Working for the weekend.

Today was a 19-hour workday.
On a Friday.
1289.53 miles from home (according to Mapquest.)
Away from TFitch.
Away from friends.
Away from widdle Macy.

Two more days to go.

I do it, because I need to do it.
I do it without complaining (so I hope).

I do it because I hope to God I never, ever have to write this,

 Or this,

 Or this,

Or this,

Or this,

Or this,

This,

This,

Or this,

Or this.

No matter how many hours.
No matter how many weekends.
No matter how many nights away from family and friends,
I will do what I can so no one I love is lost because of this disease.

No Words

I've been composing a post in my head all day. I'm in the Twin Cities for the Susan G. Komen 3-Day for the Cure--one of my clients. The post was going to be titled "love what you do" and focus on how much I enjoy and value the opportunity to work with this event. I wanted to talk about how, although it's hard, long work--although we work weekends away from friends and family and it's long hours--been up since 3:25 am in fact (and that's sleeping in)--I wouldn't change my job for another job in the world. How I feel like every minute I spend working on this account is making a difference. How I want everyone to be so fulfilled in their profession. I planned to share the moving story about Steven and Gilbert--two male participants I met at the Opening Ceremony this morning. I'll still share Steven and Gilbert's story, but the post overall has taken a turn.

As part of the event's media relations' team, I have the privilege of hearing all sorts of compelling stories. Today I stumbled upon two men with bright pink beards. After simply asking one of the men, "may I ask why you are walking?" my life has been changed forever.

I posed the question to Steven, the taller one. Steven lost his wife Ruth to breast cancer three years ago. Ruth was an oncology nurse.

The irony.

Steven has been walking in the 3-Day ever since. I asked if the two gentlemen were friends. They actually met while walking in Dallas a few years ago. Steven was walking in honor of his late wife. Gilbert was walking because his wife didn't have breast cancer--and he hopes she never does.

Fast forward to this weekend, when these two grown men decide to fly from their hometowns in Dallas to the Twin Cities for a different 3-Day for the Cure experience. When these men spray paint their beards pink and walk 60 miles in the fight against breast cancer. Every time I saw Steven and Gilbert today, I smiled. Their tale warms the heart. It is sad--there was an unnecessary loss to breast cancer--but the action these two gentlemen take is incredible.

My heart is still warmed by Steven and Gilbert.
And I still love my job.
But now I am pissed, now I am upset and this is why the blog post I've been thinking about all day has been derailed.

I may be jumping to conclusions--I am waiting for verification--but I am very troubled by something I saw on Facebook. A dear friend of mine, Lizzie, was tagged in a Facebook album. The album was titled "a tribute to Kelln Zimmer." My heart sank.

I admit I don't know Kelln well. She and Lizzie were Kappa traveling consultants together and that's really the extent of our relationship. But I heard SO much about Kelln from Lizzie's traveling tales and I know we met once or twice over the years.

I also know Kelln had breast cancer.

I don't know what happened to Kelln--but I have a bad feeling that breast cancer took her life. And even if it didn't--her life was still cut too, too short and breast cancer should have NEVER been a part of it. It shouldn't be a part of anyone's life. And it still is.

It's frustrating on so many levels. It's frustrating that given all the time, energy and money put into the disease, people are still getting diagnosed. Survival rates are increasing--and that's good--but that's not enough. No one should EVER have to hear the words, "you have breast cancer."

It's frustrating personally. It's frustrating I lost my aunt to (basically) arthritis one month ago, that my grandpa had a heart attack one week ago and that my grandma has Alzheimer's. THESE are the causes I feel compelled to support since they are my reality now, yet I feel like I must support breast cancer out of the fear I or a friend or family member will be diagnosed with breast cancer. And statistics show one of us will.

In fact, I found out just yesterday that my friend's grandma has breast cancer. It's a fresh diagnosis. She sees her oncologist for the first time Monday.

It's sad.
It's maddening.
It's distracting.
It just plain sucks.

We shouldn't lose people in their 20s to breast cancer.
We shouldn't lose anyone to breast cancer.

I'll do everything I can to support this fight. I'll do everything I can to support the diseases impacting my family currently. And I hope you'll do the same.

Alright Already

I've caught some slack for not updating the blog recently from my friend/colleague/personal shopper/fellow blogger Pammycakes. Truth of the matter, I've been a little busy and Twitter is much more efficient. But, I guess some pretty cool shit has taken place the last few weeks, so here goes nothing.

I've honestly been trying to compose a post recapping my 2009 Denver Breast Cancer 3-Day journey, but have been struggling to find a way to appropriately retell some of the best three days of my life. And as I sit at my computer Doogie Howser-style, deleting and rewriting and deleting and rewriting, I realize that I can't. No words I write will accurately describe tambourine lady's moves or demonstrate the support shown by the family with the two little boys. Nothing can depict the feeling radiating through us Sunday afternoon when we walked through those two inflatables to a myriad of clapping people, or how necessary that stop at Pete’s ice cream parlor really was. And I can't even begin to tell you how sick I am of candy.

What I can tell you is this:

Go Nike on me and Just Do It. If you get the chance to walk in the Breast Cancer 3-Day, do. It will push you physically and emotionally. You’ll have to work to raise $2,300 and complete 60 miles, but once you do I promise you will be changed forever and for the better.  And maybe it’s not the Breast Cancer 3-Day for you – maybe it’s a 5K or maybe it’s an Ironman triathlon. Whatever it is, if it’s something that pushes you as hard as anything has pushed you before, it will be life-changing.

Act like a bra and be supportive. Walking for eight hours straight three days in a row can wear on you. And one of the things that got us through was seeing friends and family at the public cheering stations. Kristi’s friends and family, Kelli’s family, April & Co., Steve and Mrs. Pickles…visiting all of them at the second cheering station on Day 2 made a world of difference. We had hit a low and that cheering station turned us around. And if you can’t be there in person, there are ways to show your support. Post-event pedicures. Voicemails and texts. All of that meant a great deal. So next time you know someone that can use your support, do something cheer them on. I guarantee it will be very, very appreciated.

"I'd like to thank the academy." I've always wanted to say that. But seriously. It's nearly an academy of people that helped me get to and through the Breast Cancer 3-Day. I couldn't have done it without the 40+ awesome people that donated to me or T. Fitch's help during the unforgettable garage sale. I couldn't have done it without training walk buddies - which includes but is not limited to the PALS, Shannon, Michelle (pre-break) and Meghan (you too of course Em - ours just got rained out). My rides to and from the airport. The Rubecks for watching Macy. I didn't do this in a silo. Thank all of you - and you know who you are - for making this happen.  You contributed in one way or another to an event that raised $2 million for breast cancer research and community education programs. Pat yourselves on the back, ladies and gents.

Team Footloose rocked. Seriously. Kelli, Rachel, Kristi and Sarah – what can I say. You will forever have a special place in my heart. The five of us did something incredible together, and there’s this sort of bond you form over Gatorade, moleskin and miles of sidewalk. Thank you for participating and sharing in this adventure with me. And I have to give huge props to my buddy Sarah. At 30 years old, she is a breast cancer survivor. You've taken a journey more challenging than any of us could imagine and you are a hero.

And with that, I've got a five-pound Maltese scratching at my leg. I promise to blog about Meghan's awesome wedding festivities very soon. And if I don't, I'm sure Pammycakes will IM me about it :)