2023
The PMC has changed my life for the better. And it's not actually as much what it did for me on my first ride- providing a meaningful, physical, charitable way to grieve my father's death- but what it has done for me more recently.
I rode one other PMC before I became a mother. It was with my fiancé, my best friend, soon to become the father of my kids. What a powerful thing to share! 192 miles. Laughs. Tears. A trust so deep it allows you to ride just an inch off the back of one another's tires. A shared experience that is very difficult to explain without enduring it together. Hmm, perhaps a bit like marriage!
And then I stopped riding. Not just the PMC, but my bike. In my experience, becoming a parent is absolutely about meeting a new version of yourself, but it can mean losing parts of yourself as well. Some of those losses can be temporary, some imagined, but perhaps some are lasting. I spent seven years wondering if my identity as an athlete was something of the past. I got used to being out of shape. I didn’t feel an urge to break the seal and go for a jog. The kids looked at their dad as the cyclist in the family, and as the one who used exercise as self-care.
But I MISSED it. The magic of the PMC. The volunteers, giving of themselves all day long in the heat just to ensure you don’t have to walk too far from your bike to refill a water bottle. The “hey PMC!” hollers from other riders during training season when they spot a jersey or water bottle from a past year’s ride. The inspiring badass riders who are currently undergoing chemo treatment and getting in the saddle despite that, or because of it! The supporters who know PMC is a place their grief can be seen as beautiful, can be shared, is appreciated. The thank you’s from kids who made it to an 8th, a 10th, a 15th birthday because of the newest treatments available. The camaraderie of pushing our bodies a bit beyond what might be reasonable, but loving every second of it.
And I missed riding. So in January of 2020, with no idea of what was to come, I signed up for my first PMC in 8 years. And I started to train. That year I learned that motherhood not only did not take away my resilience, but grew it exponentially. I went from pedaling eight miles in utter exhaustion in the spring to riding a full century with joy in the summer. And I regained a lot of faith in myself- in my ability to just commit, and THEN figure it out. This year will have me back for my fourth consecutive year since- each training season as much of a climb, but each time my confidence in my mental strength, greater.
So for me, that’s the answer to the question, “why do you PMC?” Because it has become part of my identity, of my faith in myself, of the joy I get from pushing myself just beyond the comfort zone and really living this life I’ve been given. I take great pride in and hope from the fact that PMC donates millions of dollars annually to Dana Farber each year (and will soon hit a 1 BILLION DOLLAR total gifted since the ride’s inception in 1980!), because I know ALL of our lives are impacted by cancer. That I can rally my own team of family and friends to make a meaningful contribution to that, while also gaining so very much myself from my participation, is such a true gift.
Yes, PMC has changed my life for the better and I can’t get enough. Thank you from the bottom of my heart for your support.
---------------------------
YES. Oh I feel this so often. I’m hearing about wildfires, laws that hurt transgender kids and adults, racial inequities in healthcare (just today I heard a statistic that on average people in one Boston neighborhood have life expectancies 25 YEARS less than those in another Boston neighborhood), and the list goes on. When I feel that overwhelm, I am grateful for this quote- and try to think about the threads at which I do pull. I think about how my kids see me pull at those threads, and are beginning to pull at their own small threads as well. None of us can do this alone, but if we all do our part, I have faith in humanity. At this time of year, my energy becomes focused on raising funds in the battle against cancer- that is my “little corner of work” in the summertime. Earlier detection, more effective treatment, and increased access to care help us all. I appreciate that my work now cannot go back and change my father’s outcome, nor Pete’s or Beth’s or Katherine’s, but I know someone was “pulling at” the cancer thread then, too, and their efforts helped us have the best care possible for our loved ones at the time. I raise funds by participating in the Pan Mass Challenge bicycle ride with my team- Team Kinetic Karma. The team name- and the spirit of every team member- embodies exactly this idea… we are using our energy, paying it forward, each pulling at a corner of the whole damn cloth so that our impact is far greater than each of us alone. 100% of every rider dollar raised goes directly to Dana-Farber Cancer Institute, and this year, PMC riders have a goal of raising $70 MILLION. If achieved, this record fundraising campaign would bring the PMC’s total contributions in the fight against cancer to $970 million since 1980, positioning the organization to cross a monumental $1 BILLION cumulative fundraising milestone in 2024. So yes, as I said, we all have to pull at our own little thread!! My individual fundraising goal this year is $4,500 and, when achieved, will bring me to a lifetime contribution of $27,478.
If you are able this year, please contribute to my PMC ride. Your gift, whether $50, $100, or $1000, will be a tug at one of the threads. Imagine being part of the $1 BILLION that is helping to unravel the WHOLE DAMN CLOTH. I am so excited to be moving towards a world without cancer, one less thing to overwhelm the future generations. Thank you.
2022
When I was six, I’m fairly sure cancer was not in my vocabulary. Nor when I was eight. My children have known and used the word for years, from the time they could form meaningful sentences. But, despite what you may therefore imagine, I do not believe they associate the word with fear the way I have. They couple it with a feeling of empowerment, with team camaraderie and joy, with a sense of family and belonging to a cause bigger than oneself; they associate it with the PMC. The Pan Mass Challenge has been ridden since 1980, the year I was born, and since then it has raised $831 million for Dana-Farber Cancer Institute. The unique gift of the PMC, aside from being an event that raises more money for charity than any other single athletic fundraising event in the country, is that it brings hope and celebration and a resounding message that, in life, one should commit with the knowledge that, somehow, you’ll figure it out. I am grateful that my father introduced me to the PMC when he was riding it in the 1990s, and that he re-introduced me and my sisters to it as a way to grieve, with intense meaning, with laughter, and with a way to support others, when he died in 2010 and we rode 192 miles together two months later. I am thankful that I had it to share with my husband, and that our team, Team Kinetic Karma, was a built-in support system for us both as we lost two more parents and his sister in the early years of our marriage. Most of all, I LOVE watching our kids cheer PMC riders, participate in their own kids’ rides, bask in the power that comes from community, and I am so so glad that they will be growing up in a time with more cancer treatments, cures, and preventative care. Thanks in no small part to the work at Dana Farber, my kids can also name people living joyous lives with cancer or with it in their rearview, they know about miracles that occur each year changing what it means to receive a cancer diagnosis. They know we are in this together. Please, commit to my PMC fundraising (again!) this year. I will keep you posted on the joy that comes with this training season, our ride this summer, and maybe some of you can make it out to witness the magic on the first weekend of August this year...and bring your kids!!!
Below is a piece I wrote in 2012 called Tuesdays.
I love to ride with my dad on Tuesdays. I leave work in Boston a little earlier than usual. Bike on the top of the car, clothes in a bag, and I actually remember to bring my contacts. I throw on the spandex in the school restroom- a little awkward walking out past the co-workers, but worth the time it saves once I get to Concord. I set up my bike in the parking lot, pump up the tires, check my water bottles, wait for him to come down. The first few spins of the pedals and a smile already starts to creep across my face. We turn left out of the parking lot and again at the end of the street, onto the Lowell Road and over the bridge across the river. Swing a right onto Liberty Street and spin up the first hill with a view of the Old North Bridge. We don’t speak, but push up a few hills, along some flats, and reach the first real downhill. My dad takes the middle of the road, not wanting to hit ruts or sand at top speeds. I shift gears again and again, until I’m down in the drops, watching the computer on my handlebars until I hit 30, then 35. I think about how much I love him. How this downhill sensation, this freedom, is something he has given me. I smile wider and spin faster. A few riders are coming up the other way, and we all give the universal greeting, with a few fingers off the handlebars. Watersedge Farm is the next landmark of this ride, and it’s the horses out in the fields that remind me we’re almost to Carlisle. I think about the fact that if we were with his buddies, he might drop back a little at this point. Back alongside me so we could plan our sneak attack. On this ride though, he takes the town line and keeps rolling. I miss riding with his friends- most Tuesdays now I think I need to get around to calling them so they can join us. I mean to make those calls, I really do, but I also love this time I have with just him. Turning onto Bedford Road, I know we’re both thinking about every ride we ever took as a family out to Kimball’s Farm. In my memory on those childhood rides, there were always steep hills on this route and he would end up having to put a hand in the middle of my back to push me along. Now I feel strong, and it crosses my mind that I owe him that, too- these weekly sprints with him have me in bike shape that feels amazing. Coming out of the center of Carlisle on 225, I stick with our deal: nothing slower than twelve miles an hour uphill. We meet up with Curve Street and I think about the other loop I do out here. We never do that one on Tuesdays because on Tuesdays we are cranking, racing the clock, always looking to set our course record. In fact, as we head up toward the intersection with 27, he stands in the saddle. I remain less than a foot behind his rear tire. We’ve ridden together long enough for me to trust that this won’t kick his tire back into mine. Now this is the part where I really have to grit my teeth, because there are not one, but two town lines in the next quarter mile. We both take off and I train my eyes on a tree trunk ¾ of the way to the top of the hill. It helps, but who am I kidding? My dad takes the uphill line and then I fly by, and nail the sign back into Carlisle after a daunting left-hand turn. And we’re onto West Street. This is the best part of the ride. We’re well warmed up at this point, and the scenery is beautiful: the colors, the fields, a red tractor sitting alone. I think about this part of my life, and I am so, so thankful. This feeling intensifies as we pass Pope Road and West Street becomes Westford Road. We are truly flying, and cross into Concord together. Together. And now I know what it feels like to be having an asthma attack. My chest tightens. It feels very, very hard to breathe. Because I have never ridden this loop with my father on a Tuesday. He died 22 months ago. He taught me this loop on a map, when the brain tumor had slowed his speech, but not yet his capacity to show me all the turns.
My father's seven-month battle with cancer was unlike anything else I have experienced in its ability to bring grief, disappointment, and fear, but with it some of the most beautiful and joyful moments for my family and my father's friends. Before his death on June 8, 2010, we spent seven months by his side, celebrating the wonderfully-lived 58 years of the most amazing man we know, and will move forward trying to incorporate his lessons into our own lives and the world around us. My dad Jeff is the reason I know the joy of the bike in the first place. This August, I will ride the PMC with my fiancé, 26 months after losing my father. Tyler and I will be married two months later and I know, I just know, my dad will find a way to be there… like he is with me on Tuesdays.
What will it be like to do a ride I know he has enjoyed, imagining drafting an inch off of his rear tire, missing him desperately with every pedal stroke? It will be an incredible challenge. Knowing that I am doing the ride as part of my commitment to raise at least $5,500 towards cancer research will make it a gift. The millions that the PMC raises this year will decrease incidence rates, increase survival rates, help patients and families in financial need, and, will bring hope and optimism to many. Please contribute.
See www.pmc.org for more information about the cause and the miracles that its funds work each day.
2023
The PMC has changed my life for the better. And it's not actually as much what it did for me on my first ride- providing a meaningful, physical, charitable way to grieve my father's death- but what it has done for me more recently.
I rode one other PMC before I became a mother. It was with my fiancé, my best friend, soon to become the father of my kids. What a powerful thing to share! 192 miles. Laughs. Tears. A trust so deep it allows you to ride just an inch off the back of one another's tires. A shared experience that is very difficult to explain without enduring it together. Hmm, perhaps a bit like marriage!
And then I stopped riding. Not just the PMC, but my bike. In my experience, becoming a parent is absolutely about meeting a new version of yourself, but it can mean losing parts of yourself as well. Some of those losses can be temporary, some imagined, but perhaps some are lasting. I spent seven years wondering if my identity as an athlete was something of the past. I got used to being out of shape. I didn’t feel an urge to break the seal and go for a jog. The kids looked at their dad as the cyclist in the family, and as the one who used exercise as self-care.
But I MISSED it. The magic of the PMC. The volunteers, giving of themselves all day long in the heat just to ensure you don’t have to walk too far from your bike to refill a water bottle. The “hey PMC!” hollers from other riders during training season when they spot a jersey or water bottle from a past year’s ride. The inspiring badass riders who are currently undergoing chemo treatment and getting in the saddle despite that, or because of it! The supporters who know PMC is a place their grief can be seen as beautiful, can be shared, is appreciated. The thank you’s from kids who made it to an 8th, a 10th, a 15th birthday because of the newest treatments available. The camaraderie of pushing our bodies a bit beyond what might be reasonable, but loving every second of it.
And I missed riding. So in January of 2020, with no idea of what was to come, I signed up for my first PMC in 8 years. And I started to train. That year I learned that motherhood not only did not take away my resilience, but grew it exponentially. I went from pedaling eight miles in utter exhaustion in the spring to riding a full century with joy in the summer. And I regained a lot of faith in myself- in my ability to just commit, and THEN figure it out. This year will have me back for my fourth consecutive year since- each training season as much of a climb, but each time my confidence in my mental strength, greater.
So for me, that’s the answer to the question, “why do you PMC?” Because it has become part of my identity, of my faith in myself, of the joy I get from pushing myself just beyond the comfort zone and really living this life I’ve been given. I take great pride in and hope from the fact that PMC donates millions of dollars annually to Dana Farber each year (and will soon hit a 1 BILLION DOLLAR total gifted since the ride’s inception in 1980!), because I know ALL of our lives are impacted by cancer. That I can rally my own team of family and friends to make a meaningful contribution to that, while also gaining so very much myself from my participation, is such a true gift.
Yes, PMC has changed my life for the better and I can’t get enough. Thank you from the bottom of my heart for your support.
---------------------------
YES. Oh I feel this so often. I’m hearing about wildfires, laws that hurt transgender kids and adults, racial inequities in healthcare (just today I heard a statistic that on average people in one Boston neighborhood have life expectancies 25 YEARS less than those in another Boston neighborhood), and the list goes on. When I feel that overwhelm, I am grateful for this quote- and try to think about the threads at which I do pull. I think about how my kids see me pull at those threads, and are beginning to pull at their own small threads as well. None of us can do this alone, but if we all do our part, I have faith in humanity. At this time of year, my energy becomes focused on raising funds in the battle against cancer- that is my “little corner of work” in the summertime. Earlier detection, more effective treatment, and increased access to care help us all. I appreciate that my work now cannot go back and change my father’s outcome, nor Pete’s or Beth’s or Katherine’s, but I know someone was “pulling at” the cancer thread then, too, and their efforts helped us have the best care possible for our loved ones at the time. I raise funds by participating in the Pan Mass Challenge bicycle ride with my team- Team Kinetic Karma. The team name- and the spirit of every team member- embodies exactly this idea… we are using our energy, paying it forward, each pulling at a corner of the whole damn cloth so that our impact is far greater than each of us alone. 100% of every rider dollar raised goes directly to Dana-Farber Cancer Institute, and this year, PMC riders have a goal of raising $70 MILLION. If achieved, this record fundraising campaign would bring the PMC’s total contributions in the fight against cancer to $970 million since 1980, positioning the organization to cross a monumental $1 BILLION cumulative fundraising milestone in 2024. So yes, as I said, we all have to pull at our own little thread!! My individual fundraising goal this year is $4,500 and, when achieved, will bring me to a lifetime contribution of $27,478.
If you are able this year, please contribute to my PMC ride. Your gift, whether $50, $100, or $1000, will be a tug at one of the threads. Imagine being part of the $1 BILLION that is helping to unravel the WHOLE DAMN CLOTH. I am so excited to be moving towards a world without cancer, one less thing to overwhelm the future generations. Thank you.
2022
When I was six, I’m fairly sure cancer was not in my vocabulary. Nor when I was eight. My children have known and used the word for years, from the time they could form meaningful sentences. But, despite what you may therefore imagine, I do not believe they associate the word with fear the way I have. They couple it with a feeling of empowerment, with team camaraderie and joy, with a sense of family and belonging to a cause bigger than oneself; they associate it with the PMC. The Pan Mass Challenge has been ridden since 1980, the year I was born, and since then it has raised $831 million for Dana-Farber Cancer Institute. The unique gift of the PMC, aside from being an event that raises more money for charity than any other single athletic fundraising event in the country, is that it brings hope and celebration and a resounding message that, in life, one should commit with the knowledge that, somehow, you’ll figure it out. I am grateful that my father introduced me to the PMC when he was riding it in the 1990s, and that he re-introduced me and my sisters to it as a way to grieve, with intense meaning, with laughter, and with a way to support others, when he died in 2010 and we rode 192 miles together two months later. I am thankful that I had it to share with my husband, and that our team, Team Kinetic Karma, was a built-in support system for us both as we lost two more parents and his sister in the early years of our marriage. Most of all, I LOVE watching our kids cheer PMC riders, participate in their own kids’ rides, bask in the power that comes from community, and I am so so glad that they will be growing up in a time with more cancer treatments, cures, and preventative care. Thanks in no small part to the work at Dana Farber, my kids can also name people living joyous lives with cancer or with it in their rearview, they know about miracles that occur each year changing what it means to receive a cancer diagnosis. They know we are in this together. Please, commit to my PMC fundraising (again!) this year. I will keep you posted on the joy that comes with this training season, our ride this summer, and maybe some of you can make it out to witness the magic on the first weekend of August this year...and bring your kids!!!
Below is a piece I wrote in 2012 called Tuesdays.
I love to ride with my dad on Tuesdays. I leave work in Boston a little earlier than usual. Bike on the top of the car, clothes in a bag, and I actually remember to bring my contacts. I throw on the spandex in the school restroom- a little awkward walking out past the co-workers, but worth the time it saves once I get to Concord. I set up my bike in the parking lot, pump up the tires, check my water bottles, wait for him to come down. The first few spins of the pedals and a smile already starts to creep across my face. We turn left out of the parking lot and again at the end of the street, onto the Lowell Road and over the bridge across the river. Swing a right onto Liberty Street and spin up the first hill with a view of the Old North Bridge. We don’t speak, but push up a few hills, along some flats, and reach the first real downhill. My dad takes the middle of the road, not wanting to hit ruts or sand at top speeds. I shift gears again and again, until I’m down in the drops, watching the computer on my handlebars until I hit 30, then 35. I think about how much I love him. How this downhill sensation, this freedom, is something he has given me. I smile wider and spin faster. A few riders are coming up the other way, and we all give the universal greeting, with a few fingers off the handlebars. Watersedge Farm is the next landmark of this ride, and it’s the horses out in the fields that remind me we’re almost to Carlisle. I think about the fact that if we were with his buddies, he might drop back a little at this point. Back alongside me so we could plan our sneak attack. On this ride though, he takes the town line and keeps rolling. I miss riding with his friends- most Tuesdays now I think I need to get around to calling them so they can join us. I mean to make those calls, I really do, but I also love this time I have with just him. Turning onto Bedford Road, I know we’re both thinking about every ride we ever took as a family out to Kimball’s Farm. In my memory on those childhood rides, there were always steep hills on this route and he would end up having to put a hand in the middle of my back to push me along. Now I feel strong, and it crosses my mind that I owe him that, too- these weekly sprints with him have me in bike shape that feels amazing. Coming out of the center of Carlisle on 225, I stick with our deal: nothing slower than twelve miles an hour uphill. We meet up with Curve Street and I think about the other loop I do out here. We never do that one on Tuesdays because on Tuesdays we are cranking, racing the clock, always looking to set our course record. In fact, as we head up toward the intersection with 27, he stands in the saddle. I remain less than a foot behind his rear tire. We’ve ridden together long enough for me to trust that this won’t kick his tire back into mine. Now this is the part where I really have to grit my teeth, because there are not one, but two town lines in the next quarter mile. We both take off and I train my eyes on a tree trunk ¾ of the way to the top of the hill. It helps, but who am I kidding? My dad takes the uphill line and then I fly by, and nail the sign back into Carlisle after a daunting left-hand turn. And we’re onto West Street. This is the best part of the ride. We’re well warmed up at this point, and the scenery is beautiful: the colors, the fields, a red tractor sitting alone. I think about this part of my life, and I am so, so thankful. This feeling intensifies as we pass Pope Road and West Street becomes Westford Road. We are truly flying, and cross into Concord together. Together. And now I know what it feels like to be having an asthma attack. My chest tightens. It feels very, very hard to breathe. Because I have never ridden this loop with my father on a Tuesday. He died 22 months ago. He taught me this loop on a map, when the brain tumor had slowed his speech, but not yet his capacity to show me all the turns.
My father's seven-month battle with cancer was unlike anything else I have experienced in its ability to bring grief, disappointment, and fear, but with it some of the most beautiful and joyful moments for my family and my father's friends. Before his death on June 8, 2010, we spent seven months by his side, celebrating the wonderfully-lived 58 years of the most amazing man we know, and will move forward trying to incorporate his lessons into our own lives and the world around us. My dad Jeff is the reason I know the joy of the bike in the first place. This August, I will ride the PMC with my fiancé, 26 months after losing my father. Tyler and I will be married two months later and I know, I just know, my dad will find a way to be there… like he is with me on Tuesdays.
What will it be like to do a ride I know he has enjoyed, imagining drafting an inch off of his rear tire, missing him desperately with every pedal stroke? It will be an incredible challenge. Knowing that I am doing the ride as part of my commitment to raise at least $5,500 towards cancer research will make it a gift. The millions that the PMC raises this year will decrease incidence rates, increase survival rates, help patients and families in financial need, and, will bring hope and optimism to many. Please contribute.
See www.pmc.org for more information about the cause and the miracles that its funds work each day.
I have chosen to keep all of my donors' information confidential; therefore it is not displayed on my PMC public donor list.
| 2024 | $250.00 | PMC Fundraiser |
| 2023 | $4,368.00 | Wellesley to Bourne (1-Day, Sat) |
| 2022 | $4,160.00 | Wellesley Century |
| 2021 | $3,818.00 | Wellesley Century |
| 2020 | $2,813.75 | Wellesley to Provincetown Inn (2-Day) |
| 2012 | $5,430.00 | Sturbridge to Provincetown Monument (2-Day) |
| 2010 | $6,706.67 | Wellesley to Provincetown Monument (2-Day) |
