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Walk For A Cure

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CHERYL SEGAL

Published: October 26, 2007

Last year at this time, I was recovering from surgery for early stage breast cancer and reeling from the news that I would have to endure four rounds of chemotherapy. After my first chemo a few weeks later, I was shaky, needed a nap in the middle of the day and couldn't walk more than a few hundred yards without huffing and puffing and calling it quits.

So this year, I decided to observe the year anniversary of my breast cancer surgery by walking. Sixty miles.

The Breast Cancer 3-Day walk was something I needed to do, mainly to prove to myself that I'm well (although my feet tell me I'm just crazy). The walk would start at Sand Key Park in Clearwater on Oct. 19, wind through Seminole, Largo, the beach communities, around Tyrone Square, Snell Isle and into downtown St. Pete, ending on Sunday afternoon at Spa Beach Park.

I figured that after chemo, this would be a piece of cake.

I finished chemo the end of January; radiation, the end of March. I didn't start training until May, after my six-month anniversary MRI and mammogram came back clean. But no matter how much my partner and I walked, we knew it was not reality. We could go for a double-digit-mile-long walk, then plop on our nice comfy bed, sleep the rest of the day and do fewer miles the next day.

Along the way, I learned about moisture-wicking underwear. I discovered that my size 7 1/2 feet are really a 9 in running shoes. And I studied up on electrolytes, so I could replenish them.

Temperatures on Day 1 tied a record high of 89 degrees with a heat index around 100. Nonetheless, I was determined to finish the entire 22.8 miles without calling on the "sweep" van that picked up tired walkers.

As the day wore on and the temperature peaked, I started what I called the chemo-meter. That's where I compared the pain and discomfort of walking with the effects of chemo. At first, chemo won hands down, but particularly over the last three miles of the day, I admit, walking caught up.

I realized that in both cases, there were times when it was hard to go on, when it took every ounce of strength just to get through the day.

There was another similarity to chemo: The side effects were so unpleasant that I didn't care what I ate. Pit stops were stocked with goodies to help replenish electrolytes — salt, potassium and carbohydrates — that are lost under such extreme conditions. Other than a half a banana, I don't think I ate a fruit or vegetable all day. I ate chocolate, peanuts, peanut butter and jelly on graham crackers (really good!), animal crackers and other food I would normally reject. I'm not sure whether the chocolate replenished anything, but by the late afternoon, sweaty and aching, I figured I deserved it. Kind of like I felt I deserved my white mocha espresso from Starbucks on chemo day.

On any day, walking nearly 23 miles requires hydration, but it's particularly necessary when it's really hot. And of course, drinking meant bathroom breaks. I'd already been to a port-a-potty at pit stop 1, so when a couple of walkers got the bright idea that the hospital we were passing probably had indoor plumbing, we followed. Then there was a 7-Eleven. Port-a-potty: 1, indoor plumbing: 2. It became my goal to keep the score skewed in favor of flushing toilets and running water, but 22.8 miles later, it was a tie — 4-4.

Along the way we had a rain shower. I pulled out my $1.99 credit card-sized poncho that turned out to be nothing more than shaped Saran wrap with holes for arms and a hood. Wait a minute, Saran wrap is thicker. The challenge was untangling the plastic wrap and then putting it on without suffocating myself. Remember what your mother taught you: Don't wrap your face in plastic.

By the beginning of Day 2, one of my partner's blisters had popped; the other had to be drained. My big, fat blister had to be drained. The nurse told us to sit out Day 2, and that was fine with us: Fund-raising shouldn't have to be this painful, and why make it worse? Besides, we wanted to go the distance on Day 3, and we didn't think that would be possible without a break.

We did walk on Day 3 and completed it, making our weekend trek 40 miles. I'm OK with that. That's like going from Tampa to Lakeland or Bradenton.

We reached the holding area a half-mile from closing ceremonies and got our victory T-shirts. Mine was pink, which designated me as a survivor.

Organizers split the survivors from the rest of the walkers, who proceeded to the closing ceremonies first. Then we walked in, 10 survivors hand-in-hand, about 12 rows deep. Family members and friends applauded and cried. The other walkers each took off one shoe and held it in the air, as if tipping their hats to us. Looking at the women in pink around me, I felt safe in the unintended sisterhood and buoyed by their strength.

I don't plan to put my body through the three-day experience again, but I proved what I needed to: I am a survivor.

Cheryl Segal can be reached at (813) 259-7112 or csegal@tampatrib.com.

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