I'm back on the bike this year for yet another 2-day, 160-mile trek to Provincetown! This August marks my lucky #13 PMC (12 years as a rider, 1 as a volunteer). It also marks another surreal milestone: It will be 10 years since my dad passed away in August of 2014. Since then, we've also lost two of his siblings to pancreatic cancer, my Aunt Cynthia and Uncle Thomas.

The PMC is an emotional weekend for the Nobles every year, but this one will feel even more intense in all ways — a little heavier, but also a lot more motivating.

I still spend a majority of my time on long training rides thinking about my dad. It's become a sort of ritual over this past decade. I miss him daily off the bike too, of course, but when I'm logging those miles in the lead-up to the PMC, his memory is somehow even more present for me.

I remember riding alongside him on training rides in 2012 and 2013, struggling to keep up with a 60+ year old, stage four pancreatic cancer patient. I think about all the big milestones and small moments over the past decade I wished he'd been here for. I remember him enthusiastically cheering us on from the side of the road during PMC 2014, just two weeks before he died. He passed away in a hospice center right across the street from that very spot where he spent hours yelling thank you to all the PMC riders passing by.

On one recent ride, I found myself thinking about his level of commitment. He showed a superhuman level of commitment to things his whole life, and his four years with pancreatic cancer were no different. He dug his heels in and committed to doing whatever he could. He learned as much as possible about the disease, becoming an advocate for himself and others. He committed to staying healthy and fit so his body could withstand all the treatments and surgeries he had to undergo. He committed to riding 160 miles on his bike with his three kids, and raising thousands of dollars for research he knew he was already too late to benefit from himself. He committed to living a full, meaningful, intentional four years — traveling the world, moving to new places, experiencing new things (like skydiving and becoming a grandparent) and refused to let his disease hold him back.

So in his absence, the least we can do is keep this annual commitment to the PMC that he started. And year after year, your generosity keeps us inspired and keeps us pedaling. Your support pumps us up for the long ride ahead.

More importantly, though, your support has helped fund a team of doctors and researchers at Dana-Farber who are making key advances in pancreatic cancer detection and treatment. That team is led by Dr. Brian Wolpin, who is truly changing the landscape for patients with pancreatic cancer — thanks, in part, to a fund that bears my dad’s name. A fund that you’ve contributed to. A fund that is slowly but surely helping to imrpove the outcomes of pancreatic cancer diagnoses for patients and the people who love them.

I’m so proud to be a part of that effort, and I hope you are, too. 100% of every single dollar donated goes directly to funding this work.

It’s this intense mix of gratitude, excitement, and grief that makes the PMC so unlike any other weekend of the year. One of the best parts? In some way, I’ve gotten to share that experience with all of you. You are a part of this team, and I am more grateful every year.

Let’s do this, team.