So you get up in the morning andyou ache in places you didn't even know you could ache (because, after
all, you walked a marathon the day before). And despite the fact that
you don't have any blisters, your feet still feel like hamburger. You
slide ever so gently out of your bed and get dressed in the dark, so as
not to disturb your slumbering husband, dress in your wacky pink gear
(yes, those are breasts on our heads) and you get ready for Day 2.
Day 2 is shorter. 13.3 miles to be exact. "A piece of cake", you say to yourself. After all, it's ONLY 13.3 miles how hard can that be? And then you remember about your hamburger feet and you start to walk anyway. Step by step. Up Portrero Hill, straight up
Portrero Hill, up, up, up,
up until you reach the top and when you are at the top and you are
saying all the swear words you can think of and wondering why you would
do this torturous thing to yourself of your own free will and just as you run out of swear words to say, you see this
wonderful little boy, like a mirage in the desert, waving a pink flag
and cheering you on and suddenly your heart skips a beat and you begin
to smile and you say to yourself, "I can do this." Because you can.
And when you walk through the neighborhoods of San Francisco and the people in the local restaurants eating their breakfast of eggs and bacon stand up and applaud you and say "thank you" and when the medical staff of the Avon Breast Center come out to high five you and the wonderful pink shirted cops on the bicycles play music from their boom boxes strapped to the backs of the bicycles. well then, your hamburger feet don't feel so bad after all.
And then someone says "You're almost done" and you gather up your teamates to cross the finish line the way you started, as one, and you come down the hill in Golden Gate Park to cheers and music and singing and family, A young woman, struggling to walk even one step more, crosses the finish line. On either side two male volunteers lock arms with her, offering support. The last walker is in. You are overcome, truly overcome with emotion. And you cry.
To everyone
that has supported me through donations and kind words, to the pink
shirted cops and the hundreds of volunteers that fed us, encouraged us
and loved us, to the people in the neighborhoods who stopped to wave
and smile and cheer the crazy costumed walkers, even the ones in green wearing styrofoam breasts on their heads...
Thank you, from the bottom of my heart. You are truly amazing.
