Here’s my story and why I race...

Every year since my Mom was first diagnosed with breast cancer in 2012, Brad and I (and now Bryce) have participated in the Susan G. Komen Race for the Cure/More Than Pink Walk.  Every year, I race for a different purpose.  This year brings the story that I was hoping I would never have to tell- that breast cancer has hit the next generation in my family and we’re on this journey again.  

This past spring, my sister was diagnosed with breast cancer.  The shock and pain that I felt hearing that news is inexplicable…the same as I felt when my Mom was diagnosed.  I never wanted to feel that pain again.  I knew that we were always at a high risk, and that we would have to advocate for ourselves to get the best screening measures available, I just wasn’t ready.  My sister and I have held each other accountable in this way, and I’m so grateful that we did because her cancer was caught at an earlier stage than my Mom’s.  Being caught at an early stage is “good news,” but cancer is never actually good news.  She had a double mastectomy this summer, and the doctors are rather confident that they got it all.  I’m glad they’re confident, but I’m not sure that I will ever feel confident, especially in the next five years.  Although research, screening, and treatments have changed, through my Mom’s experience, I’ve lost the ability to truly believe the words “cancer-free.” 

My Mom is the reason that we originally started racing.  After her initial diagnosis in 2012, followed by surgeries, chemotherapy, and radiation, she was eventually declared “cancer-free.”  Her treatment was grueling, and although she was in pain in different ways through each stage, she was always smiling.  She was a beacon of joy and hope.

In 2016, when her cancer came back as stage 4 metastatic breast cancer, my heart sunk.  I’ll never forget that moment.  She tried every treatment and trial available over the next three years, but eventually lost her battle on September 29, 2019.

My fondest race memory was May 4, 2019, a few months before she lost the fight.  My Mom brought my Dad down to North Carolina for the race.  She had a lot of fatigue, but had enough energy to do things for a few hours.  She was determined to race with us.  Outfitted in her pink tutu, we raced, side by side, fighting the fight.  She smiled and cheered the whole way, even though it was difficult for her and we were one of the last teams to finish.  She walked with her cane for the whole race, until we were about 100 feet from the finish line.  I’ll never forget that next moment; she tossed her cane, she tossed her bag, she grabbed my hand, grabbed my Dad’s hand, and joined with Brad.  She raised our arms, and we all crossed the finish line together, smiling and cheering!  There was no way she was crossing the finish line with that cane!  From the outside, you would have no clue how difficult it had been for her to walk 5K that day.  As she did throughout her entire fight with cancer, she persevered with faith, hope, optimism, grace, and the biggest smile.

This year, the purpose I race has evolved.  My Mom passed away after a courageous fight with breast cancer on September 29, 2019.  This year, I race in memory/honor of my Mom, but also in celebration of my sister.  I know my Mom’s in Heaven watching down on us everyday, but on September 20, she will be right by our sides as we race.  If you’ve ever participated in a Susan G. Komen Race for the Cure, you know that with your t-shirt, you get a pink paper that you can write on and attach to your shirt.  On one side, it says, “In celebration of ___.”  On the other side, it says, “In memory of ____.”  Every year, I wore this proudly, “In celebration of my Mom, Dianne Gussett.”  Turning the paper to the other side, racing in memory, is difficult every year.  Racing, knowing that she’s no longer with us is so difficult, however, I will continue to race to fight the fight.  I’ll continue racing so that I can always write, “In celebration of my sister, Kristy.”  I know that’s what she’d want, and I know she’ll be watching us and walking with us with the brightest smile.  I hope to race with the same energy, positivity, and excitement for life that she did, and instill this passion in Bryce.  I race to show Bryce that this is a fight worth fighting, and will do everything to honor the memory of his Gram that he never met on Earth.  As others move on without her, it’s impossible to go through a day without thinking about her, wishing for one more hug, one more smile, one more conversation, one more bit of advice, one play date with her grandson.

It was difficult for my sister to talk with her 6-year-old twins about it, but even more difficult to talk with her 22-year-old son.  He has lived a good portion of his life watching the most important women in his life deal with this awful disease, and that’s just not acceptable.

So much progress has been made with breast cancer research that it’s becoming increasingly less likely that the cancer returns after treatment.  Today, the five-year relative survivor rate for women diagnosed with early-stage breast cancer is 99%!  However, there is still no cure for metastatic breast cancer, and survival rates past 5 years are low.  This is why I race, and why we need you.

Please consider joining our team, Tutus 4 Tatas, and racing with us on September 20, 2025, in Cleveland, OH.  Our team is made up of different people every year, but no matter what, we have a great time, and enjoy the love, hope, and support from our friends and family who join us.  If you cannot join us on Race Day, please consider making a tax-deductible donation to the Susan G. Komen Foundation, via the link below.  Every little bit helps.  Someday there will be a cure.  Someday daughters and sons will not lose their Mothers to breast cancer.  Someday granddaughters and grandsons will not lose their Grams to breast cancer.

Thanks for your continued love and support!  You mean so much to us.

With Much Love,

Kim Edmiston