Why I Ride

David Azose
Sep 9, 2018 · 3 min read

A few weeks ago I made a last minute decision to sign up for Obliteride, a 100 mile bike ride in support of cancer research. I participated in the same ride last year, but hesitated to sign up again as I didn’t have the time to properly train. A 100 mile ride can be fairly grueling, and while I tend to ride with regularity, I rarely spend more than 30 or 40 miles in the saddle at a time. The prospect of doing 100 miles without any training seemed too daunting.

As I was driving home on the afternoon before the ride, I kept passing the vibrant orange arrows and motivational signs that notoriously line the Obliteride course. In an instant, I was reminded of the incredible people in my life who have fought hard against cancer, none of whom were given an opportunity to train for what was to come. Just like that, I knew I had to ride.

When I was 14 years old my mom was diagnosed with breast cancer. Looking back, I don’t think I really appreciated the incredible challenge that she faced and ultimately overcame; the weight of learning about her diagnosis shortly after celebrating her 17th anniversary, the unconscionable decision to undergo a double mastectomy at the age of 38, and the long and painful recovery after what turned out to be several surgeries. On top of it all, she somehow found the strength to raise an obnoxious teenager who almost certainly wasn’t helping the situation.

If there’s one thing I’ve learned from my mom, it’s that when you have something worth fighting for, you fight like hell. And that’s exactly what she did. I have a distinct memory of watching my dad pacing in the hospital during my mom’s first surgery, waiting impatiently to hear from the doctor. I think it struck me because it was the first time I recall seeing true pain in his eyes. In that moment I remember thinking to myself ‘mom seems like a rock, so if she has the strength to fight, then we better have strength, too.’ Easier said than done I suppose, but I like to think that my constant drive to push just a little harder was cemented on that day.

Over the last 15 years, I’ve had the misfortune of watching several others fight cancer, and as we all know, even the best fought battles are not always won. I lost a classmate and friend at the age of 16 to brain cancer. Years later our community lost a beloved young man to that same cancer shortly after his 13th birthday. And just this summer, the world lost an incredible husband and father, my cousin Amichai, to the same ruthless disease.

Of course, there were victories as well. Nina, a dear friend of my sister’s, battled and won, and has since dedicated her life to fighting for those who can’t. My cousin Dave fought ruthlessly as well (no surprise if you know anything about Dave) and continues to motivate all of those around him to never give up.

While I’d like to think that my mom had the strength to fight cancer on her own, I recognize that much like a group of cyclists working together in a race, it’s armies, not individuals, who win the toughest battles. With your support, we can help the Fred Hutch get one step closer to beating this disease, while honoring the scores of brave individuals who are currently fighting, or who have already ended their battle with cancer. On behalf of a deeply grateful cyclist, I invite you to join my peloton and donate to this incredibly important cause.

Together, we’re stronger. Together, we will beat cancer.

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