PMC Personal Statement

WELCOME!
Are you ready to ride with me?

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For years I have been hearing about the PMC on the radio and have been seeing advertisements all around the city of Boston, but I never gave it more than a shrug and a “Oh, yeah, that’s great… if you’re into that kind of thing”-- that kind of thing being almost 200 miles of cycling across Massachusetts in the name of cancer research and treatment.

When I made my decision to try this Pan state craziness, I immediately went out and bought a mountain bike. I hadn’t ridden a bike since I was in high school (when I was hit by a car and my bike was crushed under a Ford Windstar), so my nerves were high. But this time I had a helmet, as if that would make me ready to ride two centuries of mileage. That was 7 years ago. I am only now entering my first PMC.

Success and many many failures along the way have taught me a few things about riding. This invaluable experience has helped me form the opinion that cycling is really hard and spandex shorts are really tight. The PMC wasn’t going to be easy, but now was the right time to sign up.

A few other things I learned:
1. There is no way in h*ll I will ride a mountain bike across 190 miles of asphalt. I’ll be getting myself a road bike.
2. Car seats were built for comfort and road side naps; bike seats were built for pain and to discourage a lot of cyclists from riding on the sides of the road interrupting road side naps. Except the banana seat. That was built for comfort and leisure. Visti: www.bananaseatpmc.blogspot.com to find out more.
3. Tandem bikes are not as cool as they look in old movies.
4. Telling minivans to beware, does not mean you are exempt from looking both ways when riding through busy intersections.
5. Basset hounds do not make for good training partners. I’ll let you imagine that situation.
6. Pedestrians hate it when you ride on the sidewalk, even if… especially if you are using a small bell to get them to move out of your way.
7. This whole riding to eradicate cancer, and the many other reasons people ride, are serious, but that’s no reason not to have a whole lot of fun along the way.
8. I can’t do this without your help.

It is not that my dedication will be obliterated if you decide not to help, but I will be sad and mopey and lazy. And I can’t make it 190 miles being lazy—just ask the basset hound I fired as my teammate.

My ride will be to honor the memories of my Meme, Pepe, and Gram. For each mile I struggle up a hill, find myself leaning heavily on my handlebars, feel the heat of the sun bouncing off the asphalt, I will think of the strength these three people had in their own battles against cancer. And with that, with your help in reaching my goal of raising $4,200+, I will have a smile on my face when I cross the finish line in Provinctown August 2.

I believe the smallest gestures, the ones made with sincere interest and care, are the greatest. If 500 people donate $5 each to my ride, that’s more than halfway to my goal. And if each person asks ONE other person to join us in all of this, that’s over and beyond anything I could hope. So please, keep the amounts small, but the sentiment grand. Share a story with me about someone you know affected by cancer. Check out my blog at www.bananaseatpmc.blogspot.com. Or join my facebook group: The Banana Seat, Built for Comfort. Come to one of my events. The power of words and a high five are just as important to me as any fundraising goal, so send an email, text, or call.

Thank you in advance for everything you do for me. Whichever way I hear from you, know that you are making a difference in the fight against cancer, and together, we’re that much closer to a cure.

Make a gift to Kevin A. Collins