Why do I ride?

I ride because I can.

 

I ride for all of the moms who lost their hair and their limbs and their lives, never getting the chance to watch their children grow up.

 

I ride for the little girls who will never know a celebration untainted by the ever present specter of emptiness just off to one side. They are the same ones who will grow up to be strong women who can’t help but whisper when they are sure that no one is listening “I just wish you were here.”

 

I ride for every call I get from a friend saying that they or their spouse or their parent or their child or their friend just received that most devastating diagnosis, and I have no choice but to answer that we are working so hard and we are so close, but maybe not quite close enough for them.

 

But…

 

I also ride for the days when I can answer just as truthfully “Yes, ask your oncologist about this, this might help.”

 

I ride for the vibrant, clever, fierce, five year survivor who sat next to me at a DOD grant review panel who was alive and well with stage IV NSCLC because his tumor had a mutation that we had discovered in tumors like his a decade earlier. A mutation that told his doctors that he might respond to a new drug. A drug that promised him more good years to come.

 

I ride for the days in the lab when a grad student comes in with that bright, glassy, wide-eyed look, their hands shaking just a tiny bit, and quietly says “it worked.”

 

I ride for the ones who wear their survivor mantles like invisible suits of armor and fiercely hug their children and grandchildren just a tiny bit longer, because they can. You know who you are. And I am so grateful to have each of you in my life. 

 

I ride because there is more to do, and I can’t stand still.

 

***

 

If you’re reading this, you likely know my story, or at least parts of it. It’s a story with a lot of tears, and a lot of joy, and a lot of love. It starts with the loss of my wonderful mom nearly 34 years ago (to the day of this year's Ride for Roswell!). Time helps, but the pain of losing a parent really never really goes away. For me, my research is part therapy, part labor of love, but my move to Buffalo in 2016 (where my mom was born and raised) is every bit the latter. I am happily surrounded by family in this very cool, amazing city, and I am crazy lucky because I also have the joy and priviledge of working towards a cure for cancer at Roswell Park. One of the first things I did when I started my own research lab was gather up all of the clear cell sarcoma cell lines that I could find around the world. Now we are working hard to understand the molecular changes and epigenetic remodeling that drive this rare and agressive soft tissue sarcoma and others like it.  Mine is a story that continues to be filled with twists and turns, both happy and sad, and it will now have a very small chapter in it entitled “that time I rode my bike 500+ miles from NYC to Niagara Falls, just because I am lucky enough to be able to do so.” 

 

I don't ask for help lightly, with anything, but if you have the means, please consider a donation to support my ride.  It really does make a difference. Roswell Park uses these funds carefully and judiciously and with patients at the center of all of our efforts.  No donation is too small.  I will also happily accept hugs, well wishes, sponsors, cycling tips, training buddies for both short and increasingly longer rides in the build up, fundraising suggestions, friends to push me at the gym to keep getting stronger, jokes about how crazy I am, pre-race carbs, pre- and post-race hydration, friends to celebrate with at the finish line at The Falls, pictures of and stories about my mom (those are my favorite!), and all of your wonderful stories about your loved ones who have fought this battle so that I can ride for them too!