Why I PMC - Betsy Bowman

Guest blog by Betsy Bowman

I ride because I can 

On PMC weekend, I hear “thank you for riding!” probably five thousand times - from high school cheerleaders in Sturbridge and families sipping steaming cups of coffee in their driveways in Oxford and crowds of screaming kids in Brewster and hundreds upon hundreds of PMC volunteers all the way to Provincetown.  The truth is:  I don’t feel right about receiving all these thank yous, because this ride isn't a sacrifice or a burden for me. It's an incredible joy - a gift - and I feel like I'm the one who should be saying thank you.

I ride because I can. And because I know how lucky I am. And because I am committed to paying it forward so that others can survive and move on beyond cancer to ride a bike or raise a family or write a book or start a business or do whatever beautiful things their lives call them to do.  I ride because I have hope that such a future is possible.  

(Me before the 2014 survivors' parade at Fenway (I may have claimed that "cancer was totally worth it" that day ....) 

In 2009 I rode my first PMC with a few high school friends for fun.  I wasn't particularly connected to Dana-Farber Cancer Institute or even to the cancer fight.  But I was getting into cycling, and it seemed like an awesome event.  So I signed up, raised the minimum, and made it to P-Town.  I loved it and was incredibly proud of my accomplishment, and of contributing to something so important.  But the next few years had me focused on other things in my life, so I couldn’t commit to the training or the fundraising.  But I never forgot the PMC.  

Then in the spring of 2013 - the cancer fight became personal for me when I was diagnosed with stage II clear cell ovarian cancer at the totally improbable age of 36.  I remember that on PMC weekend that year, I was at MGH for chemo, and my usual infusion nurse, Liz, wasn't there.  I later realized that she was “taking the weekend off” to volunteer on the PMC medical team.  At the end of that fall when I finished treatment, I dove into exercise again quickly, because I knew it would take time and effort and focus to get healthy again. In November I suggested riding the PMC to two close friends, and because they are awesome friends and always up for an epic adventure, they agreed instantly. 

So the training began! That spring I started riding again just a few weeks post-surgery. I found my new team-family Forza-G (we met on the Internet .... what could possibly go wrong?) Through March, April and May, alongside two old friends and embraced by this whole team of new friends, I trained, and got stronger, and I was sure I would be ready to conquer the PMC, and that I would show cancer who’s boss.

(Me with my two friends Amy and Chelsea in P-town - we're wet not from the rain but because of our team's delightful tradition of dumping water all over the rookies after the team pics at the finish line.) 

But this disease is tricky.  And even though I remained cancer-free, I encountered new side effects from treatment that made it impossible for me to train in June and July.  As the PMC approached, I was afraid I wouldn’t be able to finish, or possibly not even ride at all, and I was devastated.  Then, in that dark moment appeared my new teammates Matt and Jaime with an awesome idea to ride a tandem bike with Jaime for all 192 miles.  So off we rode, while he did most of the work and I did most of the heckling, pedaling the mean green machine all those soggy miles to P-town.  As we crossed the finish line in Bourne on Saturday and I peeled my freezing, soaking body off the bike, I heard someone calling my name - and there was Liz, my infusion nurse, volunteering at the medical tent.  I jumped off the bike I had just shared with one teammate and ran to embrace another - one of the very few people who understood completely and intimately how far I had come in those 365 days since chemo.  It was a perfect end to an strangely perfect day.

(Jaime and me and the tandem) 

Earlier that summer, I had planned to show cancer who’s boss by being tough and strong myself.  That day I learned – yet again – that no one beats cancer alone.  Teams beat cancer.  

So now I keep riding because I can - and to express my gratitude for the PMC which helped me recover from cancer and treatment, and has given me so much more.  I have found a new family in my Forza-G teammates.  Through my training I have stayed strong and healthy and cancer free.  I have found so much love and support from so many friends who are eager to donate to my ride, to do their part in fighting this disease.  

(Me at our team lunch stop on day 1 in 2014 - Kick cancer's ugly butt) 

I know that this whole PMC movement isn't really about me. I ride to raise buckets of money so that brilliant scientists can discover new treatments and wonderful doctors and nurses can deliver the best care in the world. I know that the science costs money and that every single one of the 45 million dollars raised last year will go toward that life changing science.  And I want desperately to hear more and more stories of survivors who can climb on bikes and chase their dreams.  So I’ll keep riding.  

(Me with two of my living proof teammates, Andy and Sue) 

At the same time - I also know that this movement IS about each one of us. Every rider, every volunteer, and every husband, wife, child and friend of every rider and volunteer knows that the PMC makes us all better people because it gives us some power over this stupid disease which has hurt us all. So we ride. We raise money. We make contributions.  We ring cowbells on the side of the road. Because we can.  Because doing nothing is not an option.  

(Me in NH in the fall of 2014 on a team ride in the White mts.) 

Thank you, PMC, for letting me ride.  

(Me with my infusion nurse Liz at the Fenway Gala in 2014.  We didn't get a photo at the finish line in August ... so we took a slightly less rainy pic at the gala)