The Girl at the Top of the Hill
Jul. 28th, 2011 02:27 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
jayfurrIt's not every day that you come back from some sort of out-of-town adventure only to say that the most memorable part of the event was something you didn't even see.
And yet, that's what I'm forced to admit is true of the recently concluded 2011 Boston Susan G. Komen 3-Day For The Cure.
Carole and I spent four days (Thursday through Sunday) serving as members of the route clean-up crew for the Boston 3-Day. The only members; it's a two-person crew. I was captain and Carole was my team member. We spent the weekend gathering trash. We got absolutely filthy and hot and exhausted and then we came home. Did we have a good time? Surprisingly, yes. Did we drink vast quantities of water and sport drink -- virtual Niagaras of refreshing, healthy beverages? Yes. Did we still wind up feeling sick and dehydrated because of record-breaking heat? You betcha. But we had fun.
And yet, despite all the memorable moments we experienced, the indelible image that will come to my mind whenever I think back to the weekend will be this:
Click it to expand it if you want. Take a good long look at it.
A 3-Day walker named Jim Hillman snapped that photo at a cheering station at the top of a hill in Belmont, Massachusetts. I wasn't there; I was miles away, stomping and flattening empty cardboard boxes and bagging up uneaten, bruised bananas and sticky leftover orange wedges. We don't normally take pictures of weeping children and families that we encounter along the 3-Day route, out of respect and politeness and tact, but something about that little girl and her tears must have made Jim think "This moment is too powerful to lose."
When Jim shared the photo to his Facebook page, to say it got everyone's attention would put it mildly. Everyone stopped what they were doing, looked at the photo, and then commented the same basic thing: "This is why I walk."
We all know that walking doesn't cure breast cancer. The funds raised by our walking do, however. And there's not a soul among us who can look at that photo and go "I think I'll take next year off." I wouldn't be surprised if quite a few people print that photo and stick it on their refrigerator, ready to serve as a sobering reminder next time they contemplate bailing on a training walk or doing something more fun and less constructive instead.
No one should lose their mom to breast cancer. Or sister. Or friend. And yet, every 69 seconds, another woman loses her battle.
Everyone deserves a lifetime: both that little girl's mom -- and that little girl herself. We walk in hopes that she will never get that terrifying diagnosis, that she'll never lose her hair and her mental acuity and her sense of taste to chemotherapy and radiation treatments, that she'll never be another sad snapshot on someone else's poster.
And yet, that's what I'm forced to admit is true of the recently concluded 2011 Boston Susan G. Komen 3-Day For The Cure.
Carole and I spent four days (Thursday through Sunday) serving as members of the route clean-up crew for the Boston 3-Day. The only members; it's a two-person crew. I was captain and Carole was my team member. We spent the weekend gathering trash. We got absolutely filthy and hot and exhausted and then we came home. Did we have a good time? Surprisingly, yes. Did we drink vast quantities of water and sport drink -- virtual Niagaras of refreshing, healthy beverages? Yes. Did we still wind up feeling sick and dehydrated because of record-breaking heat? You betcha. But we had fun.
And yet, despite all the memorable moments we experienced, the indelible image that will come to my mind whenever I think back to the weekend will be this:
Click it to expand it if you want. Take a good long look at it.
A 3-Day walker named Jim Hillman snapped that photo at a cheering station at the top of a hill in Belmont, Massachusetts. I wasn't there; I was miles away, stomping and flattening empty cardboard boxes and bagging up uneaten, bruised bananas and sticky leftover orange wedges. We don't normally take pictures of weeping children and families that we encounter along the 3-Day route, out of respect and politeness and tact, but something about that little girl and her tears must have made Jim think "This moment is too powerful to lose."
When Jim shared the photo to his Facebook page, to say it got everyone's attention would put it mildly. Everyone stopped what they were doing, looked at the photo, and then commented the same basic thing: "This is why I walk."
We all know that walking doesn't cure breast cancer. The funds raised by our walking do, however. And there's not a soul among us who can look at that photo and go "I think I'll take next year off." I wouldn't be surprised if quite a few people print that photo and stick it on their refrigerator, ready to serve as a sobering reminder next time they contemplate bailing on a training walk or doing something more fun and less constructive instead.
No one should lose their mom to breast cancer. Or sister. Or friend. And yet, every 69 seconds, another woman loses her battle.
Everyone deserves a lifetime: both that little girl's mom -- and that little girl herself. We walk in hopes that she will never get that terrifying diagnosis, that she'll never lose her hair and her mental acuity and her sense of taste to chemotherapy and radiation treatments, that she'll never be another sad snapshot on someone else's poster.
no subject
Date: 2011-09-20 07:40 pm (UTC)