First, I’ve been listening a lot to Mark Maron’s WTF podcast while I walk in the mornings. I love listening to him banter with comedians, writers, and actors about how they've gotten to where they are. The journey is never pretty, but it’s always funny. The more I’ve been walking, the more I’ve been listening. It inspires me to look for the funny in life. Because if we can’t laugh at it all, then what?
I also love listening to audio books and I recently listened to the book The Unlikely Pilgrimage of Harold Fry, a beautifully rendered and somewhat tragic account of a man who decides to walk over 600 miles to visit his old friend dying of cancer. If Harold, a 63 year old man who barely gets up for tea, can walk 600 miles, I can walk 39—even though Harold is not a real person and never walked 600 miles at all.
And last, two weeks ago, I went to Kripalu with my sister, a yoga retreat in Massachusetts, and somewhat of a life retreat center in the best sense. There, I started reading Brene Brown’s Daring Greatly. I’m only at the beginning, but her thoughts on the courage to be vulnerable are hitting a note for me. I don’t let myself be very vulnerable. I want people to think I’m doing okay, that I’m not a mess, that I’m making good choices, that I’m successful and have lots of friends. That parenting and marriage are going fairly smoothly except for the typical annoyances, like why my kids are so loud. Like why my husband leaves his shoes in the middle of the hallway and forgets to unload the dishwasher. You know, silly stuff—those typically annoying things that we’re lucky to be able to complain about. I’m so lucky, what could I ever be frustrated, sad, angry, insecure, or depressed about? But I’ve been all those things, and will find myself there again, over and over and over. Sometimes I feel like giving up and just being the failure I try so hard not to be. But I keep going and many days I see why it’s so worth it. Other days, I don’t get enough work done, nap, eat chocolate, yell at my kids, argue with my husband, drink red wine, and call it a day.
Are you still with me? Are you getting the themes of humor, honesty, stamina, and vulnerability here? Okay, here’s the meat of this post. Get ready.
So a few months ago, my sister and I signed up for The Avon 39 Breast Cancer Walk in New York City on October 18. A year before that, my mother was diagnosed with stage 2 breast cancer. She's in remission now, thankfully, but it was a very hard year which included two surgeries, two rounds of chemo, and one round of radiation. It was mostly hard on her and my unflappable dad who drove her to almost every doctor’s appointment and held her hand through all of it. My sister and I tried to hold their hands as much as we could, but he was her rock. He is a true hero. He knows the double meaning of that.
It was a hard year for everyone who loves her. My mom is such a generous, funny, creative, and loving person, through and through, top to bottom. I don’t only love her because she’s my mom, but I really like her. If I met her as a peer, I would absolutely be friends with her. I love her that much.
Now we're on the other side for a little while, which is all you can know in life. Actually you can’t even know that, but let’s pretend, shall we? I haven’t even touched the surface of how hard it was to watch her and wonder what was going to happen. Now I’m also terrified of my own mammograms. It’s a dark, thorny road which I don’t really want to go down right now, right here, but I did want to acknowledge that.
After the past year, my sister and I wanted to celebrate being on the other side. So of course we decided to train for a 39-mile walk. Usually when I celebrate something, it involves champagne and rich deserts which make me regret my choices the next day.
This time, I’ve got the opportunity to spend the next three months regretting my choice. I joke. Sort of. See, I wanted to do this walk in honor of what my mother went through, and in honor of one of her closest friends, as well as one of my mother-in-law’s closest friends, as well as my husband’s aunt, all of whom didn't get to the other side. These women were all amazing women and nothing I can write here will adequately express the sadness I feel about their lives ending way too soon. I wanted to do this walk for all the women who will face this disease, and all the women I know (way too many) and don’t know, who call themselves survivors, and all the women who can not.
There’s a small problem. I’m not very good at exercise requiring a lot of stamina. I’m a moderately active person. I like short, frequent amounts of exercise that don’t cause too much suffering. An occasional 45-minute spin class is as strenuous as it gets. So the thought of taking 10 and 15-mile training walks makes me want to crawl into a ball and go to sleep. Seriously, who has time to take a 15-mile walk? But one must if one is planning on walking 26 holy moly miles in one day and 13 the next! Are marathoners laughing at me right now? Go ahead. To me, this is like climbing Mount Everest.
Today I walked 3 miles. It was hot. My hips started to hurt. I was thirsty and my hands felt swollen. It took me a little over an hour. It seemed like a really long walk and it’s just the beginning. It’s the easy stuff. I’ve actually been debating giving up, which is why I’m writing this post and will continue to post weekly about my progress or lack of it. I want to raise money. I’m fully invested in this cause. But I’m not sure I can do this, both for stamina and time’s sake. I guess when people start donating money, I’ll have to fully commit. I hope that doesn’t sound manipulating. I mean it without any irony.
In some ways it’s an arbitrary commitment. Why not just get people to donate money without all the fuss? Why put ourselves through this? Haven’t people suffered enough? But our most rewarding experiences usually come with some suffering and a lot of wondering why the hell we’re doing it at all. So maybe this walk and the training is a metaphor for that, and just by the nature of the act, it will hold tremendous meaning. Or it won’t.
But I said I was going to do it. My sister said she was going to do it with me. I told my mom I was going to do it. Now I’m telling whomever is reading this blog. I’m hoping that’s reason enough to keep going and if I really wanted to give up, I would have already, right? They might pick me up in a truck (would it be a truck? Maybe a van? Or an an ambulance?) half-way through, but I will have raised my $1,800 for a great cause, a cause that has become increasingly personal. I know this is a strange way to inspire people to donate, but you will be giving to an important cause, that I know.
I knew I couldn’t find my motivation unless I approached it honestly, vulnerably, and humorously. So wish me luck, and please donate (here's the link: http://info.avonfoundation.org/site/TR/Walk/NewYork?px=7818416&pg=personal&fr_id=2406). I don’t know if I’ll finish, but the money still counts.
Until next week…