Here’s how it’s like the first time: No matter what you’ve been told to expect, your own experience is unique. No matter how often you’re told you will come back a changed person, you will still be yourself. Also, I never actually cried, though I did laugh a lot.
Here’s how it’s just like the training months: No matter how many people are cheering and honking, by 2:30 p.m., you want to be finished. Walking 20 miles is a full day’s work and, as such, represents the full-time jobs needed by researchers, fundraisers, care givers to develop a vaccine, find a cure, raise the money, support the survivors and comfort the bereaved.
Here’s how it’s like it always is: An old friend who rejoices in my dark side just called. “You haven’t blogged yet,” she said. “Was it what you expected? When you first told me you were doing this, I thought: How clichéd.” Well, yes and no. One reason it’s taken me five days to gather my thoughts is because I’m still thinking in a mix of clichéd (but true) emotions: Amazing! Inspiring! Wonderful! Unbelievable – and snarky (but true) Grissy-isms: “By late Day 2, I was mowing down survivors and refusing to wave.” “My God, I’m still a bitch, only now I want be applauded constantly. Non-stop cheering was the heroin I discovered in St. Petersburg. Uh oh, now what?”
Here’s how it’s just like high school: How proud I was that I and my three pacing cohorts came in each day ahead of much thinner and much younger women. But oh, how I wish I’d done a Clinton & Stacy when outfitting myself. It took a candid shot by Channel 10 to show me what a Glamour Don’t knee-length shorts really are. Believe me, if I’d only looked in a 360 mirror, I’d have lived with a little chafing. Ah well, next year.
The unexpected grace: Gratitude. By day 2 I realized just how strong an impact our crew was having on my enjoyment and comfort and, therefore, how much a cancer survivor depends on the kindness and willingness of others to serve their basic needs.
The unexpected souvenir: I picked up every pin, necklace, washable tattoo and pink shoelace offered me. What’s hanging on the corkboard in my cube is this: My 3Day lanyard. Why? Because all I have to do is look at this to know the most important lesson I’ve learned this year. It’s a lesson I’ve had unarticulated in my heart since my friendship with my old friend Lindsay Dirkx Brown (who died of breast cancer in 1991) began back in 1972 but which I saw on a sign at camp and attributed to Paulo Coelho: “When we strive to become better than we are, everything around us becomes better, too.”
How I’m different: I haven’t had a drink since Monday’s after party. I’m quite the post-work wino. No, it’s not that my two glasses a night is such a lot of wine but that it’s so hard for me not to have them. But not this week. A new kind of hangover? Too soon to tell.
2 comments:
Dear Alicia,
I hastily but joyously pen this short note driven by our mutual love for and loving memory of Lindsay Dirkx Brown. A totally random diversion from my studies, here in my shrinking home office, leapfrogged me through who knows what on the web to our friend's name and an art gallery in San Ramon. Excitedly exploring I stumble on to your blog citing her name and I just had to get in touch. I have not spoken with any of her old friends or family since her untimely death.
Lindsay and I were, along with husband Randy, very close friends during her Bowling Green years, on to Columbus, and then to California where it became more difficult to sustain. On my last visit to SF (for business) I canceled a planned visit to their home for dinner and was begged by Randy to come anyway. Out of exhaustion and the need to catch an early flight the next day, I apologetically and steadfastly declined. I was unaware then that she was suffering from breast cancer and wished they had been more direct. I would have swam the bay if necessary. Lindsay did confide in me by phone later but I failed to grasp the seriousness of her condition. When Randy called only a few weeks later informing me of her death, both my wife and I were devastated. I have never gotten over it and miss her terribly.
Sadly, Randy has elected to never speak with me or my wife again. I don't know what that is about but I do not judge it, only miss his friendship and hope he and the kids are happy and well.
I'll close by saying that I appreciate your unintended availability for this expression of grief. I hope it is not a burden. But I needed to smile today and this provides it. Selfish me! Thanks.
FWIW, I named our daughter, now 16, after Lindsay and now intend to escort her on a visit to the gallery so she has a fuller picture of this incredible woman and friend. Lindsay and I shared an office and degree program for two years. She supported me through a very tough time. I loved her like no other friend.
Write if you wish. And thank you from the bottom of my heart for sharing knowledge of your friendship in such a public way.
Cheers!
Alan Green
green(5gdot7y)traveler(atatat)mac(945dot)com
Dear Alicia,
I hastily but joyously pen this short note driven by our mutual love for and loving memory of Lindsay Dirkx Brown. A totally random diversion from my studies, here in my shrinking home office, leapfrogged me through who knows what on the web to our friend's name and an art gallery in San Ramon. Excitedly exploring I stumble on to your blog citing her name and I just had to get in touch. I have not spoken with any of her old friends or family since her untimely death.
Lindsay and I were, along with husband Randy, very close friends during her Bowling Green years, on to Columbus, and then to California where it became more difficult to sustain. On my last visit to SF (for business) I canceled a planned visit to their home for dinner and was begged by Randy to come anyway. Out of exhaustion and the need to catch an early flight the next day, I apologetically and steadfastly declined. I was unaware then that she was suffering from breast cancer and wished they had been more direct. I would have swam the bay if necessary. Lindsay did confide in me by phone later but I failed to grasp the seriousness of her condition. When Randy called only a few weeks later informing me of her death, both my wife and I were devastated. I have never gotten over it and miss her terribly.
Sadly, Randy has elected to never speak with me or my wife again. I don't know what that is about but I do not judge it, only miss his friendship and hope he and the kids are happy and well.
I'll close by saying that I appreciate your unintended availability for this expression of grief. I hope it is not a burden. But I needed to smile today and this provides it. Selfish me! Thanks.
FWIW, I named our daughter, now 16, after Lindsay and now intend to escort her on a visit to the gallery so she has a fuller picture of this incredible woman and friend. Lindsay and I shared an office and degree program for two years. She supported me through a very tough time. I loved her like no other friend.
Write if you wish. And thank you from the bottom of my heart for sharing knowledge of your friendship in such a public way.
Cheers!
Alan Green
green.traveler@mac.com
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