|I have to get up HOW early??!?!?!?|
(But hey, I actually spared her the worst of my crankiness. No one has actually said it to my face, but when I let my blood sugar get that low—and I’m pretty sure it was really low—I can be a little bitchy. Just a little. I didn’t stomp my feet and start screaming, crying, and throwing things, so I think I get bonus points for that. But DKM gets +5 for not hurling her giant produce bag at me and telling me to shut the fark up.)
Less than three hours later, we landed.
Now, we’ve both ridden BART in San Francisco. Atlanta has their version, MARTA. We rode MARTA (heh, that sounds kinda dirty. Riding Marta.) from the airport to a station close to the hotel, and holy pizza bites, MARTA does it right. People, their trains don’t smell like pee! They don’t smell at all! They’re bright and clean and sparkly! You can hear what’s being said on the speaker overhead, and if you miss hearing what’s being said, there’s an LED screen on the wall telling you what station you’re pulling into. And did I mention, MARTA doesn’t smell like pee?
Once off the train Michelle arranged a shuttle to get us to the hotel (it’s nice to have friends who can hear on the damned phone, really it is) and that was a nice place. I figure if you have a dude taking your bags to your room and feel obligated to tip, you’re in a spiffy hotel.
The room was really nice. Spacious, comfy beds, and lotsa pillows. I loves me a hotel bed with lotsa pillows, especially comfy pillows. If I’d been alone, I might have rolled naked all over the comfy pillows while purring about my great love for them and how I was going to pound them with my sweet, sweet, sleeping love later. But I refrained, because I’m classy sometimes.
(Oh, and Michelle got another taste of my post-travel fatigue and nausea Thursday morning. She made me eat eggs ((really, I swear, she MADE ME EAT THEM)) and then I crashed the rest of the day. That’s one reason I wanted to go a day early…I was afraid of the exhaustion that comes with FMS and adrenaline. And it hit…I was very tired. Curl up on the bed all day and play with the iPad while wearing pink camo crankypants tired.)
Roberta (ya know, Jeter’s Mom), Beth, and Faye arrived later on Wednesday, and the rest of the team (go Pink Slips!) had dinner together on Thursday night.
|The Pink Slips|
Boys and girls, my team mates were educational. I now know how to make a napkin penis. We made boobies, too, but I remember the weenie. And I may have made a few rude gestures with mine. Just a few. And there might be pictures online somewhere of me waggling my napkin weenie.
I have a plethora of reasons for doing the 3 Day. Some are personal; I need to know that I can. I’ve done it because I wanted to go play with my friends. The challenge. The community. I do it for all the selfish gifts it’s given me and insight I’ve gotten. But the foundation of all that is the people I’ve lost to breast cancer, and the people I never want it to ever touch.
Every 8 seconds, a woman is diagnosed with breast cancer.
Every year, we lose 450-500 men to breast cancer.
This has to stop; we need a cure. We need money to fund the research, to pay for mammograms for those who can't afford one, to educate those who are getting inaccurate information about the disease.
The Pink Slips walked in Atlanta with 2400 other people and with the support of nearly 450 crew members, because this has to end.
Part two coming soon...