Race for the Cure

Started the day still smarting from my last visit to the roadside carnival, but there was no time to be down. This morning was the Susan G. Komen Race for the Cure Breast Cancer Run. I had promised my sister that I'd finish the run and like it or not, I was in. So, I tried hard to limber up. Do you realize that I have absolutely no range of motion? Do you understand that I had no business believing that I could run 3.3 miles? Did you know that my morning line was that they should do the walk topless to attract more attention?

So, in other words, I had no idea what I was in for. I received a t-shirt that by way of a mix-up had me labeled as a breast cancer survivor. Walking through the crowd a television interviewer saw my shirt and asked if I'd like to be interviewed as a survivor. What could I say? That I was wearing a shirt faking being a survivor?

"I don't like to talk about it," I said.
"I understand," the man said.

And then the race began. My brother-in-law Chuck, who was honored for his work, stood beside me.

"This will be remembered as the race where Cliff ran four blocks and then crapped his pants."

We started running. I was beside my brother, brother-in-law, niece and son, Jacob. One half mile into it and I couldn't see them anymore. But I was still running. At the one mile mark, I slowed to a walk. A woman offered me a cup of water and I asked her for a piggy-back-ride. She laughed.

As I watched my son disappear in front of me, I thought about how he nearly died, could never run thirty feet without gasping for breath, and after a turn at The Women & Children's Hospital of Buffalo, was as good as new.

I thought of the people running beside me. 8,000 strong. All unified to do something good on a sweltering day. I started running again. My heart was swelling with pride.

At the two mile marker a volunteer dumped a glass of water over my head. I asked her if she had a stretcher. She laughed.

A man with Cerebral Palsy was running beside me. Every single motion seemed painful. I admired him for a moment, and ran again. The sweat was pouring down my face. My legs felt like tree trunks. Big-ass tree trunks.

I thought of my big sister and how dedicated she is to helping others. I thought about how much I loved my entire family. My cousin, mother, sister, friends, all touched by breast cancer. All running to survive.

I crossed the finish line in 44 minutes. Not bad. I was happy with it. I didn't pop any muscles. I didn't have to be carried away.

But man, I almost fell down in tears when Jake ran over to me. "I finished in 34 minutes," he said, proudly.

Awesome. Simply freaking incredible.

And it was a wonderful day. Friends traveled hundreds of miles to show support for my sister. The family was there in full. My sisters were brilliant once more. My mother's eyes filled with tears of laughter when I explained that I was cheered at the finish line as a breast cancer survivor due to the shirt mix-up.

In a way, I did survive a little bit. I've survived it with my sister. I've survived it with my cousin, and my mother. I even survived the run.

I sat on the grass afterwards, sipping a beer, looking around at the smiling faces of all that completed the run.

Life at its best.

The roadside carnival of hurt and self pity shutdown for a day.