I would like to say a HUGE thank you to our family and friends for making this year's poker tournament our most successful yet! Many of our guests have come back to support us year after year, and we absolutely could not put have put this together without the help our families. THANK YOU for continuing to support us, whether you donated money, prizes, food, drinks, bought raffle tickets, bet on our winners, or just came out to support us as you always do, it is so much appreciated!

Congrats to our winners:

1st place: Terry Ebert

2nd place: Scott Greenfield

3rd place: Emily Goldfine

4th place: Ben Bocian

And of course our special "Royal Flush" consolation prize winner:

Danny Bocian

Thank you all again and we hope to see you again next year(ish)!

Stacey & Shelby

I have to say, last night and this morning I was a little nervous about doing 18 miles. I've done a full marathon before, but I got injured halfway into training and never trained more than 13 miles, walked probably more than 1/2 the race, and stopped at almost every medical tent along the way between my foot and my sister feeling pretty awful. I had actual (ok not actual) butterflies in my stomach this morning, but we headed out from Central Park at 72nd street, down the West side all the way downtown, across Battery Park, back up the East side to the 59th Street Bridge (back and forth), and back to the park, and I couldn't believe how good I felt! Sure I was tired, and definitely getting some blisters towards the end, but never felt like I couldn't have gone further (even coming back over the bridge, which is a full mile uphill and another almost 1/2 mile to the end). The way the route worked out we got to practice the bridge at about the same mileage it will be on race day, which is good to know I can do it at that point. As soon as we finished I was of course stiff and sore and immediately went to get what I felt was a well deserved ice cream at the food truck in the park :) And am definitely feeling tired and sore and see some serious rolling and icing and eating and NAPPING in my future. But I think back to walking around the hospital floor with my mom or dad on one side of me and clinging to my IV pole on the other, or not even being able to walk up the block home from the video store, and I see how far I've come. I never in a million years would have thought this was something I would be able to do. I had trouble holding my head up at the table at dinner. About a month from now I will run all 5 boroughs and 5 bridges of New York City. That's pretty incredible. And I'll be thinking of my experience, my personal honored teammates and heroes, and anyone you would like me to add, please see my previous post and I would be happy to run in their honor or memory as well. This is why we run - saving lives one mile at a time. For those who can't.

So yesterday I ran 14 miles to get my long run in before fasting for the holiday. Not gonna lie, it sucked. I mean really sucked - like momentarily contemplating calling someone to pick me up for the last 1/3 kind of sucking. It happens, no matter how much we train, no matter how great our coaches are, no matter how prepared we are, sometimes you just have a bad run. So I started playing some mind games to push me through - thinking of those I was running for, to run to the end of that song on my iPod or the next traffic light for them. It got me to thinking about race day (as I was thinking, oh my god I'm going to have to run a lot farther than this), and what I am going to do when I hit the infamous "wall".

Here's where you come in. While I have many of my own heroes to run in honor and in memory of, I would love to be able to honor your heroes as well, because its your donations that are helping fund the incredible ground-breaking research that is both saving lives and giving our patients and their families a better quality of life. So here's the deal:

For a donation of any amount, I will include your hero's name (also happy to include pictures) on my fundraising page the morning of the race, which will be posted and sent out to my friends, family, and donors.

For a donation of $25-$50, I will include your hero's name on a poster that I will give to one of my friends or family members to have along the race course, for a boost of inspiration for the coming miles as I run by.

For a donation of $50 or more, I will include your hero's name on my race singlet, and carry them with me for 26.2 mile through all 5 boroughs of NYC, and across the finish line.

Your heroes don't have to be affected by blood cancers, they can be anyone affected by any cancer, or even just someone who's special to you. For anyone who has donated to this race already, I would be happy to include your heroes as well - just send me the info.

This will be a great help to me along the race course, as well as a thank you to you for all your support over the years in helping me to save lives, one mile at a time.

As I start training for one of the most sought-after marathons in the world, it's hard to believe that 21 years ago I literally had to be carried home from the bus stop from camp, because I didn't have the strength to walk one block. That I told my mom I was too tired to participate in classes at camp or walk the dog. That I told my dad he had to go get the car because I couldn't ride my bike from the bottom of our street to our house at the top of the hill - and here I am getting ready to tackle 26.2 miles over 5 bridges and through all 5 boroughs of New York City.

On July 22, 1992, I was sitting at the hospital, and some guy with a yarmulke and a Looney Toons tie was drawing pictures of my cells and explaining what was happening. At the time I couldn't have possibly comprehended that he was going to save my life. At almost 12 years old, that was a lot to take in. At almost 33, it's still hard to wrap my mind around. But, not only did he save my life, he and his incredible team gave me and my family unending support, made us laugh when we needed it most but always reminded us when it was time to get down to business, gave us outlets like family vacations and trips to Montauk with other "cancer families" to give us just a little sense of normalcy, even sang to me, off-key with all the wrong words, when things seemed to be at their worst.

It was during this time that I learned the true importance of family, friends, and a strong support system. Through 2 1/2 years of treatment, I was never alone. There was a revolving door of visitors, not to mention cards, gifts, and food delivery (how many kids can say they had a whole fresh lobster delivered to them in the hospital??) My sister and brother were troopers while our parents dedicated their time to taking care of me, and while they weren't allowed to touch me because I would bruise if you looked at me funny, they certainly had no problem reminding me that I was still their sister, arguing with me just like they always had. I would never have expected or asked for anything less. Some of my friends stuck by me and visited when they could - they didn't always know what to say, but just knowing they were there meant the world to me. Others disappeared into the woodwork - not surprising, we were 12 - they were worried about the latest gossip, hairstyles, and the latest math test results. I was worried about my latest spinal tap, my hair falling out, and my latest blood test results. They were learning English vocabulary and I was learning medical terms no child should ever have to know. I was watching kids my age and younger fighting for their lives, and sometimes they won and sometimes they lost. Regardless, I had an incredible network of support, who got me through to my last day of treatment on October 7th, 1994.

Unfortunately, the last day of cancer treatment does not mean putting it all behind you for a cancer survivor. It means picking your life back up where you left off, except that now you are a completely different person. It means working through emotions you didn't even know you had because until now, all you could focus on was getting through the day's treatment. It means being monitored for the rest of your life for possible long term effects of chemo that may come back to haunt you, some that are still being discovered. Most importantly, it means establishing a new network of support. The needs aren't quite the same, but just as important. My family of course has always been my core source of support. Those same friends who stuck by me through treatment were still there when I needed them. I met incredible new friends in college, who, though they may not all know it, helped me work through a lot of after-effects I was dealing with. I became involved with the Delaware Chapter of The Leukemia & Lymphoma Society (thank you Michelle, who first brought me on as a volunteer and then couldn't get rid of me), and discovered Team In Training, where I completed my first 1/2 Marathon with my entire (incredibly unathletic) family for my 10 year anniversary off treatment.

3 years ago after a sudden and unexpected move back to NY, I was feeling a little lost - though it was great to come home to my family and I was lucky enough to be able to transfer to the NYC chapter, my life and friends were back in DE. I thought maybe signing up for a 10k with TNT would be a good excuse to get out of the house a few days a week, and maybe meet some new people. 11 events with the NYC Chapter later, I have gotten more than I ever could have asked for. Being surrounded by this group gives me purpose and support, no matter what kind of day I'm having. Every week, no matter how many events I've done, my coaches and teammates push me to new limits I never knew I had. We hear each other's stories, at mission moments before practice and in the hours (and hours and hours) of Saturday long runs. We run, we complain about the hills, the speedwork, the weather, our injuries, we eat, we drink, we laugh, we cry, and we come back the next day, week, and season, and do it all over again.

While I'm not really a big believer in "fate", I can't imagine my life having taken any other path. I won't lie and say it's been easy, or that I don't continue to struggle with many scars cancer has left behind. But I am so thankful for where it has brought me, and the people I have met, and to be able to get up at an ungodly hour on Saturday morning, when it's 100 degrees outside, and push myself through miles of NYC, when I could barely walk a block (so I keep telling myself every weekend when my alarm goes off). I am thankful for the incredible advances that are being made right now, due to the money my friends and I continue to raise. I am thankful for all of your continuing support, and I know that after over 10 years with LLS, you're probably saying to yourself, Seriously?? She's raising money AGAIN??? Yes, I am. Because 21 years ago, my doctor said to me, "10 years ago, I would have said spend a lot of time with her. But today, it's not only a hope, but an expectation, that she'll be fine." Because we are on the front lines of incredible breakthroughs, and we can say we were a part of it. Because 21 years ago, I couldn't walk home from the bus stop, and in just a few months, I will run 26.2 miles, because I'm here and because I can. Whether you donate money, cheer for me on the course, listen when I need it, understand when I'm rearranaging my life around my training runs, or support me in hundreds of other ways, thank you. I could not have gotten through the last 21 years without you, and it means more than you know.