I never liked pink before. It was too “girlie” for me. Today I found myself surrounded by a sea of pink, and it was beautiful.
My husband and I participated in the 2012 Komen Race for the Cure 5 km walk today in Portland, Oregon. I wore a bright pink survivor shirt and received special survivor benefits–a special finish lane, a red carnation, a goodie bag, and a free mini-brunch at the end. I felt special.
We walked in a flowing river of pink and white, made up of so many unique individuals. Some wore tutus or long, pink scarves. Some dyed their hair pink or carried bright balloons. Whole families walked–from grandparents to toddlers. I saw one person pushing a stroller which held a cute little terrier. Later a group of men walked past, who appeared to be a cross between Scots and Vikings with kilts and bright pink, horned helmets.
The special bibs people wore on their backs hinted at touching stories of hope and loss. Some said they walked “in memory of” someone. So many names, including a lot of “Mom,” “Grandma,” and “Nana.” Others marched “in celebration of” those who had won the battle, or were, perhaps, still fighting.
It was a reminder that there can be strength in numbers, that we aren’t in this alone, that those of us who have beaten the demon need to support those still fighting it and provide hope to those yet to come.
My race bib contained the motto, “I am the cure.” There is strength in that saying. Yet it is probably more appropriate to say, “We are the cure,” because one person alone can’t beat cancer. It takes a sea of pink.