Ode to the Charity Walk

If you've ever been up at 4:30 on a weekend morning using car headlights to see in a damp field and wiping down dew-covered tables, then you've experienced the joy that is running a charity walk.

I too have experienced this joy in various stages of involvement: from working for a charity and being in charge of the event to working for the charity and only being in charge of a small portion of the event to be a hired hand working on a portion of the event. I honestly prefer whichever involvement lets me sleep in the latest.

I haven't worked for a non-profit for two and half years, but have the joy of working with one now. It's fun and after almost a decade with the American Heart Association, I'm pretty sure that I'll always be involved with one or multiple charities throughout my life, in some way or another. This time I was involved at a local walk for Ronald McDonald House Charities of Southern California. A different charity, but just as important in its work.

Here's my latest event in pictures:

I had to wait about an hour after getting to the location for there to even be this much light to take the picture.

The money shot: this is when everyone who worked on the event breathes a sigh of relief because 90 percent of the heavy lifting (literally and figuratively) is over. 

I've been to more than 50 walks in my day, but have only walked as a walker in  less than 10, and that's the Evansville  Komen Race for the Cure, as you might imagine. Here I am walking in spirit with my Porter Novelli work team.

This is the first time that I've ever seen miniature ponies (there were three) at a walk, but there are two words that can explain that: Orange County.

If you want to support my efforts, there's still time. Feel free to donate to this great cause HERE. 

Woman vs. Woman--Who do I agree with?

From my Mom's first --
and only--Komen Race For The Cure

The news around the Komen Foundation and Planned Parenthood's recent royal rumble has me wondering which side I sit on. As most of you know, my mother died from breast cancer and I have been a big supporter of the Komen Foundation ever since. But this recent withdrawal of funds from Planned Parenthood has me rethinking if maybe my funds and efforts shouldn't go to a different organization.

I love Planned Parenthood. And before you get all political on me, know that I support them because in my time of needing health care for issues and being a young woman without insurance or with bad insurance, they stepped up to make sure I got the cancer screenings and check ups I needed. And so I support them today because they were there when I needed them (although I wish they would spend less of those donations on all the direct mail pieces and email I get, but with my background do I really have a right to complain? I'll stick with yes). I know there are strong political feelings around Planned Parenthood and lots of people who disagree with me, but they can write it on their own blogs. Ninety-seven percent of the MILLIONS (this is literal) of services the nothing to do with abortion. NINETY-SEVEN PERCENT. I don't think that shutting something down or out because of three percent of services that people don't agree with is the right thing. I mean, if we had a presidential election where 97 percent of the people agreed on the winner it would be a miracle--not a sticking point.

I have come to think from seeing the evidence and leadership at the Susan G. Komen organization that the revoking of support of breast exams through Planned Parenthood is a reaction to a political debate. Masking behind it being a policy against companies under investigation gives WAY too much power to any politician who wants to investigate anything and doesn't really jive with one of our other branches of government--the courts. I think an "innocent until proven guilty" approach would be a better way to handle it, if its needed at all. Frankly, I find the excuse a flimsy retroactive one  to cover actions they were already taking.

The good news is that despite only seeing ONE color during October, there are many organizations that help fight this disease. I think I'm going to look to the Dr. Susan Love Foundation to receive my future support. I am also very happy that the senator that now represents me has signed a letter asking the Komen foundation to reinstate its support.

Our Own Little Walk

I called my stepdad this morning and he and his special lady, Sara, were walking in the rain. It was the first year that I can remember that the Evansville Race for the Cure got rained on.

It was hard being here instead of there, but Chef and I had a great walk on the beach this morning. It was not sunny at all, but not too bad. A bad day on the beach is better than most any other day, right?  Here are some pictures and thoughts to go with them.

I wrote this and almost immediately it got washed away by a wave.
So this is take two.

There were so many surfers out this morning. I told Chef I wanted to try surfing.
 His response: "We'll sign you up for classes next spring."
 I think I really want to do it!

The beginning of our not quite 5K in honor of my mom.

A view from Santa Monica towards Venice beach.

I kept saying to Chef "Let's just walk to the next lifeguard station."
That only worked for so long.

Walking From a Distance

My mother gave me this picture in October of 1999. She had just done her first Race For The Cure event as a survivor.

"I'm the one in pink," she said with a smile. Then went on to talk about how nice the event was, how many people were there and how she liked walking with other survivors.

"Why didn't you call me?" I said from my campus apartment at IU. "I would've loved to have come down and walked with you."

"We'll walk together next year," she said.

My mom died in August of 2000. Just a few weeks before the next Komen walk. It was too hard to walk that first year. Too much anger. Why did all of those ladies get to parade in with their survivor pink hats on, but my mom couldn't?

But the next year, my stepdad and I did the walk. I even got to walk with my friend Amanda, her mom (who would also die far too young from cancer) and her sisters. And from that first walk, I've been back every year. Wherever I've been I've made an effort to get back to walk with Jack. We have others who join us for the route and they're always welcomed guests, but it's really our time together. Time to remember my mother, his wife, but also a time for me to remember how much my step dad means to me. He was so key in helping me keep my shit together at a time when I was trying not to fall completely apart.   He doesn't get Christmas or Father's Day or any other holiday for us alone, but the walk has always been our special day.

Except this year, I have to walk it from a distance. I knew it would probably catch up to me one of these days and this year's the year. I just couldn't get from California to Indiana to do it, but that doesn't mean I'm not doing it.

So tomorrow morning I'll be up with Chef at the Santa Monica beach walking our 5K at the same time that everyone in Evansville is doing their 5K. If you're at the walk, text me. Send me pictures. Walk in honor of my mom and everyone else whose lost the fight or is battling breast cancer.

Because you never know when there might not be a next year.

Coming To The Jesus Phone

Chef and I had a come to jesus moment this week. Although instead of it being Christ, Jesus was in the form of the iPhone. AKA the Jesus Phone.

It all started about two weeks ago in Fort Walton Beach, FL. We were there for a brief stop as Patrick's Grammie had passed away. I have to take a moment and say how truly awesome Grammie was. She literally opened her arms to me the first time I walked through the door and was one of the best pen pals I ever had. I also know she was a fantastic mother and grandmother that is sorely missed.

Anyway, while in Florida my work cell started freaking out on me. . . again. So I was relying on my personal cell phone which was literally the smallest, cheapest flip phone Verizon had to offer. I still contend that no one was meant to text 26 letters with the use of only 9 keys. It's against nature. It also made the texting experience suck and I began to realize just how useless my personal cell was.

The trouble with the work cell continued and finally culminated in the cell phone crashing while I was in Evansville this past weekend for the annual Komen Walk. It was a great day where I got to see some of my cousins and aunts, and of course had a very memorable day with my stepdad Jack and his fiance Sara. It's always a great experience and would've been perfect except that literally all my contacts, email and other relevant information was gone from my work cell. It's super awkard when someone texts you and you don't have any contacts so you know it's from Indiana and you assume it's a family member, but really you're flying in the dark.

So after two days with a personal phone that didn't work and a work cell that was going nuts for the 5th time, I decided that I couldn't wait 6 more months to upgrade my phone. Chef did the research and it was easy enough for us to switch over to AT&T (who thankfully have dropped Luke Wilson as their spokesperson--at least for now) and get iPhones. We both really hate lining Steve Jobs's pockets, but really like being able to communicate without punching 100 keys to spell two words.

So, two weeks and we've had two trips to our hometowns--both in remembrance of someone. And iPhones. Now you're caught up.

I run for myself, I walk for my breasticles

Last night I went for a run at 9 p.m. after a nice Greek dinner with my stepdad and his girlfriend. I realized at that time that I was running for myself. It felt good. I also realized that while it took several years for the message to sink in, I work at the American Heart Association for myself. It's my own health that I'm trying to inspire and support and that selfishly hearing so many people's stories are my own daily affirmations to keep going.

However, this morning I did something for my boobs. Well, not just my boobs, but everyone's boobs and mostly in memory of my mother. Some of you don't know that I lost my mother to breast cancer nine years ago when she was only 52. Every year my stepdad and I get together and walk the 5K in my hometown in Indiana in her honor. I pin on the neon pink "I Race in Memory Of" card where I've scrawled "My Mom- Terri Winternheimer."

The first year was awful. I couldn't even turn around without seeing someone I knew and I luckily had friends and family that helped me through it (Shout out to Manders and her family for helping me keep it together--also a pleasant memory of Jill Hoffman who sadly also passed away way too young from cancer).

This morning was better. Nine years and a little more hometown anonymity made things earier. While I listened with great intent, I couldn't let myself get too attached. I still have some anger that cancer got the best of my mom because few things did. I listened as the racers rejoiced with the 909 area survivors and thought "I wish there were 910." I don't know if I'll ever get over it. But what was also nice was that just before we crossed the finish line, a woman tapped me on my shoulder and said "I knew your mom. She was a great lady who's missed." It was a random act, but it touched me a lot.

It makes me wonder as I prepare for the Nashville Heart Walk next weekend how many of our walkers will reach out to each other and share a memory. While I'm deeply touched by the Komen Walk, there's nothing that has made my heart stop faster than seeing one and two year old child heart survivors. And so in the end, while I lace up my sneakers and run every day for my heart and for me, I'm glad that I took some time to walk for my breasticles. And I encourage everyone to find a cause they care for to experience a walk because if anything else, it lets you know that you aren't alone.