PMC addendum. Because we still need to ride.

One of the names on my legs this past weekend was Grace Marie. This was for Grace Marie Talbert, who has fought two hard battles with breast cancer. When we wrote her name on my leg Saturday morning she was in hospice care.

She died this morning, surrounded by her family.

She was a complex, strong, loving, stubborn woman, mother to my friend Joey Talbert, wife to my friend Dewey Talbert.

As she died she was surrounded by her family, singing Amazing Grace. She left this life on the voices of those who loved her best.

I am so sorry I had to ride for her. I am so glad I could.

Her birthday is tomorrow, August 6. I'll sing Happy Birthday to her, looking up to the sky. You may want to take a moment and wish those you love who are no longer here a happy birthday too. As long as we remember them, they are still alive.

(c) 2008 Laura S. Packer

The Pan Mass Challenge, part 2

Whew! I'm done. And it was, as always, quite a ride.

I didn't sleep at all well the night before; this is unusual for me, usually before the PMC I'm happy and excited and can rest. But Friday night was dreadful, I tossed and turned for all hours. When I finally fell asleep I had two dreams. In them both it was after the ride and I was incredibly happy. When I woke up to the blaring alarm I decided to take this as a good omen.

I rode for a lot of people this year, six of whom are in the midst of their battle with cancer. We wrote their names on my legs, as you can

see here. Two of them are people I rode for last year. I write their names on my legs so they can peddle with me. By the time I finished the ride they had all worked so hard they were mostly sweated off. (Yes, the tattoo is real. And the weird little spots are supposed to help with pain. I'm not sure if they did or not.)

We drove through heavy fog to the starting site in Wellesley, milled around, chatted, and then at 7:00 am the ride started.

You don't need a blow-by-blow. I don't need to write one. If you're interested in some details you can find them on my twitter feed. Go to twitter and search for storylaura.

But it was:

- inspiring. So many people coming together to form a community to do one, important thing. I feel so proud to be part of this.

- hard. I was in more pain this year than previously; I didn't train as well as I would have liked due to knee and back issues and I paid for it. At each rest stop I would think, That's it, I'm going to stop now. And each time I would decide to wait a little longer, rest a bit, then see how I felt. I kept going. I finished, I am so glad I did.

- heartbreaking, as always. Seeing all of the names and faces that people carry. Hearing all of the stories. Everyone cries on this ride.

- exhilarating. I rode really well. Sure, I dragged on the hills, but for the rest of it I was (by my standards) no slouch. Considering how hampered I was in training, I'm pleased.

- empowering. I am alive. I can make a difference in the world. This event reminds me of that in no uncertain terms. On the bus ride back I was talking with Ben, who just completed his first PMC. He talked about how yes, he gives money to other causes, but with this he knows he has done something that makes an immediate, real difference. It's that kind of thing. I know too.

(And you can still make a real difference too - donations are accepted until October 1, I'm still well below my required donation level.)

So that's the nickel summary. I am here. I am alive. I have the honor of having ridden yet again in the Pan Mass Challenge, of pedaling my feet off to save the world a little bit. And today I get to venture out and save the world in some other way. I'll see you on the road.

(c)2008 Laura S. Packer

The Pan Mass Challenge, part 1

Tomorrow is the Pan Mass Challenge. For those of you who may not know, it's a fund-raising bike ride to save the world by ending cancer. We raise money for the Dana Farber Cancer Center. If you haven't yet sponsored me and would like to, you can do so here. If you sponsor me, let me know who I'm riding for, they can come along for the ride too.

I am feeling lots of different things right now.

I'm really nervous. I'm not in good riding shape. Two different injuries, knees and back, have had me out of commission on and off all summer. The ride will be harder than usual.

I'm sad that I'm not in good riding shape. This has, in the past, been a pretty joyful experience. I fear that this year I'll be in enough pain that I won't be able to immerse myself in the powerful moments.

I'm sad that this is still necessary, and I'm thinking about who won't be here this year to cheer for me. Last year my friend Joan showed up to meet me at the end, pulled herself up out of her wheelchair to hug me and tell me she loved me. She won't be there this year. I miss her. Others are gone too. Scott's dad Michael. My cousin Jerry. Others.

I'm looking forward to the thrilling moments, the signs (You are every day heroes and the one that always makes me cry, I am alive because of you), the knowledge that yes, I am still here. the reminder that I am a survivor too.

I'm looking forward to feeling as though my bike is a part of my body.

I'm proud to be part of this. It's changed who I know myself to be, made me into someone stronger and better.

And I'm looking forward to finishing. To crying when I'm done. And to the good sleep afterwards.

I'll see you on the other side.

(c) 2008 Laura S. Packer. Saving the world and alive.

White tail grace

I was out for a ride this morning and, boy, the voices were loud. You know the ones I mean, those voices that tell you (me) that you're (I'm) a failure at whatever you are (I am)trying to do at the time.

At that particular moment, the voices were saying, "I pretty much suck. Why am I even doing this? I'm in terrible shape. My knee hurts. Why bother? You won't make a difference anyway." That last was in reference to the fundraising I'm trying to do for the Dana Farber Cancer Center via the PMC. It's going slowly, no one has much money this year.

The voices were pretty loud and I was struggling to ride through them, those monsters in the road. I saw a guy stopped by the side of the bike path a bit in front of me and slowed down to make sure he was okay. He said to me, sotto voce, "There's a deer right here."

I got off my bike and we stood together, looking at a young deer, looking at us. It wasn't 15 feet away. After a little while the guy rode off while I stayed and watched.

It was beautiful. And it clearly didn't find me threatening. We looked at each other. I could see its nostrils flare as it smelled me (I did smell, I'd been riding), then it stopped watching me and calmly began eating berries off of a nearby tree. In a little while it wandered away into the underbrush. When I could no longer see it I got back on my bike and rode away.

The monsters were gone.

I am grateful that man needed to share his moment of beauty. I am grateful the deer simply is.

Sometimes the universe offers moments of grace and for once I was able to stop and notice.

(c) 2008 Laura S. Packer