Pat Connolly at Frankenstein Cliff, trying to figure out where the hell to go next...
As I was scrupulously looking over my pre-climb equipment list tonight, I began thinking about a crucial aspect left untouched - the mental aspect of Climb for Cancer Care. We've talked at length about fundraising and physical preparedness for our impending (albeit daunting) task that lie ahead. I realize though, that a significant portion of this proposed endeavour - if not the majority - of this year's attempt is going to be mental.
These questions constantly run through my mind while running this program. I don't think about these just for myself, but for everyone who signs on to join me. I want everyone to have a fun, rewarding, if not cathartic experience. I want you to have that moment at the top of the (both literal, and metaphoric) mountain where you break down and realize the accomplishment of your whole effort. Some of you are approaching your milestone of raising over $5,000.
Stop and think about that.
Why are you doing this? Is it for the chance to climb some big, beautiful mountains out west with some folks who happen to have some knowledge and skill? Are you doing this in memoriam of someone? Are you doing this in the existential manner to feel doubt, pain, uncertainty, and reliance on others, so that you may attempt to assimilate what those we are helping feel minute to minute?
Perhaps the answer to the last question is the most important. The answer to this question is what will drive you during the arduous moments. The answer to this question will give you solace if the climb goes other than planned. The answer to this question will tell you how mentally prepared you are for what you will encounter.
My intention is not to come across as the harbinger of self-doubt or negative thoughts; rather, I wish to come across at this point as a touch of reality. At the end of the day, your efforts are raising money for someone who may not see the sunrise tomorrow, let alone from a majestic peak. Your 60 minutes of suffering running stadiums will end at 60 minutes - the man undergoing his latest bout of chemotherapy is uncertain of when his pain will subside. Your choice to participate in this program, and the financial weight it can produce, is trite in comparison to the hospital bill left to the remaining family of a member passed on.
Tomorrow, as you ride your bike, run your 6 miles, lift weights at the gym, or stretch (and enjoy a great margarita), put these thoughts through your mind. Ask yourself the tough questions - see if you don't train a little harder, or put a little more effort into your fundraising bid. For if you have honest answers to your own questions (and mine, I suppose), your experience will be that much richer, more genuine.
2 comments:
Our son Andrew was one of the recipients of your wonderful generosity on the Gibson Wing at Maine Medical Center. Andy was at Maine Med from May 2009 until he passed in August of 2009. He was 27 years old. He had melanoma. During his treatments and care he enjoyed having the DVD player in his room as he could only watch so much of the "regular" tv. We thank you on his behalf and ours for the wonderful things you are giving to the patients on the Gibson Wing to help distract and comfort them from their fight with cancer. Sincerely,
Craig and Ginny Marsh
Hi Craig and Ginny,
My sincere condolences to your family - I can assimilate with your feelings. I am beyond words at the moment, frankly. My mind goes back to 2005 when my family would gather in the family room for seemingly timeless spans. I am so pleased that our efforts were able to bring comfort and distraction to Andy and the rest of you.
Rest assured, Andy will be kept in our minds as we attempt our "Two Peaks in One Week" at the end of June.
Keep in touch,
Pat
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