I had a tough ride last year. Day one was my best ride in 7 years, made amazing time & felt stronger than ever. The moment my legs geared up on day two, my knees protested. They screamed, grinding & burning I could hear them wincing with every rotation. The pain was excruciating. I managed to make it only to the first water stop which by the time we got there was already packing it in.  Despondent & deflated I bowed to my father's encouragement  to quit before any real damage could be done. Tears ensued & I resigned myself to missing out on so many victorious moments of the final miles to the finish line.

And so did my dad. He stuck with me, riding in the van to the Wellfleet stop (which took a hell of a lot longer than on our bikes). My dad who has been riding for 27 years & never hasn't finished, stayed with me despite my demands that he should just ride on.

You see, we are a tribe. Uplifting & supporting our fellow riders,  regardless of family. We are a tribe that unites for a few August days, some of us pushing ourselves to our utmost physical abilities. We are a tribe dedicated to kicking cancers ass while maintaining our own.  dedicated & sometimes senseless we strive to do our part in this crusade. maybe you don't  want to get on a bike & commit to the ridiculous fundraising minimum, but you too can be a part of this tribe by supporting me & donating to Dana Farber

My Dear Jane,

It’s difficult to know how to comfort you as this impossible hill scattered with all these unknowns & pain & fear now faces you.

Perhaps you’ll find comfort in the words that follow…

You my love, do not deserve this. Your selflessness, committed strength & compassion for your mother as she battled breast & ovarian cancer for so many years that took you away from your own busy life. Now just having gotten a taste of being back at the restaurant working, finding time for yourself at the gym & reconnecting with dear friends & relationships you had to put on hold for so many years. Spending priceless time in Italy with your family. Perhaps just finally reaching a balance between grieving the loss of your mother & moving forward with your life.

When I saw you that brilliantly frigid weekend this February, you didn’t want to talk about the brain tumor or the imminent surgery. You just wanted to be present with me as we wandered soaking in the galleries of SoHo reminiscing about the year we lived together in Florence. Recollecting about my last visit & our adventures that lead us to the Boom Boom Room & that our friendship spans years of knowing each other longer than we haven’t. There was purpose in our time together, we weren’t just catching up. There was a touch of precious is in your step, braveness in your voice & an intensity in your eyes. You weren’t focused on the impossible hill ahead, only on the moment & what needed to be done to prepare. You were standing there in your mothers white fur coat with your wild brown ringlettes bouncing, flashing your intoxicating smile for the camera, & I wondered for a moment what might become of those ringlettes; but knew you didn’t want me to ask. I didn’t want that day to end…

You have a vivacity for life that is infectious Jane. Such a busy girl.

I know they didn’t manage to get all of the tumor & though you are up and about after a very painful & slow recovery, you’re still suffering from debilitating migraines preventing you from getting back to your busy life. The frustration of the muddiness of what the next months will hold, the challenges that lie ahead for you. The treatments, the Dr’s appointments. The anticipation of when you’ll be able to standup right for more than 10 minutes without a surge of exhaustion flooding over you or being able to ride in a car without feeling as if your head will explode. Wondering when you’ll be able to get back to work, & feel normal again. Though it may feel as if there is no end to this impossible hill, you will crest it & soon be gliding down the other side.

I never thought I would be riding this year for you Jane. When I reach my impossible hill, where year 2 I literally thought I was going to come to a dead stop & a fellow rider, complete stranger reached out & put his hand on my back, gently carefully & purposely carrying me up the incline, increasing my momentum & lifting my dejected thoughts, it will be for you. You’re positive energy will surge through me & I’ll feel your hand on my back encouraging me to push forward knowing it’s the least I can do.

At times, we all need a hand on our back ushering us forward, steadying us to keep balanced & reassuring us we will reach the peak. I have my hand on your back Jane & am willing you the strength, courage & persistence to reach the top of your hill because I know you will, & when you do I’ll be right there coasting down the other side with you.

I love you Janey.