Marilyn Odom is in her fabulous 50s, living the dream. She resides in San Luis Obispo with her dog, Thunder, and works as a massage therapist at a cool day spa. Her best friend is her wonderful son, Jake, who also lives on the Central Coast of California.

Marilyn has raised thousands of dollars for the cause by organizing an annual softball tournament called Battin’ for Boobies, as well as by helping out with the Garage Sale for Boobies. She has participated in the Susan G. Komen 3-Day Walk annually since 2004 (in San Diego and San Francisco). She loves painting, camping, hiking, laughing, playing roller hockey, spending time with her friends, and just being Marilyn.

Overwhelmed!

Bigger than one’s own—fear-courage-joy-sadness-helpless-helpful. Tears of joy, but so bittersweet. Thousands of people, but constantly feeling alone. Strangers become closer than family. Words go unspoken, but speak through everyone’s eyes.

Love. Love. Love.

The desire to do more, but feeling drained by all the emotion. Wanting to hold each soul quietly. Want to take their pain away, but know it is their road to travel.

Warmth.

Remember the comfort I have received in times of need and want to give that back tenfold.

CANCER SUCKS!

Mike lost her and fights in her memory. Remembrance tents will stay with me always. The mother that wept in my arms from losing her daughter. The lost mother’s two daughters. May they never have to face cancer. May they remember their mother as the beautiful woman I got to know only through her photo.

Pit crew 2.

Melting pot of personalities, joined together with one purpose in mind. Each willing to help in the way they see fit. Each with their own story, more important than anyone else’s. Hoping to make a difference, but longing for the comfort of their warm beds. Will they be back next year? I think so.

Friendships tested.

Friendships won.

Men survivors 8%.

Not enough bathrooms, but understand this is a woman’s battle, so stand in line like the rest. Out of respect or fear, it does not matter; the point is made. Thank you, Todd—I love you.

Closing ceremonies.

Walking through the street you get an overwhelming desire to reach out and touch each person and then have them touch you back. You search their eyes for their stories, but know there is no time, so you settle for the feeling of understanding. How do you celebrate life and death at the same time?

Strength in numbers.