It's Friday night, just winding down before bedtime and the start of the weekend.
On Sunday, I'll be doing the Race for the Cure. Doing this race is so important to me this year. Partly just because my fat ass is doing something like this, and that's pretty cool when I consider a year ago I would have told you to put the crack pipe down if you'd suggested I'd ever do such a thing.
But more than that, doing it this year is a must. My friend Elison lost her battle with breast cancer earlier this year. Elison died way too young from this sickening disease.
I hurt my leg a few weeks ago, but it got better. Then it flared up Tuesday, but was better by this morning. Well, it flared up again today (when I was goofing off like an idiot!) I don't care. I'm doing the race. And if it starts to hurt, I'm going to think of what a complete baby I am complaining about pain in my leg compared to what Elison went through. If I'm tired, I'll remember that I get to recover from my fatigue. Elison didn't recover from breast cancer.
We had the opportunity to put names of breast cancer victims and survivors on our race t-shirts for my gym. I submitted two names, one was Elisons. Neither name made it on the shirt. I almost had a melt down. When my leg flared up and I considered not being able to do the race, I felt another melt down coming on. But I stopped it with a simple decision: I will not sit this race out. No way.