Feeling grateful for a tiny, white pill.

Tonight, like every night, I took the itty-bitty, white pill that prevents my cells from using any estrogen that might be floating around.

But tonight, I feel the privilege of that action.

My experience at the Susan G. Komen 3-Day Walk for the Cure isn’t best but understood in a chronological manner. So, while I will be sharing the details of my experience in all its beautiful chaos over the coming days, bear will me at I share the most impactful moment.

As I closed in on the Day 2 finish line, walking the Memorial Mile along, lined with images of loved ones stolen by breast cancer, I found myself crying. No. Sobbing.

I’ve done a lot of cancer events, and it isn’t unusual for me to cry at poignant moments of reflection. Frequently, my sister is foremost in my thoughts. But there are other losses which grip me on occasion - or simply seeing a smiling face I don’t know - but whose absence clearly dims the world sets me off.

But today, my tears were from fear.

As I passed sign, after sign, after sign . . . all commemorating people whose bodies betrayed them with breast cancer . . . I felt fear. And a profound grief over all of the pain this disease wreaks.

Nothing had lowered my spirits until that moment.

Rainy, dreary day? No big deal. Wet is wet. I got to jump and play in puddles.

Route diversion because of flooding? How lucky am I? I was the first group sent off in the non-flooded direction.

Mandatory sweep from Pit Stop 2 to Pit Stop 3? Well, I got a cute pin out of it (thanks Gnome van!) and had extra miles from yesterday already so my end of Day 2 mileage will still be over 40.

Ridiculously rainy and windy? I’m going to have a crazy story to tell.

But those signs got me. Looking forward and not seeing an end to those signs shook me to my core.

I have lost count of the number of times I have been asked why I decided to do this walk.

The substance of my responses has been “because I can.”

That remains the very core of why I decided to join the cult that calls itself the Walk for the Cure.

So. Tonight. Staring at the Exemestane on my palm, I am filled with gratitude that this tiny little object can help me spend a day walking 20 miles in weather than would do Winnie-the-Pooh and his blustery day proud.

Thank you to everyone I have met on this journey - all of these amazing people who are helping to halt the line of loved ones - the reason they walk.