I’m tired. Bone weary.
My stomach is on the verge of queasy.
My muscles ache, even those I’m pretty sure I haven’t used in 30 years or more.
3B just woke up to dry heave.
That’s probably just the antibiotics talking–you know the ones he’s taking for his ear infection.
It’s below 50 degrees (for my California readers, this isn’t subfreezing, but it feels that way to you).
Winds will be 30 mph, gusting to 50, which is enough to stop a cyclist like me in his tracks.
For all these reasons, the last thing I want to do right now is squeeze my fat ass into some spandex, which is nothing but cheesecloth you can wash, swing my leg over my bike and then pedal for an hour to get to, of all places, work. (Not that I don’t love my job. I do.)
But I’m pretty sure that, when he was less than two, Declan didn’t want to go through a year and a half of chemotherapy and six weeks of radiation treatment. I’m pretty sure that he had bad days too. Days when he was tired. Days when he was queasy. Dark days. Hard days. Long days.
But Declan didn’t have a choice.
He did, however, have a chance. A chance that he seized and made the most of with the help of the Dana-Farber Cancer Institute.
And if more kids like Declan are to have a chance, I have to get on my bike and ride. And ride some more…all the way until August. But to get to August and to give those kids a chance, I need your support.
Because, really, the last thing I want to do is leave those kids without a chance.