I was Outwalked by a 62 Year Old Breast Cancer Survivor,

Yesterday, June 27th, 2009, at the Alameda Cancer Relay for Life, We walked more than 20 miles together, We drew henna on 15 outstretched palms, We hollered out all the benefits of eating cookies before breakfast (there are 7, obviously), We sashayed through the electric slide and Soulja Boy, We slurped tons of bottles of water and milk teas, We blundered through the assembly of a fantastic, wonderful, slightly beaten canopy, We broke a tent, We admired the beauty and the wonder of the field with the lit luminarias, We sobbed, We laughed, We loved, We fought.


We, the members of Team Menon, stood among the brave, the fearless, the strong, and the hopeful. We conversed with the wise and We played with the joyful.

For a full 24 hours, we experienced the trials and tribulations of a cancer survivor. We listened to the agonizing stories, with pain etched on our faces and in our hearts, and we grieved. Because we couldn't understand, we didn't want to understand the wretched reality that is Cancer.

-The newest Ad Campaign for the ACS!

In the Beginning...

We set our tent up quickly, glancing at the attractions that other more experienced relayers had erected. And we felt the bareness of our little site with its lone poster and mismatched tent. Quickly scraping together a few decorations and supplies, we proceeded to envelop our canopy in posters galore and pink frou frou streamers. Our team began to arrive, trickling in slowly and steadily as the day progressed: Zoe, Amy, Bo, Chanelle, Kaitlyn, Jack, Shalina, Larkin, and Galen.












Then a woman came up to me. She was bald. A pink and purple ribbon displayed on her pink sweater, she flashed me a smile. And she seemed to understand exactly what I was thinking. I was wary...afraid. I didn't want to think of what she had faced. The chemo, the endless doctors' visits, the misery of it all. She looked so defenseless, so frail, and I wanted to scoop her up and hug her because I couldn't bear the thought that this woman, who reminded me of my own grandmother, had had to endure such indescribable pain. She knew I was new; I had that look on my face, the look of helplessness. I didn't know what to say to her, what to do, or how to act, but she slowly drew me in, invited me into a conversation I didn't realize I was having.


-Yes. I was new.
-Yes. I have known cancer survivors.
-Yes. I was enjoying myself.
...Your husband thinks oatmeal raisin cookies make a wonderful breakfast?
Well, then I have just the thing.

Loaded with cookies and promising to come back, she tottered away in, I was happy to note, a pair of bright pink, patent, heels. A seemingly uneventful exchange. A back and forth of common pleasantries. But you don't understand! I was expecting a certain sadness, a hint of what hid deep in her soul. I was expecting a downtrodden woman, bitter after experiencing some of the worst things the world has to offer. And instead, I found love, hope, faith, and the strength of a thousand and one men all carefully nestled into the sweet interior of a kind, old woman. I found the embodiment of what I would later learn was the spirit of every survivor on that track....and this made me think and reflect on my own situation...

I attend one of the most elite private schools in California.
I have very possible comfort I need.
I have two loving parents and a twin who provide me with everything I need to succeed.
I am healthy and have health insurance and access to excellent health care.
I am alive.
I have no right to complain about my life.
No right, whatsoever.



To Ashish Uncle: You towed along your children and you infused our site with all the potent enthusiasm of a girl scout. From managing to carry 4 large chairs from San Ramon to Alameda and urging us lazy louts to get on with our work, you filled our morning with your good-humored teasing and humor. Thank you for coming, it meant the world to me!



Our Day...was filled to bursting with all the ingredients necessary to make a wonderful day, one of those days you remember years later and tell your kids about. I had my family, my friends, and strangers who loved and appreciated me no matter who I was. Amidst the cake walks and the lemonade and the girlish gabbing that annoyed the "young men", we walked and walked... And while we walked, we were joined by people of all shapes and sizes: women in bold, flowery prints with motherly faces, men in wheelchairs still going strong, children flitting around like butterflies. As a mass, we walked. And as a mass, we, of course, lay in the grass to enjoy the sun and partake of baked yummies! We were just one group among many, celebrating those who were with us and remembering those whose spirits will always remain in our hearts. We celebrated because we knew that cancer might always be around us, lurking, but that it is also something we could fight against and win.










-Thank you Dad and Mom and Ron and Chatta:
*You managed to feed and watch over 10 teenagers while they ventured into the unknown world of fundraising.
*You bought henna and calmed my fears about my artistic inabilities.
*You wheedled and coaxed your friends and colleagues into donating towards the cause.
*And you supported a team of youngsters when it looked like they were about to fall flat on their faces.
*You guys have lotta nerve, a lotta guts, and a lotta heart!
I LOVE YOU!!

Our night...was long. Put four tired girls in a tent at 1 in the morning, make sure one of them can't get to sleep, add the crunching footsteps of a man who was in the middle of his first "practice" marathon (Great Job Dad!) and you get one crazy night. From the snores (yeah you, Kaitlyn) to the kicking (the psuedo-twins S and A), we slept amongst a multitude of bugs and little critters in a tent that we managed to set up without breaking. It was intense...but the field was aglow with the tiny luminarias that represented all those who had battled cancer. The light stretched all around us in one never-ending circle, illuminating the dark night. Waking up at 3:30 am, I walked. Because that's one thing I knew I could do. So I walked and as I passed by each lit luminaria, I read each inscription and I cried. "In Honor of my Mother...In memory of my grandmother". I didn't have a luminaria to make...not one person in my family had ever suffered from the disease...and I was so grateful for that. I hadn't experienced the sorrow some of these people were forced to go through. The entire day I had been aloof, slightly away from everything, because my experience wasn't the same. But then, walking amongst those paper bags, my heart felt a little heavier, and I grieved for those I didn't even know. Because I could suddenly feel the pain...and it hurt, hurt very deeply.

The Final Hours...were spent packing, running for coffee, and quickly cleaning up. As everyone left, and all the luminarias were taken home, the field was suddenly filled with hundreds of men and women for the Final Lap that would complete the Relay for Life. The celebration was over. But one day isn't enough. We must use every day, every moment that we have, to remember those who have passed, celebrate the survivors, and fight back against cancer. We must stomach our own fears to assuage those of others. We must nourish those with hope and courage before attacking our own minute worries. We must imbibe the spirit of giving, and give all that we have to those that have nothing. We must beat the bad, ugly, and evil in this world so that the good is all that remains in our hearts and all around us.