Susan G. Komen 3-Day Walk: Final Reflections

When I registered to participate in a 3-Day, 60-mile walk, my motivation was almost exclusively the physical challenge.

I absolutely pulled up recent Susan G. Komen Form 990s and established that this was an organization with great fiscal hygiene and that I could feel good about inviting friends to support before sharing my fundraising link.

But I would 100% have participated even if the purpose was to raise funds to provide champagne and caviar to trust fund babies whose families had cut them off for racing cars drunk in school zones - and just considered any fundraising minimum (if within my means) a ticket cost.

Accomplishing my physical goal remained first and foremost in my mind throughout the weekend, driving me to get in additional miles when weather conditions demanded routes be cut short to achieve that 60-mile goal - but I have a full appreciation for the myriad of motivators that pull people back again and again for 20 years or more.

While committing to a physical goal that demands regular activity, supporting my cardiac and overall health, remains a primary consideration for me - I now look forward to participating in the Komen for so many years that physical limitations demand I take a more lenient approach to the mileage goal and the many other amazing aspects of the 3-Day (such as providing economic support to the essential work of the Komen Foundation and being part of a community with shared experiences fighting to attain a new “normal,” grieve losses, and sustain change) come to dominate my motivations.

Initially, I tried to commit every interaction to memory - even taking notes to help me remember people I met and what I learned about them, things I saw, and emotions I felt.

“Day 1, 7:25 am Rina on shuttle. Sister Lori Fierman. Zenna memorial – Lynette. Already laughed, cheered, danced, and cried.”

Within the first few miles, it became apparent this would be an overwhelming task - and documenting would interfere with experiencing.

And so, I submitted to the kaleidoscope of colors, sound, physical sensation, human interaction, and intense emotion that is the “pink bubble.”

From a physical perspective, I experienced everything I anticipated. Sore feet and ankles. Really sore feet and ankles. Achilles that demanded extra stretching. Difficulty standing when I foolishly sat down.

However, I also experienced a massive surge of adrenaline that lasted until I climbed into bed at the oh-so-late hour of 7:30 pm Sunday night, swaddled by the immense sense of satisfaction, goodwill, and accomplishment that had propelled me to register for 2026 moments after crossing the finish line.

The physical discomfort paled in light of the onslaught of positives. Shockingly, I did not experience one single moment of thinking “what am I doing?!”

I’m left with a sweeping sense of well-being – a feeling only threatened by the immense difficulty I am having avoiding becoming a running joke due to my inability to stop finding ways to insert the 3-Day into every conversation. ("This one time. At 3-Day . . . )

I have enormous admiration for the organizers who provided a seamless experience from the eyes of the uninitiated - despite having to pivot repeatedly to ensure participant safety. And at every future Komen, I will regale “virgins” with tales of how my first 3-Day was the outrageous San Diego 2025.

I crossed the finish line, pausing for pictures with the wonderful Cliff's Crew Team that made me one of their own, and turned to hug Todd, whose support gave me the courage to commit to this in the first place. The weekend closed by joining hands with my fellow survivors as we followed the "last walker in" and all of the volunteers and police who had worked to hard to make sure we had a great experience, as our fellow walkers saluted us by holding their muddy shoes in the air.

As I waddled to the car ready to put my feet up and start dreaming about my next Komen adventure, I checked my email to discover what was happening in the real world and discovered a major contribution from Susie, the woman I would call to help me hide the body. Actually, the woman who would say “Go home. I’ve got this.” and take care of it for me. Her support catapulted me over my fundraising goal - so I spun around (or, at least, I changed direction with as much alacrity as my aching body would allow) and waddled back to the closing ceremony to obtain my $5k legacy badge!

Thank you Susie - for always supporting me, from being at my side when I "rang the bell" to celebrating my victories and those of my children.

Thursday put a bow on my 3-Day experiences. At my breast surgeon check-up, I queried, “Can we remove the ‘fall risk’ notation from my file?” He laughed and agreed that if I could walk 60 miles, a large portion of it in the pouring rain buffeted by heavy winds, I was probably safe to walk the halls of City of Hope without a bright yellow wrist band identifying me as someone who requires extra attention.

I've been hiding these bands under my sleeve for almost 2 years because I felt silly wearing them when far sicker people surrounded me in the waiting room. Tonight, I cut off my last one.

Time to start training for next year!