All Decathletes are fundraising to help beat cancer, but most haven't had to beat cancer themselves. Below, David Weis, a cancer survivor and analyst at Stifel, Nicolaus & Co. shares what competing in the Wall Street Decathlon this year means to him. 

Everybody knows someone who had cancer: a brother or sister, mother or father, sibling, cousin, or friend. Everybody has seen someone go through the struggle of a diagnosis, the scars of surgery or the effects of radiation and chemo. And whether you’re right by the side of a loved one, or watching from a distance, we can all agree that it’s a pretty horrible thing to experience.

This simple fact is what drives events like the Wall Street Decathlon to occur: everybody knows someone who had (or has) cancer.

I, like many of my fellow participants, have experienced cancer. Except it wasn’t a family, friend or loved one who got sick -- it was me. 

On August 10, 2010, two days before my 19th birthday, I was diagnosed with cancer. Preventative measures immediately went into effect: I went into surgery on August 20, nine days before I moved into college. I spent the first semester on the occasional trip to my hospital in New York for checkups, and took over a week off before Thanksgiving break in order to undergo radiation with enough time before the holiday to heal (and not be radioactive), so I could see my family for dinner.

Before my diagnosis, I felt completely fine. I was an athlete throughout high school and planned on continuing to play sports through college, and I never once showed any symptoms revealing a problem. Had I not gone to a routine physical, there’s a chance the tumor growing inwards into my neck would have gone undetected for longer.

It all happened so fast. Almost as soon as I recovered from surgery, I returned to college and never really thought much of the whole ordeal. I buried most of my thoughts about it. For me, it was just another challenge to overcome, not much worth mentioning or being overly concerned.

I never really thought about “having cancer.” To me, I just got sick, had surgery, and needed to just power through it and try to go about my college experience with as little interruption as possible. I remember thinking that people with cancer, or who had recently beat the disease, didn’t look like me. I looked in the mirror and aside from losing weight pretty quickly, looked and felt relatively healthy.

I wondered, how could I have been a “real” cancer survivor? I never did anything miraculous; I never had to think about goodbyes or really sharing horrible news. I never had to battle and beat near-impossible odds like the Lance Armstrongs of the world. I never really went to bed recognizing that I was given a diagnosis of a disease that has cut short the lives of a great number of people, or worried that I wouldn’t beat it. Those were cancer survivors. It was only after I started opening up about it that I really came to terms with what the term "cancer survivor" actually means.

Once people found out I had been diagnosed, then determined cancer-free, it was commonplace for someone to share a story of someone they knew who had cancer. Simply being a cancer survivor meant people felt more comfortable sharing their own experiences. It was – and continues to be – a pretty difficult concept to grasp. I began to be told about moms who died before being able to see their sons or daughters finish elementary school, dads who were not able to teach their kids how to drive or move them into college as family and friends could do little more than watch and offer support.

I, the cancer survivor who hardly thought of myself as a “real” survivor at all, began to see the much broader scope – one far too large – that cancer cut through families and friendships. My perspective changed; I became a listener and an empathizer rather than thinking I wasn’t a part of the community.

Since I've adapted this new mindset, I have had the opportunity to become more and more involved in the community of survivors, fighters, and their generous support system. I’ve spoken at a number of cancer fundraisers, advocated in campaigns to promote cancer awareness, and spoke at the U.S. Senate, addressing the effects of healthcare reform on young cancer survivors.

On Sunday, June 14th, I’ll also participate in The Wall Street Decathlon. The Decathlon is a great way for me to continue to stay involved in the fight against cancer while being with people who are just as inspired, and each have their own experiences with cancer. Training for the past few months has been a heavy commitment on top of my workload, without a doubt – but the benefits and reward have far exceeded any sort of effort I have put in.

Nobody wants cancer. Nobody wants to be the “someone” in the everybody-knows-someone-who-had-cancer” reality. It’s a community that nobody chooses, one that picks at random the unfairest of ways. Survivorship, I have come to realize, is not about being that “someone with cancer” – it’s about being that someone who still stands with those who continue to fight, remembering those who lost their battle, and being inspired and encouraged by those who lend strength and hope to this unchosen community. It means that your own struggle, however long or brief, takes a backseat to the unity with others who have been there or stood with those who did as you did.

I never chose cancer – of course, nobody does. But I can say with certainty that I feel so incredibly blessed to be a part of this community of survivors and friends and family of those who have faced or are facing cancer. I’m honored to join those who feel the same way, and could not be more excited to join the community of Decathletes in The Wall Street Decathlon.

Read Davis Weis' "Meet the Decathletes'" blog, and donate to his fundraising page here.