Snowshoe Series Aims to Stomp Out Breast Cancer
By Stefani Jackenthal
For Active.com
"Go Team Grandma Helene!" "Go Team Grandma Helene!" chanted my niece and nephew with every step my out-of-breath mom took as she raced along the 3K Tubbs Romp to Stomp out Breast Cancer Snowshoe. That crisp, sunny morning, my mother, Helene, a breast cancer survivor who is currently battling lung cancer, strapped on snowshoes for the first time in her life.
"These are pretty cool," she said, tapping them together fascinated with their sleek, lightweight design. "They're not what I expected." She envisioned wooden slabs with leather mesh. Give her a break; she lives in the Sunshine State and doesn't see much snow.
My brother, Ron, and his family reside in Utah, so we thought snowshoeing together at the Salt Lake City Tubbs Romp on the Mountain Dell Golf Course would be terrific way to support our mom. I flew in from New York, while our mom and other brother, Michael, left warm West Palm Beach, Florida, to Romp to Stomp together.
The snowshoeing series, which started in 2003, raises money for Susan G. Komen for the Cure. The series offers 3K and 5K races in five states throughout the country: New Jersey, Vermont, Utah, Oregon and Colorado. The Colorado event is the largest and attracted more than 2,200 participants in 2008.
As we clunked to the energized starting area, music cranked and 469 spirited snowshoers shook their hips and pumped their fists. "Three ... two ... one... go!" We were off. Holding hands in a family chain, we thumped down the first steep hill onto the crunchy, undulating snow-covered greens. The warm sun felt great as we marched into the pod of snowshoers zigzagging along the sprawling, snow-carpeted field.
"I don't think I can do this," said my mom, who was out of breath and holding my arm. We were just 20 minutes in. Having undergone chemotherapy just two weeks earlier, she wasn't at 100 percent and the thin air at 6,000 feet altitude wasn't helping. While finishing the 3K was our goal, starting and staying together was most important.
After a brief rest and a "You can do it Grandma!" from my 9-year-old nephew and 7-year-old niece, mom rallied. We pressed on slowly and methodically, sipping the fresh mountain air. As an endurance athlete who has competed in six-day running races across the Kalahari Desert in South Africa and in Costa Rica, the Hawaii Ironman, and adventure races in Borneo and Ecuador, I know what it is to suffer. This was the first time I had ever seen my mom dig so deep, and I felt an unfamiliar athletic bond with her that is typically reserved for my fellow competitors.
At the halfway point, we met Barbara, also a breast cancer survivor, who was resting her weary feet daunted by poor circulation. She joined our posse. Further along the course, the husband of a cancer survivor gave my mom his water, peanut butter crackers, and told her "You are such an inspiration for being out here, go do your best."
As we neared the end of the tree-lined rolling route, the finish appeared atop the steep hill we descended nearly two hours earlier. My mom was hurting. "It may be time to call the rescue snowmobile," she said, starring up the hill while stopping to catch her breath. With my brother holding one arm and me clutching the other, we took it step-by-step with a few rest stops in between.
"Go Team Grandma Helene!" we chanted in unison. Onward we went. We inched up the hill and upon crossing under the pink finish banner, my mom collapsed into my arms as we hugged. My family piled in and from beneath came a muffled "We did it!"
