As I write this, it has been exactly two weeks since Jane and I finished walking SIXTY miles in three days in the Chicago version of the Komen3Day for the Cure.

We were both thrilled to have finished, exhausted and blistered, but happy and proud. The walk’s closing ceremony, held just outside Soldier Field as a thunderstorm approached, was inspiring, but, truthfully, I just wished I could sit down.

Sixty miles is a long way. I was really tired.

Two weeks later, though, it’s not really the mileage and the physical part of the walk that has stuck with me.  My blisters have healed, and I no longer stagger when I get up from a chair.

What I remember most are the stories.

I can see the face of the woman who, on the last Sunday of the walk, was exactly three years out from her last chemo treatment. Walking next to her was her 14-year-old daughter. We didn’t have to ask why she was walking.

I met another woman who told me one evening as we both waited for some expert stretching by volunteer chiropractic students about how her best friends hadn’t really wanted to talk about her doing this walk. How she felt as though they thought her breast cancer (she is a two-year survivor) might still be catching. I can still see the hurt on her face.

I remember the guy in the shiny pink satin bra (really) who had already done two of the “3days” this summer; there are 12 altogether. I never heard his connection to breast cancer, but he always had a smile and a topic of conversation to focus on, even when the going got tough.

Jane and I caught up on her job, my job, her husband, my husband, her daughter, my son. We laughed. We trudged. We slept (in pink tents). We didn’t sleep (it was really hot). We enjoyed all of the wonderful distractions that the towns we walked through put out for us, from cute cops in pink uniform shirts to popsicles and stickers and cookies.

I was particularly touched by a lone woman who sat on her stoop on Foster Street in Chicago and threw rose petals at us as we walked past. “Thank you, thank you,” she said. “You should be walking on rose petals.”

And the crossing volunteer at a busy downtown Chicago lakefront intersection telling perfect strangers on that brilliant last afternoon, “See these women? They have walked almost 60 miles, and raised more than $5 million for breast cancer. I am so proud of them.”

That’s right: 1,900 walkers in Chicago raised $5.1 million for the Susan G. Komen Foundation, which will fund everything from support groups to advanced research to targeted genetic therapies to mastectomy rehab. That makes me really proud.

What I am most happy about, though, is that women with breast cancer now have hope. They have therapies to try. They can talk about their anger, their fear, their chemo. Even with perfect strangers.

When my mom was first diagnosed, it was sometime in the 1970s, before Betty Ford talked about her mastectomy, and long before survivors in pink boas wore t-shirts that crowed, “Save the Ta-tas” and danced together to “We Will Survive.”

We didn’t really talk about mom’s breast cancer. I don’t know to this day what kind she had, or what she did about it. I don’t really even know how old she was when she was diagnosed. When she died, we were so young. We’ve missed so much without her.

But what I DO know is that my walk and the money it raised, thanks to so many of you, means that we can keep moving forward in the fight against breast cancer. Altogether, with your help, I raised $3,635! That means more women will join that survivor circle, and more daughters will be able to celebrate graduations, grandchildren and all of the other milestones that make life so sweet. Together.

Thank you, thank you, thank you for your support, your gifts and your belief in what I did in Chicago two weeks ago.

Finally, we are less than a week away from the start of the Komen 3Day for the Cure, the 60-mile walk for breast cancer research and awareness than Jane and I are taking on in Chicago. I did my last long walk yesterday — 10 miles — and I am more than ready to get going. Andy and Tomas are eager for me to get going, too. Last week Tomas said, “Mom, do you think you are overthinking this?” Gotta love that kid.

I probably am, from the stuff I need to take to how I’ll pack to whether I’ll be in good enough shape to finish without misery. Here are a few things I’ve been thinking about.

First, I have really enjoyed having a big, audacious goal — like walking 60 miles — to train for. Not that smaller, incremental goals aren’t great (hey, I help run the St. Mary’s Annual Fund, after all), but I have realized that a certain kind of motivation for me has always come from thinking about doing something I wasn’t really sure I could do. Like help run the St. Mary’s Annual Fund (now that I think of it). Like trying out for field hockey in college. Like singing a solo in church on Sunday. I enjoy a challenge, obviously. But I am surprised how much I enjoy a BIG challenge.

Next, I am awed and touched by the number of my friends and family who have supported me by donating to my walk. As I write this, I have exceeded the required fundraising goal by more than $1,000 — I am currently at $3,410, thanks to all of you. (Click HERE if you’d like to add your support to my Donor Honor Roll.) I know that what you support with your money says a lot, and I am truly grateful for everyone who is “with” me on this walk. (Including Buster Caywood, our dear friends Mary and Dave’s golden, who was the very first donor!)

I have realized in the last few weeks that as people ask about the specifics of our walk, I have left out a key piece of information: We will be SLEEPING IN TENTS every night. Yep, after we walk 22 miles on Friday, we’ll pitch our pink Komen tents, head off to the showers they set up for us in semi-trailers, and sit down at picnic tables for our hot dinner. My race credential, which I downloaded Friday, has my “tent address” on it. So the challenge of this event is as much the camping as the walking. Above you’ll find a (not very good) photo I found of the tents at a past event. I can hear you all laughing at the thought of Jane and me sharing one. Me, too.

My last thought for the day, before I head off to round up the last of my event equipment: I sure do miss my mom. I don’t think about her every day any more, but that doesn’t mean I don’t think of her often, and getting ready to do this event has brought me close to tears — again — much more often than usual. She’s been gone more than 23 years now, but some days it still seems like last week. I have SO many questions I wish I could ask her, from the silly — was I as goofy in 7th grade as Tomas sometimes is? Should I spend the money to fix my front teeth? What should I make for dinner tonight? — to the profound.

Breast cancer has taken SO many good women and men too soon. Each week I hear about someone else who is fighting — Rachel, I am thinking of you — and I feel like doing this walk, raising this money and awareness, might make a difference for them.

More details before we hit the road … and maybe some photos of the intrepid walkers themselves. Thanks again, everyone, for your support.

It was my sister’s idea: We’d meet up in Chicago in the beginning of August, and walk 60 miles to help raise money to find a cure for breast cancer. I had heard of the Komen 3Day for the Cure before, but had never really thought about doing it. Let’s just say that if Jane is in, I am in. Totally.

So I have started to walk as much as possible. It’s way different from training to run a race. Walking takes a LOT OF TIME. Progress is SLOW. I am not good at slow. Though thinking about the amazing friends who have donated their hard-earned money to my effort (see their names by clicking the link above … and add your name to the list!), and thinking about all of the people I love who have been affected by this terrible disease, has made it easier than I thought to get out there.

This morning I walked 11 miles, my longest distance yet. (Keep in mind that the actual event will have us walking 20 miles. For three days. In a row.) I walked on the Greenline, Memphis’s wonderful rails-to-trails project that stretches from Tillman Street to Shelby Farms. (Pictured above, the lovely section between Waring and Graham.) I have biked the Greenline before, thanks to my pal Mary, but walking gives you an entirely new perspective.

You actually see things when you are walking. I saw neat rows of corn, onions and peppers in a backyard garden. I saw a gold kitty greeting the day from her back porch perch. I saw poison ivy, trumpet vine, graffiti, dragonflies, the women’s prison, a cypress swamp and lots of friendly bikers and runners. (Though I was surprised to see that all bikers, even those moms and dads out with their kids, don’t wear helmets. What? I thought everyone understood about bike helmet safety by now.) There are funny signs nailed to a tree.

You smell things, too: Honeysuckle scents the path at 8am. Towering locusts and oaks make dusky shade, and the damp woodland smell makes you forget about the sunhat you left at home.

I began my three-hour tour (cue the theme from Gilligan’s Island) at High Point Terrace, where Cheffie’s is twinned with Charlie McVean’s adventure in motorized bicycles. I walked all the way out to Mile Marker 0 at Farm Rd. and Mullins Station (that’s the view from Mile Marker 0 in the photo). The mile markers are quite clear, something I never saw on my bike. Then I walked back.

At the end, I treated myself to an orange cream Italian ice from Mama D’s ices, just $1 at High Point Pizza. And two Advil.

Yes, the crest is past our fair city, but there’s still a whole bunch of water out there, and the misery is just beginning for those folks who are waiting for the flood to subside so they can see what’s left, and how bad the clean-up will be. Just by looking at this photo you can see the other problem we need to tackle: All the trash that has come floating out of the city and landed in the river. (This photo also shows the preferred spot for national news anchors’ wade-ins. Don’t miss Jon Stewart’s spot-on reporting of this goofy trend. As my husband pointed out, of course they loved working here, steps from a great market, a lovely coffee shop and a four-star hotel!)

But honestly, how can you live with yourself, seeing this, if you’ve ever thrown a plastic pop bottle out the window of a moving car (something I saw on Island Drive just last week)? And God knows what’s in that water, still lapping against the back of the Montessori school and saturating the ground in the park where our Harbor Town babies play. Plenty of agricultural pesticides, at least, but who knows what else. I wish someone (hello, CA? Maybe Andy Wise?) would take a water sample from our harbor for testing this week. Might be a good way to focus our attention on what we need to do to take better care of Mother Earth, our island home. And if you can’t think that globally, make it a good reason to stay out of the water. Jeez, people.

At least raw sewage hasn’t begun lapping at our shores, though this morning’s story in The Commercial Appeal mentioned that problem in the Cypress Creek area of North Memphis. Which brings me to another rant: I know looking at the big water of the Mississippi is sexy, and yes, the photo opportunities are irresistible. As I’ve said before, if I didn’t live in Harbor Town, I’d be down here snapping away, too. But that’s not the real story of this flood, at least not in Memphis. The real news is happening in places like Cypress Creek, Frayser, and Tunica Cutoff, where people who don’t have much to lose have lost everything. I am not minimizing the trauma of watching water climb up the side of your house on the Wolf River Harbor, but there are really only a handful of houses here that are affected. To say the national media missed the story is a wild understatement; I can’t imagine that they even know Cypress Creek and Frayser exist. Not to mention the business implications of headlines like “Memphis Flooded”; click here for an interesting take from my pal Amy Howell, a social media marketing whiz who gently chides the city for not shaping its coverage a little better. Though even Amy knows that trying to tell a reporter what story to cover is a fool’s errand.

In fact, there’s lots of great stuff going on in Memphis right now — it’s finally time for the Memphis in May Barbecue Contest (you’ve got to love a festival that welcomes a group called Big Al and the Butt Rubbers), the Griz are still in the hunt despite the shelling they took last night in OKC, and President Obama is coming Monday to celebrate the achievements of the amazing kids and their equally amazing principal down at Booker T. Washington High. Even Wendi is feeling proud of Memphis today.

But as the national media move on to the next center of the universe, as Zack McMillin (@zackmcm) tweeted recently, let’s keep our eyes focused on the real stories of the Memphis flood, and what we need to do to recover from it. I was ready to fill sandbags, and I am ready to help clean up, from Harbor Town to Cypress Creek. Just tell me where and when. I’ll be the one in the Grizzlies t-shirt … BELIEVE Memphis!

I know things are happening right now that are a little strange, out of the ordinary. But I couldn’t make this up if I tried: Tonight when we drove up Island Drive on the way home, there was this giant boat, tied up to a tree in what used to be Greenbelt Park. As if that wasn’t bizarre enough, standing on the riverwalk, playing her heart out, was this bagpiper, dressed in concert black. She had quite an audience, and segued seamlessly from “Scotland the Brave” to “Happy Birthday to You” to “Twinkle, Twinkle.” The kicker: She was wearing a gold Grizzlies “Believe Memphis” growl towel around her waist, sort of like an apron, though you can’t see it in this picture. I swear I am not making this up.

It was also Happy Hour out on the river tonight, with a whole herd of people settling in for what was a lovely sunset. There seems to be more of a more party atmosphere out tonight, since it looks like the river has crested, though The Commercial Appeal story tonight says we won’t know for a couple of days if we reached the 48 foot mark. The river looks as high as ever to me tonight. I’m not seeing anything recede yet.

I spotted the network satellite truck down near the Marina Cottages tonight, though maybe Al Roker has moved on. I hope so. As I’ve said before, it’s bad enough that the sweet Montessori school in Harbor Town is sandbagged. We didn’t need Al in his waders on the playground pointing it out to us, as he did this morning on the Today Show. And I hope someone told him he wasn’t actually standing in the Mississippi River, as he was reporting. Sorry dude. Only crazy local news reporters stand in raging river water to make a point. That was Channel 5′s Janice Broach last night in waders in the parking lot of one of the casinos in Tunica. I can actually see why doing that might help her story — no other way to show the context of the flooding — though it’s still way dangerous. (Speaking of Channel 5, they are now linking to this blog on their neighborhood pages. Thanks, Jeramia.)

Despite the misery and heartache of people leaving their homes and businesses and shelters filling up, Memphis had some great news today: President Obama picked Booker T. Washington High School in the Commencement Challenge, and he’ll give their graduation address there Monday. BTW is in a tough, inner-city neighborhood, but their graduation rate and test scores have climbed in recent years. I met Alisha Kiner, the dynamite young principal, when I interviewed her for Skirt back in the day, and she rocks. We are THRILLED for BTW’s success. If you haven’t watched the video they made to convince Obama to come, take time to watch it (it’s embedded in the news story linked above). It’ll make you feel good about Memphis.