Walking doesn’t sound like anything difficult. And in most cases, it isn’t. But once you’ve walked for someone else, walking becomes a spiritual experience.

On June 27-28, I took part in the American Cancer Society’s Relay For Life at Bremerton High School. I’d participated in three Relays before — in Everett and on Whidbey Island. This was my first Relay in Kitsap County.

What motivated me to do this relay was four friends and relatives I lost to cancer this past year. Within seven months — from September to March —  I lost a cousin, a good friend, a professional colleague and the daughter of my best friend, all to various forms of cancer.

My friend Chris, whom I’d known since third grade in Topeka, Kansas, died in December of a horrid cancer that attacked his jaw, mouth and tongue. By the time he passed, he couldn’t speak. He was 58.

In that same week in December, my cousin John died of colon cancer. He never had been able to get medical insurance because he was a freelance actor in Los Angeles. When he was finally able to get care under the Affordable Care Act in 2014, they found Stage 4 cancer. He was 52.

My professional colleague, Linda Joyce, died here in Kitsap County in March at age 62. She fought ovarian cancer for five years. She was much more than a newspaper source to me. She was a friend and I was lucky enough to really get to know her toward the end, when I helped care for her.

The daughter of my best friend back in Kansas, Lindsay, was only 35 when she died last September. She had a cancerous tumor in her sinuses. For four years she did everything to live — surgery, radiation, chemotherapy and even a cell transplant at M.D. Anderson Cancer Center in Houston. She left behind a loving family, including two young children.

So, in preparation for the Relay, I made luminarias — white paper bags with their photos and names on them. I knew at the appropriate time, candles would be placed inside them and lighted to honor their fights against cancer.

When I got to the Relay at noon on Saturday, my husband, Brian, helped me set up our tent and canopy. It was already nearing 80 degrees. I decided that my plan would be to walk five laps and then rest a bit, and then walk again and rest again.

But first came the opening ceremony. The announcer asked that all cancer survivors come to the starting line to take the initial lap around the track. Everyone cheered them on. Among them were a 9-year-old boy named Ethan and an 89-year-old woman, both whom had beaten cancer. All the survivors wore purple Relay T-shirts to note that they had conquered the disease.

And then, we all joined in, to take our first lap. In all, there were 41 teams in the relay and more than 350 walkers. The idea is for each team to raise donations and have someone on the track for 24 hours straight. So I began my trek. During the Relay I was joined by my husband, Brian; Mayor Patty Lent, Harriette Bryant and Steve Rice, all of Bremerton; and Valerie Rotmark and her husband, Ron, of Kingston. They were all friends of Linda’s, too.

Walking during the heat of the day was tough. The sun was bearing down and there was only a mild breeze. There were times when I wanted to just stop and sit. But I knew I had to keep walking because I had a goal. And, whenever I wanted to stop, I thought about what my cousin John had told me, about how difficult it became for him to try to eat. The month before he died, he wasn’t able to digest anything and had to be fed intravenously. He so badly wanted to live. He kept saying he’d beat this disease.

And I thought about my friend and when her daughter had to have the cell transplant in Houston. Because of all the drugs she was on and the procedure itself, she didn’t even know her mother; she yelled at her mother and told her to go away. How that must have hurt my friend, who had pretty much given up her own life for four years to help her daughter through all the treatments.

“If she could live through all that, I can continue to walk,” I told myself.

I lost track of how many bottles of water I drank. Because of the heat, I didn’t want to eat. But once the sun began to go down, I was able to have a few tacos from a great food vendor who was on site. The Doctors Clinic also had a barbecue booth, with all proceeds going to the Relay.

As it got dark, the luminarias were lined up around the track. The candles were lit and volunteers began reading the names of all those lost to cancer who were being remembered. Each walker was given a glow stick to carry and the stadium lights were turned off. It was a very moving time.

I thought about my upcoming 40th high school reunion and how Chris wouldn’t be there this time. I saw my cousin John’s face, smiling in the last photo I had of him as he stood on the beach in California. I remembered Lindsay, just 10 years before her cancer, when she was married on the beach in Cabo and her wedding was photographed and published in a bridal magazine. And I heard Linda’s laugh – that laugh she was so well-known for. And I cried.

As I walked the track, I looked at the other luminarias. Some had names and drawings of butterflies, hearts, and flowers. Some had photos of loved ones lost. With each lap, I’d find another name, another face that I had noticed before. It seemed unimaginable that so many people had been lost to cancer.

Somewhere along the way, I decided that I had to make 100 laps — 25 miles — before the Relay ended the following day at noon. So I upped my game to 10 laps and then a rest. It was after midnight and I tried to sleep a bit, but couldn’t. So I got up and walked. I walked for three hours straight. And during that time I met a stranger, Jennifer, and walked with her. She told me her story as a cancer survivor.

Her cancerous tumor in her GI tract was discovered after she had her first baby. Being pregnant masked that she had the tumor. Surgery, chemotherapy, radiation and four years later, she is cancer free. Her story gave me hope that cancer is not always a death sentence.

At sunrise, Harrison Medical Center staff arrived with free breakfast for all walkers. They served up eggs, sausage, pancakes and juice. And that wonderful coffee truck, which had been there through the entire Relay, had every imaginable coffee drink anyone could ask for.

I reached 80 laps sometime in the middle of the night. I knew I needed 20 more. So, about 8 a.m., I put in another five laps and then rested. My feet hurt. I had too many blisters to count.

The sun had been out, but the clouds were coming and the sky looked dark. I knew I needed to finish before a cloudburst of rain came. I did another 10 laps. It was nearing the end of the Relay and I still had five more laps to go. It was beginning to sprinkle and my husband said he’d pack everything up and take it to the car. He told me to keep walking.

There were several strikes of lighting, and thunder was heard. The organizers announced that everyone should be aware of the weather. I kept walking with my eyes to the sky.

And just as I began my last lap, my husband joined me and we walked it together. I looked at the faces of the other walkers who had been there through the entire event. Some were young kids who at times ran the laps. Some were middle-aged and older. There was a lady who had done her laps pushing her wheeled walker to stabilize her. Others had walked with canes. And, at times, some walkers had pushed others in wheelchairs or pulled their young kids in wagons. We were all different. But we all had the same reason for being there.

My $800 in pledges might not end cancer. Neither might my 100 laps. But like the other walkers, I had made my statement.

“Cancer, we’re going to beat you. Someday no one will have to fear you. Someday no one will be lost to you. And someday, we’ll no longer need to Relay For Life.”