Breast Cancer 3 Day Walk

It’s a stark and startling statistic, but breast cancer affects 1 in 8 women worldwide.  Last weekend, with the support of The Monroe Institute, my mother and I set out to do our part to help make that statistic disappear as we embarked on the 60 mile Breast Cancer 3-Day Walk organized by Susan G. Koman for the Cure in Washington DC.  When we decided to each raise over 2,000 dollars and walk 60 miles 6 months ago, neither of really knew what we were getting into.  We knew that raising the money would be tough, and we had an inkling that walking 60 miles would be difficult, but mostly we were thinking, sure, we can do this!  When TMI found out that my mom and I were walking, the Institute immediately wanted to sponsor us, in memory of Nancy Penn and in honor of Theresa West, a member of the TMI extended family and a breast cancer survivor.  Armed with our funding, a plethora of pink, TMI t-shirts and a healthy dose of optimism, we drove to Alexandria Virginia on Thursday and our journey began!

Upon arrival we learned that we would be picked up by a shuttle at 4:30 the following morning.  Did I say that loudly enough?  4:30 in the morning. Already we were getting a taste of the challenges that lay ahead.  After an amazing Italian meal (hey, a girl’s gotta carb load!) we crawled into our beds and enjoyed our last night on a real mattress for a couple of days.  The alarm did what it does best at 3:45 the following morning, and bleary eyed, we made our way to meet some of our fellow walkers crowding around the coffee station. Conversation was limited and the coffee flowed freely as we quieted our nerves and shuffled to the bus, wondering what the day would hold.

We were deposited at the Potomac Mills Mall in Woodbridge Virginia and after leaving our bags in semi trucks to be picked up at camp later, we eagerly walked across the parking lot only to discover that we were the first to arrive at the party and watched for two hours as buses, cars, taxis and even a limo rolled into the parking lot bearing thousands of men and women, turning the dark morning into a sea of pink.  As the sun began to rise, we were shuttled into the opening ceremony stage and there we met our host for the weekend, did some quick stretching and got a taste of the emotions to come as we were introduced to breast cancer survivors carrying flags sporting all of the people that we were walking for.  Mother, wife, daughter, son, best friend, husband, sister-each of these words was emblazoned on flags that were going on the walk with us as a reminder that no one is immune to breast cancer . . . not yet anyway . . . and that everyone deserves a lifetime.

As we walked through the throngs of people clapping, whistling and wishing us luck on our journey it became clear that this was not a walk that we would be taking alone.  Apart from our 2,998 fellow walkers, the parking lot was lined with people thanking us for walking and wishing us well, and as we started down the side of the road, morning commuters honked and waved, adding to the din of 6,000 feet hitting the pavement.

The morning went by quickly, and after a couple of liters or water, many pit stops, and 11 miles, we stopped briefly for lunch and then headed back to the trail.  The first day we mostly walked on a wide path that followed a four lane highway, so the view was a little grim, but the weather was perfect and spirits were high as women and men from all over the country met one another, shared stories and laughs and did what the day called for: put one foot in front of the other.  In all, we walked 23 miles on the first day, concluding our journey rather battered in Occoquan, Virginia.

In all of the planning for the trip, my mother and I overlooked two (or maybe that’s four) important details: our feet.  Though we both concluded the day blister free, we realized that our feet were not quite up to the task at hand.  I finished the day with a grump of a sprained foot and Mom mentioned that she had a broken toe that was, in fact, still quite broken.  Though our spirits were showing the wear of 23 miles, we were able to pitch our tent, head to dinner and hit up the well staffed medical tent before heading back to bed-erm, our deluxe sleeping bags for what proved to be a very deep sleep.

The following morning we realized that if we wanted to walk any more miles we were going to have to adjust our game plan a little.  Though our muscles and minds were raring to go, our feet were already making plans to ditch us and head to the spa.  We joined a group of other ladies headed to lunch-via bus-so that we could cheer for the other walkers as they came in and then headed back to camp to again welcome walkers home.  This too was a tough part of the journey because we came to walk, and yet here we were, distinctly not walking.  The pain was intense, but so was the desire to be a part of the community of walkers.  What I didn’t know going into this, is that whether you walk one mile or 60, the point of the weekend is to challenge yourself, connect with strangers, and raise money and awareness about and for breast cancer.  Pushing through pain the first day to complete 23 miles was an awesome challenge, we were surrounded by women that we were sharing stories with, we had contributed our fund raising and it turns out, we were doing exactly what we came to do, just a little differently than we thought we would!

The last day was a shorter walk through Georgetown and DC and we joined up with some wonderful women to walk our final 8 miles.  In a true testimony to the spirit of the weekend, these two best friends were moving at a slower pace because one of them had seriously injured her knee leading up to the walk, and rather than leaving her at home, her friend said, “let’s get a wheel chair and I’ll push you.”   We were a sight, I’m sure, but together we literally pushed the final 8 miles into the victory circle.

Walking into ‘Victory Lane’ was, without a doubt, an experience of a lifetime.  It seemed that thousands of people lined the path in front of the Smithsonian smiling and cheering, waving us home.  The world was flushing pink as women and men congratulated each other, and tears rolled down cheeks that were starting to ache from smiling so wide.  Walkers were given white t-shirts and survivors were given pink t-shirts and so we went in a cluster of 3,000 to greet family and supporters and celebrate in a closing ceremony.

The walkers in white shirts flooded into the closing ceremony stage area that was bursting with loud music, cheering supporters and the promise of a shower and a soft bed in the coming hours.  We screamed and clapped as all the white shirt walkers filed in, and then our host asked us to please welcome our pink clad survivors home.

Around us everywhere, single dirty tennis shoes began to rise in the air as an extremely emotional salute to the men and women that we had all crossed off so many miles for and with.  60 miles (or, in our case, 32) may sound like a tough journey, but nothing about those miles could compare to the journey that the men and women who walked with us as survivors of breast cancer had faced.  Never in my life could I have imagined that holding my sweaty shoe in the air could mean so much, and it was in that moment that I realized why we had come.

It is not enough to challenge your body to overcome a physical feat, it is not enough to contribute time and money, it is not enough wish for a cure.  Only in the moment of standing there with my shoe dangling over my head, joined by thousands of other shoes connected to sweaty tired arms and tearful smiling faces, did I realize that the fight against breast cancer simply won’t be won with only money and research, it will be earned with love.  I was so proud to be standing in a group of 3,000 that had collectively raised over seven million dollars in one weekend, not just because of our accomplishment, but because we, as a group of strangers, had done it together.

It’s been a week since embarking on that long walk, my mother has had surgery on that broken toe (don’t worry, it was on the books prior to the walk) and I am still nursing my unhappy foot, but I have not stopped thinking about all of the names that we saw written on every available surface last weekend.  Each name, either a survivor or a victim, was attached to a life that was prematurely affected by a disease for which we should have a cure.  For every walker there were even more names, too many names, of the men and women that have fought or are fighting this beast and it was with a heavy, but optimistic heart that we etched Nancy’s name on the memorial tent and lovingly wrote Theresa’s name on the survivor wall.  The Monroe Institute gave us a chance to not only contribute some dollars and sweat to the fight against breast cancer, but also to begin to make sure that all of those names know that they are not just black ink on a pink wall.  And you know what?  I’m already making plans for next year to make sure that we make good on our promise.  Thank you TMI for your support.

With much love and gratitude,

Amelia Walton