Running Through Cancer - Find Your People
I'm about six weeks into my cancer journey now. On one hand, this has been such an unexpected path to pop up in my life suddenly, and on the other it sounds like a long time ago. Six weeks to accept the diagnosis, six weeks to choose the attitude I intend to go forward with in the face of this beast. Six weeks to really understand that I have cancer.
Cancer is such a broad name for this disease, because it can mean so many things. There are important additives to that word. The stage of cancer, the location of cancer, the size, the intensity of its growth are all add ons that clarify and quantify the threat to life. In my case, I have the luxury of saying mine is stage 1, it's breast cancer and it's not near my chest wall, it's small and I appear to have had it detected before it starts to take over. These are great things; and yet, it is still cancer. There is still the potential threat to my life. Certainly, it has already affected my life in a permanent and irrevocable way.
I believe with every cell of my being that the way we attack problems in our lives matters. I've always believes that; and yet you don't know how you'll react when you are faced with a real challenge. But the thing is, the energy you create through your mind and spirit is formidable. It took me a couple of days for the blow of the diagnosis to wear off before that churning engine of relentless optimism and energy powered back up and took off. I choose to be relentless in my pursuit of the silver lining at all turns.
As I absorbed the blow of this diagnosis, I talked about it in a few close circles. The circle in which I have been most forthcoming is in my running group. I joined the local chapter of a free running group called Moms Run This Town a couple years ago. I was an extremely novice runner who often fell out of practice with the sport, picking it up and laying off every few months, never really committing to becoming a runner. Last year, I was involved enough with this group to have the companionship and encouragement to join a few races. Included among those races were two half marathons, a distance I'd never before considered! Those races turned out to be very successful for me, with my best half marathon time coming in at 2 hours and 19 minutes. This is a very fine pace for a recreational runner and I'm pleased with myself and with the performance; however, it truly is not about the finish line. That old saying that it's about the journey and not the finish is so true.
At that time, I didn't even know this cancer diagnosis was in my future. Yet here I was, setting the stage for a healthier lifestyle. Setting the stage to finding my support group. Setting the stage that would be my lifeline to my relentlessly positive outlook.
Along the journey to last year's race accomplishments, I was assimilated into the group. It's a lovely process where you just participate in the Facebook Page and you show up for runs, you post some events and run with people you've never met before until you've amassed enough running buddies and conversations to feel this amazing belonging that permeates your newfound running self.
So when Cancer became a word that was trying to define my life, I turned to my running group for support. I changed my diet overnight to being ketogenic, which is tough enough without also trying to train for a half marathon. A ketogenic diet is a fat fueled, extremely low carb existence; but in running we "carb up" before races and we rely on those carbs burn as energy on our longer runs. So I had to explain to my running friends before runs why I was eating things called "Fat Bombs" and how I might just suddenly hit the wall and be done running somewhere along a trail (that never happened, but it seemed like a real possibility).
I felt I needed to share the diagnosis in part to explain my new odd behavior, but also because talking about it helped me define how I would exist with it. Who would I be now that I have cancer? How was I going to define that? How would I talk about it?
And the most amazing thing happened. I found that by carefully choosing my words, by letting everyone know I was still running and just choosing a different energy, it helped me adjust my own attitude toward it. This cancer does not define me, I define it. I choose how to feel about it. I choose to give it this impossibly inhospitable atmosphere of a ketogenic, athletic, oxygen rich body to try to live in. I choose to slay the beast with every breath I take, every conversation I have about it, and every bite of food I use to nourish my body and deprive it of its existence.
And this group of women, this magical group of women, embraced my struggle. They powered up, too. I have been training for two half marathons this spring. The first, The Lost Trail, was in February and it was great. It was also before my diagnosis. The second, the Folsom Lake Trail Run, just passed in April and I made the last minute decision to miss it. I have surgery for a lumpectomy coming up this week and it didn't seem right to deplete my energy, electrolyte and vitamin stores with a half marathon when I need those powerful stores for recovery. I admit, there were a few tears when the realization hit that the right thing to do was miss this race I've been looking forward to and training for.
When I bowed out, this group of mine rose up and embraced me with a wave of energy that was amazing. They handed out pink bracelets and over 80 ladies showed up wearing pink to run the trails I would miss. They've been relentless in their supportive posts and high fives and hugs. The power one gets from this type of energy directed at them is tangible. I've never experienced anything quite like it before.
I will take that energy and spirit and carry it with me like a shield of armor as I slay this beast. My battle begins this week. I can already envision the day in the not-too-distant future when I hit the trails with my group again.
If you are battling a beast, be it cancer or depression or loss, be brave enough to find your group. Sometimes it is hard to talk about your struggle because voicing it can give it life. Choose your words carefully, use what positive energy you have to shape the conversation with others. They will respond with love and hope and support. Embrace these people who will rise up in support of your struggle. The strength you get from their good will can power you through dark times. Remember that it's the journey you are meant to be on, but your path can turn and things get better. Hold on to their friendship and let them run the path alongside you.
Cancer is such a broad name for this disease, because it can mean so many things. There are important additives to that word. The stage of cancer, the location of cancer, the size, the intensity of its growth are all add ons that clarify and quantify the threat to life. In my case, I have the luxury of saying mine is stage 1, it's breast cancer and it's not near my chest wall, it's small and I appear to have had it detected before it starts to take over. These are great things; and yet, it is still cancer. There is still the potential threat to my life. Certainly, it has already affected my life in a permanent and irrevocable way.
I believe with every cell of my being that the way we attack problems in our lives matters. I've always believes that; and yet you don't know how you'll react when you are faced with a real challenge. But the thing is, the energy you create through your mind and spirit is formidable. It took me a couple of days for the blow of the diagnosis to wear off before that churning engine of relentless optimism and energy powered back up and took off. I choose to be relentless in my pursuit of the silver lining at all turns.
As I absorbed the blow of this diagnosis, I talked about it in a few close circles. The circle in which I have been most forthcoming is in my running group. I joined the local chapter of a free running group called Moms Run This Town a couple years ago. I was an extremely novice runner who often fell out of practice with the sport, picking it up and laying off every few months, never really committing to becoming a runner. Last year, I was involved enough with this group to have the companionship and encouragement to join a few races. Included among those races were two half marathons, a distance I'd never before considered! Those races turned out to be very successful for me, with my best half marathon time coming in at 2 hours and 19 minutes. This is a very fine pace for a recreational runner and I'm pleased with myself and with the performance; however, it truly is not about the finish line. That old saying that it's about the journey and not the finish is so true.
At that time, I didn't even know this cancer diagnosis was in my future. Yet here I was, setting the stage for a healthier lifestyle. Setting the stage to finding my support group. Setting the stage that would be my lifeline to my relentlessly positive outlook.
Along the journey to last year's race accomplishments, I was assimilated into the group. It's a lovely process where you just participate in the Facebook Page and you show up for runs, you post some events and run with people you've never met before until you've amassed enough running buddies and conversations to feel this amazing belonging that permeates your newfound running self.
So when Cancer became a word that was trying to define my life, I turned to my running group for support. I changed my diet overnight to being ketogenic, which is tough enough without also trying to train for a half marathon. A ketogenic diet is a fat fueled, extremely low carb existence; but in running we "carb up" before races and we rely on those carbs burn as energy on our longer runs. So I had to explain to my running friends before runs why I was eating things called "Fat Bombs" and how I might just suddenly hit the wall and be done running somewhere along a trail (that never happened, but it seemed like a real possibility).
I felt I needed to share the diagnosis in part to explain my new odd behavior, but also because talking about it helped me define how I would exist with it. Who would I be now that I have cancer? How was I going to define that? How would I talk about it?
And the most amazing thing happened. I found that by carefully choosing my words, by letting everyone know I was still running and just choosing a different energy, it helped me adjust my own attitude toward it. This cancer does not define me, I define it. I choose how to feel about it. I choose to give it this impossibly inhospitable atmosphere of a ketogenic, athletic, oxygen rich body to try to live in. I choose to slay the beast with every breath I take, every conversation I have about it, and every bite of food I use to nourish my body and deprive it of its existence.
And this group of women, this magical group of women, embraced my struggle. They powered up, too. I have been training for two half marathons this spring. The first, The Lost Trail, was in February and it was great. It was also before my diagnosis. The second, the Folsom Lake Trail Run, just passed in April and I made the last minute decision to miss it. I have surgery for a lumpectomy coming up this week and it didn't seem right to deplete my energy, electrolyte and vitamin stores with a half marathon when I need those powerful stores for recovery. I admit, there were a few tears when the realization hit that the right thing to do was miss this race I've been looking forward to and training for.
When I bowed out, this group of mine rose up and embraced me with a wave of energy that was amazing. They handed out pink bracelets and over 80 ladies showed up wearing pink to run the trails I would miss. They've been relentless in their supportive posts and high fives and hugs. The power one gets from this type of energy directed at them is tangible. I've never experienced anything quite like it before.
I will take that energy and spirit and carry it with me like a shield of armor as I slay this beast. My battle begins this week. I can already envision the day in the not-too-distant future when I hit the trails with my group again.
If you are battling a beast, be it cancer or depression or loss, be brave enough to find your group. Sometimes it is hard to talk about your struggle because voicing it can give it life. Choose your words carefully, use what positive energy you have to shape the conversation with others. They will respond with love and hope and support. Embrace these people who will rise up in support of your struggle. The strength you get from their good will can power you through dark times. Remember that it's the journey you are meant to be on, but your path can turn and things get better. Hold on to their friendship and let them run the path alongside you.
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