Why I Ride
Whenever I explain Texas 4000 to someone, they inevitably ask why I'm doing this bike ride to Alaska. There were a lot of people and experiences involved in the decision and my reasons for riding continue to grow and change, but my Why I Ride is based on my family. They are my rock, my shelter and my joy. They are Why I Ride to promote a cancer-free world.
DaddyI ride for my father, a two time cancer survivor. Everyone has a different name for the most special man in their life. Mine is my daddy, most people call him Peter, but to me he can go by no name other than Daddy. I'm a shameless daddy's girl; this man can deny me nothing and I can't imagine disappointing him because he is so loving and supportive. Daddy fought lymphoma and prostate cancer, each diagnosed and treated several years apart. He's a pretty vocal guy, so when his aches and pains became more intense than usual, we knew about it immediately. However, it's a big jump from sore knees to a cancer diagnosis. It's scary and disorienting. His journey to remission was slow and rife with complications, as well as filled with important lessons for our family. I remember going to visit him at the hospital, never really comprehending the intensity of what I was experiencing. Sitting next to him with his chemo drip became a casual event with a practiced ritual of mushroom soup and black sweatsuits. I still remember the cold hospital smell and the ugly colors of the drugs being pumped into my daddy to help his body battle the cancer cells. In spring 2011, Daddy finished with treatment and was declared healthy; our whole family was healing from the emotions that went with his cancer. My daddy and I share our birthday every year and in 2014, we were blessed with the opportunity to be able to go out and get drinks together to celebrate my 21st. It was just one more reason that this year is so special. Texas 4000 is my way of honoring his survivorship. I am proud to ride for my daddy.
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MamaMy mama is extra special to me. She's my rock and my joy and always in inspiration to work harder and harder to get where I want to be in life. There is no other woman on Earth who can manage a farm in such a hands-on way and also balance being a wife and mother, not to mention being a trained physician in addition to all her other skills. She's perfect. Her medical training came in handy during Dad's cancer diagnoses because she was always available to provide a second opinion from a fresh perspective. Without her, I don't know that Dad's cancer would have been discovered in time. She pushed him to continue visiting doctor's until they found an explanation for his pains, luckily very early in the progression of the cancer. Once he was diagnosed, she cared for him in a way I can only aspire to one day care for someone. Mama was present at every treatment or consultation, often holding hot food or my daddy's cold hands. She was a source of comfort and stability when I was scared, even though she must have been even more terrified of the future. I learned how to love and care for another human from her example. Texas 4000 is my way of remembering her sacrifices for our familia. I ride for my mama.
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Baby girlI ride for my little sister, Carrie Bruno, better known as my baby girl because although I'm only 17 months older than she, I am so protective of her (listen up, boys!) that she'll always be the most important person I love on and care for. She is wild, reckless and full of joy; always bringing out the best in me and keeping me grounded when I want to fly off the handle. I keep tissues, medicine and a first aid kit on my person specifically to be able to protect her from her clumsy self and the unpredictable weather changes in Austin. Cancer runs rampant in our family and with an estimated 85-90% of cancers resulting from behavioral risk factors, I want to model a healthy lifestyle for her before she is put at-risk. I would do anything for this little gal, so if riding my bicycle to Alaska will promote a cancer free world for her to one day live in then I consider it to be an absolutely necessary action. I ride for my baby girl and for sisters everywhere, because they are the true treasure of life.
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MeIn all honesty, I am riding for myself. Not only has participating in Texas 4000 given me the ability to heal from the emotional scars of cancer, but it has given me a new respect for everyone involved with fighting this ugly disease. Not only the doctors and nurses diagnosing and administering chemotherapy, but also the fathers, mothers, sisters, brothers, extended family, co-workers, educators, cancer charities, researchers and no doubt many more that I am forgetting. Everyone has been touched by cancer in one way or another. I have learned that cancer is a disease that no one can beat by themselves; even researchers have to cooperate and share data to successfully release a life-saving drug. In the months with Texas 4000 I have also conquered many fears, including riding a bicycle (yeah, I know it was crazy to join T4K), speaking in front of crowds, sharing my true feelings, thoughts and emotions and taking down the walls I have spent years building around my heart. The result is that I've fallen in love with a team of 84 cancer fighters and found a support system that completely understands my experiences, past and present. If my family history of cancer ever catches up with me, I know who will be the first to call and wish me well. Texas 4000 can seem like just a bike ride, but it has been so much more than that for me. I have grown confident and excited to fight for a cancer-free world while honoring all those who have fought before me.
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MaryMary Abella is my godmother. Everything about her is beautiful, even her name. I always break it down in my head, "A-bella," as if one were describing a lovely woman in Spanish shorthand. Mary is probably the most put-together person I know. Her outward appearance is stunning and she shines with an inner strength I can only aspire to. She is a cancer survivor who continues to fight. The most admirable part of her fight is the way she has rallied the community around her and opened herself up to accepting help from others, letting us deliver soup, drive her to therapy or even asking for a second opinion from my doctor-mama. I remember seeing Mary's wispy hair one day and a cleanly shaven head the next as the chemo ravaged her cells, but she maintained her beauty with grace despite the obvious pain. I'm not ashamed to admit that some days thinking of Mary is the only reason I choose to brush my hair and put on a dress instead of running shorts and a tank top. The necklace and earrings I always wear on the bike are also part of my tribute to her. A woman is never fully dressed without a few accessories, after all. More importantly, though, Mary is my reason to keep pushing up big hills. Giving up was never an option for her and it is even less so for me. I'm happy to say that the picture to the left is from early 2013 and the one below is from just 6 months later. We look good.
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