Shattering our Jimmy Fund Walk records

If you look at our Jimmy Fund Walk thermometer right now, it will read somewhere around $55,500. But the gauge is running behind reality. Reality is closer to $63,500 at the moment.

But the day will come–the day will come.

To call this the financially most successful single-year carcinoid/NETs team in the history of the Jimmy Fund Walk is likely a safe statement at this point. On Sunday, 45 people–we had three virtual walkers–set out from four different starting points–and most finished under their own power. That is–albeit narrowly–also the largest number of walkers of any carcinoid/NETs team I’ve ever been on, I think.

Personal change in Jimmy Fund Walk

The flavor of this walk was very different for me than the previous three. Part of that came from my decision to do 13.1 miles this year rather than the 26.2 because of the knee injury I suffered two weeks before. The 26.2 mile starting line is much quieter and more meditative. Part of it is because most of us are sleep-walking at the start. It’s between 5:30 and 6 a.m. The sun is still below the horizon.

…the gauge is running behind reality.

But I think part of it is the realization of the physical, mental, and emotional challenge that lies before us. For me, at least, I know I am going to be alone for most of the walk. My pace doesn’t fit in for very many people. I am too fast for most of the walkers–and too slow for the younger folks who will run at least part of the distance despite what the rules say. Hopkinton is a very serious place in the time before dawn–and it sets the tone for the day.

Jimmy Fund Walk difference at Wellesley

Wellesley has a very different feel to it. People are awake, for one thing. The atmosphere is lighter–and more festive. It isn’t that the distance is not a challenge–it is. But with  the sun riding up the sky, it does not feel quite so ominous, somehow. People talk more–both before the walk and during it. While I spent most of the day walking alone–as I usually do–I talked to a lot of groups as I went along. When I came across a member of our team–which was frequent–I’d talk with them and check on how they were doing before moving on.

Hopkinton is a very serious place in the time before dawn…

Part of the difference, as well, was that my role was changed by both the starting point and the size of the team. My first year, the team was of a similar size, but I had no responsibility beyond getting myself from Hopkinton to Boston. It was a good thing. I was little more than nine months removed from Jane’s death and had difficulty enough taking care of myself.

Being captain of a big team

The second and third years I was a team captain, but the size of the team was tiny. In 2012, we had fewer than 20 members–and only about 15 actually walked. Two of us started in Hopkinton but parted company about five miles in so she could run some of the distance. That was the case last year, as well, but we had only five people on the course of the seven who registered.

People are awake, for one thing.

Being captain this year was an entirely different experience on the course, although the lead-in was fairly similar. Last year we had no patients on the course. This year we had several. Many of those who were not patients were attempting their first walk of this length. I felt responsible for both their safety and the quality of their experience, in either case.

The Jimmy Fund Walk experience

So I varied my pace, falling back to see how the slower folks were doing, then sprinting–if a walker can be said to sprint–back toward the front to touch base with those at the head of the column. I also spent time on my cell trying to keep tabs on both the people doing the full route and those starting at later points. By the time I crossed the finish line for the third time, I likely had clocked in 20 miles–at least that’s what the blisters on my feet were telling me.

I felt responsible for both their safety and the quality of their experience…

The next Jimmy Fund Walk is a year away. My body willing, I’ll go back to the Hopkinton start both next year and the year after. I promised Jane I’d do the full walk at least five times in her memory. I’ll likely have to change my training routine to do it. I think part of the issue was trying to ramp up the distance too fast–a thing my gum surgeries and my father and niece’s deaths in August made necessary.

One thing hasn’t changed–not yet

But seeing the challenges of the 13.1 mile route was a good thing. Those challenges are different from the 26.2, but equally daunting in ways I did not expect–and cannot yet really explain. My body did not ache as badly at the end of the shorter course, but I was every bit as tired. And it was hard to distinguish much physical or mental difference the day after.

The next Jimmy Fund Walk is a year away.

I stood at Jane’s grave again yesterday, as I have the day after each of these walks. I cried–as I always do. I left her some white mums. The words I want to say to her I still can’t say. Her disease is still out there. It is still killing–34 more people every day. Most days, I know at least one of them–some days two or three. We haven’t killed it yet–so I can’t say to her we have.

But the day will come–the day will come.