For those who don’t know me, my story with cancer began before I was even old enough to understand its weight.
My sister passed away from leukemia before I ever had the chance to meet her. She was just seven years old.
When I was fifteen, I lost my dad to lymphoma. Not long after, my mom was diagnosed with breast cancer. She underwent a double mastectomy and became a survivor — a warrior in every sense of the word. Years later, she developed dementia and small cell lung cancer. She passed away 15 years after my father.
My eldest brother — a hardworking husband and father — wasn’t feeling well one day. I was about to leave on a business trip but drove an hour to check in on him. I urged him to go to the hospital that night, but he didn’t. When I returned from my trip, he had been admitted and was later diagnosed with Paraneoplastic Syndrome. He passed away within a few short weeks.
Now, it’s just my middle brother and me.
Cancer has deeply shaped the fabric of my life — in loss, in survival, and in the people I continue to love who are still fighting. I ride for them. I ride in honor of those we’ve lost, for those still fighting, and for the hope that one day, fewer families will have to face what mine has.
This ride is personal. And it’s for every name, every face, and every story behind the word cancer.