June 5 race starting line

View Photos...or Photo Slideshow from race

June 5th. I woke up this morning and it was still dark – today was the day for the Race for the Cure.  This is what I’ve been working and waiting for. My husband, Mike, and 7-year-old son, Mikey, wouldn’t be at the Race with me. Mikey’s last flag football game was at the same time. I asked him where he would prefer to be. He wanted to be at football because “I need to be with my team." I’m proud of his comment and commitment. We try to instill the spirit of team and camaraderie in our children and at 7 years old he “gets it."  He also understands that as our St. Mary's team captain, I needed to be there for my team and for the commitment I made to myself months ago.

In the kitchen I applied a pink ribbon tattoo on my right hand. I then went and sat at my son’s bed and applied another on his right hand. I woke him up slightly, and the first thing he said to me was, “Good luck on your run, Mama.” He hugged and kissed me as he fell back to sleep.

Fast forward to the Race.  The day was beautiful, cool, slightly overcast and just perfect.

I’ve heard that there are thousands of participants at the race. I never imagined what I saw. Through it all, I saw old friends and so many of my new friends. Jane (who took notes for me when I had my doctor's appointments) was there, several ladies from the retreat, a woman from my gym, my dear friends from work. So many survivors and supporters.   My team consists of nearly 70 participants.

There were so many people that it took quite a bit of time just to get the runners started at the start line. And I started. I ran through the streets, with so many others. I ran. I walked. Residents that lived along our race path waved to us from their porches, their driveways and front lawns.  Some tied pink ribbons on their trees. Some had boom boxes.  (I think I heard the Rocky movie theme!) There were cheerleaders cheering us all on.

I ran. I walked. But I ran more than I walked. I ran and saw the 1-mile marker. Only one mile? I thought the 1-mile mark was the water station I passed several minutes ago. Oh. But I kept running. As Trish-my-trainer had told me before - one foot in front of the other. My oldest son, Russ, ran on ahead (the skinny kid). 
 
At mile marker 3, I knew I was almost there. Someone from the sidelines yelled, “You’re almost there!” I was and I did it.  I crossed the finish line. There is a special section for survivors to cross.  I received a pink carnation and a survivor medal. I did it. I did it for me and for my team of survivors and supporters. I get it too.

Me, after crossing the finish line.