Only the strong survive...

It's a really interesting concept - and the lyrics of the late 60s song likely made many in that era have a certain toughness to their exterior.

"I see you sittin' there all alone

Crying your eyes out

While everything's going wrong

You know there's gonna be

A whole lot of trouble in your life

Listen to me, get up off your knees

'Cause only the strong survive"

I remember with crystal clarity the viewing for my Dad. My best friend, Lori, her neighbor, Heather, and our cheerleading coach Sharon, came to offer their regards, and I refused to look at them. I'd always had a strength about me - though I was 5'6" and 75 pounds soaking wet - and for whatever reason, I had it in my mind that if they saw me cry - which they would if I looked up - they would sense weakness in me. If they saw my guard down, I would lose a little of the credibility I had. This very limited openness is actually something I carried with me for a long time, and in the months and truthfully for most of the years since my father's passing, this "closed off-ness" has been very present in my attitude.

I could and would share anything that was easy, that wouldn't let anyone into the pain, but more often than not, I denied myself the ability to deepen my friendships. In doing so, I was the one who lost strength. There is a really important lesson here, one that the responses from many who received my initial letter have brought to light. Folks who I have known since my youth- and in my present life - wrote "I didn't know your Dad died" or "I didn't know this was how it happened". I quickly realized it's because I never told them. I never shared my narrative

One of the most incredible women I know, Kira Orange Jones, wrote: "My dearest-- thank you so much for sharing this touching, deeply moving narrative with me. As always, you continue to inspire and challenge others to be their better selves."

And Lilly Fu, a Teach For America alum I think the world of, wrote: "Wow, thank you so much for sharing this incredible personal history. I’m getting a glimpse of the source of your maturity, strength and courage."

Not sharing my story left others wondering. And in sharing it now, I feel stronger. The overwhelming support and inspiration has given me more strength, more courage to continue on this journey than I could have imagined. And it's reinforced to me that I'm not doing this - the race or life - by myself. I'm doing it with each one of you. Whether you are supporting financially (we crossed the $2K mark today), sending well wishes, or making the decision to show up at the start line (woooooohooo Nikki Traino!), you are in it with me. My utmost gratitude goes out to you.

And so I close the day, feeling so grateful for the support, powerful from the day's training (thanks, JD, for taking the awesome picture of my giant muscles :-)), and ready to tackle it again.

On my morning run - a 6m as Hal suggests - I saw an example of the spirit of this message. Whether you live in San Francisco or not, you likely heard that our famed sea lions have relocated to Oregon. There are still a few left, and what I have loved about my morning runs near Pier 39 (and about these sea lions) is that those who are still there aren't taking advantage of the extra space. They're sticking together. They're making the most of their time...together.

Thanks to today's donors:

Matthew Levine, Fred Zarghami, Wee J. Fernan, Leslie Clithero, Nikki Traino, Rebekka Sullender, Josh Wilson, Seth Saavedra, Bradley Leon, Rene Caskey, Ash Vasudeva, James Sparkman, Zach Finley, Jane Henzerling, Susan Kim, Alyssa Hampton, Sheldon Maye & Joseph Kilcullen. We're at $2,055 and continuing to build momentum to make sure that those who come between now and when there is a cure, find the strength to keep on fighting.