Some years ago, my sister and I did a 3-Day Walk for breast cancer. We raised over $10,000 and walked nearly 60 miles in honor of our beloved grandmother. As prepared as I was for the physical challenge, I had no idea the profound emotional impact the three days would have on me.
We showed up on Day One with thousands of other walkers, toting all our gear. Camp each night was a highly organized, portable tent community for walkers and crew arranged in neat rows on local football fields along the route.
Day One kicked off with an exciting, upbeat opening ceremony. The mild October weather was perfect. The moment for which we’d been training for months had finally arrived. We were ready to get started on the long 24 miles we were scheduled to walk that day.
Along the route, the walkers spread out as we all found our own comfortable pace. It was inspiring to see breast cancer survivors in pink walk alongside allies in white, together hoping to raise awareness for a disease that touches or takes the lives of so many.
These events are not competitive races, but for safety reasons, you must finish walking the day’s route by dark or be “swept” by a van that takes you to the next campsite. After experiencing increasing pain in her knees, at mile 18, my sister opted to be swept to the next camp for the night. Exhausted but motivated, I finished the last six miles on my own.
By the time I got to camp, my sister had her knees wrapped with heavy physical therapy tape and was cleared to walk the next day. We ate dinner and turned in for the night, hoping for the best as thunderstorms were forecasted for the next 24 hours and we had no idea how my sister’s knees would fare the next day. Day One was in the books.
Without warning, I awoke three hours later with stomach cramps and overwhelming nausea. The forecasted storms were upon us, and torrential rain was leaking into our tent. The tent’s rain tarp was no match for the rapidly flooding football field. I spent the hours approaching daybreak climbing in and out of our wet tent, running for the line of port-a-potties at the end of our row. At one point, since I was drier there than than in our tent, I just hung out in the port-a-potty instead of spending the energy to go back and forth. It was miserable.
By dawn, my body was completely depleted. My sister’s knees were throbbing despite some powerful pain meds. And we still had to break down camp and set out on our 20+ miles for the day in the driving rain. As we slowly gathered our things and folded up our sopping tent, we looked up at the menacing sky and couldn’t help but laugh and cry at the same time.
Day Two – the middle of the walk – was much different from Day One. Gone was the excitement of the start of the journey. We were determined just to put one foot in front of the other and get to the end of the day. Our energy was incredibly low. For miles, we barely talked at all.
But as the day wore on, the rain let up, my stomach issues improved, and we drew on the spirits of others to get us through. Breast cancer survivors with disabilities persevered with much less physical ability than our mildly compromised bodies. They inspired us to press on. Schoolchildren with encouraging signs lined the route and waved from windows, cheering as we passed. We looked down at the bandanas we wore, filled with names of the loved ones our donors wanted us to remember as we walked, and we knew we wouldn’t stop. What was our mild discomfort compared to what they had been through?
Somehow, we made it to camp and ended Day Two with a much better mindset than when we started. My sister’s knees were shot, but we finished the day’s miles, albeit slowly. It felt like a monumental achievement, and we were exhausted by the time we walked into camp that night. But we were proud to have finished the day on foot.
As we hobbled down our assigned row, we were surprised to see that our tent had already been set up by a stranger who surely knew that if we were still walking as it neared dusk, we must be struggling. We almost cried with gratitude. What an incredibly simple yet meaningful way to think of others in their time of need. We spent the cool, starlit evening at camp in clean clothes, eating dinner and relaxing with fellow participants before crashing early in our sleeping bags. We were relieved to have only thirteen miles to walk the next day.
We awoke on Day Three well rested and motivated to get to the finish line. We ate breakfast, wrapped the knees, packed up our campsite and hit the road. The weather was sunny, and everyone’s spirits were high. After the challenges we’d been through, thirteen miles in the sunshine with a good night of rest and a full stomach felt within reach.
Many people living or working along the route posted signs or cheered as we passed to encourage us to keep going. We were also inspired by other walkers who shared heartfelt stories of survival or loss.
As we rounded the last bend into a grassy field for closing ceremonies, breast cancer survivors split off and walked together in solidarity, as the rest of us each silently took off and held a single tennis shoe high in the air as a sign of respect and admiration for all they had been through. Our struggles on the walk were nothing compared to what they had suffered through to be here. It was one of the most collectively moving things I have ever witnessed.
The tone then turned celebratory, with raucous music and motivational speakers. We each finished the three days of walking in our own way, but we all overcame personal challenges to do it. I was relieved to be done, but part of me didn’t want the feeling of unifying toward a common goal to end.
Since the first one, I’ve done two more of these multi-day walks. Each time, I am reminded of a simple but important lesson – in every worthwhile endeavor, don’t let the messy middle stop you from finishing.
Day Two of our walk was incredibly difficult. We were physically depleted and weak. Driving rain persisted much of the day. We hadn’t just begun, nor were we even remotely close to the finish line. It was often lonely and boring, with the bad weather keeping non-participants inside. But we had to muddle through that very challenging part of the journey to be able to celebrate getting to the end.
Think of hard things you’ve been through. You start out enthusiastic and energetic, ready to tackle every challenge and determined to reach your goal. This honeymoon phase lasts until you hit the inevitable roadblock. What’s your reaction?
You have a choice to push through, work around it, or allow yourself to turn back and not finish what you started. Occasionally, turning back might be the right answer. Most of the time, though, finding the motivation and drive to move forward is the best choice. The middle can be hard work, discouraging, or just plain boring, but necessary to get what you want. If you stop when things get hard, you are quitting too soon to reap the benefits.
What are you in the middle of right now? What goals do you wonder if you’ll ever reach?
Don’t take the easy way out just because it’s gotten hard. Rally support to push through the middle and get to the other side. The extra effort will be worth it in the end, both for you and for those around you who stand to benefit.
