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 June 10, 2006
[Your Name Here]
[Address Here]
Dear Estrella,
200 miles. Since I’ve moved to Seattle, I won’t even drive
200 miles…especially if there are frequent flier miles involved and Horizon
Airlines can get me there. Yet that’s what I signed up for on February 4th
– a 200 mile bike ride called the “Seattle to Portland Bicycle Classic”
taking place this summer.
On that day, I crowded into a small classroom with about 50
other riders, coaches, and mentors. While my mind had made the decision to commit
to this event, my body was laughing at me. Aside from a periodic ½ hour stint
on a treadmill or elliptical to keep my blood flowing, I am not known for my
exercise prowess. I must also humbly admit that I did not get into this for a
“good cause” – for me, it was about getting in shape and meeting some
people.
So I sat in the front row, in my gear, bewildered at how I
was going to find the time to train so I could complete this ride, and amazed
at how many people were as foolish as me. The coach, Russ Riggins, began by
welcoming us all there, and saying that there were many more people who had
signed up for the program but could not be here today. In my little world, I’m
thinking, “Yeah, because they don’t want to ride in sub-frigid weather.” Here I
am – the tough guy already judging people at the start of my 1st
ride. It turns out I was wrong. This Saturday, while entertaining as a new
experience for me, had a far greater meaning for many others in the program.
As Russ explained, last year’s Seattle-to-Portland ride had
been dedicated to an 11-year old boy named Patrick Good, who had leukemia. He
had been to many of the team rides, and was at the finish line to greet the
cyclists as they completed their 200th mile. On January 30, 2006,
Patrick succumbed to the disease and died. The reason the room wasn’t fuller
was that many of the coaches, mentors and riders from the previous year were at
the service for Patrick being held that morning.
A few months later, we were due to start a 60 mile ride.
Since I had missed a couple of rides from the previous two weeks, I was
concerned…concerned for me, that is. You see, riding just 40 miles on a bike is
not good for the posterior. I could barely feel mine after my last adventure,
and this morning had forgotten to apply “butt paste,” which is a technical term
for a cream put in biking shorts to ease friction. Oh, what problems I have! As
I was joking about my dilemma, we all gathered to get a map (which is useless
for me anyway, since I am a geographic underachiever) and dedicate the ride.
The woman who started the dedication was standing next to
me, and stated her name was Stephanie Good. She said that we were dedicating
this ride to her son, Patrick, who would have been 12 that week had he still
been with us. She told us of his struggle to combat leukemia, how brave he was
in undergoing chemotherapy, and how he never complained of the pain he was in.
My mentor, who was holding her up, as well as several others, was crying.
I was not. I stood there numb, unable to say anything to
this woman, incapable of processing the emotion of the moment. How can I
sympathize with someone who has lost a child? My mind can only think of Abigail
& Tabitha…and the thought of losing either of them to leukemia or anything
else is so painful that I can’t conceptualize it. I couldn’t even muster the
words to say “I’m sorry.”
So that’s why this program exists. Yes, I’m hoping to get in
shape and shed some pounds. Yes, I’m meeting new people and enjoying the
outdoors. Yes, my posterior is becoming as durable as adamantium. But all that
pales in comparison to the ability of this program to raise money for research
leukemia and lymphoma. (Seventy-five percent of all funds go directly to
research, and contributions are tax deductible.)
My goal is to raise $5,000 by June 30. I hope you’ll sponsor
me, for any of the personal reasons I listed. I hope that better treatments, or
a cure, are found for this devastating disease. I hope I find the words and the
courage to say something to Stephanie.
P.S.: You can check out my photo at www.tntseattle.org. But beware – I
do not look good in biker shorts. You’ve been warned.
Thank You,
[Your Name Here]
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