner, I would smile each time thinking of my own safety crew back home.
Above all, Zak holds a vital role in my 3Day memories. He made it possible for me to complete all 60 miles of the most physically demanding 3Day I have walked yet. Each event has had it’s own challenges and demands; but the most intense for me was the Boston 3Day of 2002. As any New Englander will tell you about our spring weather: anything goes – and that weekend it sure did.
Day One was a perfect, sunny, clear day around 70 degrees with a slight breeze. I walked most of that day with Matt, celebrating our “walkaversary”. It had been one year since we had met on the 3Day. A lot had happened in that year and I was so grateful to have him along as my walking partner, and rapidly moving towards being the life partner that he is today.
We had a perfect day for walking, and at the end of our day relaxed on the lawn outside the dinner tent playing cards with some other walkers. At dinner that night the announcements included a weather forecast that sounded a bit threatening. Rain was coming in and was expected for all of Saturday. They advised covering our tents with extra layers of plastic and to be prepared for a wet walk.
I made a phone call to my ex-husband, Mike. Our hometown is about 2 hours west of the route planned for Day Two and he had offered to bring our kids eastward to cheer along the walk route. I was really looking forward to seeing them among the cheerleaders. I called to see if the forecast might be impacting his/their plans. He laughed and told me that since they could sit in a dry car and we’d be the ones walking in the rain all day, he didn’t see any reason for their plans to change. I was happy to hear it and reflected on how fortunate our kids are that we have been able to be friends in the wake of the end of our marriage.
The rains whipped in during the night and by morning, it was pouring in earnest. Back in those days, walkers packed every thing up each day to have our tents and personal belongings moved to the next ‘tent city’ site. We dressed in everything we could, packed up our stuff and our tent and headed out for the day. Less than an hour into the walk, Matt’s wimpy windbreaker was failing and the temperatures were dropping. I called Mike again to check in about his plans with the kids. He confirmed that their plans were the same and that they were on the way. I asked him to bring a raincoat for Matt to borrow and he agreed. We kept on walking. It continued to rain and the temperature continued to drop.
It was getting cold for May, but as long as we were moving, it seemed okay. There were a lot of walkers dropping out from the cold. I called Mike again. He said, “You’re still walking? It’s snowing here on our drive!” I was shocked at the thought of snow in May, glad that it was just cold rain for us. And then just minutes later the sleet started. I could continue to share all the details of that morning’s walk, but you get the point. My brand new gore-tex raincoat was soaked through, stuck to my icy skin. When we stopped for a lunch break, I changed from old wet socks to fresh wet socks, huddled in the shelter of a high school’s doorway overhang. The 3Day offered warm buses and options to get dry and head back to camp. But we were stubborn and determined to keep walking. Looking back, Matt and I have reflected that it was unwise for us to keep walking. We were cold and wet and not making the clearest decisions. But we also determined to finish what we had come to start. At the most difficult points in that day, I couldn’t help but think of Mary Kaye, and think of all the times that she didn’t have a choice about when to give up. If she could keep fighting to survive, surely I could walk through one cold wet day.
Just at the point when I was so cold each step hurt, Mike called to say that he thought they were close. I could hear my son exclaim, “Look at all those porta-potties!” We conferred on directions and they were pulling up alongside us minutes later. I don’t usually use my cell phone on the route, but that one time I was certainly grateful to have it along. We ran up to the car and opened the door to greet them, and to get the raincoat that I’d asked Mike to bring for Matt. What a surprise we had! Mike is an outdoorsman, and had brought piles of gear for us to change. We jumped into the back of his small wagon into what looked like most of the inventory from a closeout sale at Outdoor Adventureland. There were dry sweatpants for Matt and big yellow, fisherman style pants and jackets for each of us. The kids cheered us on as we struggled to change in the back of the car. I had to stay in the wet pants I’d been walking in, but everything else for both of us was changed into dry stuff. Hugs were exchanged all around and we asked Mike to drive onto the next rest stop to check in on us before he and the kids turned back towards home.
So on we walked. It felt better, but I was still shivering. The pants I was wearing were drenched to my skin under the yellow rain pants. I was icy cold. I was disheartened that we had made it this far and that we might still have to give in to the elements. Mary Kaye wouldn’t give up, I thought. We approached the rest stop, and I ran over to the car. I looked at my son, the only person close to my size…”Please?” I asked him, “Please can I have your pants?”
I’d love to tell you that it was a Lifetime Movie Special Moment. I’d love to say that his eyes lit up and he rejoiced in his chance to help me. More like, he reluctantly relented. But he handed over the prize of his dry pants and I was able to change out of that icy layer. Dry and warmer now, I hugged my boy and thanked him. I told him that he had given me the one thing I needed most to be able to complete my day. Embarrassed by his pantlessness, he smiled with a new understanding. “You’re welcome Mom. I’m glad to do what I can.”
Warm and dry, we continued to walk. The whole mood of the day changed for us from that moment. We were strong again, and could laugh and share our story with the other walkers who had survived into this second half of a very long day. The sun even came out in the afternoon and we walked into camp (indoors that night) feeling victorious. We talk about that day often over the years. If not for the support of my family, I never would have finished walking that day. I might even have succumbed to the hypothermia that threatened me at lunchtime. If not for my son’s supportive gesture, I would have a different story to tell about my own survivor-day.
There was a moment of connection for my son and I that day. It might not seem like a big deal, but for a 12-year old about to sit pants-less for two hours in a car with his dad and his little sister, loaning me his pants was a very big deal. Zak gave up something he really didn’t want to because he knew I needed it more than he did. And in the years between then and now, I have known that I can count on him for that level of support. I can ask him for anything and he will give me what I need. He is just that kind of person. He gives of himself freely and often no questions asked. People can count on him. I don’t think he’s ever had to hand anyone his pants since then, but I know he would if he needed to.
I trust that every time I look at my beautiful new tattoo that years of 3Day memories will scroll through my thoughts. At the top of that scroll will be the look in my son’s eyes when I thanked him for helping me survive my walk. May we all have that kind of opportunity to recognize it when we have helped another person.
Tuesday, March 2, 2010
Humankind. Be both.
Recently a co-worker approached me because she has been thinking about doing her first 3Day this summer. She'd heard from another co-worker that I had “been involved in a few events” and she hoped that I would tell her more about it. I warned her that once I start talking about the 3Day, it might be hard to get me to stop. There are so many stories to tell and so much to say about what the event has meant to me.
She started in, as so many people do, asking about technical details:
- Do you set up your own tent?
- How do you raise all that money?
- Where does your stuff go while you walk?
- How many pairs of sneakers will I need?
I stopped her after just a few questions to explain that she can get all those answers and many more from the very detailed and very well thought-out 3Day website. I assured her that she would have more support than she could imagine from the 3Day itself as well as from other walkers, and on event from the Crew. I didn’t mind answering those questions, but I really felt that I had something more that I could give her.
I proceeded to tell her about my first walk. I wanted her to hear about that walk because it changed my life. In reality, each of the fourteen 3Day walks that I have done has affected me. They have shaped me and helped me to grow in a myriad of ways. But my first walk, in Boston in 2001, changed my vision of the world and my own role in it.
I decided to take that first 60-mile walk to honor my friend Mary Kay as she was wrapping up what we prayed would be her last treatment phase. I was driving to the Jersey shore every few weeks to be with her during chemo to help with her kids and just to be with her. I was focusing on her needs, but had begun ignoring my own. When I became committed to Mar’s care cycle, I dropped my own exercise routine. I was lamenting about that loss of balance to a friend one day as we walked into a store together. There, as we walked in the door, was a life-size cutout of two women, powerfully striding across an unseen finish line. The caption read:
“The 3Day Walk for Breast Cancer. Do something bigger than yourself.”
I am not generally a believer in signs. But hey, that was definitely a sign. I registered the next day and immediately started training and fundraising. Three months later, on May 17, 2001, I headed east to Leominster, MA. These days, walkers and crew take care of all the technical stuff in cyber land. We register online, fundraise online, get our tent assignments online, and watch safety videos online as well. But in 2001, the internets were still pretty young. Back then, all that stuff happened at a big in-person gathering of walkers that was referred to as “Day Zero”. A lot of stuff happened at the carnival of Day Zero. Everyone waited in lots of lines and began building a community. I met a man that day – another walker – with whom I have now walked and crewed for 9 years. I actually married that walker 4 years ago. I suppose you might think that’s what made my first walk so life-changing. It certainly is one way that my life changed because of that first walk. But the walk itself changed who I was and what I believed in.
That change began at Day Zero when I watched the required “safety video”. They called it a safety video because it contained all the important rules of the walking road, but it was about way more than just our safety. It was also an inspirational video. The intent of that video was to remind of us the ways that we each could build a spirit of community. Those twenty minutes were filled with examples of the ways that we could take care of one another on the event. Helping another walker set up their tent at the end of a long day was an opportunity for kindness. We could take an extra minute to hold a door open. We could show kindness by simply picking something up for someone too tired to do so him/herself. We could always find someone who needed us. The message was powerful that we had a unique opportunity in these three days to build a community of kindness and caring.
That 20-minute video shaped my weekend. I embraced the vision of kindness and I was embraced by it. For those three days, I helped to build a community of kindness. For those three days, every person really felt that s/he could make a difference in the world. We touched one another by setting up tents or by walking across a field to bring water to someone whose blister was just ‘too much’. We created a world of hope and strength simply by being kind.
Before my three days started, I was confident that I was making a difference in the fight against breast cancer with the money I had helped to raise. And I knew that I would be making a difference with the awareness that our army of walkers would raise as we walked through the communities of Massachusetts. But by the end of those three days, I had learned a lesson about making a difference that has become part of who I am. I learned that being kind is what it takes to create a community. I recharge that personal vision every time I return to the community of a 3Day event. Those events are an amazing experience in being engulfed in a community of people who have learned that kindness and giving really can make a difference. We, the walkers and crew of The3Day, have learned that finding ways to give to other people is the best way to live. When you see how simple it is to make a difference in another person’s day, you begin to realize that you really can make a difference in the world.
It isn’t always easy to translate the kindness of The3Day into the “real world” but do I try every day. Being kind can change the world. I can change the world.
I really can do something bigger than myself. And so can you.
She started in, as so many people do, asking about technical details:
- Do you set up your own tent?
- How do you raise all that money?
- Where does your stuff go while you walk?
- How many pairs of sneakers will I need?
I stopped her after just a few questions to explain that she can get all those answers and many more from the very detailed and very well thought-out 3Day website. I assured her that she would have more support than she could imagine from the 3Day itself as well as from other walkers, and on event from the Crew. I didn’t mind answering those questions, but I really felt that I had something more that I could give her.
I proceeded to tell her about my first walk. I wanted her to hear about that walk because it changed my life. In reality, each of the fourteen 3Day walks that I have done has affected me. They have shaped me and helped me to grow in a myriad of ways. But my first walk, in Boston in 2001, changed my vision of the world and my own role in it.
I decided to take that first 60-mile walk to honor my friend Mary Kay as she was wrapping up what we prayed would be her last treatment phase. I was driving to the Jersey shore every few weeks to be with her during chemo to help with her kids and just to be with her. I was focusing on her needs, but had begun ignoring my own. When I became committed to Mar’s care cycle, I dropped my own exercise routine. I was lamenting about that loss of balance to a friend one day as we walked into a store together. There, as we walked in the door, was a life-size cutout of two women, powerfully striding across an unseen finish line. The caption read:
“The 3Day Walk for Breast Cancer. Do something bigger than yourself.”
I am not generally a believer in signs. But hey, that was definitely a sign. I registered the next day and immediately started training and fundraising. Three months later, on May 17, 2001, I headed east to Leominster, MA. These days, walkers and crew take care of all the technical stuff in cyber land. We register online, fundraise online, get our tent assignments online, and watch safety videos online as well. But in 2001, the internets were still pretty young. Back then, all that stuff happened at a big in-person gathering of walkers that was referred to as “Day Zero”. A lot of stuff happened at the carnival of Day Zero. Everyone waited in lots of lines and began building a community. I met a man that day – another walker – with whom I have now walked and crewed for 9 years. I actually married that walker 4 years ago. I suppose you might think that’s what made my first walk so life-changing. It certainly is one way that my life changed because of that first walk. But the walk itself changed who I was and what I believed in.
That change began at Day Zero when I watched the required “safety video”. They called it a safety video because it contained all the important rules of the walking road, but it was about way more than just our safety. It was also an inspirational video. The intent of that video was to remind of us the ways that we each could build a spirit of community. Those twenty minutes were filled with examples of the ways that we could take care of one another on the event. Helping another walker set up their tent at the end of a long day was an opportunity for kindness. We could take an extra minute to hold a door open. We could show kindness by simply picking something up for someone too tired to do so him/herself. We could always find someone who needed us. The message was powerful that we had a unique opportunity in these three days to build a community of kindness and caring.
That 20-minute video shaped my weekend. I embraced the vision of kindness and I was embraced by it. For those three days, I helped to build a community of kindness. For those three days, every person really felt that s/he could make a difference in the world. We touched one another by setting up tents or by walking across a field to bring water to someone whose blister was just ‘too much’. We created a world of hope and strength simply by being kind.
Before my three days started, I was confident that I was making a difference in the fight against breast cancer with the money I had helped to raise. And I knew that I would be making a difference with the awareness that our army of walkers would raise as we walked through the communities of Massachusetts. But by the end of those three days, I had learned a lesson about making a difference that has become part of who I am. I learned that being kind is what it takes to create a community. I recharge that personal vision every time I return to the community of a 3Day event. Those events are an amazing experience in being engulfed in a community of people who have learned that kindness and giving really can make a difference. We, the walkers and crew of The3Day, have learned that finding ways to give to other people is the best way to live. When you see how simple it is to make a difference in another person’s day, you begin to realize that you really can make a difference in the world.
It isn’t always easy to translate the kindness of The3Day into the “real world” but do I try every day. Being kind can change the world. I can change the world.
I really can do something bigger than myself. And so can you.
Sunday, February 28, 2010
The World Needs More Cheerleaders
On Saturday, I skipped a weekend training walk. Instead, I sat on the bleachers in a local gym for about 6 hours watching cheerleaders cheer. Seriously. My daughter is a cheerleader and her team was participating in the Western Mass Invitational Tournament. It was held in a high school gym that was packed with more shades of school spirit than I have ever experienced.
Let me be perfectly clear about something: I was never a cheerleader. I actually avoided being present at events at which there were cheerleaders. And when my daughter announced that she wanted to become a cheerleader, I was startled. I’m a bit of a feminist. I didn’t shave my legs in high school and I was politically active before I could even vote. And I didn’t have any friends who were cheerleaders. They were too cool and I was too…not. Based on my experience of cheerleaders in high school and my perception of who/what they are culturally, I was shaken that my daughter wanted to be “one of them”. My perception was that cheerleaders were ditzy, mean-girls, who walked through their lives worrying about how to be popular, and not about much else. This didn’t jive with my understanding of my very bright, academically elite, sweet and friendly daughter. It worried me that this was what she wanted to become. But when your child wants to do something in her life, you support her. At least that’s the way I live my life. And she wanted to be a cheerleader, so I put my heart into supporting her as a cheerleader.
I have now sat through more school events in the past 4 years than I had in my entire life leading up to this point. Over time, I have learned a great deal about cheerleaders. Some of them are ditzy, but more of them are really smart and care a lot about their grades. Some of them are mean girls, but more of them are very sweet and thoughtful. Some of them care a lot about being popular, but more of them are just average kids with some very good friends.
And each of them, every cheerleader I have seen, is a true athlete, who works very hard, and is dedicated to cheering on and up the people she (or he) interacts with.
I had a real revelation yesterday watching the cheerleaders at the Regional Competition. I was sitting in the bleachers, experiencing a sense of pride reflecting on how hard our school’s team had worked to get ready for this. I was watching all the teams of girls (and a few boys) cheering their loudest for one another, and I was thinking about how far I had come in my own understanding of what it means to be a cheerleader. And then it dawned on me that I actually had come to love and understand cheerleaders years before my daughter had ever decided to become one.
I really started to love cheerleaders on my first 3Day Walk for Breast Cancer. Cheering is a crucial aspect to The3Day Walk. On every corner is another smiling face waiting to cheer the walkers forward. There are groups of families who spend the whole weekend stalking the walkers, seeking opportunities to thank them (us) for walking. Cheerleaders on the walk come in all genders, all shapes, and all sizes. There are loud cheerleaders chasing the walkers with shouts of praise and heartwarming chants. There are quiet cheerleaders who silently stand their ground and let the sign they hold say it all with words like “Thank you for walking with love from a 10-year survivor.” There are friendly cheerleaders who engage walkers in chat to help pass a difficult hill. There are old cheerleaders and young ones. The important thing is that every step of those 3 Days, there are people poised to cheer the walkers on.
Even though I had trained very hard for my first walk, I had a difficult time with knee pain. On the second day, I walked through miles of excruciating pain on an intensely swollen knee. Each time that I thought I might be close to giving up, there would be another cheerleader with kind words expressing their faith in me. Those cheerleaders gave me strength and kept me going.
Here’s the important thing I have realized about cheerleaders:
When you are in pain or fearful that you are not going to do something as well as you hope, you really deserve to have someone cheering for you. We all do, whether we are walking 60 miles, playing basketball or just trying to do our best at school or jobs. A little “woo-hoo” really goes a long way.
Let me be perfectly clear about something: I was never a cheerleader. I actually avoided being present at events at which there were cheerleaders. And when my daughter announced that she wanted to become a cheerleader, I was startled. I’m a bit of a feminist. I didn’t shave my legs in high school and I was politically active before I could even vote. And I didn’t have any friends who were cheerleaders. They were too cool and I was too…not. Based on my experience of cheerleaders in high school and my perception of who/what they are culturally, I was shaken that my daughter wanted to be “one of them”. My perception was that cheerleaders were ditzy, mean-girls, who walked through their lives worrying about how to be popular, and not about much else. This didn’t jive with my understanding of my very bright, academically elite, sweet and friendly daughter. It worried me that this was what she wanted to become. But when your child wants to do something in her life, you support her. At least that’s the way I live my life. And she wanted to be a cheerleader, so I put my heart into supporting her as a cheerleader.
I have now sat through more school events in the past 4 years than I had in my entire life leading up to this point. Over time, I have learned a great deal about cheerleaders. Some of them are ditzy, but more of them are really smart and care a lot about their grades. Some of them are mean girls, but more of them are very sweet and thoughtful. Some of them care a lot about being popular, but more of them are just average kids with some very good friends.
And each of them, every cheerleader I have seen, is a true athlete, who works very hard, and is dedicated to cheering on and up the people she (or he) interacts with.
I had a real revelation yesterday watching the cheerleaders at the Regional Competition. I was sitting in the bleachers, experiencing a sense of pride reflecting on how hard our school’s team had worked to get ready for this. I was watching all the teams of girls (and a few boys) cheering their loudest for one another, and I was thinking about how far I had come in my own understanding of what it means to be a cheerleader. And then it dawned on me that I actually had come to love and understand cheerleaders years before my daughter had ever decided to become one.
I really started to love cheerleaders on my first 3Day Walk for Breast Cancer. Cheering is a crucial aspect to The3Day Walk. On every corner is another smiling face waiting to cheer the walkers forward. There are groups of families who spend the whole weekend stalking the walkers, seeking opportunities to thank them (us) for walking. Cheerleaders on the walk come in all genders, all shapes, and all sizes. There are loud cheerleaders chasing the walkers with shouts of praise and heartwarming chants. There are quiet cheerleaders who silently stand their ground and let the sign they hold say it all with words like “Thank you for walking with love from a 10-year survivor.” There are friendly cheerleaders who engage walkers in chat to help pass a difficult hill. There are old cheerleaders and young ones. The important thing is that every step of those 3 Days, there are people poised to cheer the walkers on.
Even though I had trained very hard for my first walk, I had a difficult time with knee pain. On the second day, I walked through miles of excruciating pain on an intensely swollen knee. Each time that I thought I might be close to giving up, there would be another cheerleader with kind words expressing their faith in me. Those cheerleaders gave me strength and kept me going.
Here’s the important thing I have realized about cheerleaders:
When you are in pain or fearful that you are not going to do something as well as you hope, you really deserve to have someone cheering for you. We all do, whether we are walking 60 miles, playing basketball or just trying to do our best at school or jobs. A little “woo-hoo” really goes a long way.
Wednesday, February 24, 2010
Lessons of the Snow Day
Today we had a snow day.
As a kid snow days had a magic all their own. In the New Jersey town I grew up in, there was a town-wide alert for snow days. When there was questionable weather, we would listen at 7:05 to hear whether the alert whistle would blow to inform us that a snow day had been declared. For kids poised between their PJs and getting dressed for the day, that sound was a signal to offer up our own whistle of glee. Mother Nature had dumped a gift of a day into our laps. At that age, there really was no connection to the long-term issue of having to give back that day in June. All that mattered was that suddenly our vision of the day had changed. Instead of dressing for school and flustering out the door into our regimented day, we could lazily stretch into an unexplored day. We could bundle into jackets and layers, find sleds and friends and create a winter wonderland. Or we could watch cartoons all day. There might be a play-date with friends or baking cookies with grandmothers. The magic of a snow day was the big promising stretch of the unknown. The magic was the opportunity to not know what was next and to enjoy whatever it turned out to be.
Snow days now are still magical. My partner is a teacher and I have a flexible work place so a snow day usually means a bonus day off together that we hadn’t expected. Although there are always chores to do and usually mountains of ice or snow to move around, the day is still a special treat. And even though a day off in February will mean an extra day of work in June, the day we get to have is a chance to be very present in life, and remind ourselves to just be here now.
Trying to learn to embrace the moment is something I have struggled with for years. I am one of those people who would prefer to be in control of every moment. I don’t exactly overplan but I do like to plan very thoroughly. But I have tried to change that about myself. After losing Mary Kay to breast cancer, I recognized that I needed to learn to appreciate the moments I was having rather than planning for the moments I was going to have. Life really is too short to be thinking about the next moment instead of living in the current one. What if something comes along and takes away your next moment? Maybe it’ll be breast cancer that steals away your next moment. Or maybe it’ll be a bus. Or maybe you’ll miss a bus and simply miss the next thing on your schedule. Missing the next big moment or the next small one is frustrating if you are dedicated to the plan instead of the moments. I want to try to fully embrace the moments as they happen.
One of the things that I appreciate most about The3Day Walks is the way that the event forces me to live in the moment. I confess that, even 9 years into it, I do spend weeks planning what to pack, how to pack, how we’ll get there and so on. And that is after months of planning our fundraisers and letter-writing. And that is after totally planning which city to walk in and which city to crew in. After all, I didn’t say that I have totally conquered the “In The Moment” concept, just that I am working on it!
But on the walk itself, there I really can Be Here Now. Walking 20 miles a day, I really don’t have time or energy for anything other than the path directly in front of me. I have the time to focus on and really talk to the person walking next to me. Hopefully, I will talk to her or him for hours because they have a story to tell and something to teach me. When the day gets long and my feet are worn out, I am simply there in that moment. And when I walk into camp at the end of that long day and am greeted by enthusiastic cheering crew and fellow walkers, I am right there, in that one moment. Where else could I possibly want to be?
This morning, when the cyber snow day whistle sounded its alarm announcing a bonus day off, I could have startled into a planning frenzy. I could have worried about whether the laundry would get done and what this winter day off was going to do to our summer plans. Instead, I rolled over and lazily stretched into an unknown day of being with and celebrating my family. Right here, in this moment. Thank you, 3Day, for that lesson.
As a kid snow days had a magic all their own. In the New Jersey town I grew up in, there was a town-wide alert for snow days. When there was questionable weather, we would listen at 7:05 to hear whether the alert whistle would blow to inform us that a snow day had been declared. For kids poised between their PJs and getting dressed for the day, that sound was a signal to offer up our own whistle of glee. Mother Nature had dumped a gift of a day into our laps. At that age, there really was no connection to the long-term issue of having to give back that day in June. All that mattered was that suddenly our vision of the day had changed. Instead of dressing for school and flustering out the door into our regimented day, we could lazily stretch into an unexplored day. We could bundle into jackets and layers, find sleds and friends and create a winter wonderland. Or we could watch cartoons all day. There might be a play-date with friends or baking cookies with grandmothers. The magic of a snow day was the big promising stretch of the unknown. The magic was the opportunity to not know what was next and to enjoy whatever it turned out to be.
Snow days now are still magical. My partner is a teacher and I have a flexible work place so a snow day usually means a bonus day off together that we hadn’t expected. Although there are always chores to do and usually mountains of ice or snow to move around, the day is still a special treat. And even though a day off in February will mean an extra day of work in June, the day we get to have is a chance to be very present in life, and remind ourselves to just be here now.
Trying to learn to embrace the moment is something I have struggled with for years. I am one of those people who would prefer to be in control of every moment. I don’t exactly overplan but I do like to plan very thoroughly. But I have tried to change that about myself. After losing Mary Kay to breast cancer, I recognized that I needed to learn to appreciate the moments I was having rather than planning for the moments I was going to have. Life really is too short to be thinking about the next moment instead of living in the current one. What if something comes along and takes away your next moment? Maybe it’ll be breast cancer that steals away your next moment. Or maybe it’ll be a bus. Or maybe you’ll miss a bus and simply miss the next thing on your schedule. Missing the next big moment or the next small one is frustrating if you are dedicated to the plan instead of the moments. I want to try to fully embrace the moments as they happen.
One of the things that I appreciate most about The3Day Walks is the way that the event forces me to live in the moment. I confess that, even 9 years into it, I do spend weeks planning what to pack, how to pack, how we’ll get there and so on. And that is after months of planning our fundraisers and letter-writing. And that is after totally planning which city to walk in and which city to crew in. After all, I didn’t say that I have totally conquered the “In The Moment” concept, just that I am working on it!
But on the walk itself, there I really can Be Here Now. Walking 20 miles a day, I really don’t have time or energy for anything other than the path directly in front of me. I have the time to focus on and really talk to the person walking next to me. Hopefully, I will talk to her or him for hours because they have a story to tell and something to teach me. When the day gets long and my feet are worn out, I am simply there in that moment. And when I walk into camp at the end of that long day and am greeted by enthusiastic cheering crew and fellow walkers, I am right there, in that one moment. Where else could I possibly want to be?
This morning, when the cyber snow day whistle sounded its alarm announcing a bonus day off, I could have startled into a planning frenzy. I could have worried about whether the laundry would get done and what this winter day off was going to do to our summer plans. Instead, I rolled over and lazily stretched into an unknown day of being with and celebrating my family. Right here, in this moment. Thank you, 3Day, for that lesson.
Tuesday, February 23, 2010
What It Means to Not Walk
Two days in a row of not walking due to weather, work and a sore back has produced a serious frustration within me when I sit down to write. The bottom line is that I don’t want to write about not walking. Are there thoughts that I can share and express about what it means to NOT walk?
I have not walked before. I learned a lot from the experience of not walking.
In October 2009, Matt and I drove to Philadelphia for The3Day Walk, and didn’t walk.
It was our 15th 3Day Walk (it was actually his 16th). We had trained plenty and raised over $6000. We know our way around The3Day experience, and it is a vital and central part of our lives. Although we had already crewed in Chicago in August, walking each year is very important to us.
WELL! What a roller coaster of a weekend it was. Not at all what we expected. I returned home to Massachusetts late Wednesday night from a business trip. We spent hours trying to get repacked for the Walk, knowing that the weather geeks were predicting wet and cold all weekend. We drove to Philly Thursday evening. The driving was awful, starting with sleety snow in Massachusetts. A drive that usually takes us 4 1/2 hours took almost 8! We arrived at our friends’ home in Philly at almost 10, visited and reviewed our plans for them to drop us at opening ceremonies the next morning. Just before bed, we checked online to discuss with them the exact timing for the 3Days only to discover that major announcements had been made. Due to the weather conditions, the organizers of the event had determined that the event would be held on Sunday only as a 1Day event. Our hearts crashed into our stomachs and we tried to decide what this meant for us. After a sleepless night, we got in touch with a fellow walker local to the area and decided to join her (and about 300 other clad-in-pink walkers) at a local mall for an indoors Day One Walk. We decided that we would walk at the mall for Day One/Friday and then drive home and recapture the gift of a free weekend. I was scheduled to be out town for most of the coming month and we decided that a weekend at home would do us some good after all. It was a lot of fun walking in the King of Prussia Mall, although it certainly didn't compare to a regular 3Day walk. We spent the day walking the mall, cheered with and for all the other mall-walkers. Then we hugged our friend Jane and headed home.
The drive home that evening was uneventful, although we took turns lamenting our sadness at the loss of the walk. It felt surreal to be driving home without having had our walk.
And then, we woke up Saturday and I felt simply bereft at the loss. Homesick is the only way to describe it. After some discussion, we decided that as crazy as it was, we would drive back so that we could walk the organized 1Day event on Sunday. Back in the car we went. Crazy? Yes. But the minute we were back in the car headed back towards the 3Day, I felt better. We drove to the home of our friend and fellow-walker, had a late dinner with her and her husband, cemented that growing friendship, got up on Sunday and walked our 15-mile 1Day event. That 1Day was just like a 3Day in terms of people cheering and a sense of community gathered around a vital cause, but it wasn't the same as a "real" 3Day.
But in many ways, there was lot more for me to learn from living through that kind of disappointment and reconciliation. In the end, I think I grew more from the walk that I did have than I would have from the walk I was planning on taking that weekend.
I hadn’t planned on driving more hours than walking that weekend. I hadn’t planned on training for months to take a walk that didn’t challenge my body. I hadn’t planned on making choices that weekend about what to eat. I hadn’t planned for any of what happened.
But the walk that I didn’t take can remind me how important it was for all of us to experience that sort of adrift, unfettered, unplanned moment. When my friend Mary Kay was diagnosed with breast cancer 9 months after losing her husband, it definitely was not what she had planned. When my friend Diane was told that her cancer had come back after 10 years, it wasn’t what she had planned. When my friend T’s 26 year-old daughter was diagnosed, it wasn’t what she had planned.
Who plans on leaving their teenagers orphaned? Who plans on shifting from planning her retirement to planning chemo treatment schedules? Who plans on helping her daughter recover from a bilateral mastectomy two weeks after her wedding? Really now, who plans on getting breast cancer?
You really can’t plan everything in life. I didn’t plan a weekend of not walking, but I can be grateful for the weekend I did have.
Sunday, February 21, 2010
Vacation's End
It is the end of vacation in our home. With a high-school student and a middle school teacher comprising two-thirds of our home, school vacations define the ebb and flow of our lives. I am fortunate enough to have the flexibility in my job to take my vacations when they have vacations. Although I did have some hours of work to finish up during the week, it was still vacation. I still slept late every day, and we went for a walk in the middle of the afternoon every day. And it was relaxing.
And then yesterday, it suddenly dawned on all three of us at the same moment that our vacation was about to end. Isn’t it strange how Saturday morning can be the most amazing stretch of glorious possibilities when it signals the start of your weekend; and yet can feel like the abysmal end of the world when it dawns your vacation is almost over?
Saturday dawned with a backache for me, and a vacation-is-almost-over hole in the heart of my partner. We were feeling all kinds of self-pity, stuck-in-the-house blahs, when I read the Tweet of a friend:
If misery loves company, it also responds to an inspiring kick-in-the-butt. And so we picked our sorry selves up from our sad sack palace of wallowing and headed out into the daylight. A walk in the woods was definitely called for. We headed to a part of the bike path that we had first explored last spring and trekked through six miles of brilliant winter sunshine! We walked through the local park and alongside a river, stopping to admire crests of ice caked around a waterfall. It was a magnificent day for a walk.
It would have been so easy to stay on the couch, buried in the anger and sadness that our vacation was over. But it turned out to be just as easy – and a whole lot more rewarding – to celebrate what a great vacation it has been by continuing the vacation feeling for as long as possible. It is easy to feel sorry for yourself when life gets difficult or sad or scary. But it is important to remember that we are in control of how we feel about our lives. We can be sad and scared; or we can get out, find the sunshine and look for something special in our days.
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