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Courage, Belief, Opportunity, Friends, Love, these were the themes displayed proudly on the banners carried by participants in the Susan G. Komen, 3-day, Walk for a Cure.
Today was the culmination of the emotion-charged trek in San Diego. A few reached the checkered flag in wheel chairs, one walker pumped her fist in the air jubilantly as she finished. I was drawn to the expression in her eyes that reflected pride in her accomplishment. Then I noticed, the fist she held high, was the only one she had. Her other arm was severed above the elbow.
Another participant hobbled on the shoulders of another, her shoes off, the blisters on her feet taped to protect the open soars. As if defiant, her smile shined brightly, as did her cheeks from the tears flowing down her face.
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Participants included youthful co-eds, and those who were youthful in spirit. Some walked briskly, others barely walked. At least one, made the journey in his wheel chair. Most were women, but there was a generous showing by men. Men in pink, men in feather boa's, and a couple in skirts, each doing what ever he could to show support for the effort for a cure.
As one participant after another crossed the finish line, the cheers rang loud, and the tears streamed free. Some cried from the personal accomplishment, yet others from emotions as they remembered love ones. It was clear that among the thousands of walkers, there were thousands of personal stories. All had been touched by the scourge of cancer. Some wore the names and pictures of love ones on their shirts. Many ran into the arms of loved one who are survivors. It was evident that some of the walkers themselves were fighting the battle for life.
In spite of the seriousness of the event, spirits were high. The finish line was festive, music playing in the background, applauds were continuous as supporters encourage walkers through the final yards. Walkers were greeted with high-fives as they made their way through the throngs of well-wishers who lined each side of the course.
There were hats of all shapes and sizes. Most were pink, some were large and whimsical. There were pink cowboy hats, and baseball caps, pink wigs and pink bandannas.
Others found humor with bra's. Pink bra's, big bra's, and tiny ones too. Some decorated sequins, or painted like melons, and an entire team who adorned their bra's with pink mini roses.
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I enjoyed reading the witty t-shirts with slogans like, "Walking for Ta-Ta's", The Boob Team", "The A Cup Team", My Cups Runneth Over". One of my favorites read, "I'd walk Sixty Miles for Your Boobs".
I was touched. The determination on the faces of every walker, the tears shed, the smiles shared, hugs and high fives, the joined efforts of young and old, abled and challenged, men, women, the motorcycles crews and skate borders, husbands, children, parents, brothers, sisters and friends, all working together, for three days, for sixty miles, for a cure.
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