My Ride to Conquer Cancer Story by Dawn Balmer

Jun 22, 2009

My Ride to Conquer Cancer Story

I was really nervous Saturday morning. Despite all of the endurance events that I have completed in the past, chemotherapy has quite literally knocked the wind out of me. I still get out of breath and tired easily. That and the cold weather (Chemo has made me even more sensitive to the cold. My friends used to call me Nanook before because I wore so much more clothing when running) prevented me from training properly and I was not confident that I could actually complete the ride.

As usual, at the start I felt the familiar surge of adrenaline as I looked around at the sea of riders. It was comforting to know that my long time friend and marathon training partner Doug would be riding with me. The riders around me were all different ages, shapes and sizes and many were riding bikes that were not designed for long distances. It emphasized the fact that this was an event for raising awareness about cancer.

My nerves settled down as we cycled along the Lakeshore with the frequent stops and starts, due to traffic. As we left the city, the riders started to spread out. I had a yellow survivor flag attached to my bike and many riders would say encouraging words as we passed. Similarly as I rode alongside other survivors, we would briefly exchange stories. One man rode with an empty child seat to represent his 2 year old son undergoing chemo. There were quite a few riders with pictures or names of loved ones on their shirts. It is a disease that impacts the lives of so many people and their families.

There were frequent rest stops with food and a chance to fill up water bottles (and of course use a port-a-potty). The first day, lunch was at the 70 km mark. I knew at that point I would at least make it through day 1 even though there were rain clouds looming. After only a few raindrops, we were heading towards Hamilton and the infamous "hill". At first we mostly coasted down into the city. Normally cycling downhill is pleasant but there was that nagging feeling that what goes down must go up. As indeed it did. Although it was a seemingly endless hill and I passed many people walking their bikes, it was a gradual enough incline that I made it to the top without stopping. Doug, despite our agreement to meet at the top kept checking that I was OK. It was an apt metaphor for friends helping you overcome hurdles (especially cancer) in life.

It was a giant party when we made it to Mohawk College and the end of 105 km of riding. The fatigue was replaced with excitement (of course the free beer probably helped) as riders exchanged stories with friends, both old and new. We shared a dinner table with a group of people from London. As we discussed our reasons for riding we discovered that we all knew my daughters' friend that died of leukemia (he was in his fourth year of university). His memory is a reminder of why this event is important.

Sunday was warm, bright and sunny (I still wore a long sleeve shirt). The first 50 km were fairly flat and meandered along a route that included some spectacular scenery. Surprisingly, I was not as sore as I had expected to be. It was one of those days that you are glad to be alive. My days of being in post chemo "zombieland" were over and I was on an incredible high. We had started at 8:00 in the morning and were at the 50 km mark and lunch at 10:30 even though we had stopped at the first rest station. We were (or at least I was figuratively) flying.

The next 25 km were more hilly and included one long, steep hill that this time I did have to walk, along with just about everyone else. It was hard and I was getting tired. But it wasn't nearly as hard or tiring as going through chemo and I knew that I could tough it out and complete the ride. During the last 25 km, Doug slowed the pace down and kept checking to see if I needed a break, but I wanted to finish the ride so we skipped the last break station.

As we neared Niagara Falls, the cheers from the spectators helped lift my spirits and take away the aches. It was exhilarating to cross the finish line and hear the announcer say "Here comes another survivor". The finish area was a mass of riders and their friends and families. The party atmosphere was phenomenal. It was difficult to move through the bikes and people. It was hard to hear because of the announcer, cheering, music and excited babble of people talking. We finally found Doug's wife Jonquil and Jim despite the throngs of people. Thank heavens for cell phones. I was tired, sore and thirsty but I felt fantastic! A month ago, the doctor told me that the CAT scan was clear, but it didn't seem real. Crossing that finish line, I finally felt like I am once again my old self, not a cancer patient but an endurance athlete.

It has been almost a year to the day since I first heard those terrifying words "You have cancer". It has been a long, difficult "ride" but I constantly had people by my side helping me. My Mom stayed with me through every treatment and my zombie days. My daughters, Sarah and Diana constantly phoned to check on me when they couldn't be with me. My husband, Jim encouraged me with plans for where we would travel when I was better. Family and friends baked cookies, made soup, phoned, and sent cards, flowers and emails. During those times of coasting downhill, it is easy to take life for granted but when you are struggling uphill, it makes you really appreciate the people in your life and simple pleasures like cycling.
Dawn Balmer