Ford has officially unveiled its 2008 Warriors in Pink Mustang. Available in three colors -- black, metallic silver, and performance white -- this breast cancer-inspired car features a pink ribbon and Pony fender badge, pink striping on the rocker panel, and pink stitching on its charcoal leather seats, steering wheel, and floor mats. Only 2,500 of these Mustangs will be built, and the car will be available in the V6 coupe and convertible models.

Ford has given more than $90 million in cash and donations to Susan G. Komen for the Cure over the past 13 years. This Mustang is their latest philanthropic endeavor, and they expect to generate $500,000 in funds for this organization.

Ford says winning the race against breast cancer takes a whole lot of horsepower. And now they are adding more muscle than ever to the fight.

Vincent Rennich, veteran casino worker and non-smoker, is suing the Atlantic City Tropicana Casino and Resort because he claims a quarter-century of inhaling secondhand smoke gave him lung cancer. And if that's not enough to make this man upset, getting fired seals the deal.

"They threw me under the bus," Rennich said yesterday, the day after a supervisor told him he was terminated from his job. "How can you fire a guy with lung cancer who's suing you? Maybe they don't realize the ramifications. Or maybe they're heartless. Or maybe all of the above."

Tropicana officials say that Rennich was not singled out in any way, that he was just one of many let go due to a restructuring of the company. Since last January, more than 200 people have been laid off.

Rennich, 49 and a table games supervisor, has been a vocal advocate of a total smoking ban in Altantic City's 11 casinos. He has been speaking out on behalf of everyone working on the casino floors, and for himself personally.

Rennich had a third of his right lung removed in September 2005 and sees a doctor every three months to ensure his cancer does not reappear. Now that he's been fired, his health insurance will lapse in 30 days, leaving him with a monthly payment of $800 in medical bills.

Atlantic City was slated to ban all casino smoking this past January. But fierce opposition from the casino industry, predicting an estimated revenue loss of 20 percent and job losses of more than 3,400, led to a compromise. And now, effective April 15, smoking will be restricted to no more than 25 percent of the gambling floor.

Rennich is not happy about this -- or his cancer or his termination. And while he is not sure what his next step will be, he says he is definitely not backing down from his anti-smoking platform.

I'm trying to keep breast cancer away. I've had it once, and I really don't want it again. So I am committing myself to all strategies for keeping the disease out of my life -- like eating right, maintaining a normal weight, not drinking, not smoking, and as of yesterday, exercising strenuously.

New research shows strenuous exercise is what it takes to minimize the risk of breast cancer. Not moderate. Strenuous.

OK, I'm on board.

Now I've been a student of moderate fitness for most of my life. But now I'm embracing this new approach, this new way of pushing my body to its near limits. I figure if my choice is cancer or strenuous exercise, I better take the route that will leave me sweating and huffing and puffing, not sick and weak and bald. And so yesterday I took my first stab at what I will try to do at least five hours per week -- what experts say it takes to make a difference.

It all started with a warm-up lap on my treadmill -- just one lap at 4.5 miles per hour. Then I upped my speed to 5.3 and ran for a mile and a half. I continued running for another half mile at 6 miles per hour and then began walking again. I started at incline 1 for one minute, then moved to incline 2 for one minute, then incline 3 for one minute, and so on until I reached incline 10. My goal was to then continue walking while decreasing the incline each minute for ten minutes -- but I was so out of breath and fatigued, I jumped the incline down to 4 for one minute, then did 3 for one minute, 2 for one minute, 1 for one minute, and then I stopped. The whole process took about 40 minutes and left me soaked with sweat and gasping for air. Then, just in case my workout wasn't strenuous enough, I did 20 push-ups, a handful of sit-ups, and a few other floor exercises before heading to the shower.

So that's my version of strenuous. Now, I don't plan to do this same exact routine for all five hours I must complete each week, but I do intend to sweat and huff and puff just as much as I did yesterday. Because if strenuous is what it takes to ward off evil cancer cells, then I'm game.

Right now -- at this very moment -- my two boys have turned our living room into a mess of blankets and pillows and stuffed animals. They put on their jammies and closed all the blinds and are pretending it's bedtime. But it's actually lunch time, so they have spread out paper plates and plastic silverware and bags of chips and boxes of crackers all over the floor -- on top of all their bedding. I delivered them their lunch platters and lemonade and there they sit, in the room next to me -- chattering away, stuffing their little mouths, full of life. And I am in awe -- of the simple joy that comes from a living room camp-out and picnic, of the beauty these children bring into my life. I am mostly in awe of the fact that no matter what cancer takes from me -- my hair, moments of health, my innocence -- it cannot ever take this very moment from me. And that makes today a happy day.

I was hospitalized twice last year for chemo-induced fever and low blood counts. My first stay came at a busy time -- the hospital's oncology floor was full and there was no space for me. So I was admitted to the bone marrow transplant unit as an overflow patient and suddenly -- even in my very sick and compromised state -- I became the healthiest person on the floor. My white blood count was 700 -- sounded pretty bad to me -- but some of the patients staying on this floor with me had no blood counts because in order to receive a transplant, their own bone marrow is completely depleted in order to prepare for new bone marrow. Patients on this floor are considered pretty healthy when their counts reach 500. I was considered sick and was hospitalized at 700. Adults and children on this floor stay in rooms behind glass panels and with special -- and loud -- air flow systems that push germs out of the room. Visitors must wear gowns and shoe covers and must wash their hands before entering the rooms. Patients might stay on this floor for months at a time, receiving chemotherapy and preparing for their eventual bone marrow transplants. Some patient rooms are decorated and arranged just like home. Parents prepare rooms for children with play areas and craft areas and television areas. This floor is home to many sick children -- and this is what affected me most. For my five days on the bone marrow transplant unit, I gained an up-close and personal look at what many parents and children encounter when cancer derails their lives. It was so much more than I had to encounter. It must be quite an undertaking to prepare a child for this experience.

I picked up a coloring book the day I was discharged and walked off this floor and back into my own life. It's a coloring book that comes from The Leukemia & Lymphoma Society and is made by bone marrow transplant patients for children preparing for their own transplants. There is a poster for children to color and hang on their hospital room walls that says I Will Get Well, there is a page that terms chemo and radiation as Laser Rays and Guard Dogs and pages that help children visualize happy moments -- like playing a favorite sport or activity and jumping rope in the warm sunshine. This book reminds children that it is okay to cry and it even includes a prescription: Make sure you get at least one hug every day!

The overall message of this coloring book, which is stated in writing is, "A good attitude does not mean being cheerful all the time; it just means that you know that this is necessary to help fight your cancer."  Well said. And something I will always remember.