With October being breast cancer awareness month, I want to try and bring you some more personal stories from others who have been working so hard to fight this dreadful disease. This story was posted originally on the Susan G Komen 3 Day for the Cure walker forums. It was written by Larry, who has walked in many walks and is scheduled to be a crew member in DC and Philadelphia and a walker in San Diego (Can’t wait to meet him!). It’s a powerful message. He gave us permission to share.
I hate this Walk. I’ve participated a couple of dozen times over the last ten years in a half-dozen cities, and I hate this Walk.
I hate training. I hate waking up early to walk and walk and walk, and maybe earn a few blisters in the process. I’d rather sleep late on weekends, and spend the day with my butt firmly attached to the couch, reading, napping or watching TV. I hate training.
I hate fundraising. I hate asking hardworking people to donate to fight this damn disease that affects us all, while people on Wall Street make $50 million a year to destroy jobs and our economy while padding their own overflowing bank accounts. It’d be nice if those $50 million paychecks went to a cure, and the Wall Street folks had to run a freakin’ bake sale to support themselves. I hate fundraising.
I hate rain. Walking in the rain sucks. Sleeping in a tent in the rain sucks more. And don’t get me started on mud. I hate rain.
I hate pink. Pink is for “My Little Pony”, Barbie cars and 4 year old girls. I don’t care what my wife says, no man looks good in pink. Just once, I want to participate in a walk whose official color is “flannel.” I hate pink.
I hate tents. Getting dressed in a tent requires more gymnastic ability than I can muster. Sleeping in a tent, curled up so my feet aren’t hanging out the door, is not fun. Can’t they make a tent that an average sized guy can fit into, without having to crawl in and out? And while I’m at it, for God’s sake, can they please figure out how to make them soundproof, so I don’t have to listen to people snoring? Ladies, I don’t care what you tell your husbands, but you snore too! I hate tents.
I hate Gatorade. I hate Powerade. I hate every damn “ade.” There is a special place in hell for whoever decided to put salt in fruit punch. If I wanted a salty drink, I’d order a margarita. I hate Gatorade.
But there is one thing I hate most of all. I hate Breast Cancer. I hate the look in my wife’s eyes when she has to go for her mammogram. I hate that my daughters had to learn about breast self-exams when they were still in their teens. I hate going to funerals, and having to listen to talk about how “she is in a better place.” Screw that. You think that’s any comfort?
I hate that a young woman has to decide whether or not to have a preventive mastectomy because her father had breast cancer, and they both carry the BRCA1 gene. I hate that Mother’s Day is yet another day when some kids have to go to the cemetery to visit their Mom. I hate watching parents bury their children, and I hate watching children bury their parents.
I hate this Walk. But I hate breast cancer even more. Fuck breast cancer. Sorry if the profanity offends you, but I can’t think of any other word that fully expresses how I feel. So fuck breast cancer. Can we please just find a cure already?
But until we find that cure, maybe we can compromise on pink flannel?
2010 DC & Philly Crew
2010 San Diego Walker