Looking back on the walk that taught me about strength, hope, and community
It’s been 20 years since I packed my walking shoes and headed to Tampa, Florida for the Susan G. Komen 60-mile walk for breast cancer awareness. It was a life-changing event for me in so many ways. I’m writing about it now to mark the anniversary and preserve the memory for my family, to encourage hope.
Why I Walked
In the spring of 2005, I was working as a freelance writer and editor, helping people write their books. Many of these books were life stories of overcoming an illness. I also wrote articles on health topics for small internet businesses.
As I kept digging into information in the health world, I came across the Komen event. I was immediately drawn to it. One of my clients had breast cancer, just as her mother had. Here was a foundation that was trying to raise money for more research and awareness. It sounded like a cause I could support.
I was struggling with my own health at the time. I didn’t know it then, but ovarian cancer was already forming in my body. And I was super stressed from a lifestyle that really didn’t fit me—to the point it nearly shut down my health.
One of my doctors told me I would never be pain-free again and would never have the ability to engage in physical fitness activities as I had enjoyed in the past. His words sat wrongly with me. I didn’t want to receive his pronouncement. I have a very lively, youthful spirit and wanted to feel healthy again.
Walking 60 miles over three days for a good cause seemed like the perfect opportunity to prove to my doctor and to myself that I had hope of restoration. On my 39th birthday that spring, I signed up for the walk as a gift to myself and as an act of hope for my future. I chose to walk in honor of my client in her struggle with breast cancer.
Although I lived in New Jersey at the time, I chose to walk in Tampa, Florida. I was born and raised in Florida and felt like I wanted to walk on familiar turf in a climate that always felt relaxing and healthy to me. October seemed like the perfect Florida weather—not too hot but not cold. Six months out seemed like sufficient time for training and preparation.
The entry fee was several thousand dollars—much more than I could afford. But I signed up on faith that I could make payments over time. We also had the opportunity to raise the money, and I received incredible support from family and friends. I think they were encouraged to see my spirit starting to come back and choose life.
Preparing for the Challenge
I was married at the time—it would be the final months of my marriage, as it turned out. My husband was a former cross-country runner and coach. He helped me map out a training plan. I had six months to get ready.
My husband was about to leave the country for six months for his work. During his absence and between client projects, I focused much of my time on carrying out that training plan. I actually lost 50 pounds in the process. Weight loss was not my goal, but it was a welcome bonus.
My training included a certain number of miles each day—some days more, some less. One day a week, I would hit my peak distance that increased over time. The day after my peak, I would drop back to my baseline of three miles for recovery.
My training also included the occasional six-mile run and running wind sprints for strength. I also did pushups and sit ups each day.
My husband said the goal was to walk 60 miles over the course of a week. He said when I reached that point, I would have the strength and stamina to do the three-day event.
He insisted on a “zero day” each week where I didn’t train at all. He said it was vital that my body rest and recover. I didn’t like zero days—I wanted to keep training. But I adhered to the plan because my husband was an experienced coach. He knew what worked.
My training also included one day each month of walking marathon distance with short breaks. Our longest day on the walk would be 22 miles—18 miles day one, 20 miles day two, 22 miles day three. Marathon distance is 26.2 miles. So that practice would help prepare my body and mind for covering the longest part of the walk.
I had always loved distance walking. Thankfully we had a beautiful walking course right next to our apartment complex and another lovely walking trail down the road. I looked forward to my training every day because it was starting to help me feel better. It was a stress reliever and circulation booster that I hadn’t experienced since moving up north.
I was especially motivated by walking to music on my headset. My husband told me I could start out with music but that at some point, I’d have to get used to walking without because I couldn’t wear a headset at the event due to road safety. I would also have to work up to walking with my camel pack and waist pack, as I would be wearing those at the event.
I wasn’t nervous about the event. As the summer unfolded, I could see my progress and feel my growing endurance. I believed I could do the walk. I was determined.
My only concern was getting blisters. How would I minimize those, and could I endure walking with them if need be? I had found the best walking shoes for me. I had two identical pairs—one for the majority of my training and one for the event. I didn’t want to wear out my event shoes with all my training, but I knew it was equally important to break them in. I wore my event shoes on peak days and marathon-distance days. I learned to double my socks, change them out frequently, and walk with bandages on any blisters that formed. I felt that blisters were the only potential problem—they wouldn’t stop me, but they might make things unpleasant. But I was as prepared as I could be.
The Journey Begins
The Komen Foundation provided a list of free accommodations for folks like me who were traveling from out of state. These were local walk participants who were opening their homes to other participants. I was very interested, not only to save money but also to meet other participants, as I was walking alone.
As a woman traveling alone, of course I had to be careful in connecting with strangers. I found one participant who said her parents had a guest room available. She and I emailed a few times, and I had a sense I could trust her. So I signed up for their guest room.
This family was from New Jersey, where I now lived. They now lived in Florida, where I was from. How interesting! As the October event date neared, New Jersey was in autumn mode. My new friend told me they missed seeing the fall leaves. She asked if I could bring them some.
On the day of my departure, I had to take a train to the airport. I chose to walk the five miles to the train station, carrying my luggage, as part of my preparation. It was a beautiful fall day, and I enjoyed every minute of that walk. I felt healthier and more peaceful than I had in years. Along the way, I stopped to pick up some beautiful fall leaves and put them in a ziploc bag for my hosts.
My host family met me at the airport in Tampa and drove me to the house where I would stay that night. I handed them the fall leaves, and they were thrilled. They were so welcoming—even their friendly mastiff wandered into the living room to greet me. We visited for a long time, and they welcomed me to their dinner table. They told me who would be walking on their team and asked if I had a team. When I said I was walking alone, they invited me to join them. I was elated.
By joining their team, not only was I no longer alone. I was also caught up in the team and community spirit of the cause. I had people to root for and encourage alongside me. The whole tone of the weekend became more meaningful. I was a part of something bigger than myself.
When Community Is All In
What an event! I love community, and the three-day walk was community at its best. The Komen Foundation really went all out to engage the community.
I had no idea so many volunteers were involved. They manned the pit stops every three miles, where we had bathrooms, snacks, water, and powerade. Volunteers were there to encourage and cheer at each pit stop and all along the event path. Every other pit stop had a medical tent, and mini buses picked up anyone on the course that was struggling. A lunch tent was set up at the center of the day’s course.
People lined the roads to offer damp towels and cheers. One woman drove a pink car up and down the course, playing motivational music and shouting cheers out the window. It was truly a community effort.
My favorite part was when a local resident would approach and ask questions. People seemed pleased to know what the event was for and that research was leading to breakthroughs and better care. Some people would share about a family member or friend who was struggling with breast cancer.
In the evenings, we had a huge dinner tent manned by cheerful volunteers. The big menu item was spaghetti because endurance events are fueled by carbs. The dinner tent also had entertainment scheduled throughout the evening.
Participants had the option to leave the course and stay at a hotel. Or for those, like me, who wanted to save money, we could stay in a tent provided by the event organizers. Tents were set up throughout a football field. Local Girl Scout troops were there to assemble the tents for us. Our overnight bags were carried on a truck and brought to the campsite.
I was especially impressed at the shower stations. Mobile trailers were outfitted with showers and dressing areas. The showers worked really well and were kept so clean. What a treat after a long day of walking for miles.
During the first overnight, we had rain. The tent’s waterproofing wasn’t too good, so my assigned tent mate and I ended up sleeping in a kiddie pool. The next night, the weather was beautiful, but the previously wet tents smelled like mildew. My tent mate had gone to a hotel. So I slept with the tent door open and my head outside the door to avoid the mildew smell. It was one of the best night’s sleep I’ve ever had.
My teammates stayed at home overnight. They invited me to go back to their parents’ home, but I wanted the full dinner tent and campout experience. However, I took them up on their offer to take my wet socks home and put them in the washer and dryer. What a gift and a blessing.
Quads and a Bridge
The first day walking, I noticed a problem. My quads were getting tight. I had trained with one waist pack at home. But now, I was wearing two waist packs—one borrowed from my teammates—in order to carry more powerade and snacks from the pit stops. My quads weren’t ready for the extra weight and pressure.
Nor was I ready for the hills. I was born and raised a flatlander. The event organizers advised us to include hills in our training. I didn’t see the point. I lived in New Jersey and would be walking in Tampa, Florida. No hills in either location.
Ah, but what I didn’t anticipate was the first day’s walk through a state park that had lots of footbridges. My quads weren’t prepared for that either. One of my teammates taught me some quad stretches that I had to do at every pit stop. When things got tough, my teammates took turns carrying my second waist pack.
Then, there was the bridge. Tampa Bay has a beautiful, long bridge that is now one of my favorites. But at that time, I was terrified of bridges.
It wasn’t a lifelong fear. I grew up in Miami with causeways, and I loved going over them because it meant we were headed to the beach. I always thought the view of the water was beautiful from the causeways. It’s one of my favorite Miami scenes.
My fear was much more recent. A few years earlier, I had flown to Tampa for a writing workshop. Driving from the airport in a rental car, I ended up on the tall Sunshine Skyway Bridge over Tampa Bay. I was already overcome with stress and exhaustion, just from my life circumstances. It was late at night, it was foggy, and traffic was crazy. At the top of the bridge, a warning sign flashed about construction. I was in tears because it all felt so scary.
Now, I was about to cross Tampa Bay again by bridge. Granted, we wouldn’t walk on the highway bridge. There was a much lower footbridge that was our path. But walking a bridge takes a lot longer than driving. That’s a lot more time out over the water. I didn’t know how I would make it across.
My teammates told me I could take the mini bus to the other side and wait for them. It wouldn’t be that much distance off my walk. While I appreciated their assurances, I didn’t want to miss any part of the walk. I didn’t join the 60-mile walk to ride the mini bus. I tried to calm my breathing and determined that I would tackle this bridge.
As soon as my feet hit the line that started the bridge, I went into fast gear. I walked as fast as my legs could go, leaving my teammates behind. I was determined to get over that bridge as quickly as possible.
When I was halfway across, at the top of the footbridge, one of my teammates, a policeman who was used to running, caught up with me. He was concerned about how fast I was walking on an incline, especially considering my quad issues and that I needed to conserve energy for the miles ahead.
Jokingly, he said, “Where are you going so fast, you crazy person?”
I said, “I’m going to get off this bridge as soon as possible.”
He told me to breathe and slow down a bit. He was trying to help me overcome my fear. He suggested I look around a little and see how nice the water looked. I took a quick glance and realized I wasn’t afraid. The expanse of water was just as inspiring as the view from the causeways of my childhood.
I slowed my pace a little and enjoyed the scenery. I was able to catch my breath and calm down. Just like that, I was healed of my fear of bridges. To this day, the bridge over Tampa Bay is one of my favorite bridges to drive.
We reached the other side and turned to wait for our teammates. The friend I had initially corresponded with on the team walked up to me with a huge grin. She pointed at me and said, “Jersey girl, you kicked butt!”
I smiled at the compliment. For a Jersey native like her to call a Florida native like me “Jersey girl” was high praise. And I did kick butt—I kicked fear’s butt. It was a moment of healing I’ll never forget.
A New Beginning
The last morning of the walk, many of us were in the medical tent plastering second skin all over our feet. I couldn’t even count my blisters, and I had 22 miles ahead of me. But I wasn’t going to be stopped.
I had started out so conservatively. I knew it wasn’t healthy to have too much powerade or second skin. But by day three, I didn’t care. Second skin was my best friend, and I filled my camel pack with powerade at every pit stop. I wasn’t the only one. Many of us seemed to be in the same place: “Let’s finish strong,” which was right in line with the Komen Foundation’s goals for breast cancer research and awareness.
By the time we got within a mile of the finish line, my quads were screaming. The finish line was in a stadium, and the path leading in was an uphill climb. We were all weary, but we just kept taking the next step.
As we neared the stadium, we could hear all the uplifting noise—music, foot stomping, cheering. That gave us a little pep. As we walked inside the arena, all the heaviness lifted. We remembered we were part of something larger than ourselves. We high-fived each other. We made it!
After a lot of celebration and closing ceremonies, I bid farewell to my teammates and hopped on a bus to the airport hotel where I would stay that night. I enjoyed the luxury of a hot shower, room service, and staying off my feet.
Though every inch of my body hurt, I could tell I was already in recovery mode. The pain and exhaustion didn’t feel debilitating. That’s when I knew my quality of life would be so much better from now on.
For weeks afterward, I would still be processing all the good that came from this event. It was a turning point in my life. The 60 miles I had walked were just the beginning of a path of healing—a path on which I became cancer-free, found my spirit restored and renewed, and learned how to choose life.
I’ve been on a transformation journey ever since. Soon after that event, I recognized it was God who led me onto this path and was my biggest encourager all along. I am grateful for all the support and encouragement from so many people along the way. And I am thankful for every single person who made those 60 miles a celebration of community, health, and hope.
I would encourage anyone who reads this, no matter what you’re going through, to get involved in community in whatever ways resonate most with you. Community brings hope, a sense of renewal, and a new appreciation of life.
Exploring Generations 