Latest news with #Livestrong
Yahoo
15-05-2025
- Health
- Yahoo
Wichita YMCA's Livestrong: Empowering cancer patients
WICHITA, Kan. (KSNW) – Each step up the stairs represents a bigger success for Miketo Kirk. Before joining the Greater Wichita YMCA's Livestrong program, a flight of stairs could've been a mountain. 'When I first got here, I was just so weak you cannot even imagine,' she explained. 'This chair right here. I couldn't even get up and down out of it.' In spring 2024, Kirk was diagnosed with head and neck cancer. 'I had 37 rounds of radiation and six rounds of chemo,' she said. Once in remission, she joined Livestrong. AgapéCare Cradle aids grieving parents after child loss 'So we're helping individuals regain their strength, their stamina. We work on flexibility and balance,' said Debbie Cruz, Greater Wichita YMCA's Livestrong program director. The 12-week program is free for anyone who has ever received a cancer diagnosis, regardless if they are a member at the Y. 'It could have been 10 years ago. It could have been 10 days ago,' Cruz said. The group meets twice a week for 90 minutes. For the first hour, a trainer helps them build muscle; the second part focuses on building bonds. 'Until you've experienced (cancer), you really don't understand. So as they come together, they can say, 'yeah, I get it. I understand,'' Cruz said. Justice Together offers solutions to help the community Each session is a safe space for survivors. 'In my life, I am the strong person. I am not able to cry around other people, but in here, I've been able to cry and let all that stuff out,' Miketo said. The program sets the stage for a total transformation. 'That was a whole different woman, a whole different woman,' Miketo reflected. She's now a woman who's ready to keep pushing. YMCA's Livestrong is available across Wichita, Hutchinson, El Dorado, Andover and Newton. It's free whether or not you are a member. Once the 12 weeks are over, there is an alumni group that meets once a month. You can sign up by emailing If you would like to nominate a nonprofit for our Here For You Spotlight, fill out our online contact form. Copyright 2025 Nexstar Media, Inc. All rights reserved. This material may not be published, broadcast, rewritten, or redistributed.
Yahoo
12-05-2025
- Business
- Yahoo
'Our mission has never changed': Austin charity Livestrong rebounds with CEO Suzanne Stone
Livestrong President and CEO Suzanne Stone stands with her back to a light-filled, open-plan space, decorated with reminders of the cancer charity's origins during the career of celebrity Austin cyclist Lance Armstrong. Wearing an aqua-tinted summer vest over a plain white blouse, Stone radiates health and well-being. Strands of sunny hair frame her rosy skin, glittering eyes and winning smile. A familiar yellow silicone wristband winks from her wrist, one of almost 100 million given away or sold for $1 by the Lance Armstrong Foundation, renamed Livestrong in 2012 after Armstrong fell from grace during a doping scandal. "Nike had the idea," Stone says. "They said everyone would wear one. They looked good." A closer look at Stone — during four extended interviews — reveals a wisdom and depth born of a gritty resolve to overcome all sorts of adversities, some of them life-or-death, especially for the clients of the rebounding charity that she heads. Founded in 1997 to help people navigate lives with cancer, the charity almost spiraled out of existence 15 years later after Armstrong was stripped of his seven Tour de France titles and banned for life by cycling's governing body on the heels of a report from the U.S. Anti-Doping Agency. That year, 2012, the founder and his charity went their separate ways. "Parts of the divorce were easy, other parts not," Stone said. "We lost our corporate partners and a lot of individual donors who had looked up to Lance." The renamed Livestrong Foundation, however, did not go away. (Neither did Armstrong, still a hero to many, but that's another story.) Once Austin's top-ranked charity for fundraising and the recipient of tens of millions of dollars in annual donations, Livestrong has bounced back under four leaders and, to some extent, through timely, inventive and sustainable strategies to walk cancer survivors through previously unimaginable challenges. On an annual budget of $3.5 million, Livestrong now operates with eight full-time employees and 11 contractors. They gather at fairly modest offices on the upper floors of the Sunflower Bank Building at West 38th and Guadalupe streets. Some of the charity's relatively recent or expanded initiatives include: A closed-set, restricted-access artificial intelligence chat project that answers frequent questions from cancer patients. Unlike random internet searches, Livestrong provides a trustworthy source. Stone calls it "AI for good." The program, called "Ellis," speaks Spanish and English. Expanding Livestrong's fertility program, which dates to 2009, to broker the harvesting of eggs and sperm from newly diagnosed cancer patients before they undergo possibly fertility-damaging treatments. Leveraging, again, its public trust and its long relationships with fertility clinics, Livestrong is paid a fee by the 150 clinics for the matchmaking, helping the foundation become more sustainable. Publishing children's books with a partner based on Livestrong's K-12 school curriculum. "We found there were no age-appropriate books, specifically for the youngest students trying to help a friend with cancer," Stone said. Expanding the long-standing "Livestrong at the YMCA" program. "The Y was devastated by COVID-19," Stone said. "Not everybody lives near a Y. Not everybody goes to the gym. But studies show that five years after treatment, a patient is five times more likely to die without exercise." "We've taken into account the world today," Stone, 55, said. "Which is not what it was 10 years ago or even five years ago. We are experiencing measured and scalable growth in our reach and impact. "How we do it has changed, but our mission has never changed." The night: Friday, Oct. 26, 2012. The place: A high-ceilinged hall at the Austin Convention Center that boomed with 1,700 guests. The event: One of the largest charity galas in Austin history to that point. Lance Armstrong's celebrity friends — Robin Williams, Sean Penn, Norah Jones and Stephen Marley, along with athletes such as Eric Shanteau, Quan Cosby and Bo Jackson — line the stage. Even before the bidding began on auction items, the celebration had raised more than $1 million for the cancer charity. Foundation staff forecast that before the evening ended, they would gross $2.5 million. This, despite the fact that Armstrong was already deeply in trouble because of a doping scandal that would, just a month later, divorce the famed athlete from the foundation he founded. "We are grateful for your support," Armstrong told the crowd at the convention center. "We don't take it for granted. We try to be good stewards. This mission is bigger than me. It's bigger than any individual. The mission absolutely must go on. We will not be deterred. There are 28 million people around the world who need us." It was a reminder that Lance Armstrong Foundation's fundraisers were mass events meant for the masses. One event survives today: The Livestrong Challenge, once a 90-mile Hill Country bike ride, has evolved into the Livestrong Challenge Ride, Run or Walk. On Nov. 2, one can cycle 20, 45, 65 or 100 scenic miles, or run or walk a timed 5K or 10K around Lady Bird Lake. Back in the late 20th and early 21st centuries, could anyone blame Austin for Livestrong mania? Armstrong not only won seven grueling Tour de France titles from 1999 to 2005, the premier race on the world cycling circuit, but did so after beating testicular cancer in 1997. The cancer was particularly bad in part because it spread to other parts of Armstrong's body. His face was plastered on billboards and jumbo screens around the globe. In Austin, yellow-gold banners — the Tour de France winning color — lined Congress Avenue for gargantuan welcome-home parades. Armstrong's paramours made front-page news. This newspaper sent reporters and photographers to France each year to cover his triumphs. In 1999, celebrity photographer Annie Leibovitz shot a famous nude image of an impossibly muscled Armstrong posed on his bicycle. His book "It's Not About the Bike: My Journey Back to Life" became a must-have inspirational bestseller. By the second decade of the 21st century, Armstrong rivaled Willie Nelson as the most recognizable Austin celebrity. Even people who did not follow cycling — or had not experienced a close encounter with cancer — cherished the yellow wristband. Often worn in solidarity with loved ones battling cancer, they were universal symbols of good feeling and good works. Livestrong's then-president and CEO, Doug Ulman, who rivaled Armstrong for charisma, though with a softer, lower-key profile, was the ultimate guest at any Austin charity event. In Austin, the Livestrong headquarters, carved from a chic renovated warehouse on East Sixth Street, became the place to meet the most admired nonprofit leaders. So many people were hired — more than 100 at one point — some of them declared that they didn't have enough substantive work to do, an unusual complaint for a service nonprofit. In 2007, Armstrong went further. His late-hour lobbying pushed Texas lawmakers to pass a $3 billion cancer research fund. At its peak, in 2009, Livestrong took in $41 million in donations, when Armstrong came out of retirement to finish third in the Tour de France. Then it all caved in. For years, rumors of Armstrong's misdeeds had been reported, but often ignored, in his adopted hometown. (The cyclist is actually from Plano, and, by the 2010s, he was already spending more time in Aspen, Colorado, than in Austin.) Not too long after Armstrong confessed to doping on "Oprah" — saying that his "mythic, perfect story" was "one big lie" — the donations started drying up. "As fast as the money had risen, suddenly the faucet was turned off," Stone said. All the inventive programs that Ulman and others had rolled out to help those living with cancer were in trouble. In what seemed like one last grand gesture that indicated the altered future of the foundation, Ulman pledged $50 million in 2014 to the Livestrong Cancer Institutes at the new Dell Medical Center at the University of Texas. Still, Livestrong had many more years of good work ahead. "Lance remains the largest individual donor to our foundation," Stone said. "It was never about what Lance was doing on the bike. After all, as he said, 'It's not about the bike.' It was always about changing the way people live with cancer, not to cure cancer." Suzanne Stone was born during a thunderstorm on March 3, 1970, in Baton Rouge, Louisiana. Since her father, who served in the Navy, was engaged in national politics, she grew up from ages 5 to 18 in Washington, D.C. Stone remembers being an independent child. "I was a daredevil," she said with some pride. "Give me a Big Wheel and a skateboard at the top of a hill and just let go." She played sports year-round, but baseball was her first love. "I got to an age when girls no longer play baseball," Stone said. "I'm like: 'What's softball?' I switched to basketball instead." After high school, Stone wanted to go to California to make movies, but she compromised by studying a bit closer to home at TCU in Fort Worth. She majored in radio and television production. "I wanted to learn how to write and how to tell stories," she said. (She still furtively listened to basketball games while in class.) Twenty-five years ago, Stone gave birth to a son, Riley, whom she raised as a single mother from the time he was 10. She also coached him in basketball. Once at a community college in upstate New York, Stone signed on as an assistant basketball coach. "I never met the head coach," she said. "In fact, the sports director said: 'You can be the head coach.'" (She maintains a working relationship with the UT women's basketball team, which backs Livestrong projects.) In 1992, Stone learned more storytelling techniques as an assistant producer for the TV series "Texas Country Reporter," which introduced her to Austin during her work travels around the state. After stops in Chicago, New York City and Wichita Falls — at the Children's Miracle Network — she expanded her nonprofit activity at the Lake Travis school district as director of corporate development and, at the same time, as executive director of the Lake Travis Educational Foundation. Stone did transformative work with the local chapter of the Susan G. Komen Foundation, a groundbreaking breast cancer charity, by expanding care based in Austin from five to 58 counties. "I didn't like saying no to someone who lived just on the other side of a county line," Stone said. 'When I was first part of the team that recruited Suzanne to lead Komen Austin nearly 10 years ago, I knew she was a special kind of leader who was going to take Austin's nonprofit community by storm," said Matt Kouri, president and founder of Good Works Strategic Advisors. "And she certainly has, becoming a distinguished leader at the intersection of nonprofit, health and philanthropy. "She is a rare kind of leader, able to deftly balance a genuine kindness of spirit with the heart of a bulldog, tenacious in her advocacy for those in need. And her personal story and journey only add to her effectiveness as a mission-driven leader. We are fortunate to have Suzanne in leadership in our community.' Seeing Stone's ability to generate growth, then-Livestrong president and CEO Greg Lee — previously longtime CFO of the foundation — recruited her for the role of chief mission officer. Stone took Lee's place in 2023 when he retired. "Suzanne has a combination of traits that makes her unusually effective in the nonprofit space," said Scott Wallace, a UT Dell Medical School professor who studies care options for patients and families with chronic medical conditions. "She understands strategy and has an incisive business mind. She combines that with the passion and energy of a 25-year-old tech CEO and the limitless compassion of a caregiver. She views every person who needs Livestrong as a friend, a family member — someone she's known and loved, even though she just met them. "I don't know anyone even remotely like her." How many nonprofits could withstand the tempest that faced Livestrong in 2012? Livestrong's subsequent struggles could be predicted in its 2013 financial report, which revealed a 34% drop in donations and a 38% slump in total revenue after commercial sponsorships were canceled or not renewed. In 2020, CEO Greg Lee announced a "relaunch" of Livestrong. While keeping its partnership with the Livestrong Cancer Institutes, the foundation ended its person-to-person cancer support that allowed patients to call for help in dealing with insurance, counseling and medical trials. Instead, it moved to spending $5 million to $6 million annually to support outside groups that developed products to improve treatment and patient care. "We're nimble," Lee said at the time, according to an ESPN report. "We're not like an ocean liner. We're more like a Jet Ski that can turn on a dime." One long-term effort that needed updating by the time Stone took over: helping with fertility needs for newly diagnosed cancer patients. "Men and women are getting treatment pretty quick," Stone said. "You have to make a decision: Do I ever want to have kids? Therapy presents risk factors. The harvesting process costs $12,000 for women, $800 for men on average. You have a week or maybe a month to come up with that money." This treatment is rarely covered by insurance. Patients who apply through the Livestrong program are admitted within 24 hours, and clinics discount the cost by 25% to 50%. "We also partner with EMD Serono for free medication, which normally costs $4,500," Stone said. "We make things easier for these clinics and oncologists, and we make sure we know the various prices. We said at one point, 'We need you to put in a piece of the pie.' Change is hard, but all 150 clinics bought in. Clinics pay to ensure that patients get quality care at the deepest-discounted price." For its trusted role, Livestrong receives about $80,000 annually from the clinics, which does not cover the foundation's more than $250,000 cost for navigators to service the program. Stone said that Livestrong, which receives no state or federal funding, will continue its partnership with UT, but not through the Livestrong Cancer Institutes. Instead, in 2024, Livestrong sponsored six cancer research scholars as part of the earlier agreement. "MD Anderson changes everything," Stone said. "But we built the institute and have put $25 million so far into its advances in patient-centered care. It's always been an evolving approach. For instance, every cancer patient has a navigator now, something we helped introduce. "Every five seconds, someone is diagnosed with cancer," Stone said. "We see where we are going. We see the future of cancer care, and we need to be there." 1997: Celebrity cyclist Lance Armstrong is declared free of testicular cancer; he launches the Lance Armstrong Foundation. 1999: Armstrong wins the first of a record seven Tour de France titles. 2000: As president and CEO, charismatic cancer survivor Doug Ulman joins the foundation, which now focuses on cancer survivorship. 2001: The foundation launches community impact grants. One of the first went to Austin-based Wonders and Worries, which provides free support to children and teenagers during a parent's serious illness or injury. 2003: The "Livestrong" brand is introduced; the foundation offered free, direct and personalized support services for people navigating the complexities of cancer, which eventually become Livestrong Cancer Navigation Center. 2004: Debut of yellow silicone-gel Livestrong wristbands, developed by Nike, and worn by tens of millions; eventually almost 100 million will be sold or given away. 2007: Texas voters back the Cancer Prevention & Research Institute of Texas; nationwide launch of Livestrong at the YMCA; work begins on the Lance Armstrong Bikeway in Central Austin, first proposed in 1999, but never completely finished. 2009: The Livestrong Global Cancer Summit convenes 500 delegates from around the world; Livestrong begins early help with fertility for cancer patients. 2012: After doping scandals, the foundation parts ways with the disgraced Armstrong, banned from cycling; it changes its name to the Livestrong Foundation in November 2012. 2013: Nike cuts ties with Livestrong. 2014: The foundation pledges $50 million to the UT Dell Medical School for the Livestrong Cancer Institutes to support patient-centered cancer care. Doug Ulman steps down as CEO of Livestrong to lead the Ohio-based Pelotonia, a charity bike ride that had already raised tens of millions of dollars for cancer research. 2015: Chandini Portteus, formerly of the Susan G. Komen Foundation, hired as president and CEO of Livestrong. 2016: Greg Lee, longtime CFO of Livestrong, named president and CEO to replace Portteus. 2018: Livestrong launches the "Help Starts Here" self-guided navigation tool for survivors and caretakers. 2020: Lee announces a "reset" for the foundation, shifting its focus away from direct services to support of outside allied groups. 2023: Lee departs; Suzanne Stone, formerly with the Children's Miracle Network Hospitals as well as the Susan G. Komen Foundation, becomes Livestrong president and CEO. 10 million: Cancer survivors served by Livestrong Almost 100 million: Yellow silicone-gel wristbands sold or given away More than $500 million: Amount of money generated by the foundation over its lifetime $3 billion: Taxpayer funds voted by Texans for the Cancer Prevention & Research Institute of Texas, an effort championed by Armstrong $50 million: The 2014 grant pledged to the UT Dell Medical School for the Livestrong Cancer Institutes; $25 million has been delivered so far $22.5 million: Current Livestrong endowment $3.5 million: Current Livestrong annual budget This article originally appeared on Austin American-Statesman: Livestrong, once Austin's wealthiest charity, evolves again under CEO
Yahoo
29-03-2025
- Entertainment
- Yahoo
How the Livestrong wristband survived Lance Armstrong
Editor's Note: Jake Tapper goes behind the headlines to investigate some of the most outrageous and iconic political controversies of the modern era. Watch 'United States of Scandal' Sundays at 9p ET/PT on CNN. Uneasy lies the head that wears a crown, said Shakespeare's Henry IV, but the king of cycling, Lance Armstrong, wasn't content with his athletic garland, he had the rest of us wearing something too: those yellow silicone gel wristbands that read LIVESTRONG. Introduced in 2004 as part of his cancer foundation, those wristbands were on the wrists of tens of millions of us, including celebrities, politicians, and even Armstrong's rivals at the 2004 Tour de France. They were a symbol of the investment we all had in the success of the well-spoken, handsome, inspiring athlete, who went from battling advanced testicular cancer at 25 to dominating his sport only a few years later. What a story! Marketed by NIKE and bought by so many of us, Lance Armstrong as we understood him was a myth we all wanted to believe was true. Those few not blinded by the desire to believe Armstrong's story, who knew he was doping, suffered greatly. Given how prevalent doping was in cycling at the time, it may be that the truest scandal in the whole saga was his lying and bullying. For the newest episode of United States of Scandal, we spoke with his one-time and whistleblower teammate Floyd Landis, reporter David Walsh, and team carer-turned- whistleblower Emma O'Reilly, all of whom tried to bring to light evidence of his doping. They saw firsthand how the confidence and intensity that Armstrong used in his pursuit of perfection on his bike could be viciously turned on those who dared to question him. The specifics of his brutality toward these whistle-blowers, as well as close friends like Betsy Andreu, the wife of former teammate Frankie Andreu, are a stunning parallel to the behavior Armstrong showed in his sport. He had a shield – the investment of corporate sponsors such as NIKE, which said that Armstrong misled the company for more than a decade. In fact, several interviewees told us that, had Armstrong not attempted a comeback after his retirement, at a time when he was no longer the unquestioned champion, they think the system protecting Armstrong from public scrutiny might never have cracked. Upon the revelation, he was stripped of his seven consecutive Tour de France titles, along with major endorsements and one Olympic medal. He was banned from the sport of cycling for life. Everyone was parting ways from the former legend. The Livestrong organization remained the one uncontested part of Armstrong's story. However, in the words of the foundation's CEO Suzanne Stone, 'In 2012, Livestrong and Armstrong got a divorce. He got the bike, and we kept the house.' The essence of the movement continues. They are focused on helping people live with cancer — as Lance Armstrong so valiantly embodied in the early years of his career. Ultimately, we discovered that the story of Lance Armstrong is more than a simple story about an athlete cheating; it asks compelling questions about the nature of champions, and the responsibility of the systems that support them. We hope you'll tune in Sunday.
CNN
29-03-2025
- Entertainment
- CNN
How Lance Armstrong's scandal changed Livestrong forever
Uneasy lies the head that wears a crown, said Shakespeare's Henry IV, but the king of cycling, Lance Armstrong, wasn't content with his athletic garland, he had the rest of us wearing something too: those yellow silicone gel wristbands that read LIVESTRONG. Introduced in 2004 as part of his cancer foundation, those wristbands were on the wrists of tens of millions of us, including celebrities, politicians, and even Armstrong's rivals at the 2004 Tour de France. They were a symbol of the investment we all had in the success of the well-spoken, handsome, inspiring athlete, who went from battling advanced testicular cancer at 25 to dominating his sport only a few years later. What a story! Marketed by NIKE and bought by so many of us, Lance Armstrong as we understood him was a myth we all wanted to believe was true. Those few not blinded by the desire to believe Armstrong's story, who knew he was doping, suffered greatly. Given how prevalent doping was in cycling at the time, it may be that the truest scandal in the whole saga was his lying and bullying. For the newest episode of United States of Scandal, we spoke with his one-time and whistleblower teammate Floyd Landis, reporter David Walsh, and team carer-turned- whistleblower Emma O'Reilly, all of whom tried to bring to light evidence of his doping. They saw firsthand how the confidence and intensity that Armstrong used in his pursuit of perfection on his bike could be viciously turned on those who dared to question him. The specifics of his brutality toward these whistle-blowers, as well as close friends like Betsy Andreu, the wife of former teammate Frankie Andreu, are a stunning parallel to the behavior Armstrong showed in his sport. He had a shield – the investment of corporate sponsors such as NIKE, which said that Armstrong misled the company for more than a decade. In fact, several interviewees told us that, had Armstrong not attempted a comeback after his retirement, at a time when he was no longer the unquestioned champion, they think the system protecting Armstrong from public scrutiny might never have cracked. Upon the revelation, he was stripped of his seven consecutive Tour de France titles, along with major endorsements and one Olympic medal. He was banned from the sport of cycling for life. Everyone was parting ways from the former legend. The Livestrong organization remained the one uncontested part of Armstrong's story. However, in the words of the foundation's CEO Suzanne Stone, 'In 2012, Livestrong and Armstrong got a divorce. He got the bike, and we kept the house.' The essence of the movement continues. They are focused on helping people live with cancer — as Lance Armstrong so valiantly embodied in the early years of his career. Ultimately, we discovered that the story of Lance Armstrong is more than a simple story about an athlete cheating; it asks compelling questions about the nature of champions, and the responsibility of the systems that support them. We hope you'll tune in Sunday.
