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Our Race for an MS Cure Is a Summer Spectacle
A special guest speaker usually has the disease but has spent the year climbing Kilimanjaro. Thanks.
The appearance of sawhorses and port-a-johns on the streets of America alert us that the season of -athons has begun. From the Tour de Cure for diabetes to the Race for the Cure for breast cancer, any disease worth its mutating cells has a walk, ride or swim. It seems like every weekend brings a new physical challenge. I wonder what disease Pheidippides ran for.
The beautiful thing about these activities is that they get people off the couch, honor survivors, memorialize victims and raise money for research and patient care. My particular diagnosis is multiple sclerosis, and we get out the troops with a 150-mile bike ride from Altoona to State College and back. Cyclists get their friends and relatives to sponsor them as they don their hip-huggingest spandex and raise money for research to fight this demyelinating demon.
PHOTO: CORBIS
Our Lou’s Crew bike team features doctors, lawyers, bankers, carpenters, pharmaceutical reps, architects and assorted businessmen. We are saving a slot for a CPA. What the riders all have in common is the $25 entry fee and buns of steel—or at least memory foam. Status is based on leg strength and fundraising prowess. A few years ago, a real-estate developer joined our group and he has raised more than $100,000 each year. He is treated like all of the other riders with the small exception that the ride organizers ask him about his vacation schedule before they schedule the dates for the ride.
The team members originally claimed to have an interest in helping to cure MS and helping me and those who live with the disease. At this point they’re more interested in the easy camaraderie of the group. Two of our riders met on the MS ride while waiting in line for a port-a-potty. They struck up a conversation and . . . their daughter is now 14 years old.
I once discovered that a few Lou’s Crew members were doing a bike ride for another disease. I was very disappointed that Paul, Barb, David and Beth (who will remain last-nameless) were two-timing MS and I promptly admonished them to “never take rides against the family.”
To show the team members what MS actually looks like, I asked my radiologist for a copy of one of my brain scans. When I showed it to the group, one of our members who happens to be a neurologist commented that I was holding the images upside down. I naturally blamed my MS.
There is something inspiring and a little intimidating when you see people cycling with your name across the chest of their blue and white jerseys. On one hand it’s very moving to see them exert themselves on behalf of your disease. On the other, you’re nervous that you might see one of them on the nightly news with a newspaper covering their face while wearing the team jersey as they are perp-walked past the cameras. Given our group, it would likely be some sort of white-collar crime.
The start of the bike event is at a suburban Altoona high school—this year’s ride will be held July 18-19—and the course covers back roads through scenic farmlands in central Pennsylvania from Holidaysburg to State College. The hills are gentle and rolling with flags fluttering from the front porches in the small towns along the route. Occasional handmade signs cheer on the riders and SAG (support and gear) wagons cover the course to help with flat tires and the flat-out tired.
The overnight between the two days of the ride usually features a carb-laden dinner as well as an “inspiring guest speaker.” This figure will usually have MS but also have spent that past year sailing around the world or climbing Kilimanjaro. Thanks.
Other folks with MS also have teams named after them. The namesakes are generally friendly to each other and we like to check in each year and commiserate. Who is using which mobility aid? Who is taking which drug? One namesake seems to be fitter every year and actually does the ride herself. I’m thinking of demanding that she provide verification of her diagnosis from her doctor.
There’s a certain unspoken sense of competition among the teams—and among those manning the rest stops along the way, where they appear to vie to outdo each other in terms of the goodies provided for the riders. Peanut-butter buckeyes go fast at a fruit farm. Ice cream and a special visit from the high-school-age Dairy Princess highlight the stop at a Christian campground. An annual favorite is the Church Lady Cookie Stop where church members pull out their secret recipes. I notice them watching out to see which of their varietals are the big movers.
No wonder many of the riders gain weight despite riding 150 miles. My problem is I do a lot of the eating but none of the riding. If all goes well, our team’s cumulative fundraising total for the past 10 years will pass the million-dollar mark. I won’t be pedaling, but I’ll be sweating the numbers.
Mr. Weiss is a carpet salesman in Pittsburgh.
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