The Power of Pink
October 5, 2009 JerseyGrins
It’s 5:30 A.M. About 2,800 of us huddle under the overhang of a building at UMASS. A light but determined rain makes the forty-five degree temperature seem about thirty.
I lean against the wall of the building, sipping coffee and eating a banana. A stream of pink flows in every direction—pink hats, pink walking shoes, pink hoop earrings—even pink headbands with fuzzy flamingoes perched on bouncy springs. My stomach gurgles a bit uneasily as I contemplate the two day, forty mile walk. Would I wake up in my tent on day two with a mass of aches and screaming arthritis in my left knee? Would my feet be a morass of flaming blisters? Worse yet–would my mascara run?
7:00 A.M. The opening ceremony is brief but emotional. We learn that as a group, we have raised $6.7 million for breast cancer research and assistance.
This is going to be a GREAT walk.
7:30 A.M. The long pink stream of walkers eases forward, winding along the Charles River. After mile five, my tennis shoes and socks squish water with every step.
8:45 A.M. I peek out from my dripping pink ball cap. A large van drives by, strewn with assorted lacy pink undergarments. Volunteers lean out the windows, wave pink pom-poms, and cheer, “Come on, ladies…..it’s a wonderful day to walk!” I feel hope drifting above the surrounding drizzle and grayness. A few blocks later, families huddle under umbrellas by the side of the trail, cheering and handing out cereal bars. One lady, her bald head shining under her ball cap, claps for us and cries, “Thank you for walking for me!”
This is going to be a GREAT walk.
2:00 P.M. Three rest stops and a hefty sack lunch later, I experience a new highlight of the walk: one of the Harley-Davidson biker guys who directs traffic for us. The man has stood in the rain for hours, with drops rolling off his well-formed biceps. His pink dew rag is soaked; pink poppet-beads glisten around his neck. The man’s nearby Harley is adorned with more pink underwear. Each biker guy, the epitome of eye candy, smiles and flirts with us shamelessly. “Ladies! How are you doing? Keep it up!”
This is going to be a GREAT walk.
4:30 P.M. We approach our camp for the evening. My friend and I–mummies covered in rain-slicked Gortex–bat our soggy eyelashes at the “tent fairies”. It’s a miracle—in our disheveled state, we can still flirt. The tent fairies assemble a two-person home for us. I step back to view the large open field. The five hundred tents look like tiny blue dots on a green flag. After a hot meal of lasagna followed by a yoga class, we stagger into a long semi truck and ease into hot, steamy showers.
9:00 P.M. One of us is snoring. A small pool of water collects in the center of the tent.
Day two–8:00 A.M. Thirteen miles left. Piece of cake! I have on fresh walking shoes, three pink leis, and a sparkling pink tiara over my ball cap—accoutrements from day one.
12:00 P.M. I pass by a group called Men with Heart. They walk with us, handing out bandages, pain relievers, and most importantly, chocolate! Would I walk forty miles for chocolate? Sure!
12:30 P.M. It’s the last six blocks. Male volunteers in pink togas with incredibly hairy legs cheer us on. A man in running shorts jogs by us, screaming “Only six blocks!” We enter into a roaring tunnel of clapping, cheering family members and friends. My friend and I can-can and cha-cha down the tunnel in a state of true Nirvana.
Forty miles never felt so great.
Entry Filed under: Breast Cancer Awareness and tagged: It's Breast Cancer Awareness Month. . . Read On. . .
