Read Time: 4 minutes
Author: Tim Moore
From time to time, Huntsman Cancer Institute invites guest commentary from our community. The views reflected in these commentaries are those of the author and do not necessarily represent the official views of Huntsman Cancer Institute.
“You have cancer.”
Growing up in New York City in the 1960s and ’70s, these words were often spoken in hushed voices and came with a poor prognosis. In the years that followed, too many family members and friends heard the same words, usually accompanied by a similar prognosis.
At 42 years old, my brother-in-law, Ed, heard those words when he received his colon cancer diagnosis. Ed fought a valiant 23-month battle that included numerous surgeries and chemo treatments. He faced it all with grace and dignity, thanks in part to his amazing family and friends, his love of music, and his great sense of humor. He passed away on March 1, 2000, 20 years and a day after he met my sister in Lake Placid, New York.
Lighting the Way
Less than two years after Ed’s passing, I was fortunate to meet Jon Huntsman, Sr. as he prepared to carry the Olympic Torch for the 2002 Salt Lake Winter Olympics. I chatted with him for a few minutes and thanked him for his generous support for cancer research—I admired him for what he was doing for this cause.
As the fourth anniversary of Ed’s passing approached, I saw a contest sponsored by Samsung Electronics to “Be the Torchbearer” for the 2004 Summer Olympics in Athens, Greece. In my contest entry, I wrote about meeting Mr. Huntsman, Ed’s battle with cancer, and my volunteer experience during the Salt Lake Winter Olympics. Not long after, I was notified that I was selected as the U.S. contest winner and would carry the Olympic flame into Dodger Stadium in Los Angeles. At that moment, I was the only person in the world carrying a lighted Olympic Torch. I was humbled by this honor and knew I wanted to give back.
Becoming a Huntsman Hero
I was never a runner, but some coworkers were running 5Ks for various causes and convinced me to join them. Eventually, I signed up for my first marathon: the 2006 Salt Lake City Marathon. Around mile 15 on race day, the course thinned out. One of the few nearby runners was wearing a Huntsman Cancer jersey. He kept encouraging me, telling me I was doing great, and lifting my spirits as we passed through a desolate three-mile stretch of the course.
After finishing the marathon, I kept thinking about the man in the Huntsman Cancer jersey and looked into . I discovered it was a training program for people of all running abilities and ages to fundraise for cancer research at Huntsman Cancer Institute.
I signed up and thought I would last one season, run another marathon, fundraise for colon cancer research, and call it good. But as I got to know my fellow Heroes, they continued to inspire me. They included cancer survivors, patients, their friends and family, and people like me who’d lost loved ones to this insidious disease and taken action. One season has turned into 18 seasons and counting. Rick Ortenburger, the Salt Lake City Marathon Hero who encouraged me, eventually became a friend.
Making Strides
As I reflect on my time as a Huntsman Hero, I am amazed by the past 18 years of advancements in cancer research. Some treatments that were in the trial stage during my early seasons now regularly save lives or give patients at least “one more”—one more birthday, anniversary, graduation, or special family event to celebrate.
“My 61-year-old body isn’t as fast as it was, but I still have as much passion, heart, and soul (and sole) as ever for cancer research and finding a cure.”
I know I can never be as financially generous as the Huntsman Family has been for cancer research, so I help through Huntsman Heroes. I’m humbled by family and friends who generously donate to my campaigns and encourage me season after season. I’m also happy to volunteer for other Huntsman Heroes events to support my fellow Heroes. We’re there for each other from training to race day, celebrating the wins in our lives and helping each other through the challenges—including Rick’s passing last summer.
As Mr. Huntsman said, “Cancer moves fast; we have to move faster.” My 61-year-old body isn’t as fast as it was, but I still have as much passion, heart, and soul (and sole) as ever for cancer research and finding a cure.