I probably have too much distance from the walk at this point to accurately reflect on it.
But I am going to try anyway.
First, let me begin by saying that the one thing that stood out to me the most, the biggest impression I got, that I still have, the greatest shock I received came in the form of the outpouring of support I got from friends, family, and friends and family of friends and family.
One of my friends not only made a huge donation to the walk (after poo-pooing it for weeks! He's a stinker.) but he also convinced friends of his, who have never met me, to also donate.
My mother's aunt came forward with a generous donation that I was pleasantly surprised by.
My sister's boss (again, never met me!) donated a hefty sum.
My aunt's boss, who I have only met a few times, both gave me some translation work to do for the pay that would go to the walk, and then doubled the promise commission when they donated to the walk.
A few of my coworkers stepped forward with nice donations.
Friends of my brother donated. Even one kid who had no job gave me 10 bucks! So sweet.
My investment banker donated.
And then of course, there are the amazing individuals, close friends and family, I knew would donate, but who nonetheless warmed my heart immensely when I saw their names scroll up my donation page with all the dollars they could give.
So, needless to say, I more than met my goal of $1800!
But none of it really seemed real until the day before the walk, when my toddler and I jumped on BART from Hayward to San Francisco to officially check in for the next morning.
Ahhhh, yes, there are those feelings of excitement and anticipation, all rushing back to me now.
The room at the St. Francis Hotel on Union Square was filled, literally, not figuratively, filled with pink. People everywhere were lined up to sign up, or signing people up. As Celaya and I stepped off the elevator we were inundated with pink.
I am not a fan of the color pink.
But in this case, I was exhilarated, thrilled, inspired, by the color pink. Everyone, everywhere, seemed determined, motivated. We all had a purpose, we all had a goal, we were a team, in this together, even if we did no more than exchange a polite smile across the room.
I stood in a very short line, filled out the crucial medical and personal information, got my bracelet, and Celaya and I headed back down to Market Street to catch BART back home.
I woke up the next morning at 5 AM, packed and ready to go. I brought the baby monitor into my brother's room, and my husband drove me to San Francisco to meet at the Masonic Center. We stopped on our way at Starbucks for a latte and a pastry, since I had no idea what was in store for me at the opening ceremony. I arrived at the walk at about 6:30, and again, was greeted by a sea of pink. There were giant moving trucks that took my sleeping bag, my overnight bag, and my pillow, to stow away and meet me later that day at the site in Larkspur, 15 miles away. As I approached the opening ceremony, there was a woman on stage, giving her testimonial, to a crowd of hundreds of pink people. She had survived breast cancer. She had left her career. She had become director of the Avon Walk for Breast Cancer!
Holding my coffee in one hand, and looking out at the sea of people, I was already moved to tears. And I had only been there for one minute.
More people came onto the stage to share their experiences, to inspire us walkers, and inspire us they did.
And then, an announcer said something along the lines of, "alright everybody, let's go!"
And we did.
The actual walk was amazing. We wound our way through the streets of San Francisco, seeing a lot of the tourist attractions: Ghirardelli Square, Pier 39, The Palace of Fine Arts, the beautiful homes in the Presidio. My girlfriend and I, along with a friend of hers, strolled the streets, chatting and stopping for coffee, taking our sweet time.
Then we got to our first rest stop, filled with awesome snack, namely the famous peanut butter and jelly graham crackers, and I realized we were behind schedule. Way behind.
I took out the flyer with deadlines to leave each rest stop if you planned on completing the entire 26 miles of the first day, and I noticed that we were already 20 minutes behind. At that point I began pushing, hard, to catch up. I was determined to complete all 26 miles that day.
I felt like, first of all, it was a personal goal of mine to complete the entire 39 miles, and second of all, I had been telling all of my friends and family that I was going to complete this entire course. I could not let myself, or them, down. Especially after the enormous amount of support they provided to me. So I raced. I pushed my friends up over the Golden Gate Bridge, rushed them through the nice sandwich lunch waiting for us on the other side, and up the hill beyond, into Marin.
At that point, I realized I was being a big pain in the butt to my friends, who really were not in the same super fit shape I was in, and really were not as hyper active about completing every single mile in record time as I was. So I waved goodbye, left them to their conversation, and from that point, became a solo walker.
I walked ten more miles alone, and it was fabulous!
I met tons of people as I passed them, they passed me, we walked a few miles together, sharing stories, family members of mine who had survived breast cancer, family members of theirs who had done the same, or sadly, had fallen victim to the disease.
I held my head high when the man taking a head count told me I was walker 360 out of almost 1,000! I was making great time.
I stopped at each rest stop to reapply sunscreen, neatly displayed on a table, have a snack (always a pb&j graham), and refill my water bottle, which I always aimed to empty entirely before the next stop (the stops are about 3 miles apart).
At the end of the day, at a stop light, mere feet from the entrance to the site village where we would be camping for the night, one of the lovely motorcycle riders who provided the safe street crossings for us asked which of us would be continuing on the complete the full 26 miles that day, which required 3 more miles, and which would be going straight to the village.
I hesitated. Just for a second. But I did hesitate.
And then I raised my hand. Yes. I would complete the full 26 miles.
So he gave me instructions for a 3 mile loop through a residential area that would wend its way around the back of the site, and come around to the entrance from the other side of the street. I forged through it. Along the way, I met a brisk and brusk older woman who had been alternating walking and volunteering each year for the better part of the last ten years. She was a middle school teacher, not fond of California's new Core Curriculum standards, by the way. And we caught up to a husband and father of four who's family, also walkers, had raced ahead, while he decided to hang back a bit and enjoy the view.
We arrived at the village and I all but collapsed. No. I couldn't collapse yet. I held my head high, legs feeling like rubber, body feeling like jelly, and walked through the giant pink arch, past the booths displaying Tiger Balm and Reebok gear. I grabbed a folded up tent, found a volunteer "tent angel," essentially a teenager ready and willing to pitch my tiny pink, pop up tent, and laid down in the grass until the work was done. Then I found my overnight gear, loaded it in my tent, and headed for the mobile showers.
The organizers of this walk really did think of everything.
After cleaning (scrubbing) off my tired and dirty with sweat body, I headed over to check out the booths, wandered over to the dinner tent, filled up my plate with generous portions of salad, veggies, rolls, rice, the best meatballs I've ever eaten, and a delicious piece of chocolate cake.
Bliss.
My girlfriend met up with me shortly after I finished dinner and we talked for a bit, but by that time I was so exhausted and she was so hungry, that we parted ways, I toward the tent and she toward some much needed food.
I feel asleep almost instantly and slept for 9 hours straight. I woke up while it was still dark, packed up my gear, had some breakfast, and headed out with my girlfriend to make our way back to San Francisco.
It was not long before it was quite clear that my girlfriend had no intention of power walking the way I wanted to, so I blew her a kiss, wished her luck, and raced forward. It was awesome. I met a woman waiting for the walkers in Tiburon with flowers, asked me for a dance, and gave me a tiny pot of flowers. I danced, cheek to cheek, with an older greek woman on the water for some flowers. As I marched up one hill toward a traffic light, all by myself for the moment, I spotted a motorcycle rider waiting for me, pushing the button signaling our intent to cross. He was, like most of his fellow volunteers, decked out in pink, standing alongside his motorcycle, also decked out in pink for the occasion. I think the bike had a pink bra over its handlebars. The song "I'm a Survivor" by Destiny's Child was playing on his radio, and as I approached him he began waving his arms over his head, gently swaying back and forth, like we were in a concert. He gave me a soft, sweet smile, and lipsynced the words with me and I continued forward, toward him. When I finally got up the hill, to him, he took off the single pink beaded bracelet he had on his wrist, looked into my eyes, and hugged me. He walked me across the street, and I waved goodbye, all the time with that gentle smile on his lips.
I don't know his story. I don't know who he lost. Or if he even lost anyone. I just know he made me feel like I was doing something powerful, something important, something meaningful.
There were dozens of others that made me feel that way on this walk. Children holding signs with tears in their eyes. Bearded men with leather jackets and pink bedazzled motorcycle helmets. Older women standing by their cars as I walked along holding signs with pictures of Adam Levine and the words, "walk like I'm waiting for you at the finish line." And a Greek lady with a tiny pot of flower and the legs of a dancer.
But the one motorcycle man at the top of the hill was the culmination of all of my experiences. He made my tears stand out in my eyes.
At the end of the walk, my husband, my brother, and my baby were waiting on the sidewalk for me, and my tiny toddler got to walk through the final pink arch with me back at the Masonic Center amid cheers and congratulations. It was one of the best experiences of my life. And I realize at the end of it how much not only the money means, for research, for support, for supplies, but also how much the movement means. How much the community comes together to raise awareness.
Now, in October, Breast Cancer Awareness month, I know I will register, I will bake cookies, I will harass my friends and family again (yes, that's you, I'm coming for you), and I will do whatever I can to continue to be a part of this movement for as long as possible.
Halloween cookies, $1 each, Christmas cookies, $10 a dozen, Valentine's cupcakes, St. Patrick's Day muffins, oh the possibilities are endless!
