My first experience with death was also my first experience with hopelessness.
I sat next to a boy named Sam in eighth grade Computer Science. I knew him for his sense of humor and his antics got me through what was otherwise a dry class. Within six months of meeting him, he was diagnosed with terminal brain cancer. Within a year, I was attending a pep rally in honor of his memory.
I’ve witnessed cancer take lives, leaving whole communities grieving in its wake. I’ve also seen victims turn into survivors. They've shown me that there is a life after cancer, and it’s beautiful, but not everyone has a chance at it.
Cancer, to me, feels like oppression. It’s the oppression of life, ruthless and void of humanity. It perpetuates hopelessness, maybe the most devastating feeling in the human range of emotions. I view Texas 4000 as an act of insurgency against this, an act of rebellion. Whether you choose to donate, volunteer, ride, or simply show up, your presence and efforts help progress the larger fight against cancer.
As an incorrigible realist with big dreams, I try to scale my aspirations; I want to change the world, but understand that true change happens with intentional, measured steps. Texas 4000 is a big step in this direction. For this reason, I ride to unify and rally whole communities to support the fighters, survivors, caretakers, and mourners in hopes that one day nobody will have to experience the hopelessness cancer can induce.
Let's talk! I'd be honored to dedicate a day of my ride to you or someone you love: http://www.tinyurl.com/ridededications. Email me at firstname.lastname@example.org or call/text me at (469) 236-2022.