Alright. Let's put it all out on the table. I hated running. I hated working out. Swimming was alright in high school and college. And, I even ran the three miles around the Colorado State University campus once a week with some friends back in the 90s. In 2004, I gained 18 pounds and inched close to 140 pounds. When I passed 130, I cried. Well, okay, I was eating for two, literally. Once I delivered my bouncing baby girl and got the release from the doc, I started exercise regularly. Sort of. In no time at all, I was 117 pounds and pregnant again. Agh. It was harder the second go around, and I found a regular routine lifting the babies as weights and walking the stroller daily to the park. Easy Peasy in two years. Okay, maybe it was a bit of a yo-yo climb for three years. I announced to the world I was at a comfortable 120 pounds and sticking. Woohoo. Now to develop a regular maintenance routine at the rec center since the kids where now too wiggly for the stroller, and I hate running anyway. In general, sweating sort of stinks; pun intended.
So I reached my goal weight one month before my left breast blew up like a balloon and had to be removed. I had breast cancer and was going to have six months of chemotherapy and steroids. Yeah, I was totally physically fit, armed and dangerous...watch out cancer cells. Boom boom pow. Take that.
However, if you have any reality of cancer and chemo-effects in your life may it be you, a relative, or friend, you know that each treatment runs the body down like you have run a marathon or climbed a fourteen thousand foot peak. The next treatment is like running two marathons or climbing two peaks. the third is.... Well, you get the picture. Also, there is an additional 25 pounds of baggage on average. So being as I didn't get out much to avoid exposure risks to all those lazy people who sneeze, wipe their nose with the backs of their hands, and then continue holding the handle bars for the cycle or the bar for the treadmill...yah, you know who you are...I didn't get out. Luckily, my husband's company gave him a check, during the glory years of business, to buy athletic equipment in leu of a health club membership for one year. We had an elliptical in our basement...the same one Oprah uses, tee hee.
So I would drag my tired legs down to the basement, flip on Oprah, and work out for the 45 minutes she interviewed the President and First Lady. I also plugged in a bunch of new tunage in my i-pod from some weirdo named Lady Gaga and rounded the block stretching out my tight arm. Sometimes I would sneak in behind the elderly Chinese couple doing their Tia Chi thing so I wouldn't look out of place.
So here I was 18 months post-diagnoses, feeling pretty good, and finally getting a smile and a hug from my young women's breast oncologist at the University of Denver Hospital. Remission. The prescription for remission...run your ass off. Yes, I am quoting her as she likes to use a lot of "French" words. (Did you know cancer was a bitch?) "Basically, honey, it comes down to this, my young ladies that survive up through ten years and maybe more are runners. They are in half marathons, triathlons, and make it part of their life in some way."
Fine! I hate running! So I ran. First, I ran two minutes, walked five. Then maybe five minutes running, walk five...or was it ten? Eventually, I would run for twenty minutes, about half way or one mile, and walk home. One fine day, two years or so after diagnoses, I ran two miles, 30 minutes, no stop. Boom, I went a little further and further and there was three miles.
I still hated running and had a lot of time to think about how much I hated running. Then one day, it was getting to be fall and I knew soon it would be hard to get out and ran due to snow, I got sad. I would miss running.
That is when I realized what running was. Running was getting over that first mile when you are debating your investment of time while your muscles are asking you to go sit down someplace and look up at the clouds. Some where in the second mile, your eyes go up to the clouds, the mountains, the little bunnies hopping across the pavement, and the dragon fly that nearly smacked your forehead, you realize your body EGO turned off and your right brain turned on. You are day dreaming, listening to your tunes, and heck, nearly home. And, more importantly, you didn't stop to walk today.
So that is what running outside is. It is actually Jedi mind training. A few months later, I will kick out of my remission with a metastasis to my brain. I will think I will die and have nightmares of the cells as Storm Troopers inflitrating my brain like a spider web. I will lay on a Cyber Knife radiation table for 50 minutes. At 20 minutes into the treatment, under the very tight mesh mask pinned to the table, I will begin to panic and cry. Then, I will remember my running Yoda. I will close my eyes and see the clouds, mountains and bunnies. My breathing will slow and my right brain will take over. Then the treatment will be done. I will be almost home.
I still run today, brain tumor free. A couple of friends breezed pass me waving and chatting amongst themselves. They are quickly way ahead of me and heading towards Lager Reservoir which is a five mile loop. I realize how slow I am going. I realize how much my toes are really hurting due to the chemo-class-biologic drug I take to keep those Storm Trooper cancer cells out of my brain. In fact, I wonder if they are bleeding. My thighs feel like jello, and I want to stop and walk. Have I made a mile yet? I am too far from home now, nearly half way on my three mile loop. Come on stupid body EGO, shut up and let me run. There is a bunny, It is so super hot. Look at how awesome Long's Peak is over there with her sister Mount Meeker. How lucky I am here at this very moment to see this. Oh, I am at the kid's school now. I wonder if Jack was able to put on his brave face and enjoy school. (He was crying today; hard to let go on mommy's leg; fifth morning of kindergarten; I was too.) What? I am already nearly home? I am still running! Lady Gaga's Just Dance plays in my ear buds. This is the song I would sing as I dragged my legs, bones still achy from the Neulasta shot, around the block each day after each chemotherapy treatment. I have hair today. I am shouting, JUST DANCE! I am home.
I love running. Did you hear that right? Yep. Running is not about the sweat and great toned legs. Running is about the mind game with yourself. It is about shutting up your body EGO, letting your body move, and reaping the rewards of the endorphins as you're drinking 16 ounces of water in two seconds while sitting on your porch rocker feeling blessed you are still alive. While I have my legs that work, I will use them. What is a little bleeding toe? That is what band aids are for. Oh, and trying on some size 6, maybe even 4 skinny jeans that will slide so slightly in my winter boots this fall just may have its own rewards for my feminine EGO too. Go out and run Jedi warrior. God didn't make life easy, He made it possible.
PS: This blog entry is dedictated to Frank. Get out there and walk. Maybe someday you will run. Maye not. Don't let your neauropathy be a roadblock. Maybe you will learn something about yourself and your body EGO. do something with your body that isn't cancer and show it who's boss, Jedi warrior.
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