2008 Honorary Survivor Chair, Elaine Grossman

The past president of Komen Aspen, Elaine Grossman was diagnosed with estrogen-receptor-positive, early stage breast cancer in October of 2000. Discovery of the lump was immediately followed by an ultrasound and needle biopsy, and eventually, two lumpectomies—the second one to clear the margins—and a course of an aromatase inhibitor medication.

“I became aware that I had missed my annual mammogram in October because it was breast cancer awareness month. Coincidentally, my friend wanted a friend to go with her to her annual appointment. It’s good to go with a friend. I had a definite diagnosis within 48 hours,” Elaine said. “My nodes were clean, so I chose not to undergo chemotherapy, but did complete radiation treatment, and then took Femara,” she said. “But, it’s not all about the medication,” she added. “Recent studies have shown that also watching diet and exercising can reduce the recurrence of breast cancer by 40 percent.”

From Massachusetts originally, and an avid cyclist, Elaine participated in the Pan-Mass Challenge, an annual cycling event that raises money for life-saving cancer research and treatment at through its In 2001, with Lisa Consiglio, a fellow Komen Aspen board member, Elaine co-directed the first Aspen/Snowmass Ride for the Cure® on September 11, 2004, “a ride to remember” modeled after the PMC event. That first year, the event raised $430,000.

They Miss the More Energetic Me

Survivor Story by Marisa Post—2008 Honorary Survivor Co-Chair

I discovered my cancer during a monthly breast self exam, and had a stage one lobular invasive carcinoma. My treatment included a bi-lateral mastectomy followed by a Tamoxifen regimen, and reconstruction. I subsequently had an hysterectomy and oophorectomy (or ovariectomy). I feel good now, but my work as education director for Theatre Aspen is very physical, so the short term impact was devastating due to so many needed surgeries and recovery time.

Long term, the hardest thing to deal with has been the fatigue I feel daily without a reproductive system, and everything that accompanies it. So, in general I have slowed down. I don’t attribute my slow-down to the cancer, however, but as a result of treatment.  My family misses the more energetic me, but needless to say, they are thrilled that I am alive and well!  I hope to live a long time, and become a grandmother.

Throughout the surgeries and aftermath, I have held a positive attitude, so I today tell other survivors to keep their faith, read as much as they can on the subject (since you will become your own best advocate), let friends and family help (they want to help, it aids their healing, too), and keep your sense of humor (this helped me throughout the process and still does).

In the future, a cure would be wonderful, of course, but I would settle for a better understanding of breast cancer triggers and the development of early testing mechanisms to identify those triggers—much earlier than tumor presence. I believe in the Komen for the Cure promise to end breast cancer forever, and here locally their outreach is incredible. During my crisis, Komen Aspen was there for me. Together we all become a bigger voice.

I have been part of the Komen Aspen Race for the Cure® for many, many years—way before I was diagnosed. In the past few years there have been many more survivors present, in fact two years ago the Race ran out of pink survivor t-shirts. I love that—seeing the other survivors—it gives me so much hope that we are catching breast cancer earlier, and with better results.

I am honored to be the Honorary Survivor Co-Chair this year. In past years, I have lead the Race warm-up with the Aspen Club & Spa, and have always run, jogged or walked. This year, in addition to being survivor chair, I will jog the 5K Race.

A Cancer Named Bob

Mike Land—Survivor’s Story

Komen Aspen held its first Tough Enough to Wear Pink rodeo with the Carbondale Wild West Rodeo last year as an event for all valley survivors which will be held again on July 17^th at the Gus Darien Arena in Carbondale, 6:30pm. Mike Land, the rodeo announcer, worked very hard to be as informed as possible about Komen Aspen and the work it does in its tri-county service area. He went above and beyond to be supportive and became a good friend in the process. 

Below is an excerpt from his blog: tetwp.blogspot.com that he began last November, a month after his wife, Leslie, was diagnosed with stage two invasive intraductal adenocarcinoma which they’ve since named “Bob” for short. Many months and rounds of treatment later, Leslie is now in remission.

In the Beginning, November 2007:

I am a rodeo announcer living in Wyoming. I spent last summer driving to rodeos in Colorado to pursue the dream of announcing professionally and being able to make a living at it. I left one Wednesday morning after my wife went to work and my son was at daycare. I announced in Snowmass Village, Colorado that night. I was fortunate enough to have another rodeo on Thursday night in Carbondale. The good folks at the Carbondale Wild West Rodeo chose to have a Tough Enough to Wear Pink event to produce funds and awareness for breast cancer and the Aspen Affiliate of Susan G. Komen for the Cure.

I was immediately drawn to this event and worked very hard for months researching info to make the night a great success. I really busted my butt for this and the rodeo was great. Unfortunately, it rained that night, and rained and rained and rained. Noah drove by during the barrel racing; it rained! We did the best we could, raised cash and awareness and made some new friends in the process.

After the time and energy I put into the Tough Enough To Wear Pink night I figured that I had probably earned some "Karma Kredits."  I was wrong.  On October 25, my wife, Leslie, had a lump removed from her left breast. The following day we heard the word that no one wants to hear, “cancer.” We are in the early stages of this battle and aren't quite sure what to expect, but we are ready to win this fight.

Here's what we know so far. We need to have the surgery to determine how advanced the cancer is. We (and by “we,” I mean Leslie, with me standing in a corner somewhere) need to have the chemo port inserted and get ready for the joys of chemotherapy.

My buddy Eric called last night. Sure made me feel a lot better to be able to talk about this cancer thing with someone besides my wife. It's funny. I try so hard to be supportive with Leslie and reassure her that everything will be fine, and yet I feel incredible stress when we're not talking about it. Talking with Eric (thanks Bubba!) let me escape that pressure for a while and laugh about it. He offered to drive up with a hundred friends and said that everyone would shave their heads as a show of support for Leslie. That was awesome! It's incredibly comforting to know that people care and can show support like that.

The newest kink in the plan is that on top of having another surgery on Monday to remove more tissue, remove the sentinel node and insert the medi-port for chemo that we (and of course that still means Leslie, with me standing helplessly in a corner) get to go through radiation treatments after the chemo. I tell ya, if it isn't one thing, it's another. In a nutshell, she gets injected with chemicals that kill fast growing cells (like hair, finger nails and, oh yeah, cancer) and then to wrap it up neatly, she gets to have radiation injected into her. I'm betting you can see why the support of friends, family and others is so incredibly needed during cancer treatments. This stuff sucks.

OK, you're wondering about the sentinel node. Good, so were we. The sentinel node is a lymph node located under the armpit. There are roughly twenty-five of these under each arm on the average person. When the surgeon goes in to do the surgery on Monday, she will take the "sentinel node" which is the first lymph node in the string of them. Removing the first, or sentinel, node will allow it to be biopsied and tell us if cancer has spread to the lymphatic system.

While the lymph node is being tested, the doctor will remove the extra tissue that tested positive for cancer that remains in Leslie's left breast. By that time we should have an answer whether or not the sentinel node is positive for cancer. The good answer will be that it is not positive and then all that will remain is to insert the medi-port for the chemo and close up the incision. Let's hope and pray for the good answer. If the sentinel node tests positive for cancer then the next node in the string is removed for biopsy. The goal here is to find out exactly how far the cancer has spread into her lymphatic system. The doctor says that the most she has ever had to remove for biopsy is fifteen. We do not want to be part of a new record for her, so we're hoping that the sentinel node is negative and we're done.

While visiting the doctor’s office yesterday, Leslie asked if her type of cancer has a name, aside from the generic term of “breast cancer.” The doctor’s assistant proceeded to name off the technical name as Leslie and I glanced at each other and grinned. I looked at Leslie, looked at the assistant, and looked back at Leslie. I said "So, we'll call it Bob.”

Along that train of thought, Eric and I have decided to have some pink t-shirts made that say "To Heck with the Whales, Save the Boobies!" Just smile and ignore us if you happen to see us wearing them. It's a little chance at saving sanity among the stress of this thing.  That's where we stand so far. Leslie is holding up incredibly well and is absolutely cherishing each card, letter and email she has received. Thank you all for your support; it truly does make the unbearable seem bearable.

Today is a good day.  First and foremost, today is a day that finds us enjoying the simple things in life.  Like breathing.  Yep, good ol' fashioned ventilating. Breathing in, breathing out and not having to fight to get some air in the lungs. It's amazing how compressed you feel when you're waiting for the doctors to tell you that the operation is over, that the cancer has been removed and that your loved one is recovering. It is difficult to describe how much pressure you feel while you're waiting for a glimmer of hope that this can be beaten.

I spent forty years waiting to find the right person to be in my life and I was completely overwhelmed with the thought of losing her barely 4 years into our relationship. I have no concept of how people feel who have been together for forty-five years when cancer decides to interrupt the plan. I was lost, alone and absolutely terrified. I had friends and family supporting from all sides, but I felt so incredibly alone that I can't describe the feeling. Thank you, one and all, for all your emails, phone calls and support.

So here's the catch-up in a nutshell (ketchup in a nutshell, let it go....). The amount of tissue removed in the lumpectomy was roughly the volume of 2 golf balls. The original lump was the rough size of a golf ball. Simple math lets us calculate that there are now 3 golf balls worth of tissue gone from Leslie's left breast.  Let that sink in.  For anyone looking at your fingers and counting, I will write very slowly for the remainder of this entry. Three golf balls worth of my wife are not where they belong and this is just the beginning.

The new tissue was sampled for cancer by the pathologist and was found to be negative. For those of you that have been through this and heard that word, you know that it is the absolute greatest word in the English language. That is very exciting news since it means that the cancer didn't make its way into the lymph system. Since it was contained in the breast, the chemo and radiation can be focused at the source. Bob will die!

So, we all pile into the truck today and drive up to see the doctor for a post-op visit. Nice lady, that doctor. Leslie will be going to see the oncologist on Friday, the first appointment I'll have to miss through this ordeal.  We don't know what to expect there and I know that even if Leslie does well physically that I can be there to help be supportive on the emotional level. That's probably the one thing that people don't often talk about when it comes to cancer. It is absolutely exhausting to think about all of the “what ifs” and possibilities. It seems that the night before a doctor's appointment no one sleeps because all you can do is toss and turn. It really does wear you down to deal with this disease on a psychological and emotional level.

I mentioned the psychological stress that is brought about by cancer. I'll give you a good example. Leslie has had long hair for all of her adult life. She had long hair in high school. She had long hair in junior high. She's had long hair for a long time. She went out last Tuesday to get a hair cut as a pre-emptive strike against the effects of chemotherapy. For anyone not aware of this, one of the major side effects of chemotherapy is hair loss. The psychological part of this little ordeal is that women aren't supposed to be bald. I'm not totally convinced that guys are supposed to be bald either, and considering my hairline, I'm a supporter of hair growth for all. It is rough for men to lose some of their hair, rougher still for a woman to lose some of it.

She looks great with the new hairstyle, but it is not her first choice. Our little boy didn't quite know what to make of his Mommy when she came home from the shearer either. He was a little apprehensive about this woman who sounded like Mommy and kind of looked like Mommy, but definitely did not have the same hair as Mommy. That's just another of the subtle ways that cancer takes a toll. It can make your 3 year old look at you funny.

Chemo—December 2007:

We go to the hospital and check in at noon on Thursday the 13th. For those of you that know me and my little rodeo cowboy-type superstitions, you will understand that going to the hospital on the 13th is a major event for me. Not a good one either. Had it been Friday the 13th we would have re-scheduled. No kidding.

Yep, good ol' poison. Oh, wait, the doctor-types call this stuff medicine. If you're a cancer cell, it doesn't matter what you call it because the stuff does what it is supposed to do—kill fast growing cells like cancer. It works really well!  We're now killing Bob's potential offspring and any other cells that thought about going to the dark side and becoming cancerous.

We are doing this willingly because the thought of cancer is far worse than the cure. The cure, however, is pretty rough. The people that fight through this and survive are amazing. My wife is amazing. She is strong, brave and determined, and will do whatever is needed to stay on this side of the daisies with her son and me. She becomes my hero more and more each day as I watch her get up and push past the fear in order to have a normal life.

Anyone wondering why you see so much pink for supporting breast cancer need only to live a day of this life to know that better cures, better prevention and better awareness are desperately needed. Supporting breast cancer research allows for improvement in all of those areas. The beautiful thing is that any type of cancer cure will eventually bring about the end of cancer and the end of such horrible cancer cures. One day at a time, one dollar at a time, one person at a time. Do what you can, please.

I will continue to work with Tough Enough to Wear Pink and Susan G. Komen For the Cure. It’s something I would have done even before October 25th, but now it's personal. Bob must die and you can help. You do not want to have someone who you love go through this. Be aggressive, be pro-active and give some cash to aid in the prevention of cancer. Thanks.

That is Take Care Of Yer Friends
by Baxter Black

Friend is a word that I don’t throw around
Though it’s used and abused, I still like the sound.
I save it for people who’ve done right by me
And I know I can count on if ever need be.

Some of my friends drive big limousines
Own ranches and banks and visit with queens.
And some of my friends are up to their neck
In overdue notes and can’t write a check.

They’re singers or ropers or writers of prose
And others, God bless ‘em, can’t blow their own nose!
I guess bein’ friends don’t have nothin’ to do
With talent or money or knowin’ who’s who.

It’s a comf’terbul feelin’ when you don’t have to care
‘Bout choosin’ your words or bein’ quite fair
‘Cause friends’ll just listen and let go on by
Those words you don’t mean and not bat an eye.

It makes a friend happy to see your success.
They’re proud of yer good side and forgive all the rest
And that ain’t so easy, all of the time
Sometimes I get crazy and seem to go blind!

Yer friends just might have to take you on home
Or remind you sometime that you’re not alone.
Or ever so gently pull you back to the ground
When you think you can fly with no one around.

A hug or a shake, whichever seems right.
Is the high point of givin’, I’ll tell ya tonight,
All worldly riches and tributes of men
Can’t hold a candle to the worth of a friend.

I Hate Breast Cancer!

Leann Katchuk—2008 Race Chair

Sixteen years ago, my oldest sister, Coy, was diagnosed with breast cancer. She was forty years old at the time. Her husband found a lump when they were fooling around. After receiving a lumpectomy, radiation and chemotherapy, she was cancer free for 4 years and six months. When the cancer came back it was in her bone as well as many other places. A bone marrow transplant was performed, but it was not successful. She died of this terrible disease when she was only forty-five years young. 

I have a girlfriend back in Richmond, Virginia who has been battling breast cancer for just over a year now, and thanks to new treatments and developments in the cure, she is doing very well. A very dear work associate lost her battle with breast cancer last year, and she was only thirty-nine years old. I hate breast cancer!

Coy always had a positive attitude when she was undergoing treatment for her cancer. She was going to beat this disease.  But, when it came back and was in her bone, she was realistic. She knew she wouldn't be around much longer. The treatments were terrible.  They zapped her of her energy, made her sick and just beat her up.  However, during the years of no cancer, she was great. She didn't talk about it, but I am sure she was scared it would come back. 

Every day, a think in the back of my head, "Am I going to get it?  Are my other sisters going to get it? Will I know others who will get it?” Cancer is awful. I hated seeing the pain it brought my entire family. It was especially hardest on my mom. Loosing a child is just not right. 

My sister, Mickie, lived closest to Coy and was her best friend, so to this day it is really tough on her. Maybe that's why Mickie comes out here to participate in the Aspen/Snowmass Ride for the Cure with me each fall. When we ride, we attach Coy's picture to our back in her honor, and we somehow feel like we're riding both with her and for her. It's the best feeling, and it keeps us going. This fifth year I am going to ride the 100-mile route for her.

Breast Cancer has affected my life way too much. It is my sincere hope we find a cure for breast cancer! Of course, I want new improved research, with earlier detection and more effective treatments, too. I think Komen Aspen is part of the cure for breast cancer. I believe they are an ethical, moral organization with attainable goals in the right places.  Most of their fundraising dollars stay here to help women who can’t afford prevention or treatment on their own. The rest goes to research.

This year's Race for the Cure is an opportunity for me, and many others, to chip away at this terrible disease. Wouldn't it be great to know we've all done our part to help eradicate breast cancer? Besides, it's a fun day. And, it is so heart-warming to see others who care and want to support each other.

A Reluctant Member of the Club

Carolyn Hardin—2008 Honorary Survivor Co-Chair

Photo: Carolyn Hardin, 2008 Honorary Survivor Co-Chair and Betsy Banks, Glenwood Medical Associates, at 2007 Komen Aspen Race for the Cure®

I am a member of a club that I never wanted to join. I am a breast cancer survivor. 

On my birthday in 2001, I went for my annual mammogram. Tiny, tiny calcifications were spotted, and more views were taken. The radiologist called, recommending a biopsy. I went into the procedure thinking, “There is no way it could be a malignancy; I am only 43 years old, and I have three young children.” But, it was. Like so many others, cancer chose me.

Was it my stress level that caused the cancer to grow? The fact that I had my children late in life? Past health and medication decisions? I will never know.

Deciding on a treatment plan was agony. I thought my physicians would tell me what to do, but really, it was up to me. Pouring through all of the information I could get my hands on, I realized this was one decision that had to be the right one.

I chose to have a lumpectomy and radiation, and to forego chemotherapy. My tumor was small, and I wasn’t sure that the risks associated with the chemo were worth a one percent increase in my chance of survival. It turns out that I made the right decision. Today, for a post-menopausal woman with my type of breast cancer, the standard of care is a lumpectomy, radiation and five years of taking an aromatase inhibitor (hormonal therapy which virtually eliminates circulating estrogen to prevent a recurrence).

I am lucky. I am now seven years out, with no signs of a return (although I am reluctant to write those words, not wanting to jinx myself as I know there are no guarantees). I hope I will never face cancer again, and that I will live to play with my children’s children.

I actually now view my breast cancer as a gift. I have made many positive life changes, some of which I would never had made if I had not had cancer. I lost a significant amount of weight. I learned how to accept help as my friends and family rallied around me. And, I learned how to support others with cancer, particularly in the first dark days after diagnosis.

What I also hope is that scientists will continue to discover how the cancer process works, including more detailed information about what people can do to prevent the disease from ever starting. That new treatment options will be developed that are less invasive and traumatic. And, that in my lifetime, there will be a cure for breast cancer.

I support Susan G. Komen for the Cure® and Komen Aspen’s Race for the Cur®e with service and donations, and by participating in the Race for the Cure events. I feel privileged to have been named an Honorary Survivor Chair this year. When I walk the Race route, with thousands of other women and men who are committed to this issue I feel so passionately about, I am filled with optimism for a future without breast cancer.

This year, I will walk with my family. To remember what we have been through and how it has made us stronger. And, I will walk for all of those people I know whose lives have been impacted by breast cancer. For those who have survived, and for those we have lost.

Survivor Q&A

Anne Gurchick—2008 PAWS for the Cure Chair

How did you discover your cancer? Believe it or not, two weeks after receiving an "all clear, see you in a year" letter after my annual mammogram, I felt a lump in my breast. I waited a week or so and, because it was nagging at me, I went and had it checked.  My doctor looked at it and immediately sent me over to Aspen Valley Hospital for an ultrasound, followed by surgery to have the lump (then thought to be a cyst) removed. I was floored when it came back, and I had breast cancer. It was the Friday after Thanksgiving and a different doctor left a message that said "call me as soon as you get this message—even if it's tonight" and left his home number. I knew it wasn't good news. At that time, I had no idea there was a type of breast cancer that does not show up on mammograms, thus the importance of self-exams!

What kind of cancer do you have? Inflammatory breast cancer (IBC), stage 2—that had spread to two lymph nodes.

What treatment, if any, have you received? I had a bilateral mastectomy followed by four months of chemotherapy and then six weeks of radiation. As a matter of fact, I just returned from Los Angeles where I went to have additional breast reconstructive surgery. It's been a long journey.

How are you feeling now? For the most part-great! The surgery in LA was pretty major (14-1/2 hours), so I'm still recuperating from that!

How did breast cancer affect your life? It's funny—while obviously happy to be a survivor, a breast cancer diagnosis, as I'm sure is true of any cancer diagnosis, definitely changes your life. For me, I sum it up by saying "life will never be carefree again." There is a part of me that always fears the cancer will return. I can never let my guard down one hundred percent.  There are peaks and valleys—the peaks are when I look around this beautiful town and think "I'm so happy to be alive and to be living here!" The valleys are when I get a pang or ache and immediately fear the cancer has returned or when I hear the sad news that a local breast cancer survivor has lost her battle.

Can you attribute the cancer to subsequent medical conditions? Not really. I'm on Arimidex (the new Tamoxifen) and will have to take it for five years. There are minor side-effects associated with it, but no subsequent medical conditions, other than the reconstructive surgery.

What do you wish to say to other survivors? Think positive thoughts, get lots of exercise, drink green tea and enjoy every day! Don't sweat the small stuff. I need to be reminded, too!

What do you hope for the future, personally? A continued clean bill of health and a time when I live with less fear.

What do you hope for the future, re: breast cancer research? Why, a cure of course! 

Why support Komen Aspen? Komen Aspen provides vital services to our community and surrounding areas. They are crucial to early diagnosis and helping to find a cure for this disease which, according to some doctors, has reached epidemic proportions. Personally, Claudia Curry Hill—Komen Aspen executive director—has been a rock for me; she's a wonderful woman, and so committed to this community and to Komen Aspen's mission to end breast cancer forever!

Why are you looking forward to this years’ Race for the Cure®? I look forward to every year's Race as a chance to look out and see a beautiful sea of pink—the brave survivors! They inspire me and give me hope. They've all been on the journey and know…unless you have been there, it is hard to put the whole experience into words. It is comforting to see more and more survivors every year.

How will you participate in the Race? I'm on the board of Friends of the Aspen Animal Shelter and the animal shelter store, Aspen Wags to Riches, is sponsoring, and I'm chairing, the PAWS for the Cure dog walk. I get to combine my two passions—a cure for breast cancer with my love of animals!!

A Ride Story

Phyllis Scruggs, Hugs for Scruggs team

“BRINGING IT ALL HOME...”

My husband David and I have been coming to Aspen for almost 25 years and have had a house here for the past 4 years. We had always heard about what a great, giving community Aspen is, but the 2005 Ride for the Cure^® and the amazing support of the Hugs for Scruggs team really brought it all home for us!

The Hugs for Scruggs team was started by Blake Appleby of Cornerstone Property Management. When he heard about the 2005 Ride event, he immediately thought of me, as I had recently been diagnosed with breast cancer. Blake has become a good friend during the past 4 years as he and his staff have taken exemplary care of our Aspen home. Everyone at Cornerstone was a big part of this endeavor! All of the team members were local Roaring Fork Valley residents—staff and friends of Cornerstone—except David and me, and for all of them to give so much of themselves and to honor me in such a way was huge! 

As the Hugs for Scruggs team gained momentum, Blake and I decided we needed “something on our backs” to show we were a team. The front of the hot pink t-shirt shows the 2005 Ride logo; the back of the t-shirt has a picture of me taken while hiking in the Lost Man Lake area of Independence Pass and  our team name “Hugs for Scruggs”. We raised an amazing $15,630—facilitated by the easy on-line pledge program that allowed David and me to send emails to our friends in Memphis and Florida and quickly get so many positive responses.

Because I had two surgeries in July 2005, I did not know if I would be able to participate in the Ride. But once David and I arrived in Aspen and we learned about the shorter Woody Creek route, I said “We’ve gotta do this!” And what a surprise when we returned to Woody Creek Tavern to find the spouses and kids of the HFS team there, holding giant banners and cheering us on.

The Hugs for Scruggs team idea didn’t stop with the 2005 Ride. On October 22, 2005, I also ran the Memphis Race for the Cure^®. I finished as the 2^nd place survivor and 2nd place in my age group, and the 80-person-strong Memphis Hugs for Scruggs team got the award for the largest community group team!

Having goals is important in the fight against breast cancer. My treatment is scheduled to end at the end of February 2006 and my goals are to compete in the 2006 Aspen Race for the Cure^® and then the 2006 Ride for the Cure^® —perhaps even ride all 100 miles!  And although the physical aspect of treatment has not been as devastating for me as it could be, I have found that it is the mental and emotional parts of the being that often need the most support. Kicking off my treatment with something as emotionally uplifting and supportive as the Hugs for Scruggs team and the 2005 Ride for the Cure^® made everything so much easier.

My biggest delight is that this is a RIDE not a Race. Everyone is there to celebrate and help you go through the breast cancer experience and to provide support. I am hoping to expand the Hugs for Scruggs team for the 2006 Aspen Ride for the Cure^®. A number of people told me after the 2005 Ride that, had they known about the HFS team and the Ride, they would have been right in the saddle beside me! 

As I was riding down from the monastery, in a quiet moment, alone on the road, another rider came up to me and we started talking. When he heard I was battling breast cancer, he said that if I fought this disease with the same fierce spirit and determination as I attacked the hill he had just chased me up, the cancer didn’t have a chance! That meant a lot to me. That is what the Ride was all about for me!

That, and also realizing what a great home and community David and I have found in Aspen!

A Ride Story

Jacqie Stewart’s Thoughts on the 2005 Ride

When I first heard about the Aspen Ride for the Cure^®, I just thought I wanted to do something worthwhile. Even though the $500 fundraising seemed a bit steep, I was sure that with a little effort, I could do it. But even more frightening than raising the money was the fact that I was pretty much not a cyclist, except for some occasional mountain biking now and then. But nothing like 100 miles up big hills! 

Then I started to raise the money, asking friends and acquaintances to support me in the Ride, and I realized how many women in the Roaring Fork Valley had battled breast cancer. Even more surprising was how many of my friends had been touched by the disease: my husband’s aunt had passed away in 2004 from breast cancer, my sister-in-law’s grandmother had also died from breast cancer and one of the members of our rather small Snowmass Mall merchant community was currently fighting breast cancer. 

I realized that breast cancer is a more common disease than I had ever thought and that it has touched all of our lives in some way. Even as I write this, I am crying because of the immense pain and suffering caused by this disease—to the men and women who battle it as well as to their families and friends.

This past summer, I also lost my Dad due to a variety of health problems. Part of the reason the 2005 Ride was so important to me was because I wanted to do something special to honor him and to make him proud of me. My husband Brad taped my Dad’s picture to my bike frame so that I could look at it while I was training  for the event and during the Ride itself and it would give me that extra bit of strength when I needed it.

The Ride was hard and at about the 85 mile mark, on the way up McLain Flats Road with just 15 miles to go, I wanted to quit.  My legs hurt and I was tired but my husband, who had met me at most of the tough spots along the route to cheer me on, ran beside my bike up that steep hill to keep me going. Then there was Aspen and the end of the Ride and the wonderful camaraderie of all the people in Paepcke Park.  It felt good to finish!  I had diligently followed the training schedule posted on the Ride website—and when I found out that I was the 4th women to cross the finish line, it made the day that much more incredible! 

Sometime during my whole fundraising process, as I started to realize how many people in my circle of life had battled cancer of some type—some won that battle, others did not—I decided to put the names of the people I was riding in honor of and in memory of on my tire so that everyone who saw me Ride on September 10th would remember these amazing people and the battles they had fought against cancer!

I am very proud of the amount of money I raised for the 2005 Aspen Ride for the Cure^® and that I was able to finish all 100 miles. But even more important for me is the chance the Ride has given me to honor and remember all those affected by breast cancer and to remind everyone that this disease is not about “someone else” but rather it is about our sisters, our mothers, our daughters, our wives.

I am already planning for the 2006 Ride for the Cure^®  and I invite everyone to join me!

Breast Cancer, A Great Gift

Jan Sarpa—2008 Survivor Chair

Although I have had yearly mammograms as long as I can remember, I found my own lump through self exam. There is no history of breast cancer on either side of my family.  When diagnosed, I had stage one, hormone-receptor-positive breast cancer and went to Shaw Regional Cancer Center in Edwards for radiation treatment after my lumpectomy. 

Since then I have taken an aromatase inhibitor for 5 years. Aromatase inhibitors lower the amount of estrogen in women who have my kind of breast cancer. The hormone estrogen delivers growth signals to the hormone receptors. With less estrogen in the body, the hormone receptors receive fewer growth signals, and cancer growth can be slowed down or stopped. Note: I am on my second aromatase inhibitor which I tolerate much better than the first prescription. If you’re not happy with your current medication, I recommend you keep trying different prescriptions or doses until you find one that has the best effects for you. I tried different therapies, and feel great today!

Breast cancer was one of my greatest gifts. It has enabled me to live in the "now.”  We survivors have an unique responsibility, also a gift, to pave the way for the newly diagnosed. There is nothing more positive to those currently battling the disease than seeing strong, healthy role models who have gone before them. I love knowing women who are 20-year plus survivors! 

Through my experience with breast cancer, I truly understand or empathize when my psychotherapy clients describe their own pain. I also have a deeper joy for the simplest things in life. My husband John and daughter Emily were thrown into the role of caregiver, and were so supportive and positive throughout my treatment. It has made us all much closer as a family; they did such a good job taking care of me!  Personally, I would like to be around for a long time—to do my work as a therapist, be a wife to one of the world's greatest husband's, a mother to my outstanding daughter, and a grandmother and mentor to my yet unborn grandchildren!

Komen Aspen carries the torch for the cure of breast cancer in our lifetime.  I really believe that we are very close to personalized care/cures for breast cancer. It is up to us all to do what we can to help end breast cancer forever.  With all of our numbers, and passion to get it done, I believe we can find a cure. The Komen Aspen Race for the Cure® represents a grassroots effort of good people with good intentions who are really making a difference. John, Emily, my good buddy, Jill Fink, and I always walk the 5K Race.

As the 2008 Survivor Chair, I ready the survivor reception tent for those who gather in sisterhood (a few brothers, too!).  We share lemonade, cookies, and laughter.  For those new to the Race, at one point during the festivities, all the survivors are called up on the main stage to sing the “Survivor Song” which is very powerful, and emotional. We all sing together; the old and the new, some of us with hair, others undergoing treatment. We cry a little for what we have lost, and for those we have lost, but we also shed tears of joy for what we have gained and because we are very thankful for our lives and all the love we receive every moment of every day—a great gift.