Hope. Love. Run

War is hell…And so is cancer.

2011-12-29T17:51:00.004-05:00

I recently read an article on the PBS website titled If It’s Not a war on Cancer, What Is It? Apparently the Brains of the oncology field have decided that the “War on cancer” metaphor is outdated, kind of like how every generation major companies redesign their logos, like when Pepsi changed their font midway through my childhood. The article then goes on to offer an array of new terms to replace the ‘War on cancer’ metaphor. These new concepts came from top cancer researchers. I kept reading to see what a prominent cancer survivor would suggest as an alternative to the war metaphor. Interestingly, the only experts consulted were researchers, not survivors.

I didn’t find the idea of changing the metaphor unreasonable; I mean I don’t really have a problem with calling the big-picture concept of eradicating a disease a war. It’s a fitting metaphor. But I’m open to new ideas. However, the metaphors presented ranged from obscure to quasai-reasonable. I’m not trying to be cynical here, but I just found the options presented were about as strong as my immune system on chemo and the absence of the survivor perspective was blatant. Here are the proposed replacements for the ‘war on cancer’ metaphor:

A Wildfire. Specifically, one which is currently in the containment phase, but which we need to learn more about in order to put it out.

A Tide. Really? A tide comes in and goes out. It’s a cycle that is ever repeating. The researcher explained that like a tide, cancer is “ever looming” and “there’s a definitive moment when it turns.” However, let’s think big picture here, the tide never goes away. Do you want to characterize a disease as something that is constant and uncontrollable by human power? I don’t.

A Fight for Peace. Personally, I don’t want to make peace with cancer. I don’t want to negotiate with it and settle a score, only to have it turn around and secretly build nuclear bombs in my liver and lungs despite our peace treaty. Most annoying, was the researcher’s note that “It’s not an achievable end but something that’s going to change as we go.” That’s interesting. I thought we were trying to reach an achievable end…the end of cancer.

Our Moonshot Moment. Aside from the fact than an entire generation doesn’t know what this means, this one is actually pretty good. The JFK quote the idea is based on is essentially this: “We choose to go to the moon in this decade…Because that challenge is one we are willing to accept and one we are unwilling to postpone. And one which we intend to win. This is our moonshot moment.” I like the sentiment, but until I read the quote, my thought on the Moonshot Moment heading was “what the…?”

A Battle with Love. Honestly, love isn’t going to get rid of cancer. Cancer is hard and people fighting it need the love and support of their families. However, when it comes to eradicating cancer, either from individuals’ bodies or the population as a whole, love alone just isn’t going to cut it.

A Team Sport. I thought this one had some potential, except I think most people think of team sports as fun, enjoyable, and something you might want to witness if you aren’t playing yourself. Coach, can you bench me? I don’t want to play the Cancers today.

A Multi-Fronted War. Wait a second…I thought the point of this exercise was to get rid of the war metaphor? This Johns Hopkins doc actually did a nice job proving why the war metaphor was still relevant. Way to go. I think overall I agree with Doctor Vogelstein. Here’s my perspective on why cancer is a whole lot more like a war than it is a wildfire, tide, fight for peace, moonshot moment, battle with love, or team sport.

Cancer is like a war for a lot of reasons.

1. People die. There are casualties in wars. Until there is a cure, people with cancer are like soldiers, drafted against their will to fight until their duty is served, or until the war kills them.

2. Families fight together. Cancer is rarely done alone. While the soldier fights on the battlefield, family can only wait, watch, and hope that their loved one makes it through and although they may never be the same because of the war, if you’re lucky, they survive.

3. It’s ugly. The military shaves heads, and chemo takes hair too. Beyond the literal, war is grisly, taxing, and pushes the limits of the human spirit to the brink of destruction. Cancer does this, too.

4. Within a war, there are battles. Fights are won or lost on a small scale, and these contribute to the overall effort. Wins in battle can bring the soldier home sooner. A loss leads to more planning and a new strategy. A successful surgery, radiation technique, or chemo can lead to remission and health. While a tumor not responsive to a drug forces doctors and patients to strategize and determine the next best option.

Perhaps the reason oncology experts find the war metaphor outdated is because they’ve never been a foot soldier, drafted against their will. Just like politicians argue semantics, the oncology experts are failing to see that there is nothing wrong with the metaphor. For each patient diagnosed, the war is fresh, raw, and well, a war. I like the war metaphor best because it doesn’t need an explanation. War is universal. Everyone gets it. There’s no room for misinterpretation or semantics. We want to win. We want cancer to lose.

So why not call it what it is? If you really want to change the metaphor, talk to the people fighting the war. If you could change the ‘war on cancer’ metaphor, what would you call it?

Hiatus

2011-12-11T21:39:00.007-05:00

Ever needed a break?

Well, I did. I generally apologize for being an absentee blogger, but I'm not going to this time. The last month (and then some) has been a whirlwind.

Here's the short list of things that I've done instead of updating my blog:

1. Grad school homework
2. Got in a car accident (I'm okay. Sadly, my car was not)
3. Built an award winning gingerbread house
4. Hosted Thanksgiving for the first time
5. More grad school homework
6. Went to court for the car accident
7. Saw doctors
8. Did an insane amount of work for my actual job
9. Christmas shopping/decorating
10. More grad school homework

Sadly, a few things have fallen by the wayside while doing the above, among them, updating the blog, cleaning my kitchen, and putting away laundry...Oh, and sleeping more than six hours a night. This weekend things finally seemed to calm down and I was able to do all the things I haven't had the time or energy to accomplish lately. I spent a glorious Saturday night taking a bubble bath, watching TV, and eating a bowl of Raisin Bran for dinner. Then I fell asleep at 9:30. Normally, this isn't my idea of an awesome Saturday night, but sometimes all you really want is the freedom to guiltlessly do nothing. This morning I took pride in leisurely completing household chores before going to get a massage.

I'm feeling much better, and after this weekend I'm not dreading getting up at 6:00 AM tomorrow and going to work. So with the conclusion of this post, I guess you could say I'm back.

Hope, Love, Run

Marathon Girl

Undatable?

2011-10-26T20:00:00.004-04:00

I recently saw an interesting article on The Huffington Post. A young woman still being treated for cancer shares about her dating experiences and five critical things she tries not to do. She humorously and poignantly explains her situation. I recommend reading it here.

It got me thinking about the type of people who are willing to date someone with cancer. Aisling Carrol, the author of the Huff Post article says one of her five 'dont's' for dating with cancer is waiting too long to tell someone.

I'm pretty sure there is no right time on a date to tell someone you've got cancer. Especially if you like the person. When I finished treatment and was finally even willing to consider the idea of dating, I had no clue how to do it...When should I bring it up? How much should I tell? It all seemed so daunting. Not to mention that cancer (and a pre-treatment relationship that broke up during treatment) left me feeling damaged and undatable. Whether it was suitors or health insurance companies, no one could possibly ever want me. I was broken; a liability.

Luckily, I've lived long enough to learn that none of that is true. I've met a lot of people with cancer, and plenty of them find relationships...I'm one of them.

I think a key characteristic of an individual willing to date someone with cancer is that they have some sort of a connection to the disease. This isn't something hard and fast, but I can think of a fair amount of survivor friends who are with someone whose family has been affected by cancer. Maybe it's the familiarity that makes it less frightening. I also think there's a compassion that comes from knowing someone who has had cancer.

After a string of dates for the sake of dating, where I worked toward carefully disclosing my diagnosis; building rules to determine when and what to disclose, it turned out it was all for nothing. One winter night, I met with a guy at my favorite dive bar. I broke all my rules and cancer just sort of came up. Seriously. It just happened.

And like that, he knew. When we said goodnight, I was pretty sure I'd blown it and wouldn't hear from him again. It was a shame. He was cool. But really? Who tells someone they have cancer on the first date?!

But then he called. He kept calling. And texting. And wanting to see me. Once I got past the idea that there had to be something wrong with him for wanting to date me, I started to think that maybe it was possible to be uninsurable, and still be datable. More than three years later, I fully believe it.

It takes a special person to love a young adult cancer survivor, to get into a relationship knowing that your partner's body has been occupied by enemy cells who could potentially come back, and all the other crappy things that come along with being lucky enough to survive.

But the most important thing to know if you live to date again is that these people exist. And they aren't crazy. They're compassionate, understanding, loyal, and open to
the idea of dating you based on who you are, not what your prognosis is. Be yourself, cancer and all, and you might be surprised what- and who- you find.

Hope, Love, Run,
Marathon Girl

Shameless

2011-10-11T19:58:00.005-04:00

Unless you've been living under a rock for the last eleven days, you've probably noticed that just about everything is suddenly a shade of pink; the front page of a newspaper, the lights shining on the White House, the cleats NFL players are wearing, t-shirts for sale at Walmart, chocolates, cereal, everything from yogurt lids to prescription caps. If no one's told you already, it's October. Which means it's National Breast Cancer Awareness Month.

October comes but once a year, so everyone is trying to get in on a piece of the pink action while they can. All in the name of cancer awareness. What a wonderful thing. How generous; companies, supporting a worthy cause....Or is it?

In October of 2006, I was in the throws of the most intense phase of my treatment. I did not have breast cancer. I lay on the couch most days and each day in October, The View told the story of an amazing breast cancer survivor and Ford gave a car to each of them. I liked the stories, but in between the show segments, there was an inordinate amount of Ford 'Warriors in Pink' commercials begging viewers to purchase a scarf, hat, or shirt to support 'the cause'. I couldn't place what bothered me so much about this...Was it the fact that one specific cancer was getting so much press while I suffered with another? Perhaps. But there was more to it. Something felt sneaky about these 'awareness' ads. Were they raising breast cancer awareness, or brand awareness? What did Ford get for giving cars to cancer survivors? Were they exploiting survivors to gain consumer approval?

I'm not the first person to notice this. Just last night one of my survivor friends posted this in response to the breast cancer movie event 'Five' featured on the Lifetime channel: "Kill me. I just watched that vomitous Lifetime movie "Five"...It was a gross exploitation and sponsored by Ford and Walgreens. Ooo, they make all of their prescription caps pink during the month of October. Frickin fantastic. Woop de do."

I watched the movie, and while I found the stories moving, the use of Ford and Walgreens' names and merchandise not only during commercial breaks but actually in- yes, in the movie was over the top.

Google "Breast Cancer Awareness Month Exploitation" and you can learn more about this.

One article states:
"Corporations push breast cancer in October because it works to sell more products. Women worry that some day they will face breast cancer or already know someone who has. They want to help. And what way is better than to buy something that promises to do good? The reality is that very little of the amount women spend on the pink products wind up at charitable institutions. An ABC News Report from last October pointed out that Campbell's donated a whopping 3.5 cents for every can of soup it sold. To raise a mere $36 to fight breast cancer from the Yoplait campaign, a person needs to eat three cups of yogurt a day for four months."

You can even find criticisms on the Wikipedia page for 'National Breast Cancer Awareness Month':
"The breast cancer advocacy organization, Breast Cancer Action, has said repeatedly in newsletters and other information sources that October has become a public relations campaign that avoids discussion of the causes and prevention of breast cancer and instead focuses on “awareness” as a way to encourage women to get their mammograms. The term pinkwashing has been used by Breast Cancer Action to describe the actions of companies which manufacture and use chemicals which show a link with breast cancer and at the same time publicly support charities focused on curing the disease. Other criticisms center on the marketing of "pink products" and tie ins, citing that more money is spent marketing these campaigns than is donated to the cause." Remember when Susan G. Komen briefly partnered with KFC and had pink buckets- filled with carcinogen laden chicken? Um. Yeah.

Another article details the misuse of the pink ribbon logo:

"Daily Finance, the AOL finance resource center, sought to find out how many of these pink products actually benefit breast cancer. Procter & Gamble’s pink-packaged Swiffer sweeper told buyers that, “Early detection saves lives,” but what does that have to do with donating money? Eventually, it was found out that the company donates a mere two cents to breast cancer research only if the buyer uses a coupon from the Procter & Gamble brand coupon book.

This is a perfect example of how Breast Cancer Awareness Month is being exploited by large companies looking to make a profit. This overuse of the pink ribbon logo stems from the fact that no one owns the image. Also, no one has the right to control its usage. This means that any company anywhere can put a pink ribbon on the packaging to persuade buyers to purchase their product."

My parting words of warning are this: Think before you pink. Want to show a survivor in your life that you care? Leave that pink spatula you don't really need on the shelf. Donate your five dollars instead to one of the reputable charities out there (To find one, check out CharityNavigator).

Hope, Love, Run,

Marathon Girl

Happy Livestrong Day!

2011-10-01T23:29:00.006-04:00

In 31 minutes, Livestrong Day officially starts. It also happens to be my sister's birthday, so happy birthday, #1!

While I celebrate my cancerversary (the date I was diagnosed with cancer) each year, Lance Armstrong has taken it to a whole different level. He has an entire country celebrating the day as not only the day he became a survivor, but also as a day of awareness, remembrance, and honor for those who have been affected by cancer.

I'm a long-time fan of the Lance Armstrong Foundation's resources and awareness campaigns. They've also made an effort to support the young adult community through their partnership with the Ulman Cancer Fund (which supports young adults). They also produced notebooks and binders that made it possible for cancer survivors to create a detailed record of their treatment history. However, I am more than excited about the newest LAF initiative that's arrived locally. It's called Livestrong at the Y.

I heard about it for the first time at the triathlon. There was a table with information about it, so I went over to see what the deal was. The representative explained to me that they were starting a small group exercise/wellness program for cancer survivors that would meet at the Y a few times a week.

My first reaction: Awesome...But about four years too late.

I was seriously looking for this program when I finished treatment in September 2007. Unfortunately, it didn't exist then, but thankfully, it does now. Since I've returned to the gym after the tri, there has been a table set up in the entryway of the YMCA advertising the program, and I spoke to the coordinator last week. She let me know that the next session begins (the first to be offered on evenings and weekends) and put my name on her list of participants. I can't wait to start!

In the meantime, this LAF and YMCA partnership is bringing together two of my favorite things...the gym and all things Livestrong. When I went to the gym today, I found a paper chain of encouraging statements to cancer survivors strung along the main hallway. beyond the Livestrong table in the entryway, the gym featured Livestrong banners with inspirational statements, and on each of the kiosks on the strength circuit machines was a tiny sign that reminded patrons to wear yellow if they visited the gym tomorrow, on Livestrong Day.

The whole thing feels kind of like a party honoring cancer survivors...and what could be better than a party at one of my favorite places- the gym! On my way out, I signed up to come back tomorrow and bike for an hour, and you can bet I'll be wearing a bright yellow shirt...maybe even with my bright yellow shorts. I also took a minute to write on one of the narrow slips of yellow paper that were being used to extend the chain. I wrote one of my favorite statements, which comes from this 1 minute Nike video from the 2008 Olympics (Click).

I hope you'll wear yellow on Sunday, October 2nd in honor of Livestrong Day...because it's not just Lance's cancerversary, it's honoring all cancer survivors who keep on living strong.

Hope, Love, Run,
Marathon Girl

Killing Ink Cartridges and Trees

2011-09-20T20:55:00.005-04:00

I did something crazy the other night. I stood next to my desk and fed innumerable sheets of paper into my printer. I put in a chunk about half an inch thick, the maximum amount my printer can handle. Then I did it again. And again. And again. Finally it stopped. When I flipped over the mass of pages the words that stared back at me were these: NO WORDS

Way back in May (I had to check to find that out- I could have sworn it was June or July) I wrote a post titled Write it Out. That post was a promise to myself to go back into the stories I'd written in the years before and finish my cancer memoir. Despite a busy summer full of tutoring and trips, I did find some time to revisit all those word documents. I picked up where I left off and I tried my best to fill the gap between the end of treatment and when I finally felt whole again. I thought about it a lot and I decided that point was when I stopped keeping my cancer a secret, which happened when I won the Lilly Oncology on Canvas competition a year ago.

I'm still ambivalent about what I want to do with this hundred-plus page document, but a request was made for a copy to read, so I printed it. I intended to pack it up in a big envelope and mail it away, but it's been sitting on my desk for almost a week and I kind of want to read it myself.

After I finally do read it, I'll address it to someone who met me in the middle of treatment. I say I am sending it to her because she asked, but I don't think I'd let just anyone read it. She is the fourth grade teacher I was randomly assigned to work with during my last semester of college. She was my student-teaching mentor and I can only imagine what she thought when I told her the first time I met her that I not only had cancer but was planning on student teaching while doing chemo. But she welcomed me into her classroom, taught me a lot, and along the way we forged a relationship that went beyond professional duty and have met for three hour catch-up lunches each summer since we worked together.

So when she asked to read it at our most recent lunch, I knew I had to print it out. Eventually I'll send it to her, and I hope she approves.

Hope, Love, Run,
-Marathon girl

Du-ing the Tri

2011-09-12T21:01:00.005-04:00

The triathlon was yesterday, and I'm happy to report that I have fully recovered...Just to prove it, I ran six miles this afternoon. Triathlon weekend officially began the end of last week, with a trip to The Sneaker Factory. I rented a wetsuit from them since the water temperatures for Sunday were predicted to be cold. It's been raining for the last two weeks- my town flooded; The Raritan River spread into parking lots, streets, yards, and homes, and after receding, the river angrily rose again a week later.

I'd never swam in a wetsuit, so my first stop after picking it up was my parents' house. They have a large pond in the backyard, so with the reservoirs closed for the season, I figured it was the only place I could get a feel for swimming in cold, open water in a wetsuit. I am SO glad I did it. Wearing a wetsuit alleviated any concerns I had about drowning. The suit made me so buoyant there was no way I could drown; I could barely keep my head underwater. However, I also felt like I couldn't breathe in the suit. After swimming a few laps, I found myself gasping and rolling onto my back. Freaking. Out. Once I calmed myself down, I was able to swim in the murky water for twenty minutes without stopping, the amount of time it would take me to complete the half-mile swim. Mission accomplished.

Friday and Saturday were rest days, which was difficult, since I hadn't taken two consecutive days off in about two months-I was restless. I repeatedly checked the weather and it looked like I might actually get a day without rain. Then, on Saturday afternoon, the email came. The race officials determined that the water in the reservoir was unsafe for swimming. Apparently the relentless rains caused nasty runoff to enter the reservoir and the bacteria levels were dangerously high. So just like that, my triathlon became a duathlon. The race would now be a 1.5 K run, 14 mile bike, and 5K run. I had mixed feelings about this; relief, but also disappointment. I trained so hard. I wanted to prove I could do the swim.

Nonetheless, I nervously packed my bag on Saturday night, checking it, then checking it again to be sure I had everything, sans swimming gear. I mentally ran the race; the short run, transitioning to my bike gear, riding over Jugtown Mountain, correct passing form, transitioning again, and running with the lead feet that come from riding fourteen miles over a legit mountain. And finally, crossing the finish line. The best part.

I slept in short stints, I would wake from riding, running, swimming, and check the clock to see if it was six o'clock yet. When I woke at 5:55, I got up.

An hour later, I was closing the trunk of my car, my bike laid out inside, the backseat down. The race location was just a few minutes from my house, so I got there with plenty of time to get my numbers, set up my transition area, had my body marked, and meet up with my 'support team'

I usually travel light to races- generally it's just me and one other person. No one is ever cheering for me on the course, and I'm okay with that. I imagine my name is on every poster. I read 'You can do it, Jessica!' as 'You can do it, Juli!' It's not quite the same, but I have a good imagination. But I didn't have to pretend this time. I had a cheering section of half a dozen, posters and all. Not to mention that they followed me from finish lines to transition areas, and back again. All the while waving those posters. With MY name on them. I loved it!

The runs were pretty easy. and the biking was also smooth. I was glad I rode the course a few weeks ago and knew what to expect. The mountain is a beast, but I didn't get off my bike, and even passed a few riders on the steepest section. When I returned to the transition area after biking, I was tired, but I prepared for this. My legs were not nearly as heavy as they'd been on previous runs that followed biking. Again, I passed people.

When I finally crossed the finish line, my cheering section yelling my name and waving their posters, I felt that familiar rush of accomplishing something. Another milestone. While it wasn't a true triathlon, I had never participated in a bike race before, and I have a feeling this was not my last. Obviously I need to train for another triathlon, too, since I haven't had a competitive swimming experience yet. There is so much more I need to do.

When I tell people I do these things- run long distances, train for months, they often ask why. But I think the real question is why not? The last few weeks of training, I had a phrase stuck in my head, as I've written happens to me sometimes. This time it was "What doesn't kill you makes you stronger." As I raced yesterday, I thought about this again- for an hour and forty-one minutes (and eight tenths of a second). What I concluded is that this statement isn't true. What doesn't kill you, well, doesn't kill you. That's it. I am not stronger because I had cancer. I cannot do the things I do because I survived. I made a choice, a promise to myself. I choose every day to push my limits and see what I can do; longer, harder, faster...Stronger.
I think it's time to stop asking yourself why. The real question is, why not?

Hope, Love, Run,
Marathon Girl

The People Who Make You

2011-08-31T19:57:00.002-04:00

It's been a while. I apologize, but I've been busy living the last few days of precious summer vacation to their fullest.

Amidst runs, bike rides, swims, hurricanes, and earthquakes, I made time to visit some people who are very important to me. My Nani and Pop in Florida, and my medical team. My weekend trip to Florida to visit the grandparents was sandwiched between seeing my medical oncologist and my dermatologist. All three were good visits.

I've encountered many amazing people who I would never have met if I hadn't gotten cancer. Among these are the ones who get paid to inspect, poke, prod, and stick me. If your lucky, these people do more than what their job requires, they get to know you, care, and view you as more than a thick manila folder filled with facts. I've been very, very lucky to meet many of these people. They've become part of my life, some staying longer than others, but all shaping me into who I am now.

When I went to see my oncologist, who I've seen on a daily, weekly, monthly, and now biannual basis, he did his usual exam, and the entire time discussed with me what my plans were for the coming school year. And when he was done feeling for lymph nodes, we continued to talk, about his son, daughter, and vacation. I recently had a parallel conversation with an old friend; the only difference was that we were in a restaurant.

Then there's the dermatologist. I. Love. Him. Aside from the fact that he saved my life, he calls the next day to check in and see how I'm doing if he removes something for testing, he sent me flowers on my first cancerversary, knows my entire family on a first-name basis (and has examined all of us) and perhaps made an extremely generous gesture on my most recent cancerversary. He does way more than look at my skin.

But these people aren't the only individuals I've come across who go beyond what is required; when I developed lymphedema the first time, an physical therapist who was not covered by my insurance gave me free treatment until I was able to see someone who was covered. She gave hundreds of dollars worth of supplies I needed to treat the condition, and didn't bill me for any of it.

Then there was the nutritionist who I went to see when I regained an appetite and thirst upon beginning treatment for my failing thyroid. I didn't know how much to eat since I hadn't been hungry in so long. She saw me twice, and took my credit card information. She told me she'd send the bill. It never came.

Then there was the cancerversary party. I threw a rather large party for my five-year cancerversary this June. I knew I wanted to do this for months, so I priced venues, saved my money, put down a deposit, and invited my twenty closest friends and family...and two doctors who have always done more than their jobs. Unfortunately, the docs weren't able to come, but the rest of us had a great time- appetizers, drinks, dinner, and a very special cancerversary cake later, I went to pay the remaining balance for the party. The manager gave me a blank piece of paper. Then he explained that I owed nothing. Someone, who wanted to remain anonymous, wanted to do this for me. I tried not to cry as I explained that I wanted to know who it was, because I needed to thank them for this. The manager still wouldn't tell me, but I have my suspicions about who the mystery beneficiary was.

There are people who do their jobs, and there are people who go above and beyond. These people inspire me, because they don't just do, they do more, sometimes for nothing. These encounters have given me an appreciation for the kindness of strangers- and strangers who become part of an extended family I never thought I'd have. These people have made me who I am through their kindness and genuine caring. They inspire me, because without them, I would not be who I am...or possibly here at all.

Hope, Love, Run
Marathon Girl

Crazy, Sexy, Cancer...and then some

2011-08-16T00:26:00.001-04:00

Great article in the Times about cancer vixen Kris Carr

Tri, Tri Again

2011-08-10T21:32:00.003-04:00

For the last few weeks now, I've been seriously following a new training plan in anticipation of completing the Skylands Triathlon on September eleventh. I actually abandoned the Women's Health plan because I felt it wasn't enough activity compared to what I'm used to these days, so I found a new one created by Hal Higdon. He offers a few different plans and they're specifically for runners who want to try a tri. I'm using his Triathlon 2 program, and so far, so good! I've been doing longer workouts that incorporate two of the three activities I'll be doing for the tri. I especially like the program because it also includes strength training, so I feel like it's a well-balanced plan, which was the one complaint I had about half-marathon training.

I've been absolutely loving cycling, and last night I completed another brick workout (bike, then run) and I felt really good when I was running, which was a big improvement over the last time when my legs felt like, well, bricks. Enjoying running goes without saying. Swimming, however, is another story.

I don't hate swimming, but I don't love it, either. Just like I used to regularly buy new running clothes to motivate myself, I got a sporty new bathing suit last weekend, along with a shiny new pair of goggles. They're making it easier to enjoy the pool, but sadly I will not be completing the swim for the triathlon in the chlorinated aqua paradise offered at the gym. I'll have to run from a sandy beach through shallow water before embarking on a murky half-mile journey in a reservoir. Yuck. So in anticipation of the reservoir swim, I've been making weekly trips to the reservoir where the tri takes place and practicing tracking buoys and staying in a straight line when there isn't a tiled line of black below me for tracking.

I am actually feeling confident in my ability to do well on the cycling and running sections of the tri, however, since the swimming is first, my main goal is simply to not drown so that I can give my all in the other two events. It is humbling to feel the angst of an unknown competition again. I felt this way about both my first 5Ks and half marathons, but it's been a while since I've had a big first like this, and I'm looking forward to the unknown, and seeing what I can do in my first ever competitive swimming experience!...Here's to not drowning!

Hope, Love, Run,
Marathon Girl

'Wen' will my hair look healthy again?

2011-08-04T16:11:00.003-04:00

I've written about my hair on here before. Mostly about losing it, and eventually being able to donate it. I haven't really discussed how my hair has changed. Some cancer survivors report that their hair grew back a different color, or they had a major texture change; straight hair that came back super curly, or curly hair that came back bone straight. My experience has been a bit different, probably because I wasn't treated with traditional chemotherapy agents. The drugs I was exposed to interacted with my central nervous system, essentially making it go haywire for twelve months...and beyond. My hair never completely fell out, but it became so thin that I cut it very, very short. Losing your hair is physically painful, and as a girl, it's emotionally excruciating.

It's been four years since I finished treatment, and I'm still waiting for my long, thick, beautiful hair to come back. When my hair grew initially, it was thin and coarse. This might be chemo-related, but I think an aggravating factor was a late-effect of my treatment- a thyroid malfunction that went undiagnosed for a few years. Since I began treatment for the thyroid issues, my hair has progressively gotten thicker. As recently as a few months ago, I began sprouting new hair on the top of my head. When it was an inch or two long, it stood up straight and I had to tame it with an arsenal of products every morning so I didn't look like Alfalfa a la The Little Rascals. It was not cute.

But more frustrating than the thinness is how broken and brittle my hair has been since treatment. My stylist tells me it's 'old' hair. I basically have the hair of someone twice my age. I've switched shampoos and conditioners more times than I can count and I've continually been looking for something to fix my hair.

I think I FINALLY found it. The conversation when I go to the salon usually goes something like this:
Stylist: How much should I take off?
Me: how much is damaged?
Stylist: Um, all of it.
Me: Take the split ends.
Stylist: Sure (Nods, frowns, and pretends this is possible. Takes off a few inches).

But the last time I was in, I heard the usual about how my hair, while gaining thickness, is still like that of a sixty-year-old woman. But then something new...Apparently another client with hair like mine had come in and looked very different. She claimed to have started using something called Wen.

That's right. Wen. Maybe you've seen the infomercials at 3:00 AM. It's endorsed by Chaz Dean, a celebrity stylist. I have a strict rule against buying anything that can be bought in my living room without a computer, but I went home and did my research. The stuff comes with a money-back guarantee, although the reviews of post-purchase support were mediocre at best. The other catch is that to get the stuff at a somewhat reasonable price ($30.00 for a 30-day supply, which I'm confident I can stretch for one-and-a-half to two months) you have to enroll in an automatic monthly delivery and billing schedule. However, I called the customer service line and after a truly short wait, I spoke to a rep who assured me I can put my account on hold and not receive shipments or be billed until I call and authorize it. I think a lot of the people who complained about 'unauthorized billing and shipping' didn't read the fine print.

So the verdict is in. My hair is looking better. I wouldn't say I'm Goldilocks or anything, but for the first time in more than four years, my hair was not a frizzy mess when I left it down and let it dry au naturale. I used the product again today and blew my hair out, and again: significantly less frizz. My hair feels much softer, and while it's not perfect, I feel hopeful that if I keep using it, maybe I can have 'normal' twenty-something hair again.

I don't know Wen, but soon, I hope!

Hope, Love, Run!
Marathon Girl

FD 70: Day 5, The Last Day

2011-08-03T00:06:00.000-04:00

The last day on the water at First Descents, we returned to the site of my breakdown Wednesday. It was cold that day. For July, it was freezing. I wore about three layers of clothing underneath my waterproof suit. A few of our guides donned button down collared shirts and ties over their waterproof suits, under their life jackets-after all, it was graduation day for us. Before we got in the water, the rain started coming down, and there was nowhere to hide. Not from the rain and not from what was about to happen. I was going to run the rapids that gave me so much trouble two days before.

Once we were all in the water, I focused my attention on maintaining spacing between myself and the other kayakers in my group. My careful reflection over the past two days led me to the conclusion that I flipped the first time because we were too close together. The one boat I wanted near me was that of Pleaza, the guide who had accompanied me through several rapids after my freak out. Just as much as I wanted to prove to myself that I could do this, I wanted to show him I could do it, too.

I rode out the first several rapids without any trouble, including the first one that got me on Wednesday. I felt empowered when I eddied out after finishing that rapid, and cheers from the safety raft echoed through the canyon as it passed my group. I don't know if they were cheering for me, but it felt like they were.

As we continued, I also conquered the second rapid that swallowed me up. After that, we pulled into an eddy and the guides informed us that we were now going to run graduation rapid. This is the challenge for the day, and normally for first-time FDers, it's just about accepting the challenge and attempting a class III rapid. But for us, it would be more than that. The guides would meet us at the bottom. We would run the rapid on our own, devising a plan as a group of kayakers, choosing our own lines, and running the rapid, not as campers, but as true kayakers.

As we discussed our approach getting through the rapid, which was hidden around a bend and out of sight, I realized this was the rapid I freaked out on. The one I ran latched to Pleaza. I had no memory of the rapid, no idea what features it contained. Luckily, another group member did. Butta confidently described the rapid to me and explained what her approach would be. There were large rocks, water running over them and creating a hole in front- a place you don't want to flip. She said to stay in between the rocks, although it would be difficult because of the bend, the water would suck us to the right. I wasn't completely sure I understood what the rapid would look like, but Butta seemed so sure, I decided to follow her.

What happened next was amazing. I kept my distance but followed Butta. Other boaters took different lines, one flipped, another got sucked into an eddy before the rapid. The water was so loud. I couldn't hear anything over the roar of the river. The water pulled me hard to the right, like Butta said it would, so I fought back as much as I could, but the current moved me quickly toward through the fast water moving over the large rocks. I couldn't get between them, so as I went into the rapid, I owned my line and flew over one of the rocks, splashing into the swirly white water below. I paddled hard and entered an eddy where the other boaters who had just graduated sat. We were all grins and buzzing about our lines. Who boofed the rock? Who actually went between the rocks? Had anyone flipped?

As we sat there, I noticed the mountain goats watching us from the cliffs above, and then realized- the sky had cleared the sun was shining on us. It was perfect.

The next curve brought us to a rocky shore where we stopped for lunch- not sandwiches like usual...The guides grilled us steak on the beach. A true graduation celebration.

The rest of our journey was a breeze- we had run these waters before. We were graduated kayakers. When the guides signaled us to shore, there were already a few out of their boats. The majority of the cars were not there, they were further downstream. As it turned out, our lunch and the wind moved us more slowly through that stretch of water. The cars were a few miles downstream at the alternative take out. As all eleven of us slid into shore, we sat in our boats. None of us got out.

We wanted to keep going. It was almost five, the guides said, and we wouldn't get off the river until 8 if we kept going.
We all looked at each other, continuing to sit in our boats. So what?
The guides continued to get out of their boats. Can't we keep going? We're real kayakers. We don't really need you to go with us, if you want to go back...
After much convincing, we all got out of our boats and the other vehicles arrived to take us back to the ranch.

The rest of the night was a blur of dinner, awards, packing, and savoring the last hours of our week together. At 6:00 AM the next morning, my suitcase was packed. My mind replaying the memories of the week, in awe of the magic that can happen when 11 strangers from across the country come together, sharing on day one just a single common trait: Cancer. But leaving six days later with a myriad of memories, an appreciation for nature, our bodies' ability to conquer the river, and a familial bond that didn't exist just a week before.

If you are a young adult cancer survivor, go on a First Descents trip. It will change your life. Forever. If you're not, support the organization- join Team FD and challenge yourself physically. Better yet, volunteer for a week. See the magic first hand. I promise, you will not be disappointed.

FD 70: Day 4, Kayaks and Bikes

2011-08-02T11:40:00.005-04:00

After the on-water debacles of Day 3, Day 4 served the purpose of reinstating my confidence in my abilities as a kayaker. The day began with seal dives into the river, which involves sliding off a ledge, down a rocky incline, and splashing into the current of the river. I was nervous about this, but after watching a few others do it, I also took a seal dive into the water. I didn't flip over, and the day continued just as smoothly. I rode the rapids, read the river with the help of two expert kayakers- Crabs and Pleaza, and by the end of the day I was disappointed when the guides in the front of the group started signalling us to the take-out location.

As we waited on shore for the shuttle to bring the rest of the vehicles to where we were, a rumor circulated about what was in store for us the next day-graduation day. When I heard the news, I think the individual telling me was curious to see my reaction- would I freak out? I didn't. When I heard that we were going back and paddling the same treacherous stretch we did the day before, my reaction was, "Really? Good. I want to do it again. I want to do it right this time!"

Despite how upset I was on Wednesday, I really was looking forward to going back. I'd never actually run a stretch of water more than once, and I liked the idea of having another chance to conquer the rapids that scared the confidence out of me.

The rest of the evening was spent enjoying dinner and sitting around the campfire. We had some unusual guests that night, and I really appreciated talking to them. It was a group of four guys- who called themselves Team Gillette, and a former FDer who you can look up on Facebook under the name Mike-On-A-Bike. All these guys are riding bikes from Portland, Maine to Portland, Oregon. The crazier part is that they didn't set out together, it just happened that the four guys met up with Mike-on-a-Bike and they continued together.

I really enjoyed talking to the guys about their journey and how they came to be riding bikes across the country. I think about them now when I ride, which has been pretty frequent since I returned home. I aspire to do something like that...Maybe next year :)

FD 70: Day 3 (Part II), Alternative Craft (?) Day

2011-07-31T11:57:00.003-04:00

After a rough morning on the water...er-in the water- Our little family decided to take a trip into Glacier National Park. I initially didn't understand why we had to be in the car. I wanted to climb the mountain! But after over an hour of driving on windy roads at a shockingly steep grade, I realized why we were in the car. And it became even more clear when our Suburban pulled into the parking lot at Logan Pass and we hopped out of the car. It was freezing up there! The winds gusted loudly, moving the clouds above us faster than I've ever seen clouds move.

Normally mid-week is when FD campers get to experience a more challenging stretch of water on an alternative craft- AKA not a kayak- Examples include the safety raft, inflatable duckies, a sort of cross between an inflatable raft and a kayak, or a topo duo, which is a two-man kayak. However, in light of our awesome skills, we ran that treacherous stretch in our kayaks.

So alternative craft day happened on a glacier at Logan Pass. Pictured is my alternative craft: the snow wing (affectionately nicknamed by its owner Raz as 'Raz's A%! Rocket') We climbed up the glacier behind the visitor's center and took turns sledding down the glacier. It was a long, steep hill, so it made for some exciting sledding. There were some wipe-outs, but everyone had a great time. One of our campers, who grew up in Alabama, even had her first sledding experience on the glacier that day. I initially declined to sled, stating that, "My track record for staying in crafts isn't good today, so I think I'll pass."

But after watching the others, and considering the rare opportunity that sledding in July presented, I decided I couldn't miss out on the chance to participate in glacial sledding, so I did it. There's even video to prove it! You can catch it in this overview of our week: FD 70 Video (My sledding occurs at 0:55)

Overall, Day 3 ended much better than it started. I felt ready for whatever might come on Day 4, and I was excited about the possibilities the rest of the week held.

FD 70: Day 3, Swimming is My Middle Name

2011-07-28T21:32:00.003-04:00

Wednesday brought a morning of running and ab work before another yummy breakfast. Afterwards, we all gathered in the living room where a real grizzly bear rug watched us from the wall, as we were schooled on hydrology, the science of water. There was a lot of knowledge thrown at us, and I caught a decent amount of it, but I was feeling tired and I'm not going to lie- curled up in an arm chair beneath my hooded sweatshirt I might have fallen asleep.

Somehow I don't think staying awake for the last few minutes of water school would have prepared me for what was about to happen. When we got to the river, the group gathered to scout a rapid by our put-in. I wasn't too freaked out at that point. I read the water using the terms and information I got in our lesson that morning, and I felt pretty confident when I got into my little lime green kayak.

I made it through that first rapid without anything eventful happening, but as we continued, the group I was boating with got choked up and we all went into the next rapid in a cluster. I found myself swirling and having difficulty keeping control and paddling as my boat bounced off the others around me.

Then I was upside-down. For the first time. In a rapid. It was dark, cold, and eerily silent. But a painfully long second later, my helmeted head burst through the surface and my numb hands were grabbing the metal loop on the back of a white kayak. I was okay.

It was a short trip to an eddy and as my boat was emptied of water, adrenaline pulsed through me, and all I felt was cold. I wasn't scared. It wasn't that bad. I got the swim out of the way, and now I could fearlessly paddle the rest of the river.

As I paddled on, more conscious of spacing now, I enjoyed the tall rock walls and mountainous scenery. What I didn't enjoy was the fact that it was not easy to see what was coming. The river carved a snake-like route, winding sharply to the left, then the right. A few minutes later, as I came into another rapid, I found myself adequately spaced, but I didn't really know where I was going. The water sucked me to the left, and I found myself in a wave train, flying over the top of large white caps, then dipping low, before I was tossed up again.

I'm not sure how it happened, but one moment I was up, and the next the water was on top of me and I was in that dark, frigid, silent place again. When I surfaced, I was disoriented, and faced upstream for a moment before realizing my back was to the current. I turned to face downstream like I was supposed to, and was again towed to shore by a guide. River:2, Marathon Girl: 0.

I was a bit more shaken now, and when the safety raft chauffeured me to where my boat was again being emptied, I wasn't sure I wanted to get out of the raft. Did I really want to get back in the kayak? Not really. At this rate, I'd spend equal parts of the day split between the boat and the forty-degree water.

But when it was truth time, I got back in the boat. I couldn't go in the raft. I wasn't in Montana to sit in a raft. Also, there was a phrase echoing in my head, as I've mentioned happens to me. That day it was Do the thing that scares you. So I did.

As we headed toward the next rapid, I freaked out, though. This wasn't a little freak out. It was a lot. I wanted out, but there aren't a whole lot of options as you go into a rapid, so I screamed "I DON'T WANT TO DO THIS!" I imagined how the next few moments would go, and it involved being cold and wet and possibly stuck in a hole under water. Perhaps drowning.

And then there was the sound of plastic on plastic. Red collided with green and then there were hands. They held onto my boat. Finally, there were words, muffled by rushing water, "Hold on. We'll do it together."

I let out a breath I didn't know I was holding, and we drifted through the rapid together. Pleaza, the kayak guide who grabbed my boat, navigated both of us through the rapid into another eddy. Then I cried. Kayaking scares me. I know I am completely safe. I also am aware that I'm pretty capable when it comes to keeping a boat in a straight line and riding out a rapid. But something happened that day, and I lost it. I got tense, and being loose is a necessity in kayaking. But the worst part was that I lost my confidence. I spent the rest of the day on the water being mad at myself for being afraid, and trying not to cry or look as frustrated as I felt.

When we finally reached the take-out, I was relieved, but also hungry for more. I wanted to prove myself. I was angry and felt unsuccessful, and was equally disappointed in myself for even considering getting in the raft. Looking back, it doesn't seem so bad, but at the time, I was not a happy camper. Luckily, there were still two more days of camp for me to accomplish what I wanted to, and there was a fun on-land afternoon planned so I could take my mind off things.

To be continued...

FD 70: Day 2, Open Water!

2011-07-26T16:39:00.004-04:00

After building confidence on day 1, Tuesday brought some new challenges. The day began with yoga at 7:00 AM, and after breakfast, we headed to the river. With us, were two new group members, Grizzly and Boy Toy, a reporter and photographer from a local newspaper: The Flathead Beacon.

There was some confusion about where exactly we were putting our boats in on the river, and after waiting at one put-in for the rest of our group- and unloading the safety raft, it was realized that in fact we were at the take-out. Oops.

Once we arrived at the real put-in, things got off to a good start. After some lunch and an energetic dance warm up on the beach, we hit the water. It was a seven mile trip, and there were few swimmers that day, either a testament to our skill or perhaps that the water wasn't too challenging for our experienced group.

I don't remember a whole lot else about Tuesday, just that it was a good day on the water.

Sidenote: Since returning home, I've resumed triathlon training...I biked 25 miles today- across five townships, hills included. I've also selected the tri I'll be participating in: The Skylands Triathlon, which takes place on September 11th in Hunterdon County New Jersey. This is a plus because I don't actually have to travel to get to the event, it's practically in my backyard :)

FD 70: Day 1, The Lake

2011-07-24T23:10:00.003-04:00

After arriving the day before, Monday was the first full day of camp, and our first time on the water in Montana. That morning began just like every other. I awoke to laughter from the kitchen, where the three camp 'moms' were preparing breakfast and packing coolers of lunch and snack supplies for our group of about twenty kayakers and and campers.

After a run and some food, it was time to hit the road. We packed into three vehicles and traveled to Lake Macdonald in Glacier National Park, where the other campers and I needed to demonstrate our ability to 'wet exit'. This means getting out of the boat if it capsizes.

My nerves kicked in as we were given a safety talk and asked to set goals for the week. Suggestions included performing a T-rescue, rolling, or perhaps just getting reacquainted with the water and for today, getting that wet exit out of the way. I made a mental decision that I was in the third group. In the two years since I had been in a kayak, I forgot one critical aspect of my feelings about it: Kayaking terrifies me. Specifically, being upside-down under water and trapped in a boat, or doing anything that could potentially lead to that situation, makes my heart race and my eyes cry. How I forgot this is beyond me. At previous camps, I had not attempted a T-rescue or a roll, and wet exits were specifically reserved for an accidental swim on the river, which I had not encountered during those camps.

As we pushed off the shore, I found myself unable to speak, and apparently my emotions were written all over my face, because Konvict, one of the experienced kayakers, came over and asked me how I was, adding with a smile, "I haven't seen that expression on your face before."
You haven't seen me in a kayak before, I thought.

But in no time, I was sitting in my boat, upside-down, underwater. I tapped on the sides when I wanted to come upright, and Konvict flipped me back over. Once I flipped myself over and did a wet exit, Konvict asked if I wanted to work on rolling. No, I thought. But I nodded yes, and proceeded to spend some quality time underwater. It wasn't that bad...actually, it was fun.

As a group, we practiced strokes and played a game of sharks and minnows before paddling out of the lake to take on some moving water. The water was calm, and that allowed for some quality discussion. I got to know another camper named Johnny that afternoon, and later in the evening, one of the expert kayakers commented at our campfire sharing of highlights of the day that he felt lucky to witness what he saw on the river; how easily we had poured our hearts out to each other after only meeting the day before.

But that openness is part of the magic of First Descents, and something that is not at all unusual at camp.

FD 70

2011-07-24T22:53:00.004-04:00

Just over 24 hours ago I returned from Montana. I spent a week there, and it was awesome. I met ten other young adult cancer survivors who had all participated in a previous First Descents experience. Our camp was considered an 'FD 2' because we were all returning participants, although my last time in a kayak was two summers ago. As I mentioned before I left, there is a magic that occurs at First Descents, and at previous camps, this took some time to develop, but knowing that the week would fly, we made quick work of getting acquainted. In no time, nicknames were exchanged and fun commenced.

Side note: Nicknames are an FD tradition, and are the only names used at camp...you can go a whole week without hearing your real name, and it's strange to find out at the end of the week that someone you've been calling Symbol, Marvel, or Half-Baked actually goes by a 'normal' name.

I can't describe in detail what happened at camp, because although the days flew, it also seemed that a week's worth of living happened within each day. So I think that I'll post select pictures and tell a story about each to try to explain what exactly happens at FD, but I'm not sure there are words to accurately describe the experience.

Montana Bound!

2011-07-16T11:42:00.006-04:00

I've admittedly slacked off in posting as often as I should, and I do apologize for that. However, my excuse is that it's summer and I've been enjoying every second of it, which includes doing things like riding my bike, running, going to the beach, and competing a few home improvement projects. The past week's agenda included a day at the beach, completing my first true 'brick' workout, painting both my kitchen and a beastly-large hallway that winds up a staircase, riding my bike to the gym (and working out before riding home), running a 5K, and mentally preparing to pack a suitcase for my upcoming trip to Montana. Oh, and I tutored students for about five hours, too.

Writing this makes me feel a lot less lazy. I felt like I didn't do a whole lot this week, but looking back, I guess I did accomplish a decent amount :), and now I can add writing a blog post to the list, too.

I have a lot to do before I go to Montana tomorrow morning, so I'm going to keep this (sort-of) short. Bright and early tomorrow, I'll be going to Glacier National Park to do some whitewater kayaking with First Descents. They're the awesome charity for which I ran my most recent half marathon.

I'm super excited for the whole experience. I've been on two other FD trips, one to Colorado, the other to Washington state. I love the energy of these trips; everyone is so positive, and I can't get enough of the laid back, outdoorsy west-coast attitude of the kayak guides. I also get to meet some new YA cancer survivors, which is equally exciting. There's an unspoken bond that exists between YA survivors. We have common experiences that link us in a way that can't be explained. It's an instant connection that makes it possible to become friends in a day and family within a week. This is one of the things I love about trips like this.

Despite the excitement, I can't help but also reflect on my first trip to Montana. It was a godsend and a nightmare, all rolled into one. It was the dead of winter in 2007, and the first time I met anyone who had cancer and wasn't at least two decades older than me. I've shared selected parts of my memoir on here before, about my hair and also the last piece I wrote. I've written a bit more this summer, trying to actually finish the whole story. Here's the one about my first trip to Montana:

I learned about the existence of a place called Camp Mak-A-Dream from a woman who began attending the cancer support group I'd started to frequent. Her daughter, Jill, was diagnosed at twenty-three, and while her daughter had beaten stage III colon cancer and moved on, she was still dealing with it herself two years later. As a mother to a child about my age, she took comfort in talking to me and seemed to be able to get some perspective on her daughter’s point of view through talking to me, and it was she who told me about the camp in Montana that her daughter had attended.

While Jill wouldn’t talk about the cancer, her mother said she raved about the time she had out in Montana. I waited for months to go to Camp Mak-A-Dream. I knew it would change everything because I would get to meet other young adults who understood what I was going through; I would not be alone anymore. Through all the headaches, my eyes were on the prize of getting on a plane and flying across the country to Montana, to a camp set at the foot of a mountain, where other people far too young to have cancer would come together for a week of fun; skiing, hiking, crafts, and workshops. In all my dreams of how that week might be, I never imagined I would have the experience that I did in Montana.

When I arrived at camp after two long flights and an hour drive from Missoula to Gold Creek, I met my cabin mates, and I felt a sense of panic walking into a central room where there were couches and comfortable chairs, a large mantle and fireplace. It was rustic and inviting, but I wanted to turn around and go back to New Jersey the second I walked in. Other young women sat on the floor, a couch, and in chairs. A few of them wore winter hats, and it was clear that there was no hair beneath them. Why did I want to meet sick people? This was a terrible idea. I want to go back home where everyone around me is healthy and normal. They look like cancer patients.

While I had these thoughts I came in and introduced myself to Courtney, Valerie, Jen, Jackie, Sandra, Jessica, Jane, Bridge, Holly, Sara, Natasha, Becca, and Deanna. I sat down and as I listened to them talk, I realized that even though I was put off by their sickness, I was just as sick as they were. During the next few hours we became friends; it was a sisterhood of cancer. We shared stories, talked about school, boyfriends, health insurance. Within twenty-four hours we were like old friends.

On the third day of camp, I awoke and put on my glasses as I’d done for the majority of my life. But today I couldn’t see clearly. I checked my eyes to see if I had slept in my contacts, and that was causing the problem, but I found my contacts in their case in the cabin bathroom.

At breakfast I told the camp doctor about my vision. He was a Saint Jude pediatric oncologist who had a quirky personality and an overweight beagle by his side constantly. He promised to call Quinny(my doctor) about my sight, and told me to take it easy. As the day went on, my vision deteriorated further; by lunch I was wearing both my contacts and glasses, and still wasn’t able to see clearly.

The doctor checked in, coming and sitting next to me at lunch.

“How are your eyes?”

“I think it’s getting worse. Did you call Doctor Quinn?”

He nodded, “Yes. He thinks, and I agree, that you are having an aura without the migraine.”

I voiced my doubts then, the vision impairment I experienced prior to a migraine were never like this; they were usually similar to what is seen after a camera flash goes off, then the dark spot would grow until I couldn’t see much of anything. But the doctor assured me I would be fine. He suggested I rest after lunch, and I decided I would do this, hoping I would wake up able to see again.

I woke before dinner, the sun had already begun to set and the other girls were in the cabin changing for dinner. Before I opened my eyes, I said a quick prayer that I would be able to see, but when I tried to open them, it seemed my lids were stuck together. I brought my hands to my eyes, planning to rub away the crustiness that was holding them shut. But what my hands found was frightening, I no longer had eyes that rested in sockets; my eyes or lids, or both, were so swollen I had no indentation below my brows; my eyes simply protruded from there. I gasped and began to cry, although no tears came from my monstrous eyes. I was able to open them, but I could see even less than before. I saw blobs of color, and that was all.

“Juli, are you awake?”

The voice came from across the room. It seemed most of the girls had already left for dinner.

I nodded, not sure who was talking to me.

A red and white blob moved toward me and sat down on my bunk.

“Are you going to come to dinner?”

I shrugged, and then started shaking my head, “I can’t see anything!”

“Nothing?” came a surprised response.

I still didn’t know who I was talking to; I couldn’t see her face. Crying without tears I explained, “All I can see are colors. I don’t even know who you are!”

The blob gave me a hug and said, “It’s Jessica, your bunk mate.”

Jessica was a pediatric cancer survivor and was also from New Jersey. She had claimed the bunk above mine.

“Lets go to dinner, I’ll walk you there.”

Jess helped my find my coat and hat, and she guided me to the main lodge, then up the stairs to just outside the dining area.

“Wait here, Jules,” Jessica instructed, then left me in the shadows of the hallway.

She was gone for what seemed like too long, so I came in and found an empty chair at one of the round tables. I took off my coat and feeling the girls looking at me said, “I can’t see anything.”

Val came up behind me, and I only knew it was her because of the southern lilt of her voice, “Juli, do you want me to get you some dinner?”

“Sure. I’m not really hungry though. What is it tonight?”

Val explained the menu and brought me my requests on a small plate.

As we finished dinner, the doctor came over and asked how I was feeling. The decision was made that I would go to Missoula to the nearest emergency room. Apparently having hugely swollen eyes and suddenly going blind was grounds for making the long drive to Missoula late at night.

I spent the next few days traveling back and forth to Missoula, where I saw an ER doctor, then an ophthalmologist, who couldn’t figure out what was wrong with me. Convinced this was somehow related to the preventative migraine medication I was taking, I stopped taking the drug on the second day I was blind. I continued to tell the doctor I thought that the blindness was related to the migraine medication, but he never commented on that. I also called my mother on that second day, deciding I was calm enough now that I could tell her that her daughter who was on the other side of the country was blind. I also asked her to Google ‘blindness and Topamax’, which she did. Glaucoma came up as a rare but listed side effect of the drug.

Once I stopped taking the migraine medication, my vision gradually returned and my eyes deflated over the next few days. By the time I went home, I could see again. When I had regained my sight, the girls told me they didn’t want to scare me, but I had looked awful. They described my eyes as golf ball-like and looking too dry, while my irises were watery and slimy. We joked about it, and they nicknamed me Glaucoma Girl. I thank God that I didn’t go blind while I was at home; I would have been terrified. It was different in Montana, we had all been through difficult times, and we laughed as we went through them, so it was only natural that we laughed at my blindness, and never let on that it was frightening until it was over.

Show Time!

2011-07-04T14:52:00.001-04:00

Happy Fourth of July! In addition to being the day commemorating America's independence, tonight is also my radio debut! I'll be in the Survivor Spotlight on The Stupid Cancer Show. Haven't heard of it before? The SCS is an Internet based radio show presented weekly by I'm Too Young for This! Foundation creator Matthew Zachary.

I was lucky enough to meet Matt a few years back at the LIVESTRONG Summit in Columbus, Ohio. I can't fail to mention Jack Bouffard (Matt's right hand man) who I also met the same weekend. In thinking back, it was quite the weekend. Jack drove me a significant distance so I could get home from the summit via Cincinnati Airport after Delta canceled all the flights out of Columbus. It was my first experience with I2Y, and the the overall feeling I walked away with was that survivors stick together!

Not surprisingly I've continued to cross paths with both Matt and Jack, as well as other I2Yers in the years since we've met. The YA (young adult) cancer population is a close knit bunch, and many of us have participated in the same camps, retreats, and of course the I2Y OMG summit, a huge annual event for YA survivors. In a sense, we all know each other.

I'm looking forward to the opportunity to be on the show tonight and hanging out with these two awesome guys ( sadly I'll be hanging out via phone, since I couldn't get back to the tri-state area tonight. Also, If you read this after the fact, no worries. The show is available after the live broadcast via podcast!

I hope you'll tune in by visiting here.

Hope, Love, Run,
Marathon Girl

Am I- gasp- TAN?

2011-07-01T22:34:00.006-04:00

As I write this, I am admiring the sun kissed glow of all of my bare skin that I can see right now. I just checked myself out in a mirror, and the whites of my eyes look particularly white against my darker skin.

What have I done? No, I have not gone to the dark side and been spending time outside unprotected-I biked almost 2o miles yesterday, and I was sure to slather on a good amount of sun screen first. And I certainly haven't been laying in a tanning bed, which might as well be a coffin for someone like me.

I'm going to Florida tomorrow, so I went and got a spray tan. I don't get these things on a regular basis, but I do feel inclined to get sprayed a darker shade once, maybe twice a year, usually when I head south. When I know I'm going to be spending time in a bathing suit, surrounded by people who take tan to a completely different level- Floridians- I like to bring myself at least a few shades closer to them. Otherwise I am so pale that complete strangers comment about how white my body is. Not even kidding.

Sadly, in order to get sprayed, I have to visit a tanning salon. I feel a sense of disgust walking in to one of those places, because I know I'm in a place where people are actually choosing to engage in a practice that increases their chance of getting melanoma by 74%. These people make me very angry because I didn't get to make the choice they're being given. I got melanoma, even though I have never been in a tanning bed. It's a slap in the face that they're making such a dangerous choice and being ungrateful for their present health.

I'll say this once: If you use tanning beds, stop.

Here are my responses to your excuses:

1. You don't want to switch to spray because orange isn't your color? I can assure you that even on the palest of skins, the color of spray isn't orange like it was years ago. I'm looking at myself now, and to be honest, I look awesome.

2. You want to look healthy? That's nice. Does your vision of health include leathery, wrinkled skin? Excision scars? Because you're going to age more quickly and you'll need to have surgery when you get cancer. It won't be pretty.

3. It costs less to use the beds? Yes, it does. But treatment for melanoma costs hundreds of thousands of dollars. Spend your money on a spray tan and you'll actually save money, and a lot of emotional and physical pain.

4. You need to get your vitamin D? True, Americans are overall deficient, but it takes just 10 minutes per day of sunlight to do the trick. Also, there are these great things called supplements. You can take a pill to get vitamin D, or you can eat your fruits and veggies.

I hope if you are the tanning type, whether it's at the beach or in a bed, you'll think about my words, and read my story. Ask yourself if these are possibilities you want to expose yourself to.

My parting plea is this: There is no occasion, event, season, or reason to get in a tanning bed. Ever. Just say no.

Hope. Love. Run,
Marathon Girl

Lance-ing it up

2011-06-25T19:33:00.006-04:00

As a follow-up to my last post, I've decided I like this whole triathlon idea. I'm going above the training schedule at this point, because I think I need less than the scheduled three months of training the Women's Health plan suggests, so I'm skipping ahead to month two of the plan, and incorporating some extra cross-training because I actually have time for such things- oh the beauty of summer! I feel like such a tough girls saying a training program is too easy for me, but I think my half marathon training has prepared me well for this new challenge.

However, the one aspect of triathlon training I was not prepared for was cycling. Yes, I can ride a bike sans training wheels, but in order to do this, one must have said bicycle. I have been taking spin classes for the last few weeks, and they're fun, challenging, and a change of pace from running, but I was still longing to ride on the open road, the pavement beneath me, a helmet on my head.

I began to research bikes, and what I found seems to be the most critical part of purchasing a bicycle is, well, having the money for one. Road bikes cost thousands of dollars! Also, it is critical that the bike be the correct size for the cyclist, otherwise injury is likely. To learn more, I stopped in a local shop, and got the run-down from a knowledgeable employee, who told me that while they sell an affordable bike for $680 (ha ha, seriously?), he would recommend I spend a 'few hundred' more dollars for a better bike. When I asked why, he told me the 'cheap' bike wouldn't work in a year or two. I left empty handed and disheartened, but determined, nonetheless.

I'm a pretty thrifty girl, and I would even call myself frugal, at times, so I certainly don't spend that kind of money without researching my options. So I began scouring the internet to determine my best options. Turns out, there are used bikes available through a variety of sources, but finding the right bike, one with the proper fit, made me nervous.

...Until I found the site of The Boys and Girls Club Bike Exchange. This awesome organization has a shop, located in Mercer County, just outside the city of Trenton. I took a drive there and found that they have a TON of used bikes that are refurbished by a team of dedicated volunteers. They're cyclists themselves, so they're knowledgeable in all things bicycle.

On my arrival, I was greeted by a friendly woman who helped me find the perfect bike for me, one that fit my body and my budget. My shiny 'new' Schwinn Traveler is red, and I learned after a little serial number research that it was manufactured in 1982...Three years before I was born!

I've had the bike out three times now, and may I say, it is AWESOME. Proof being that I keep going out despite the aches and pains that come with biking a lot after not biking for a long time.

I think that the moral of this post is that while I love running for a multitude of reasons, among them the fact that it's a great start-up activity because it's really cheap to get a pair of sneakers, I wish I'd broken my loyalty sooner and gotten road a bicycle and a helmet before now. I just didn't remember how much fun riding a bike is. If you haven't ridden in a while, give it a shot. You'll find that it comes back easily, because it's, well, like riding a bicycle.

Hope, Love, Run (Bike)
Marathon (Triathlon) Girl

Tri-ing it out

2011-06-16T19:12:00.005-04:00

So it's been a little over two weeks since the Cancerversary Half-Marathon, and about a week after, I ran a 5K, almost breaking my PR, despite the humid, 90+ degree temps. I was within seconds of equaling a time I earned last summer in the Sprintin' Clinton 5K, and although I didn't break the record, I was happy with myself.

Since then, I've been itching for a new goal, and I think I want to branch out a little bit. I decided I needed to step up my game with this new challenge. I contemplated a full marathon, but then I got my first issue of Women's Health Magazine. My best friend got me a subscription for my birthday- probably because when I visited her last summer, I left with a backpack full of past issues she had in her apartment. In the May issue, there's an article titled, 'Yes, You can be a Triathlete'

I read every word, probably about three times, now. And I remembered back to last summer when I was working on the farm. I had many shifts pulling weeds with a young woman who worked in the cycling industry and was avidly active. She said on more than one occasion, "You do a half-marathon, the next thing you're going to want to do is a tri."

At the time, I nodded, smiled, and kept pulling weeds. I didn't have any real interest in biking and swimming. I loved running.

But here I am a year later...A week into the Women's Health Triathlon training program. So far, the training has seemed light, and I am thinking about skipping ahead because it seems the program's starting point isn't accounting for the fact that I just trained for and ran a half-marathon, so perhaps I'll be tri-ready in less than the recommended three months.

At any rate, I am excited to commit to a new challenge and take on swimming and cycling!

I'll keep you posted on my progress!

Hope, Love, Run,
Marathon Girl (Triathlon Girl?)

Invincible

2011-06-05T18:34:00.005-04:00

Here's the big update: The run is DONE! Today is my official 5-year cancerversary, but I ran my commemorative half marathon last weekend, and I consider it a success. I arrived in Boston after a traffic-less four hour drive. As I drove, I considered what the weekend meant, what it represented for me. The more I thought about it, the clearer it became.

Just like a song gets stuck in your head when you hear it too much, there are phrases that get stuck in mine when the sentiment resonates strongly with what I'm feeling. When I was first diagnosed, the phrase that kept replaying in my mind was "I feel robbed of my invincibility." Meaning that I felt a sense of great loss for the endless sea of possibilities that previously stretched before me. I feared a loss of the following when I found out I had cancer: my big plans for getting married in a few years, having a family some day, graduating from college and beginning a career- even the possibility of retiring and growing old- all were reduced to the hope of living to see my college graduation in eleven months. I contemplated whether I would stay in school if I learned I might not live far beyond that day. I wondered what the lives of those around me would look like if I were gone. Robbed of my invincibility. Those words echoed in my head for days.

As I drove North toward Boston, that familiar phrase I couldn't get out of my head began to morph into something else, and by the time we drove past Fenway, a new concept was resonating inside me: taking back my invincibility.

It seems so clear that this is what I have been working toward for the last five years. I lost so much when I got cancer; I gave up a year of my life to a questionable treatment in the hope that the torture I endured would somehow serve as penance and earn me more years to live. I spent several years after I completed treatment trying to figure out why I didn't feel well, despite being told I should be fine. I worked to get my body healthy and my heart healed from the loss of relationships I valued. I was determined not to let my past mar my future. Running 13.1 miles through the streets of Boston seemed to cement in my mind that I have completed the transformation.

Because what I realized last weekend was that I have done all of these things, and more. It seems I have earned my invincibility back. It seems that way. But in reality, I don't believe I could possibly earn back my invincibility.

The truth is, I lost a lot when I got cancer, but my invincibility wasn't one of those things. I was never invincible before I got cancer; I didn't become invincible until I fought cancer. When I decided I was going to fight, that's when I started to become invincible.

When I had three surgeries less than a month apart from one another, I became invincible.
When I went to the hospital alone five days a week for chemo, I became invincible.
When I learned how to inject the chemo at home, and did it three times a week for the next eleven months, I became invincible.
When I flew across the country to Montana in the dead of winter to meet other cancer patients my age, I became invincible.
When I decided I needed to write about my experience, I became invincible.
When I decided I needed to run, I became invincible.

Logically, I understand that no one is invincible. But to me, feeling invincible means I know, with certainty, that I can do absolutely anything. If I commit to something, anything- Running a race, earning a masters degree, writing a memoir- I can, and will do it. It's the best feeling in the world.

Cancer helped me to find my invincibility, and it is with sincerity that I hope you find yours. Take on a challenge, make a commitment, take a stand. Believe. You are invincible too, you just don't know it yet.

Hope, Love, Run!
Marathon Girl

Time to Go!

2011-05-28T08:32:00.003-04:00

My bags aren't packed yet, but by the end of the day, I'll be in Boston, ready to run the half-marathon tomorrow morning! The forecast looks very promising- cloudy and 65-75 degrees during the time I'll be running. I'm psyched and feel well prepared for this race. I was ready when I did it in the fall, but I had been dealing with significantly more injuries- hip and knee pain, a foot issue, and the pain of minor shin splints which seem to be inevitable for me. But this time around, things are are feeling a lot better- Thanks to custom running orthotics, conscientious stretching, and trail running many of my longer runs. I have developed a minor shin splint in the last few weeks, but with ice, it's been manageable.

I still haven't reached my fund raising goal, but I have hope that I'll still get there! If you are considering contributing, take a look at my page, and watch the video there. If it moves you, give a few dollars.

My actual 5-year cancerversary is Sunday, June 5th, but the celebration officially starts tomorrow at 8:00 AM.

Hope, Love, Run,
Marathon Girl

YAY!!!

2011-05-23T23:04:00.002-04:00

Lilly Oncology on Canvas Video...Awesome :) Look for me around 1:00

Write it Out

2011-05-23T20:58:00.007-04:00

It's been almost two years since I finished writing the stories of my cancer experience. I wrote them all down in an effort to make sense of all the physical and emotional pain I experienced from the time I was diagnosed until I finished treatment, or at least I thought that was what I was doing.

When I originally started writing, I began with about ten blank Word documents, each titled some thing like, "The One When..." or "The One Where..." they were modeled after the ten seasons of Friends episodes I watched when I was first diagnosed and anything but sitcoms made me cry.

The documents were meant to be individual narratives that told the stories of the pivotal moments in my experience with cancer. But as I wrote one, I would think of two more experiences I needed to write about, and so I would create more blank documents, all with titles adhering to the same format. The more I wrote, the more stories I found I wanted- and needed- to tell. Some of the stories were emotional, others were funny, and there were others that I left blank for a long time because I knew that writing them would force me to relive experiences so painful I didn't know if I could put to words what had actually happened.

But eventually I did. In August, 2009, I wrote a final document, titled "The Last One." I then pieced the documents in order, and wrote a preface explaining them. I have only printed any of it once. I gave it to a friend to read, and have since emailed it to one other person. I recently began reading it again, and though I haven't yet reached the halfway point, I'm thinking when I get to the end, I'm going to feel like I have a lot more story to tell. I only told stories up to the point I finished treatment, and as it turns out, that wasn't really the end of the fight.

At the time, I felt I couldn't go too much further, because it was all too close to write about; it was my present life, not a memory. But now things are different, and I think maybe it's time to tell the rest of the story, the part that comes after treatment ends, but before I figured out who I really was after cancer.

I thought since I've been discussing it, I at least owe you a piece of the story. So here's "The Last One" which it turns out, isn't actually the last one, after all. It may still come at the end when I finish telling the stories that I haven't written yet, but it's a much shakier version of the person I have become, there is an uncertainty in it that I don't feel anymore, so I think I'll have to revise it, but a lot of it still rings true.

The Last One

It’s been three years now since I went to see Dr. Cassetty for the first time. Just yesterday I was driving through town and while at a stoplight, I happened to glance in my rear-view mirror where the people in the car behind me were waving furiously. They continued to do this while I tried to figure out just who was in that car. When I finally turned around to get a better look, I saw that it was Dr. Cassetty and his wife. I waved back and then the light turned green.

I have met many wonderful people who I wouldn’t have known if I hadn’t gotten sick. I am thankful everyday that I went to see him when I did. I am well aware that if I hadn’t, my story would have looked very different; I might not be sitting here writing this. Another doctor might have brushed me off at my expense; after all, it happened once to me.

The scars on my body have begun to fade, slowly but surely. And the anger I once felt toward the boy who broke my heart, the friends who abandoned me, and for the invincibility I was robbed of, have become blurred around the edges. Yet it still only takes a blink of an eye for those things to come back into clear focus; an irregular CT scan that threatens to destroy everything I have worked so hard to earn back, running into that boy’s father, or a party where one of those friends shows up- all these things send me back to that place where the future was uncertain.

I am proud of the person I have become, and while I never thought I would believe it, life might actually be better after cancer than it was before. While my value of life is greater, I do feel that it is at times a curse. For every thunderstorm I am grateful to be a witness to-they make me feel alive- there is a girls’ night out at work that I feel guilty about turning down because I don’t feel completely at ease with these young women, because I have not shared my story with them.

While I have to live with these frustrations, I am more than happy to do so. I view life differently and have embraced my new found love of exercise and, dare I say, sports. I savor the moments I can play tennis, ski, take pilates, step classes, and dance classes, I run races, swim laps, and lift weights, and of course I fly across the country to get back in that kayak each summer. These things have become my therapy, for both my broken body and as a means of fostering a winning spirit. I have come to view life as a competition. I don’t compete against others, but with myself; how much weight can I lift? How far can I run? How much can I live? When I run further, when I lift more, when I push myself further than I thought I could the day before, I build my confidence in the fact that I can win the medical battles as well.

I suppose this is where I should share the moral of my story. It doesn’t end with a ‘happily ever after’ and I suppose that’s a good thing because it means my story, my life, is still a work in progress. Thankfully, it isn’t over yet.

I don’t have any grand epiphany to share now that I’ve written this whole thing, but if I were to tell you what I have learned from all the things that happened, it is this: You can’t win if you don’t fight. Life is an uphill battle whether you have cancer or not. Things will always happen. Bad things will happen, no matter how good you are. But success is not about dodging the bad things. Success is taking the worst and turning it into something better.

Bad things will happen, and that sucks. But you have to keep going, because that is what you are supposed to do when life goes terribly wrong; pick up the pieces of your broken self and keep moving, because as long as you can hold yourself together and push yourself onward, you’re bound to get to a better place. Whether it’s health or heaven, eventually things will get better, and I am living, breathing proof of that.

Run, Bake, Repeat

2011-05-18T21:53:00.008-04:00

Greetings!

My longest runs have passed, and I've used the extra time I have- which still isn't much- to step up my fundraising efforts. I'm still about a thousand dollars from my $2,500 goal, so I've taken to Facebook, email, and baking to work toward my goal. If you're scratching your head at that last part, it's not a typo...Yes, I've been baking to raise money! Without having a bake sale of any type, I've raised over a hundred dollars for my cause.

Thanks to a fabulous idea that I learned about from a friend, I've become skilled at making a delicious little treat called a cake pop. While they're a lot more work than a standard cookie or cupcake, they're a fundraising gold mine because they're as irresistibly cute as they are tasty.

By creatively displaying (and strategically placing) these treats in high traffic areas, like the main office at work, I've successfully informed a slew of people about First Descents, my charity of choice, and perhaps made their day a little sweeter in exchange for a few dollars.

Overall I consider the whole operation a great success. With any luck, I'll reach my fundraising goal soon! I know I have a ways to go, but I have high hopes! Thanks to all those who have contributed already- friends, family, FD supporters, and even a few people I've never even met. Your generosity inspires me. I'll be thinking of all of you in Boston...in just ten days! If you've got a few bucks to spare, head on over to my FirstGiving page and check it out!

Hope, Love, Run,
Marathon Girl

Skin Cancer Awareness Month

2011-05-05T20:29:00.004-04:00

May is skin cancer awareness month. I stumbled upon this and found it funny(1:43), honest (1:24), and moving(2:39, 2:53). If you do just one thing this month to honor someone with melanoma, it should be watching this video.

Winding Down and Gearing Up

2011-04-29T18:49:00.008-04:00

The last few weeks have been action packed, involving a lot of writing, running, and manual labor. I finished another graduate school course, and I'll wrap up another in a couple weeks, I did some home improvement projects, and the running is picking up. With one grad class done and the other winding down, I'm feeling a little less overwhelmed. I even made time to get a massage this week after a ten-mile run, although it was impromptu and happened at 8:30 PM, on a school night, no less.

I went to Massage Envy, which I highly recommend because they are open late and were willing to see me an hour after I called. I wasn't sure how I felt about getting a massage at a chain establishment rather than an independent spa, but I was pleasantly surprised and felt awesome afterward. The best part was that it was only $49. I'm going to have to fight the urge to go back after my next long run, because it was really, really good way to speed up recovery time.

In addition to stretching longer and longer now, my runs are becoming even more frequent. I'm running five days a week, which means that my strength training has been reduced to once per week, according to my Nike+ coach program. I found that when I lowered my strength training to this level when I trained for the half in the fall, I got weaker and actually did not perform as well on my long runs, so on the days I do 'short' (3 mile) runs, I'm making an effort to squeeze in at least one additional strength routine each week.

On Tuesday, I'll do one of just a handful of runs that are nearly as long as the half. These twelve milers represent the peak of my training, and although I've done this all before, it still makes me nervous... and excited. Can I do it? Will I avoid injuries? I'm so close to accomplishing this goal that I don't want to let anything get in the way. So I'm hanging in and keeping up with my program, and before I know it, I'll be on my way up to Boston to run the race.

Hope, Love, Run,
Marathon Girl

My Week

2011-04-05T22:01:00.006-04:00

It's been a crazy, and I mean CRAZY few weeks. I am writing this in lieu of getting ready for bed. It seems there are just not enough hours in the day for me to get everything done. I knew this was coming, and over the next six-to-eight weeks, I'll be living in a perpetual whirlwind, so if my posts are infrequent or short, you'll know why.

I am currently doing all of the following:
Working full-time
Coaching an after-school program
Taking two graduate courses
Privately tutoring
and of course...
Training for a half-marathon
Today I ran more than half the distance of the race...the runs get longer from here, but I'm feeling strong and training is going really well :)

That said...Yikes! Luckily these things all only overlap for a few weeks, so hopefully I can stay focused, get through it, and put 100% into all my commitments.

In other exciting news, this is young adult cancer awareness week (Yay!) And even more exciting, I found out a new drug was just approved to treat advanced melanoma. This is a really big deal because it's been over a decade since a new drug was introduced to treat this deadly disease. I remember a time not so long ago, when my goal was simply to live long enough to see this day.

I went into chemo with the mentality that I needed to keep fighting just long enough that a new, better drug would be approved. That day is here, and so am I. Luckily, I don't need that drug now, but it is a huge relief to know that there is an option for a stage of the disease that notoriously comes with a bleak prognosis of just months to live. The drug is called Yervoy, but I think others living with melanoma would join me in calling it hope, progress, or simply time.

My birthday is just a week away, so I'm considering Yervoy the gift I've been wishing for each time I've blown out the candles on my birthday cake for the last four years. So to anyone who had a hand in making it happen, thank you.

Hope, Love, Run.
-Marathon Girl

What a deal!

2011-03-20T19:54:00.005-04:00

I would like to take the opportunity to share about an exciting purchase I made recently. I actually made two critical purchases in the last week or two. I upgraded to an iphone after my nano was showing some long-term side effects of the washing machine incident, and the other purchase was a running essential for me...A new lymphedema sleeve.

I got an insider-email from a company called Lymphedivas. They were having a 24-hour half-price sale on their stylish lymphedema sleeves. This was a big deal, because these things don't come cheap.

Rocking the sleeve

If you're asking yourself, "What the heck is lymphedema?" I'll give you the short version. Lymphedema is swelling that occurs in a limb after lymph nodes are removed. Lymph nodes are systems of thingies that are like very tiny bunches of grapes. They control fluid flow through out the body. There are clusters all over the body, and when they're removed, the body can have trouble pulling fluid back out of the limb. A compression sleeve can help the body with this process.

Lymph nodes are commonly removed when a person is suspected to have cancer in them. Having lymphedema of the arm is probably more common in breast cancer survivors, but as a melanoma survivor, I have the same affliction. One of the annoyances of lymphedema is that I need to wear a compression sleeve when I fly on an airplane or exercise. In more severe cases, a person needs to wear a sleeve all the time- I had to do that for a while. It sucks.

What sucks even more than wearing an uncomfortable elastic sleeve that digs into your elbow and causes your fingers to turn into pins and needles while you sit on an airplane, pump iron, or go for a run, is that the standard lymphedema sleeve is a fleshy tan color. Ew.

Lymphedivas to the rescue: lightweight, breathable sleeves that come in (gasp!) a wide array of colors and patterns. I ordered some of these interesting sleeves a few years ago, and was very happy with them. I've been in the market for some new sleeves for quite a while, but they are pretty expensive. The sleeves are only supposed to last for a matter of months, and with all the time I spend wearing one (every time I work out) my current selection is looking pretty shabby.

So when the Divas sent me the info about their sale, I jumped on their site and got myself some new goods. They arrived a few days later in the most adorable package. They were wrapped in beautiful pink and patterned tissue paper, and came with a pen, nail file, and full-color large brochure about their products. It was like getting a present. When I finally unwrapped it, I was even more pleased with what I had gotten. The sleeve and gauntlet (hand piece) are brightly colored and since my last order, the gauntlet has been redesigned for better comfort. I am really enjoying putting on my new purchase before starting a workout.

Kudos to Lymphedivas for not only your awesome sale, but your even more awesome products. I'll be the girl at the gym rocking the sweet compression sleeve.

Hope, Love, Run,
Marathon Girl

Back to Reality

2011-03-20T19:31:00.002-04:00

I've slipped back into my real life since my very quick trip to Atlanta. It was an amazing and rewarding experience, speaking to about 400 Lilly employees. The whole thing felt surprisingly natural and comfortable. I found that I wasn't nervous at all, and I couldn't believe it was over already when the hour came to an end.

I was gone for all of twenty-two hours, before I returned home to my 'normal' life. The next day I was back at work, speaking to a much smaller and younger audience about such things as how to find the volume of a prism and speculative writing prompts. What a difference a day makes!

I missed a run because of my trip, but since I've returned home, I have completed all my scheduled runs and nearly all my strength workouts. I occasionally skip out on strength if my schedule gets particularly hectic.

Where in the World is Marathon Girl?

2011-03-08T22:47:00.005-05:00

Well, in case you were wondering, I’m currently in Atlanta, Georgia. I know, unexpected, right? Since snow days claimed my February break, I’m excited to get away, even if it’s for such a short trip. This isn’t exactly a vacation, although getting to take a ride in a town car and stay in a hotel sure feel like a special getaway, even if it’s only for twenty-four hours.

A few months ago, I was contacted by Lilly Oncology again and asked if I would be interested in being a part of a patient/survivor panel at their national sales meeting. I was really excited at the prospect of speaking about my experience with cancer to a group of people from the healthcare community. Now, with my first real speaking engagement about nine hours away, I am even more excited, but I'm also feeling the butterflies at this point.

Speaking in front of a group of people doesn’t really scare me, I do that on a daily basis as part of my job. The nerves are because I am considering this an opportunity, and I want it to go as well as it possibly can. I would love, love, LOVE to have more opportunities like this…And it’s not about getting the chance to indulge in the novelties reserved for private-sector employees that my job doesn’t allow for- flying to distant cities, taking town cars to and from the airport, and yummy meals paid for ahead of time.

This is about feeling like I am doing something that matters. Not that what I do on a daily basis doesn’t matter. This trip is just the expression of a second passion. My first love, education, is one that I believe will satisfy me for the rest of my professional career. But since being diagnosed, I have developed a second love, one for advocacy. It may seem like a completely different avenue to explore, but it’s really not that much of a stretch.

When I was twelve, I didn’t know what I was going to be when I grew up. I had a goal though. That goal hasn’t changed in the last fourteen years. I have always wanted to have a positive impact on as many people as I can possibly reach. I want to be remembered as someone who did something that mattered and made a difference in the lives of others. I do realize this is a completely immeasurable goal, but I still feel that it describes what I want to achieve during my lifetime, and both education and advocacy fit neatly under the umbrella of a goal I have maintained for more than half of my life. If you’ve read anything on here or know me more personally, I am nothing if not goal-oriented.

So tomorrow morning, I will be speaking to people, not just representing myself, but the 70,000 other young adults who are diagnosed with cancer each year. For the ones who are too sick to speak, are too busy fighting, and especially those who were not diagnosed in time and don’t have a voice anymore. So wish me luck, and here’s to making an impact.

Hope. Love. Run,

Marathon Girl

Countdown to Training

2011-02-23T20:19:00.003-05:00

Official training starts next week! In the meantime, I have been extremely busy. I knew the first half of 2011 would be crazy, and I think I prepared for it as best I could, but the next few months are going to be challenging.

I've been keeping a grueling schedule that involves my usual 9-10 hour work days (plus evening prep work), daily workouts, and since mid January, two graduate level courses. I'll also be resuming coaching Girls on the Run two days a week at the beginning of April, but I'm hoping by then my grad school work will be winding down.

As difficult as it is to manage my current schedule, I know it's finite and it's all in keeping with reaching goals I am determined to achieve. I want to run the half in May, and I am equally determined to finish my masters in 2012.

I cannot describe how motivating it is to see all the donations my family and friends have contributed to support my half marathon goal. I have already raised over $800.00 for First Descents! I am still hoping to reach my goal of $2,500.00 by May, so I'll encourage you again to check out my First Giving page and watch the video about my journey with cancer, and if you're moved to do so, make a donation, anything is appreciated.

I'm keeping this post short because I still have more work to do tonight, and an early morning workout planned for tomorrow!

Hope, Love, Run!
-Marathon Girl

Taking it Easy

2011-02-13T19:48:00.003-05:00

It was 40 degrees out today! The piles of snow are slowly melting, and I'm really hoping that the warm weather that is expected this week means that winter is on its way out. I took advantage of the 'warm' weather and went for an outside run. This was actually the second outdoor run I did this week. Back on Monday, it was in the high thirties, and although it was dusk by the time I got home from work, I couldn't resist the urge and went for a run.

It felt like forever since I ran outside. It was SO good to be in the open, the pavement under my sneakers, the cold air numbing my ears and nose. It was the magic of outdoor running that led me to run farther and farther...Farther than I should have.

How far out I ran wasn't the problem. It was the rest of the way back that started to hurt. My legs were sore, and my ankles clearly need some rebuilding from the last few months of shorter treadmill runs, but I was certainly not sorry I went out that night.

Today was another warm day, and being the weekend, I didn't need to run in the dark. I was tempted to take one of the routes I came to love at the end of my last half-marathon training. One of the 10-12 milers that runs along the river. I fought the urge though, and went in the other direction, the one that only allows for a three mile run, because beyond that there's only highway.

I learned last spring that getting too ambitious too early equals injury. And injury only equals RICE (Rest, Ice, Compression, Elevation). I did that last spring, and I'd like to think I'm slightly wiser after 600 plus miles of running and training for a half-marathon.

The week looks good for some more outdoor runs. It might even get up to 50 degrees! I'll keep you posted. The next three weeks mark the last ones before I officially begin training for the Run to Remember in Boston. I'm really excited about training, and what this race symbolizes. I'd also like to thank all the people who have already donated to support my race training, it really motivates me to see how many people are supporting me in this challenge.
Thank YOU.

If you'd like to learn more about why I'm training for the half, or about my story, Please visit this site.

Hope. Love. Run.
Marathon Girl

Q: What time is it? A:Time to give back.

2011-02-02T19:58:00.005-05:00

I am now registered for Boston's Run to Remember, which takes place Memorial Day weekend, 2011! I'm spending this month in pre-training for the race. This means I'm running regularly each week, logging at least ten miles, so when I begin training in early March, it's an easy transition. Having successfully trained for a half once before, I feel confident moving forward and saying I am running a race that is still four months away.

However, unlike last time, my commitment goes beyond just saying I'm running this half. I plan on making this race a statement, and the statement is this: not only did I survive, but with some help, I found a way to live a full life beyond cancer. Last year I wrote about celebrating my fourth cancerversary. This year's cancerversary is extra special because it's the holy grail year: Five. Years. Out.

What's the big deal with five, you ask? The big deal is that I was told that there was a 50% chance I would live to see five years from my diagnosis. There was a time I doubted I would live to graduate college, have a job, find someone who could love me, cancer and all...but on June 5, 2011 I will have outlived those dates, and will be as close to being ordained as 'cured' as I'll ever be.

I know it's only February, but I think at this point it's pretty safe to say I will be alive in four months. So I figured, what better way to celebrate this milestone than to run 13.1 miles and raise funds to support the organization that encouraged me to push my body after cancer?
I couldn't come up with anything I'd rather do to commemorate my five year cancerversary, so I'm running this race for First Descents. I feel forever grateful to them because the two week-long kayaking adventures I participated in with other young adult survivors were life-changing and have brought me to the positive place I am today.

So this is the big launch. I have opened my FirstGiving site for support. I encourage you to visit and at least watch the video posted there titled 'Giving Back'. It's a quick (under 4 minutes!) look at the post-treatment portion of my journey with cancer. If it moves you to do so, make a donation. If not, that's okay too, because just by watching, you're one more person who is aware of First Descents and can share it with a young adult who might benefit from it, should the opportunity arise.

Hope, Love, Run,
Marathon Girl

First Giving page
Direct to video

The Miracle of Technology

2011-01-23T22:15:00.003-05:00

I find technology to be a huge motivating factor for me as far as exercise is concerned, and if you exercise, I would venture to guess that you're 'plugged in' in some way. I started thinking more about the pivotal role technology plays in my physical fitness when I experienced a technological disaster this week.

I think the single most influential technology in exercise is the ipod, because it connects with so many other resources I use, like Nike+, Earndit, and even some gym equipment directly connects to the ipod. Oh, and in case all that's not cool enough, it also plays music. When I had an ipod mishap this week, it felt like a disaster.

I skied during the previous weekend and brought along my ipod for a little slope music. I tucked it in my fleece and forgot about it. I forgot about it for so long that when I did laundry one evening later in the week, I tossed my fleece in with everything else. Then I hung it up to dry and went to bed.

I didn't think about the ipod's absence until the next morning when I was driving to work. Was it in the fleece? Did I take it out and forget about it? I waited in suspense all day with the chemo-brain hope that it was sitting on my dresser or in my gym bag, where I had absent-mindedly placed it.

Unfortunately, it wasn't on the dresser or in the gym bag. Sadly, my ipod was in my fleece. It went through the full washing machine cycle. An hour of soap, soaking, and spinning. It was shiny and smelled rain forest fresh, but not surprisingly, it wouldn't turn on.

In a state of panic, I did some quick online research that indicated that there might be hope. Apparently I'm not the first person to put an ipod in the washing machine, and some ipods do recover from this sort of thing. What I read indicated that while the dryer is a death sentence for all ipods, the washing machine alone doesn't always yield the same results. In the washer, ipod touches fared worse than nanos and shuffles, with shuffles being the winner for routinely surviving washing machine trauma. I felt a bit more hopeful after this, since I have a nano.

In case you're wondering what to do if you don't want to immediately buy a new ipod after running yours through the washing machine, there are a variety of ideas for trying to bring it back to life, among them putting it under a desk lamp, soaking it in a bath of alcohol, placing it in an air vent, and letting it sit in uncooked rice.

I opted for a combination. My ipod spent the next 36 hours in a bag of rice sitting on an air vent. After a day-and-a-half, I ultimately gave in to curiosity and plugged it in to my computer. Miraculously, it not only turned on, but synced up and began charging. Aside from a little condensation under the screen, it seems my ipod has survived it's unintended swim. I don't know if it will last, but for now I'm breathing a sigh of relief and going to the gym to run tomorrow- I'm just two miles from the next level on Nike+...so I'll be on the blue level by tomorrow night, which marks 620 miles ran since I started using Nike+ back in April!

Sometimes I buy myself something to commemorate a milestone like this, but I think this time not having to buy a new ipod is a sufficient reward for this accomplishment- thanks for making such a durable product, Apple!

Hope, Love, Run!
Marathon girl

Planning the next move

2011-01-08T23:01:00.002-05:00

With the holidays done and 2011 stretching out ahead of me, I figured it was time to seek out my next running challenge. I've been looking in to doing a second half marathon. Back when there were still green leaves on the trees, I had grandiose visions of running a full marathon this summer, but after completing a half back in November, I came to two conclusions.

1. I think I need to train for and run at least one more half before I take on the challenge of a full.
And
2. I love running, not racing.

Don't get me wrong, I could run a 5k every weekend without skipping a beat, but a half is a whole different animal.
This is what I consider running: I love getting up on a Sunday morning, eating eggs and toast while I complete all my weekend-work, then getting dressed and going for a long run. Out the front door. The run goes wherever I say it does. My course. My rules. My schedule.

Racing on the other hand looks something like this: Pack all necessary belongings and hope I didn't forget anything. Figure out how to simulate eggs and toast in a hotel room at 5:00 AM (in case you're wondering, hard boiled eggs and bread and butter are about as close as it gets) Drive far. Wake up terribly early. Get to start line. Wait...and wait...and wait. Run when and where you're told to.

There are some things to love about racing; the sense of being a part of something, crossing the finish line, cheering people on the sidelines, and most of all, training.

So while I don't absolutely love racing, I do adore running to train for a race. Running when and where I want, but still working toward a goal. So, while I don't think I'm ready for a full marathon race this summer, I think doing another half will give me more confidence to work toward that goal. After all, I didn't always think 5Ks were a walk in the park. But hopefully with another 13.1 mile race under my belt, I'll feel more comfortable with the idea of 26.2.

After much consideration and searching, I think I've decided on Boston's Run the Remember, held Memorial Day weekend. I haven't registered yet, but my mind is pretty made up. Aside from being in the middle of a long weekend, and far enough out that I can wait until the threat of snow has passed to start training, the date has significance not just for our country, but for me, but I'll save that explanation for my next post.

In the meantime,
Hope, love, run,
Marathon Girl

Happy New Year!

2010-12-31T17:09:00.003-05:00

Today is the last day of 2010. I have to say that this has been a pretty awesome year. I kept my job in the face of massive layoffs, 'ran' six miles every day for a month, learned about sustainable agriculture by working at a CSA, ran my first half-marathon, came in third in a national art competition, donated 10 inches of my hair to other women affected by cancer, designed and built an award-winning gingerbread house, and best of all, I finally feel I have started living life beyond cancer.

For the past four December 31st's, I have made the same resolution: I want to be alive next December 31st. As I sat on a plane this afternoon, flying home from a quick warm-weather getaway, I looked down at the black and white landscape- snow and trees seen from the aerial perspective, I remembered my resolution.

And I decided, this year, I think I will make a different one. Surviving another year doesn't seem like a resolution I need to make. I feel like this is a monumental shift in thinking for me, and a pretty significant accomplishment. Resolving to do something other than just be alive in 365 days means I finally feel secure in the knowledge that my life is not measurable in days, weeks, or even months. I finally feel confident in planning the life ahead of me in years.

When I was twenty-one, I was told that there was a 50/50 chance I would live to see June 2011. Five years. 50%. At the time I was told this, I remember articulating that the statistic made me feel as though I was being robbed of my invincibility. But looking back, I think it wasn't my invincibility that was lost. I never thought I was invincible. What was taken from me when I was provided with that statistic was my future. I stopped planning in decades, or even years. I started living on a much shorter timetable. Looking back, that shift makes me really sad. At twenty-one, I doubted whether I would live to graduate, find a job, or find someone who could love me, cancer and all.

But I have accomplished all of those things. And so much more. Each accomplishment brought me closer to the belief that I could live my life. A full, long life. So this year, I will not resolve to live until next December 31st, because it should be a given. I will make a different resolution, if you want to call it that at all. I prefer to think of a resolution as a promise, because promises are meant to be kept. So I promise to keep writing, running, and not just surviving, but living, for the next 365 days...And beyond.

Happy New Year!

Hope, Love, Run,
Marathon Girl

Does This Life Make Me Look Stressed?

2010-12-18T21:39:00.005-05:00

I was dying to run outside today. Over the last five days, I only worked out once. This is a significant deviation from my normal 5-day a week routine, but I have been under a lot of stress recently, and I reached my breaking point on Tuesday. I didn't workout that night, or the next, or the one after that, or after that. I spent the time I would have been exercising catching up on all the work I was unsuccessfully trying to keep up with.

I don't want to make a pattern out of not working out, but I decided this morning I didn't want to go to the gym, not because of time, but because there were no classes I wanted to take. So I considered running in the cold. Weather.com said the current temperature was 15 degrees. Brrrr. Luckily, it warmed up to 35 by this afternoon, so I decided I would suck it up and go for a run.

I am SO glad I did. In just the few weeks since I switched to the treadmill, I forgot why running outside is so much better. The calorie burn might be similar, but for me, the added benefits of running outside make it much more productive. Doing a trail run like I did today gives me a clarity and peace I don't get when I'm running indoors. On the treadmill, my mind doesn't wander the same way, and the end result of today's run was a lot of time reflecting on the stress I've been feeling lately.

This week, I found myself literally crying to various people in my life that I am doing everything I can, giving everything I've got, and still feel that I'm being told it's not enough. It was this feeling of failing despite giving every piece of myself that led me to reach a breaking point this week.

I spent a decent amount of time trying to figure out how I could find balance and do it all. The solution this week was that I gave up my workout routine, something I value and consider to be one of the most important things I do for myself. Running today led me to the conclusion that perhaps I shouldn't be looking for a way to do it all. Maybe the answer is the opposite of what felt natural to me. Don't try to devote more time to what's stressing you out when you're feeling overwhelmed. Do less.

Not so long ago, I used to be an expert at avoiding stress. It was actually something I consciously kept out of my life during and after cancer treatment. Stress is bad. There is a lot of research to back this up.

If I go a little further back in my life, however, I had a very different perspective. In college, I ate stress for breakfast, lunch, and dinner. I worked, went to school full time, substitute taught, and still made time to do various projects that were unrelated to my school work. I was forced to give up the stress-around-the-clock lifestyle when I got sick. In a way, that was a gift. I was so tired, that I had to prioritize what I needed to do. The things at the bottom of the list never got done. Because of this, I also learned to say no the year I was doing chemo. Before, I said yes to anything I was asked to do, if I didn't have time, I managed to make it. On chemo, that wasn't an option.

What I realized as I ran today was that I have returned to some of my old ways. I am not living on stress like I used to. I don't want to return to that, but I think I have let my perfectionist ways to suck me into a stressed out state. I find myself agreeing to do things I could easily say no to, knowing I don't have time to accomplish them without giving up something that really matters to me. I've also gone above and beyond, not because I would get something extra out of it, but because someone else would benefit.

I think it's great to give everything you've got, I wholeheartedly believe in always doing your best. But when you reach a point where it comes at such a high cost, leads to a breakdown, compromises things I deeply value, it's too much.

If I push myself like I have been, I will without a doubt burnout. I hope that the people who are asking so much of me will understand that when I say no, it is because I am already giving as much of myself as I healthfully can, and and hopefully not more than I should.

Hope, love, run,
Marathon Girl

Choose Happiness

2010-12-12T21:53:00.002-05:00

I found this on the Earndit twitter feed and thought it was a quick, profound read. Take a minute and check it out. Here are the closing thoughts: Life is a choice. It is YOUR life. Choose consciously, choose wisely, choose honestly. Choose happiness.

New Season, New Routine

2010-12-06T21:08:00.003-05:00

Winter is officially here! This weekend, the weather took a turn from chilly and officially arrived at freezing this morning, with some flurries just to make sure I knew it wasn't fall anymore.

I love when the seasons change; I feel lucky to be alive to witness all milestones, and the changing of the seasons is no exception. But I have mixed feelings about the onset of winter because it marks the start of about three months when the weather is not conducive to running outside. It's not all bad though. Winter is an opportunity to try out new indoor fitness options, and revisit my old favorites. So, instead of running all the time, I've been transitioning to my winter routine, which includes a smorgasbord of winter-friendly activities including pilates, kickboxing, cardiodance, strength training, swimming, spinning, and whatever other classes I can piece around my schedule.

Despite all the variety, I do practice what I consider to be 'maintenance runs' a few times a week through the winter. These are short (2-5 miles), usually involve speed work, and are done on the treadmill. I'll be the first to admit that I don't do enough speedwork during my outside runs because I like to just go and not think about keeping various paces throughout my runs. The treadmill, on the other hand, seems monotonous and dull when I compare it to outdoor runs that include trails, rivers, roads, and hills.

When I'm doing the hamster-on-a-wheel thing, contained in the gym, looking out longingly through the floor-to-ceiling windows at the once bright, now frozen landscape, speedwork is suddenly a lot more appealing. I did a 5K's worth of speedwork this morning, circuit trained my upper body, and I am pleasantly sore now.

It's not fun to get up the extra half hour earlier and go to the gym rather than rolling out of bed and putting on sneakers to go for a pre-work run, or easier yet, sleeping in, but when it's 20 degrees out, the thirty minutes of lost sleep is worth it.

On the days I want to turn off the alarm and sleep through my workout time, I always remind myself that I have never, ever regretted doing a workout. Honestly, there are days I have chosen to sleep, and sometimes I don't regret making that choice, but sometimes I do. Going to the gym? Doing the run? I have never wished I skipped it, so my advice for staying motivated through these dark, cold, and short days is to remember how you feel when you finish that workout, knowing what you've accomplished while your friends, neighbors, and coworkers are still rubbing the sleep from their eyes. Think about that as you set your alarm clock tonight, and as you wake up tomorrow morning.

Hope, Love, Run
Marathon Girl

Run like a Turkey

2010-11-28T21:06:00.004-05:00

I'm a few days late with this, but I've spent the Thanksgiving holiday weekend very busy doing all kinds of fun things, like eating, shopping, seeing friends who were in town for the holiday, and of course, doing a little running.

All of the above are reasons I love Thanksgiving. Growing up, Thanksgiving mornings involved Pillsbury cinnamon rolls and the Macy's Thanksgiving Day parade, followed by a trip to a relative's for dinner. But four years ago I started a new tradition.

I'm lucky enough to live within driving distance of a Turkey Trot. If you haven't had the pleasure of participating in a Trot, let me fill you in on what you're missing. You wake up early after a late night visiting with friends who are in town, then drive to Flemington, New Jersey and line up on Main Street, surrounded by 4,000 others ready to run through the town. Did I mention that it's about 30 degrees out? When the race starts, you begin winding through the roads of Flemington. People line the streets, and the locals stand in their yards cheering you on. As you run, you're bound to see friends, neighbors, and strangers dressed in costumes- turkeys, bananas, pilgrims, indians, even a replica of the mayflower created from a refrigerator box, and my personal favorite this year, Buddy the Elf. Maybe this doesn't sound like a good time to you, but there's something magical about running through a small town with 4,000 people on Thanksgiving day.

The Turkey Trot has a special place in my heart because the 2007 edition was the first race I ever ran. It came just two months after I finished chemo. completing the race was the first physical challenge-type goal I ever set. I think it's cliche to say I have a lot to be thankful for, but I do, and running the Trot has become a way for me to demonstrate my gratitude and commemorate another year of health. It feels like big party. We're all celebrating our thankfulness by running the race. Then we go home and eat lots of delicious food.

I'd like to say thanks to all the people who made my Thanksgiving special by running the Trot with me. I hope it was as fun and meaningful for you as it was for me!

Hope, Love, Run,
Marathon Girl

PS- One more thing to be thankful for...An article was published in this week's Democrat about the Lilly competition and another little art project I did recently. The link is on the Press page, or you can read it directly from here

Hair: Part 3, The Final Cut

2010-11-18T21:36:00.007-05:00

Me and my hair :)

Below is the letter I included with my ponytail. For the whole nine (inches) see parts 1 and 2 below.

Dear Pantene Beautiful Lengths,

I felt compelled to include a letter with my donation. I hope you will take a few moments to read it. I understand that you get ponytails every day, and mine is probably very similar to dozens you have received, but my hair comes with a story. My name is Juliana, I am twenty-five years old, and I am a cancer survivor.

When I was diagnosed with cancer just after the close of my junior year of college, I had long, beautiful hair. As my life unraveled in the coming months, as I endured surgery after surgery, my hair remained. But a few months later, as I began my senior year of college, I also embarked on a twelve-month chemotherapy regiment. Over the course of the next four months, my long, thick hair began to thin. I cut it short, then shorter still, not because I wanted to, but because I couldn't bear to part with what was left of it. I didn't realize until I began to lose it, how much my hair made me look like myself. Losing my hair was one of the most disturbing experiences I have ever endured. My heart aches thinking about it. It hurt even more because I had no control over it.

In September 2007, when I finished treatment, I swore I would not cut my hair short ever again. I wanted it to be long. But it grew at a painfully slow rate. I had aspirations of one day donating it, but I didn’t think I could ever bring myself to cut it short again. That was more than three years ago. I decided yesterday that I wanted to cut my hair. Unlike the haircuts I had four years ago, this one was my choice.

So while the hair in this envelope may look like all the other ponytails you get, I can assure you it is different. The hair you hold is nine inches and three years of post-treatment cancer survivorship. This hair came with me to my college graduation, my first job, countless doctors’ appointments. It saw me through the years spent putting my life back together after cancer. It wrote a memoir, won the Lilly Oncology On Canvas Art completion, and most recently, trained for and ran its first half marathon. So please understand that this hair was a part of me. It is special. I ask that you take good care of it, and I trust that you’ll see that it is used it to give hope to another woman with cancer.

Thank you for allowing me to share my story and pass along hope to another woman.

Hair: Part 2

2010-11-18T20:30:00.004-05:00

I hated having short hair. If losing it wasn't traumatic enough, the seemingly infinite amount of time it took to stop looking like a child took to my head with a pair of scissors added insult to injury. However, at some point, I decided I wanted to grow my hair out for the purpose of donating it to a charity that would use it to make a wig for another cancer survivor. While I had visions of giving a piece of myself away to help someone else, I had a selfish fear of letting go of it. My hair has always grown slowly, but after chemo, it grew even slower, or at least it seemed to. This may have been to my benefit though, because for every trim I went for ("Please, just take off the split ends, nothing more than you absolutely have to!") I became a little more detached from my hair and the anxiety about cutting it. Back in August, I almost did it, but at the last minute I opted for one of my usual bare-minimum trims.

Well, this week I finally did it. I didn't tell a soul, with the exception of my boyfriend, who has not yet seen the results. I did it after work. I drove to my usual salon- The Cutting Edge in Flemington- and there they prepared to cut my hair, which I had washed and put no products in, just like the donation requirements ask. While I only needed eight inches for my donation to be usable, I found myself asking that Jody, my stylist, make sure there was enough. I encouraged her to be sure it was more than eight, just to be safe. Two quick clips later, my pigtails were no longer attached to my head, and instead sat on the counter in front of me.

It was a little scary. But this time, the big haircut was my choice, not something I felt cancer was forcing me to do. I was in control, and my hair looked good! After a shampoo, cleaning up the blunt ends, and a blow out, I went on my way, my hair wrapped in a plastic bag, tucked in my purse. I plan on including a letter with my donation. Three years and about nine inches of myself are being shipped to Texas, and I think the story is worth including. When I write the letter, I'll post that, too.

Hair, Part I

2010-11-17T15:34:00.002-05:00

I wrote the following narrative as part of the 150-page document I have references previously through the post about winning Lilly Oncology on Canvas. This is one of the pieces I included in the artwork, because the loss of my hair was one of the aspects of the cancer experience that profoundly affected me. As I reread what I wrote, it is almost as though it was written by another person all together, because I feel I am such a different person now. What you're about to read is raw, and personal. I am hesitant to even put it on here. But without including it, I think the two additional entries I plan to post about my hair will lack the depth that this additional perspective will bring.

Hair

Before I got sick, my hair was something to envy. I had thick, pliable, cooperative hair that could be dried straight or neatly French braided. When curled it held its shape; it could be knotted into a bun when wet, and let down to reveal beautiful waves when it dried. I loved my hair. The color was a wheaty brown that reflected light, and framed my face, accentuating the angles of my cheekbones and chin. It had subtle red undertones all year and blonde highlights that appeared in the summer with minimal sun exposure and no effort on my part.

When I began chemotherapy, I feared my hair would fall out, yet I was strangely fascinated with how I might look without any hair. My post-surgery treatment regimen of Interferon 2b-Alpha, a synthetic protein peptide that was considered a biological chemotherapy, was designed to mimic a protein already present in the body. Because of its non-traditional nature, I was told that my hair would not fall out. It might grow thin, but I certainly would not lose it all.

However, throughout the fall my hair continued to steadily let go of my scalp and between September, when I started treatment, and Christmas, my ponytail had shrunken considerably and the flesh on my temples and the place on my scalp where my ponytail usually rested were much more visible. I cut my hair to shoulder length, mostly because I was tired of sitting on the edge of my bed each morning, running my fingers through my hair, and seeing the strands on my palms when I pulled my hand away. At first I could count the hairs; ten, fifteen, twenty. Then they became too many to count and I was devastated by this. I let them fall from my fingers to the floor each morning, hoping if I made them disappear they would somehow sprout from my head again.

But they didn’t. So after the disaster in Montana, I decided it was time. I would not watch my hair fall out anymore. I would cut it all off, and get a wig. It had to be better than watching it all slowly fall out, accumulating on the floor, in the shower, and all over the backs of my sweaters and coats.

My aunt took me to Merle Norman, the only place she knew to get wigs. As a hair dresser and salon owner, she had scouted out the store before bringing my mother and I there one Saturday afternoon. I tried on a variety of styles. Many looked fake and it was obvious I was wearing a wig.

I finally settled on one that was slightly lighter than my natural color and longer than my hair currently was. It also had bangs, which I hadn’t sported since elementary school. Once it was boxed up and we were in the car, I asked the question I had wanted to ask all day.

“So will you cut my hair now?”

My aunt looked at me in the rear view mirror and sort of smiled, “Are you sure?”

I felt a knot in my chest, “Well I can’t wear the wig unless we do.”

“Okay, then.”

As we drove to her salon I was nervous. I’d never had short hair, not since kindergarten, and then it still covered my ears. When we arrived, she worked without talking. I didn’t look at myself. When she was done, I didn’t recognize the person in the mirror blinking back at me. I put on the wig then and Aunt Jo cut that too, styling it to make it more like a style I might have actually chosen for my real hair.

I said goodbye to my mother and thanked my aunt, before heading back to my apartment at school, driving alone I was anxious to show my roommates the wig I was wearing, needing them to tell me it looked good. But when I arrived, no one was parked outside, and my heart began to beat more quickly. I climbed the stairs and unlocked the door, letting myself in. I went down the hall to my room.

The moment I walked in, I caught myself in the mirror hanging on the wall opposite the door. I was startled then, not recognizing myself. I took off my coat slowly, not taking my eyes off that mirror. I walked closer, trembling. I looked ridiculous. It couldn’t be me. Now an inch from the mirror, I grabbed at my cheeks, pulling the skin hard enough that it hurt. It was really me.

My heart was racing. Who was I? What had I done? I needed to take that thing off my head, that itchy mass of fake hair. I ripped it off and threw it against the wall. But what I looked at now was even more frightening than what I had seen when I walked in. the little bit of my hair that was left stuck up in every direction. I tried to brush it down, but it stuck to the brush, controlled by static electricity, making my head look like a Chia pet. My lips trembled, and my body shook as I crumbled to the floor, pulling at my hair, wanting not for it to fall out, but for it to grow long again. I pulled and pulled, but it didn’t grow. I lay on the floor for a long time, and the crying turned to sobs and the sobs to hysterics. I couldn’t stop.

What felt like a long time later I called my mother, who couldn’t understand a word I said through the gasps I was taking, trying to get the cries under control. She told me she was coming, and that I shouldn’t go anywhere. I nodded, not able to speak through the wracking sobs. She made the hour drive to my apartment, arriving in forty minutes.

I answered the door still crying and she put her arms around me and we stood there for some time. Then she came in and convinced me that it wasn’t so bad. We experimented with headbands and scarves, bobby pins and barrettes. She didn’t leave until my roommates were back, and they all assured me that I looked great. My roommates and I named the wig Sally that night, and they even took turns trying her on, all agreeing I looked much better than they did in it.

I wore Sally every day of student-teaching after that. The teachers knew, but none ever had the nerve to ask me why; they preferred to talk about me behind my back, but after that first meltdown I did what I had learned to do well by then. I made jokes about it and I kept going. To work, to class, and to the elementary school where I did my student teaching; I kept living and moved on, taking it one day, one hour, one moment at a time.

A Little Makeover

2010-11-15T22:39:00.001-05:00

I'm doing some life-housekeeping, so I decided to extend it to the blog, too. Let me know what you think of the new background! I was getting tired of all that white space.

The Half Marathon: Promise Kept

2010-11-06T17:57:00.003-04:00

for the first time ever on the blog, this is me. After the race :)

At the close of my Six Mile July Challenge, I committed to running a half marathon by the end of 2010. And, with just under two months left, I ran the first annual Bird-in-Hand half marathon to benefit the Bird-in-Hand fire department. I didn't take the challenge lightly, I followed a Nike+ running program almost to the letter. My training went well overall, but the longest I ever ran in a long training run was twelve miles. So as I set out for the destination of the marathon yesterday, it was the uncharted territory of those 1.1 miles that had me a little nervous. It took about two hours to get to Bird-in-Hand, Pennsylvania. The village of Bird-in-Hand is located in the heart of Lancaster County's Amish community. As we drove closer to the packet pick-up location, traveling on narrow roads flanked by endless fields of farmland, there were more black horse drawn buggies than cars.

Once I had my packet, which included a race course map, I drove the course- I actually did it twice because some wrong turns led to a seventeen mile loop, and I didn't think I had a good feel for the course after the first drive-through. The majority of the course was flat, with a few up hill stretches and one very long downhill that was nearly half a mile.

I turned in early for the night, knowing I'd be up early to allow enough time carry out my normal pre-run routine, and drive to the race start. That drive was supposed to be eleven minutes, but thanks to there only being one way to get into Bird-in-Hand, it took closer to half an hour, which was fine, since it meant less time standing outside in the 30-something degree weather!

I admit I made a key mistake as soon as I got to the race location- I didn't do my normal stretching routine. I warmed up before leaving the hotel, but I didn't stretch. Why? I had time, so I don't really have a good reason...I guess in the excitement, I forgot. Despite this really amateur error, I was focused. I knew I needed to start easy if I was going to make it all the way through without hitting the infamous 'wall'. So I focused on keeping a consistent and comfortable pace, not getting caught up in passing people to get closer to the front.

Throughout the entire race, I was glad I had taken the time to drive the course; there is something comforting about knowing where you're going and seeing things that look familiar.

So what made my race experience special? There were a few things that I think made this race unique. First, I'm sure people living on any race course come out to cheer on runners passing by, but there were so many people! At the end of nearly every driveway was a family- an Amish family- cheering us on as we passed by. This continued throughout the entire course, and I must say, I was amused, and I really liked it.

The next difference came as I approached mile 2, where there was a bathroom stop. Now I haven't run any other races this long, but I'm willing to bet that there aren't any others that have their facilities at Amish one-room school houses. In case you're wondering, all the schools on the route had a fenced in yard and two small outbuildings- that's right- good old fashioned outhouses for the boys and the girls. I almost stopped out of curiosity, but resisted the urge in favor of a better finishing time.

If you haven't gotten the feeling already, the Amish seem to be a pretty hospitable people. But they did more than just cheer on runners and share their outhouses, they also enthusiastically manned every water station. Men, women, and children held out cups of water as they cried out words of encouragement. It was cool, but it was more moving to recognize that what we were seeing was how the 'English' community of Bird-in-Hand work cooperatively with their Amish neighbors. For a small town to put on a big race like this, it was, well, impressive, and clearly a team effort.

While I was enjoying the countryside and the Amish, around mile 4 I started to get a nagging feeling in my hip, something that started in a long run about two weeks ago. I alleviated it by warming up the muscles before running, which I did today, but clearly my warm up was no match for the 30-degree weather and tense muscles that come with racing. I stopped a few times to warm the muscles up again, and it was bearable. Then somewhere between mile 8 and 9, I started to get pain on the side of my right knee, something I hadn't felt since last spring when I increased my mileage too quickly. I knew it was my iliotibial band. I got through that injury with some iliotibial specific stretches, which I do before and after every run, with the exception of this one, since I forgot. Oops.

The pain was bad, but not enough to stop me. I pushed through, knowing that if I finished strong, there were no upcoming training runs to save myself for. This was it. As I ran into the muddy chute, which was located in a field, I kept running, needing to cross the mats that would register the chip tied to my shoe, and give me my official finishing time.

Feeling the mud squishing under my sneakers, knowing what I'd just accomplished, it was awesome. When I saw the clock, I was surprised. My goal was to finish in under 2:15, but I decided I would be happy with anything under 2:20, realistically. But as I crossed, the big clock said 2:09, and I knew I my chip time would be a little less that that, because I started in the back of the pack. My final official chip time was 2:07:13. A volunteer cut the chip off my shoe, as another placed a medal over my head. I really did it.

As I write this, I am laying on the couch, ice on my knee, heat on my hip, and I have been laying here for most of the afternoon. My body hurts, so, so much. But I have no regrets. Today was another victory, another promise kept with myself, and once again I have proved to myself that cancer has nothing on me. I feel that by running a half, I have proved something to myself, and hopefully to you. If I can do it, so can you. Pick a challenge. Own it. Prove to yourself and the world what you can do. Why? Because I promise, for all the hard work you'll have to put in, accomplishing something like this feels really, really good.

Hope, love, run,
(Half) Marathon Girl...I feel like I finally own that name :)

Why a Cancer Survivor Runs

2010-10-31T10:35:00.002-04:00

My friend Leah just completed her first 5K despite a slew of health-related reasons it should have been impossible. Read her awesome 2-part post about running her first race, and what drove her to do it. It brought tears to my eyes, thanks Leah!
Read it here: http://www.lifesandwiches.blogspot.com/
For part 1, scroll down and read up.

Full Circle

2010-10-21T21:28:00.004-04:00

I recently wrote about the opportunity to share my cancer experience in a more public way. Last night, in our nation's capital, I stood in front of a room of people, cameras flashing, film rolling, and I listened as words I wrote about my tumultuous relationship with cancer were read by a man named Tim Cook, who happens to be the Vice President of Lilly Oncology. I held my breath as he read these words- my words- "I held onto the hope I would pick up the pieces of myself when it was all over. But I couldn't. I kept my cancer a secret. Ultimately, I realized I needed to tell my story and wrote it all down; 150 pages later, I found I had untangled myself from cancer's grip. I said goodbye. Goodbye past, goodbye pain, goodbye cancer, I've won and that means you lose. I am finally free."
Then I took a deep breath and stepped forward to meet Mr. Cook at his podium, and while he presented me with a trophy, a piece of artwork I created nearly six months ago was unveiled. I can only describe the time I was on stage as one of those rare moments in which still images of one's life flashes before them; a full-circle moment. One in which it seems that in the blink of an eye, everything aligns, and suddenly all the things that made no sense for so long- all the pain, despair, struggle and fight- culminate, and it all miraculously makes perfect sense. That moment, the experience of sharing my story- my secret- in that way suddenly made the chaos cancer brought to my life make perfect sense. But there are no words for that.
What I felt in that moment is what Lilly Oncology on Canvas is all about. the competition and subsequent two-year cross-country tour of artwork and accompanying narratives is an incredible program. It allows individuals touched by cancer to share their story, and the artwork and written words instill hope, understanding, and inspiration in anyone who has the privilege of experiencing them. I feel so blessed to have been one of the top three best-of-exhibition winners. I don't envy the judges, all of the 160 pieces on display in Union Station were outstanding. Here's to all the 6oo-plus participants, and a special thanks to all the amazing people from Lilly, TogoRun, and NCCS that I had the honor of spending time with while in Washington DC. I cannot thank you enough for the opportunity to share my story, and come full circle with cancer.
below is the narrative piece I submitted with my artwork (above) titled 'No Words'.

I was twenty-one when cancer disrupted my life. I was in college. I was in love. I was unstoppable. In the months following my diagnosis and treatment, I lost my hair, my invincibility, and the boy I thought I would marry. Through the year I spent undergoing treatment, I held on to the hope that I would pick up the pieces of myself when it was all over, that I might walk away unscathed. But when I finally was told I was better, that I should go and live my life, I couldn’t put things back together in any way that made sense, because nothing was the same. So as I graduated from college and got a job, I pretended to be normal. Cancer was a secret I kept from most of the people in my life. Eventually though, I began to realize how badly I needed to tell the story of my experience with cancer. I was compelled to write it all down because the burden of keeping the secret and carrying the memories became more than I could bear. One year, and one hundred fifty pages later, I found that I had finally untangled myself from cancer's grip.

When I was finished writing, I took a deep breath, a sigh of relief, really, and found that I could finally say goodbye. Although it was quite some time since I had been truly ill, it wasn’t until I finished telling my story that I was able to let it all go. What I realized after I wrote it all down was that I would never be the person I was before; I am now stronger, more self-assured, and have a perspective that allows me to balance my life in a way my same-age peers have not yet discovered. I don’t think it’s important for anyone else to read my words. They’re mine, and it was the act of writing them that freed me. With this idea in mind, I converted just a few of the storied contained in those one-hundred-fifty pages to a piece of artwork, but you don’t need to read the words, because they don’t really matter. What’s important is that through writing them, I finally said goodbye; goodbye past, goodbye pain, goodbye cancer. I've won, and that means that you lose. I am finally, free!

What Does it Feel Like to Fly?

2010-10-07T19:21:00.000-04:00

I wish I could fly. Probably because I have had a vivid recurring dream about it. I have had this dream throughout my whole life, but it visited me much more often when I was doing chemo. I slept a lot that year, and for whatever reason, I frequently would wake up and have a clear memory of the following dream:

I am in a field, usually green, but sometimes it is fall and the ground is cool, brown, and moist. My bare feet lift off the ground, and lighter than the air, I float upward and after rising to a staggering height, I then gently return to the ground, and when I feel the earth beneath me, I let myself fall until my knees nearly touch the earth, and then I push off and am weightless again. When I am in the air, I can propel myself forward, gliding and taking flight.

I never thought I would feel this while I was awake, but on Sunday, as I ran ten miles on narrow, winding country roads, the sky bluer than blue, a river rushing along beside me, for the first time, I felt like I was flying. I had already run eight miles, so maybe it was runner's high, or maybe it was exhaustion kicking in, or the fact that I couldn't really feel my legs anymore, but for the first time, I felt that if I looked down, my feet would not be hitting the ground. I felt like I was flying, and it was amazing.

I didn't know what it would feel like to run ten miles. Now I do, and it was incredible. Aside from feeling like I was flying, it was painful, exhausting, and frightening, but the magic of it far outweighed those things. It reminded me why I love running. I was sore later, but that didn't overshadow the magic of running farther than I ever had before. Just three days later, I found myself running eight hilly miles. Yesterday's run felt surprisingly easy, and I ran 9:15 miles the whole time without feeling out of breath. I didn't feel like I was flying, but it still made me feel amazing.

I don't think I have anything else to say, except that I am really looking forward to running 12 miles on Sunday, I don't know what it will be like, but I can't wait to find out.

Hope, love, run,
Marathon Girl

Risks and Rewards

2010-10-03T00:40:00.000-04:00

There are thirty-three days left until half-marathon race day. I knew things had been going too smoothly when last Sunday I ran eight miles without batting an eyelash. I drank a cocktail of 1/3 G2 Gatorade and 2/3 water. During the last two miles, I ate a few small pieces of Trader Joe's dried mango and by the time I arrived back home, I felt pretty awesome.

Flash forward to Tuesday. I worked all day and then ran the three miles I was scheduled to do. I felt so good, I decided to go to Pilates class afterward. Go me, right? Not so much. Wednesday morning, I woke up and discovered I could hardly walk because of a sharp pain in the arch of my right foot. Uh-oh. I spent the day stressing about how there was no way I would be able to do the six miles I was slated to run that afternoon. I spent the evening icing my foot, and swimming the time I would have spent running.

I continued to ice and rest, and miraculously, after just three days, the pain subsided and seems to be completely gone. I wasn't sure if I should run today. I had that I-don't-know-if-this-is-a-good-idea feeling in the pit of my stomach. I used to run in the opposite direction of anything that provoked that feeling.
Example: Between the ages of 8 and 12 I actually refused to ski on any trail more difficult than a beginner, despite being capable, because after a frightening accident, skiing gave me 'that feeling'. My family skied every weekend, and it took me four long years to get over it.

However, I actually hadn't had 'the feeling' in quite some time, but having it today reminded me of a more recent time I felt strongly that I wanted to run away.

Four months into chemo, I got glaucoma and went blind. It happened while I was far, far away from home and was terrifying. Once the cause was discovered, I was able to see within a few days. After recuperating for just over a week, I found myself returning to my college campus, and getting the address of the school at which I would complete the student teaching requirement I needed to fulfill to graduate. That's right- cancer goes to college. And if it wants to graduate on time, it also goes to an elementary school to student-teach. Before beginning officially, I had to go and visit the scool. The whole drive there, I wanted to turn around. Thanks to a 6-lane highway with a large median, I couldn't. But when I got there and met the teacher I would be working with, I had to fight with all I had not to run out of there. Mixing cancer and college just seemed like a really, really bad idea. But I did it. I stayed that day, and I went back five days a week for the next four months.

As much as I wanted to, I didn't run away. I have learned from repeatedly pushing through those awfully uncomfortable situations that if I don't bolt, there's a pretty good chance I'll be happy I took the risk. So when I found myself questioning whether I was ready to run today, I assessed the actual condition of my foot- it felt fine. So I put on my sneakers, color-coordinated my running apparel, and hit the street.

Since I'm writing this, clearly I survived. I was able to run. And it didn't hurt. As I've found to be the case more often than not, that I don't regret taking the risk. Tomorrow I will run 10 miles, the farthest I have ever run. Is it a risk? Yes. Do I feel a little nervous? Sure. I don't know if I can run ten miles, but I won't ever know if I don't try. What I do know is that I can ski black diamonds, and I graduated on time, despite cancer's efforts to derail that plan. So I know from those experiences that it will feel really, really good when I get back home, because whether or not I succeed, I will have taken the risk, and THAT is an accomplishment to be proud of.

Hope, Love, Run!
Marathon Girl

A post well worth reading

2010-09-10T18:58:00.000-04:00

Words of wisdom from friend and fellow survivor, Alli Ward.

Skeletons

2010-09-07T23:16:00.000-04:00

Despite the title, this post has nothing to do with Halloween, bones, or actual skeletons. It has to do with the fact that when I think of my public portrayal of my cancer experience at this point, it seems that cancer has become a bit of a skeleton in the closet of my life.

I've tucked cancer neatly away somewhere between old boyfriends and high school- in other words, it's in the section titled 'Past'- but that hasn't kept me from feeling like I need to pile things up in front of it so no one has to look at it or think about it.

Although I have made peace with cancer, it's not something I have been in the habit of discussing on a regular basis. There was a time when I could not imagine discussing my life without including cancer, because it was such a dominating force in my life. But since finishing treatment, I have made the conscious choice not to include cancer in certain facets of my existence, and the longer I find myself post-treatment, the more cancer-free areas of life I've created. However, I think the time may have come for me to stop intentionally omitting cancer from the facts of my life.

I have found myself, at times, telling half-truths to avoid the simple fact of cancer. For example, when asked about the arm sleeve I wear when exercising, I usually respond that i just 'hurt' my arm. Or when questioned about scars, I reply that I had surgery (duh). I think I do this because don't want to be identified solely as a survivor, because I am so many other things. I fear that telling people will limit me to being known just as 'the cancer survivor'. But I also don't want cancer to be a skeleton in my closet.

It's certainly not that I am not ashamed of what I have been through; I am proud to have survived. I just don't want being a survivor to define how people view me. But I think that at this point in the journey, I am prepared to tell my story because I hope that it might inspire someone else. That's the whole reason I created Hope, Love, Run. But if you haven't noticed, I have never said my name, provided describing characteristics, or a location. It is not an accident that just a fraction of the people who read this actually know my identity.

I have recently been presented with an opportunity to share my story in a potentially much more public way. I think I have come to the conclusion that I want to do this, and not with the sense of anonymity that comes with the online world; this time it will be with my face, my name, and my voice. I don't really know what the implications of this leap might be, but I think that it is an opportunity to reach others who are not as far out of treatment as I am. I hope that I can be an encouragement, an example, and a voice of hope that shows those that are still fighting that people do survive, thrive, and move on.

Here's to taking the leap!

Hope. Love. Run.
Marathon Girl

Refraction

2010-08-22T15:13:00.000-04:00

I had an appointment with my oncologist this week. Between 2006 and 2007, for an entire year, we had a standing weekly date (I use the term ‘date’ loosely…ours consisted of me having my vitals taken, blood drawn, and lymph nodes felt up. All that, and no dinner!). Then, for the first two-and-a-half years after I completed chemo, we saw each other every three months. This week’s visit was actually the first time we went six whole months between visits.

Returning to the place I spent so much time being sick has simply served as an unsettling reminder of the year I spent coming and going from that place all too frequently. However, this time, it was different. This time, I felt a sense of power and accomplishment walking through those doors, because I am not the same person I was when I was emaciated and weak, fighting my way through treatment, and I am not scared the way I was during, and even after, I finished treatment. I have beaten cancer. It has taken me several years, but I finally believe that.

Sure, I finished treatment nearly three years ago, but exiting treatment wasn’t all rainbows and sunshine like I thought it would be. I’ve heard this time period- the first months and years after treatment- called refraction*; all the pieces of yourself are there, but you haven’t yet put them back together in a way that feels whole or complete.

Making the refraction process harder was the fact that it seemed that every six months when I had a CT scan, it showed changes that led me on a multi-week nightmare in which I underwent further testing while doing a mediocre job of holding myself together as I lived my day-to-day life. Was it back? Would this be the time it had spread? Would I be labeled with an expiration date? It was awful. However, eventually, I got used to CT scans being bad news and learned to wait for the follow up tests before I freaked out too much. Luckily, each scare turned out to be just that- a scare. So other than some extra radiation and an exploratory surgery, everything turned out okay.

It’s only been in the last six or eight months that I have come to truly own the fact that cancer is part of my past, not my present. It is actually behind me. I am planning a future without the hesitation that comes with the thought that a five or ten year plan might be pushing my luck. Cementing this belief was my visit with my oncologist this week. For the first time in the four years I have been coming to that place, I was not afraid; I did not feel defeated. I chatted with the nurses who took my blood, and I had a good conversation with the doctor about organic food and the farm. But the best part was when he told me that for the first September in four years, I did not need to have a CT scan! In his departing words to me he said, “Since you feel great, and you’re four years out, there’s no reason to expose you to the radiation. Call me if anything comes up, otherwise I’ll see you in six months. Be well.”

There is something very liberating about knowing I am on the other side of cancer. If you’re still fighting, I can assure you, it is not an illusion. The grass really IS greener on this side of this fence.

Hope, Love, Run!

-Marathon Girl

*Refraction- To the best of my knowledge this term was coined by Imerman Angels founder, Jonny Imerman. He says: "We call it the refraction period...it’s that period where...a ray of light – which is you – hits this object – cancer – and instead of being in that same straight line, you really refract it. You’re sort of going off in a little bit [of a] different direction because who you are now [is a person who is] in this group of people that you never thought you’d be in...that refracting...is not necessarily a bad thing and in fact, in many ways I think it’s a wonderful thing and you know, I think my life is ten times better."

On to the Next Challenge!

2010-08-17T17:28:00.000-04:00

It's been a few weeks since I completed the Six Mile July Challenge, and I've been loving the sense of accomplishment that has come with it. I was so excited when Earndit posted the July winners on their blog, and was humbled to see that they even linked to my post about the challenge on Hope.Love.Run!

At the close of the challenge, I gave my sneakers (and my feet) a few days off before taking a trip to Chicago for a long weekend. While I was away, I had the pleasure of running in a new city, which was a great change of pace. I ran along beautiful Lake Michigan and got to see some estate homes that are located in the neighborhoods just off the Northwestern campus. I felt that I was in good company while running. Chicago is in marathon-training mode with the big race only two months away. There were runners everywhere- packs of them- something I had not seen before, but I found the sight of hundreds of people just running, not racing, inspiring.

When I got home, I set up a coach program on the Nike+ site to begin training for a half-marathon. According to the site, I'll be ready to run 13.1 miles by the end of October. I'm still looking for an actual race to do in early November (taking suggestions!)

I'm a week into training and feeling really good. Six Mile July gave me a strong running base so I am feeling confident that I can do this! I want to run to raise funds for charity, but I think this first long distance race will be for me, just to prove that I can do it. I may do another half in the spring, but my ultimate goal is to complete a full marathon early next summer. Preferably on June 5th, 2011. That will mark five years since my cancer diagnosis- the big cancerversary What is a cancerversary you ask? I have been anticipating this day since I found out what a cancerversary was. What better way to commemorate it than to complete the ultimate race. I'm not quite ready to commit to a full marathon as a promise, but I am confident in my ability to complete a half. So barring any injuries that are beyond my control, I will complete a half marathon before 2010 comes to a close, and that is a promise.

Hope. Love. Run!
Marathon Girl

A Promise Worth Keeping

2010-07-31T21:27:00.000-04:00

Hooray! I have successfully finished my Six Mile July Challenge! That's right. I traveled by foot a minimum of six miles each day for an entire month. The grand total came to just over 190 miles. That's the equivalent of seven marathons, the distance between New York City and Baltimore, or the length of Massachusetts from east to west. As I wrote before, it was not always easy, but I've proved it is possible.

I underestimated how good it would feel when I finished this challenge, but as the digital girl voice in my Nike+ came through my headphones, telling me I had just completed a six mile run- the one that meant I had completed the challenge I began a month ago, I couldn't help but run faster, grinning as I completed the remaining half-mile that took me from the center of town toward home. Doing this, winning Earndit for July was more than a challenge. It was a promise.

Why? I think I have always had a competitive streak, but it runs deeper than that. Winning top points for Earndit this month was a promise, and I believe that the most important promises to keep are the ones we make with with ourselves. This promise thing isn't a new revelation for me. I have a history of making- and keeping- promises with myself.

When at 21 I was told I had the 'choice' of completing a year-long non-cycled chemotherapy regiment (the other choice was to wait and see if the cancer came back post-surgery. Not exactly a viable option!) I promised myself that if I started the program, I would finish it, knowing full well that only one in three people who started taking the drug actually completed the full year of treatment. twelve months later, I was in the minority as one of the finishers.

A week after I completed the treatment promise, I made another. I bought a membership at the YMCA and decided that I would never take my body's ability to do miraculous things for granted. After all, it had fought cancer, recovered from three surgeries all less than a month apart, and endured twelve months of toxic immunochemotherapy. If my body was capable of doing that, the least I could do was love it. I was never a runner before cancer, but somehow I tied running to loving and appreciating my body. Starting to run was a turning point for me. It marked the start of a life of living after cancer. That's why I believe that while treatment saved me from cancer, it was running that saved me from treatment. It's been nearly three years since I promised to honor my body, and I feel I have kept that promise.

When you take into account the scope of the previous promises I have undertaken, Six Mile July may seem slightly less impressive. But whatever your thoughts are, I encourage you to make promises with yourself. Start small and make a commitment you can keep. Take a walk after dinner each night this week. Eat more vegetables, join Earndit. But don't just do these things, make a change into a promise. Write it down, tell people, make yourself accountable. Start small and you might just be amazed by what can be accomplished when you keep a promise with the most influential person in your life- You.

Hope, Love, Run,
and thank you, Earndit :)

The End is Near!

2010-07-28T23:41:00.000-04:00

As the month I previously dubbed 'Six Mile July' draws to a close, I am within days of successfully completing the challenge I laid out for myself. And it has been a challenge! The feat of traveling a minimum of six miles each day on foot for an entire month has not been easy. In theory it’s not so daring, but as with anything, life gets in the way. There have been mild shin splints, 100+ degree heat indexes, a few full days of torrential downpours, a splinter in the foot, a death in the family, and most recently a farm-related infection in my compromised limb. Here's the full update:

In the midst of a heat wave- near ninety degrees when the sun went down- I found that running to the river, shedding my sneakers and lymphedema sleeve, and getting in the cool water for a few minutes made for a very refreshing and more comfortable run back home. This practice did, however, lead to the above mentioned splinter in the foot, but was well worth it in the heat!

On a few days when the weather was affected by the remnants of a hurricane, I ran at the gym until they kicked my off the treadmill- those darn 30 minute limits put a damper on my momentum- but I was not discouraged...I went to Walmart, the grocery store, and anywhere else that was not outside, and walked the rest of my miles.

On a day I worked at the farm from 7 AM to 10 AM, went home, showered, attended a funeral, and spent time with visiting family, I was forced to run after dark, something I hate because I fear tripping- even in well lit areas- and found myself praying for safety because I have watched way too many Law and Order and Criminal Minds episodes not to be on highest alert at all times, but especially at night, because that’s when the crazies come out.

That day on the farm resulted in an apparent infection in my hand, discovered the next morning when my finger was clearly in the early stages of cellulitis- a common infection for those like me, who have had lymphnodes removed as a result of cancer. Not to worry, I made a visit to the doctor, started some antibiotics, and the finger is well on its way to being normal again.

While it hasn’t been easy all the time, I am enjoying fulfilling the commitment I made to do this. When July is over, I will certainly let you know that I have completed the challenge and won my Earndit trophy for top earner in July on Earndit. There is no ‘if’ in that sentence. I will finish. 18 miles to go!

Halfway there!

2010-07-14T22:41:00.000-04:00

Today marks the halfway point for my Six Mile July Challenge. It was a little painful at first, but I've learned over the last two weeks how to balance running with walking so that I am not crying from shin splints and runner's knee. Overall, I have found it to be easier than I expected. It's become part of my routine; just like I eat breakfast, lunch, and dinner, I also do my 6 miles.

While I have no trouble finding a purpose for running, (speed, distance, conquering hills...) I find walking to be so slow, that after noting all the minute details of my neighbors' homes, I was lacking a purpose. In an effort to put some purpose behind my walks, I have done some berry picking. Conveniently, all the wild raspberries in and around my town have ripened over the last few weeks! My many adventures on various trails and back country roads have led to an extensive knowledge of prime berry-picking locations, and I've been enjoying these on cereal in the morning.

Aside from enriching my breakfast, all this walking and running has apparently made me a bit faster than I was before. This weekend I participated in a 5K race whose starting and finish line were within walking distance of my front door. I hoped I could run as fast as I did in the last race I ran, which took place six weeks ago. It was much hotter this weekend, but I still had high hopes. I pushed hard, and as I ran toward the finish line, the clock came into view- I couldn't believe what I saw. I finished the race in a personal best time- beating my time from six weeks ago by more than a minute! I can't describe how good that felt, the only thing that would have made me happier was winning the whole race- but I'm not that fast...yet.

Since the race, I've been thinking about a conversation I had with a friend a few weeks ago. When I told her about my Six Mile July Challenge, and asked her if she wanted to do a run with me along the piers in NYC where we were for the weekend, she commented that I've become one of 'those people', meaning one of those crazy runner people. Normally I don't appreciate being called crazy, but this was an ultimate compliment. Me? A real runner? Could it be that I have reached the level of not just being a person who runs, but one of those runner people who are defined by their love of running? Yes, I think I have. After all, I have been doing this for nearly three years. When I'm asked by anyone what I 'do', I start with my profession, and the next thing out of my mouth is, "I run."

I'm not sure at what level of dedication I get to call myself a real runner, but it is definitely a defining part of me. I love running more than I have loved any hobby, probably because running is more than a hobby, it's a way of life...Or at least that's what the crazy runner people are saying.

Hope. Love. Run!

CSA, Part Deux

2010-07-05T18:59:00.000-04:00

I previously wrote about the CSA I joined, and how much I am enjoying the abundance of organic produce I receive each week. I have since begun to truly get to know where my food is coming from (and how it's grown) because I have begun to fulfill my work-share obligation.

Twice a week I strap on my overalls, pull on my gloves, and go to the farm for three hours to do whatever the farmer asks. I am continually awed by how much I am learning on each trip to the farm. But I am even more impressed by the vast amount of produce that comes from a seemingly small plot of land, a few horses, and one man's know-how. All the work on 'my farm' is done by hand or with old-fashioned tools and equipment that are purchased from the Amish in Pennsylvania. Yes, people actually do farm successfully without combines, pesticides, or migrant workers! It is an amazing feeling to be a part of something like this. The sense of community is fascinating and inspiring, that's why I can't encourage people enough to join a CSA.

Here's what I've been up to down on the farm...

My work experience started last Monday morning with a quick tour of the farm by owner and expert farmer, Charles. by the time he was done showing me around, his hired farmhand, a college student, arrived and Charles sent us to weed potatoes. Charles explained that the rows must be weeded so that the piece of equipment that digs up the potatoes can be used efficiently. It was about 9:30 by then and the temperature was quickly approaching the 90 degree mark. two-and-a-half hours later, I was covered in dirt, my hamstrings and back were killing me, and I had weeded one ridiculously long row of potatoes. I felt accomplished, but I was also hoping that every day I worked wouldn't be spent weeding potatoes!

I returned at the end of the week on a harvest day. I met other work-sharers and together we picked from the fields, and bagged each vegetable into the allotted number of shares. After that Charles gave us assignments; mine was to hoe the weeds from a row of celery. While we worked, I got to know some of the other work-share members and watched as Charles turned over some soil using an ancient piece of farm equipment and a Clydesdale horse named Pickle.

Work on the farm isn't easy, but it is turning out to be as rewarding as I hoped it would be. I just hope I don't have to go back to weed the potatoes any time soon!

Hope, Love, FARM.

The Fight of a Lifetime

2010-06-30T21:23:00.001-04:00

One in three Americans will be diagnosed with cancer during their lifetime. 70,000 young adults are diagnosed each year. 54,000 Americans were diagnosed with my type of cancer they year I was diagnosed. I could continue on with statistics that I haven't actually read in four years, because like most survivors, these stats are permanently burned into my mind.

When I was diagnosed, there was little being done for the young adult cancer population, but just months after my diagnosis the first comprehensive resource site for young adults came into existence. The I'm Too Young For This Foundation (i2y) changed the isolation that I and every one of those 70,000 diagnosed felt.

I've been forced to reflect on my own cancer journey recently, because cancer seems to have re-entered my life. I knew the day would come when someone I knew as a normal, healthy young adult would enter the rabbit hole of cancer, but I didn't know it would make me feel the way it has.

I've been thinking practically about what I wish I had been told at the beginning. So here are my top five pieces of advice for surviving becoming a survivor:

1. It does get easier. That feeling of waking up every morning and asking yourself if the nightmare is over yet, will eventually fade. You will become a professional cancer patient, and your job will be to go to the doctor, take tests, and get infusions. While it won't be fun, it will become a routine, and that will make it easier.

2. People are freaked out by cancer. People can be scared by your cancer. They may not contact you because they don't know what to say, it brings up issues of loss that they are afraid to deal with, or they think you need space to come to grips with how your life has changed. Sometimes it is disappointing when someone you love can't stand to be around you as you go through this challenge, but it helps to remember those who matter don't mind, and those who mind don't matter. Some people might resurface after your fight is over, others may never return. Let them go.

3. It really is all about YOU. If you want to eat ice cream for breakfast, eat it. If you feel like wearing your pajamas and a tiara to the grocery store, do it. If you want to celebrate your survival-at whatever time you deem appropriate-by going shopping, go for it. You have cancer. It's an excuse to do whatever you feel like, within reason, of course.

4. Connect. Feeling alone like a bald, emaciated alien sucks. You're not the only person with cancer, and you are not the only person who is dealing with it as a young adult. Join a support group (if you find a good one, the old people won't mind that you're young!), go on a retreat for young survivors, or locate young adult-specific support by phone/internet.

5. Know that this, too shall pass. You will not be in treatment forever. Life is good after cancer, in fact, it's better than it was before. I thought this was crap for a long time. It took a whopping two and a half years after treatment was over for me to feel like a whole person after cancer. Don't feel like a failure if you don't feel whole after a year or two. There will be recurrence scares, scans to stress about, and lumps that will send you screaming to your oncologist. This is all normal. You will emerge with an appreciation for life, understanding with death, and a wisdom that is well beyond your years. Cancer will change you, and it will be for the better.

Fight. Survive. Livestrong.

6 Mile July

2010-06-27T16:02:00.000-04:00

I survived the last week of work before summer break. Usually this is a happy, exciting time, but in light of layoffs it was probably one of the hardest weeks ever. There was a lot of anger, frustration, and tears. Despite all this, it is behind me; those last four days dragged out and felt like months.

As I move into my summer schedule, which offers me a lot more freedom, I have decided to take on a challenge. Normally my summer includes a trip where I do something crazy, like learn to whitewater kayak in a week (thank you First Descents!). In light of the uncertainty of my job, I backed out of my preplanned adventure, so I've been seeking some sort of challenge to take my trip's place. While it's not nearly as exciting, I have come up with a plan that is less financially consuming but may prove to be quite time consuming.

At the beginning of May, I wrote about Earndit.com. I found out about the site through facebook's creepy targeted advertisements. Earndit popped up on the side of my homepage and told me I should participate. I clicked on the link partly because the concept sounded interesting, and also because the little illustration of an orange hamster on it's wheel was particularly cute.

Earndit has proved to be as addictive as facebook, I run with my Nike+ and then upload my run to the Nike site, which automatically links to Earndit. Earndit awards a point for every .1 mile ran/walked, maxing out at 60 points (6 miles) a day. I log on to Earndit after every run and check out my rankings. In the last three weeks, I've progressed from being ranked at about 175 for all-time points to breaking into the top 100.

Each month, Earndit profiles the top point earner of the month. To win this title, I need to log 6 miles a day, every day in July. Yes, I know, this sounds crazy. However, I can combine running and walking, so knowing that, I think it's a doable challenge.

You heard it here first, I will be the top earner on Earndit for July. It may not be quite as cool as running class III rapids on in Washington State, but I'm up for the challenge.

Hope, Love, Run,
-Marathon Girl

Survivor's Guilt

2010-06-20T21:25:00.000-04:00

Whether you're a cancer survivor or not, you have probably experienced the feeling known as 'survivor's guilt'. This feeling of overwhelming sadness for another person extends well beyond typical empathy and can be overwhelming. People experience survivor's guilt after living through some catastrophic incident in which others do not survive. By some twist of fate others are left shattered or damaged, while you are fine. I have experienced survivor's guilt in the sense that I have outlived friends who were in remission when I was in treatment, only to relapse and fight all over again while I finished treatment and moved forward with my life. Some of these friends recovered, others did not.

While it's not life or death, employment is livelihood. And for the last several months I have found myself feeling like I'm in a twisted game of 'Survivor' or 'The Weakest Link' everyday at work. Impending cuts made each day feel like a fight to keep employment. But as it turns out, there was no single weakest link, it's more like everyone was voted off the island all at once, although I'm not sure who voted, because it certainly wasn't my peers.

In these tough economic times, companies are laying employees off on a regular basis. I happen to be one of the lucky few who have been able to keep their job. I just survived the most recent round of layoffs. In the aftermath, all but one employee who had equal or less time on the job than me was let go. So here I am, back at the bottom of the totem pole (but still employed!) and feeling an overwhelming sense of guilt. My colleagues are just as good, just as valuable, as I am. So why will they now be collecting unemployment while I am getting a paycheck? I know I should be relieved. After all, I was terrified of losing my job, and with it my insurance. I don't have to worry about this, so why am I feeling so terrible? And more importantly, how do I get past it?

CSA-ing it for the Summer!

2010-06-13T19:39:00.000-04:00

Not to be confused with CSI, or the CPA, CSA stands for Community Supported Agriculture- although I might rename it Continuous Salad Abundance, based on the status of my fridge over the past few weeks.

CSA's are great for several reasons.
1. It costs a lot less than buying organic produce at the grocery store
2. The food has literally just been picked, which equates to higher nutrient values
3. Joining a CSA supports local farming
4. You truly get to know where your food is coming from, who is growing it, and that it is going to be fresh

If this sounds good to you, let me fill you in on what may be the most old fashioned yet ingeniously green idea to become en vogue since the green movement started.

To create a CSA program, a farm decides to sell 'shares' of what they grow. For a set cost, community members become share-holders by paying up front for a share of what the farm grows. In return, each CSA share-holder receives weekly shares of whatever the farm harvests over the course of the growing season.

Farms may offer one or both of two share types. A payshare, means the member pays a predetermined amount and gets their produce each week, end of relationship. Farms can also offer workshares. Workshare members pay less, but pledge to work a certain number of hours at the farm over the course of the growing season.

My CSA has been providing me with huge amounts of organic produce each week! I have resorted to giving away about half of it to family and friends, which is fine because there is no way I could eat as much as I am getting. I have also been expanding my recipe repertoire because every week I have come home with things I have never purchased at a grocery store, like escarole, bok choy, and arugula. (bok choy salad and arugula pesto are two of my new favorite foods!) In addition to new things, I also have been getting seasonal favorites such as strawberries, snow peas, romaine lettuce, and spinach.

If you want to learn more about CSA-ing it or find a CSA, check out one of these sites, which provide more info and allow you to search for a CSA near you:
Local Harvest
Farm Locator

Happy Cancerversary to ME!

2010-06-04T20:07:00.000-04:00

Yikes! it's been nearly a month since I have posted anything! This is a busy time of year for me, but things will be slowing back down again soon, I hope. I've made most of my posts on here running-related, but this weekend marks a milestone for me, so I am going in a different direction with this one.

What annual event is possibly more meaningful than a birthday, wedding anniversary, or holiday? Ask a cancer survivor, and they'll probably tell you that their cancerversary is at the top of their list of days to celebrate. So what is a cancerversary? While I am annoyed that as I write this, 'cancerversary' is underlined with a red squiggly line, Urban Dictionary does recognize the term, and suggests it is "a reason for a really, really big party." A cancerversary is a day a survivor celebrates the fact that they are still alive. Some survivors I know celebrate their cancerversary as the day they were diagnosed, or the last day of chemo, others commemorate the date of a bone marrow or stem cell transplant.

Regardless of when it is celebrated, I think that it is important to commemorate the milestone of continuing to live after a cancer diagnosis. This weekend will mark my fourth cancerversary- I mark mine with the date I was diagnosed. I celebrate this specific day for two reasons- first, I believe every day is mine to enjoy. Although I think about cancer everyday, it isn't going to ruin any days for me. However, on the day I was diagnosed, cancer ruined my day. Celebrating that day is like taking it back. Instead of being the worst day of my life, it's a celebration. Because I say it is. The other reason to celebrate this day is because each year means I am 365 days closer to the magical five-year mark, which is the irrelevant point at which my doctors will finally say that it is unlikely my cancer will recur, so that means next year will be reason to have a really, really, really big party. Watch out.

So on the eve of my cancerversary- the thought of which makes me as excited as I used to get the night before Christmas- I am filled with a sense of pride, because I have not only survived, I have learned to live beyond the words and stigma that come with hearing the words "You have cancer."

So if you are a survivor, throw yourself a really big party. Pick a day and celebrate. If you know someone who isn't celebrating their cancerversary, tell them they should start. Hopefully, they'll invite you to their really, really big party.

Hope.Love.Run (x4)

Run....And get free stuff?

2010-05-09T22:40:00.000-04:00

Seriously? Yup. If you run or walk with Nike+ (or your tracker of choice..iphone apps are supported!), Earndit will reward you! Sign up, link to your device of choice, and when you've run enough, you get to choose a reward!
Honestly, the amount needed to earn a reward is modest, with my current routine, it will only take me about a week and a half to earn a $25 gift certificate. I set up my Earndit account this week and it seems pretty easy and straightforward.
So what's the catch? Surprisingly, there doesn't seem to be one. It's new, so be one of the first to jump on the Earndit bandwagon and give yourself one more reason to put on your running shoes tomorrow morning!

And I thought an hour was a good, long run!

2010-04-26T21:03:00.000-04:00

Running Down a Dream : Click to read the full story

Motivation

2010-04-16T18:33:00.001-04:00

Lately I've heard a lot of people people asking how to stay motivated to keep up an exercise program. Clearly maintaining motivation is a challenge for many people, regardless of their fitness level. Mid December to the end of January my beloved YMCA is overrun with the resolutioners who want to lose a few pounds, tone up, or get back into their skinny jeans. However, it never fails that by February the place is generally occupied by the regulars, plus a few resolutioners who have made a solid commitment. I think that their goals may be the problem. If I were trying to achieve the above goals, I can assure you I would have quit long ago. Exercising isn't about those things for me. I have managed to successfully be a regular gym-goer and exerciser for over two and a half years, I'm not sure I can explain how I stay motivated, but I'll try.

I have a body....and it can actually do things!
When I joined the YMCA after I finished chemo(September 17, 2007) I never considered not going regularly. Maybe because I traded in my cancer card [Member benefits include self-injected drugs, plus steroids three times a week, and an afternoon date with an oncologist every Friday] for a much less complicated YMCA key chain scanner card that I could use whenever I chose to[or not], it was a clear upgrade, and I would never choose the C-card over my Y-card. That said, I have a gratitude for my body's ability to function that keeps me motivated. My appreciation is based on the fact that I continue to be amazed that I can lift more, run farther, move faster, and do things I never thought I would-or could- but I think this attitude of awe and appreciation is one any person can own. You might be surprised what your body is capable of, but you'll never know how much it can do of you don't give it the opportunity to show you.

Expand your musical horizons
Music. Music, music, music! Never underestimate the power of a good song. Listen to a radio once in a while. I do this in the car so I have the chance to listen to things I haven't heard before. Then I download the songs that I think might be a good edition to one of my running/gym mixes and don't listen to them unless I am at the gym. Not only does the music motivate me while I am working out, it also motivates me to work out. Fave songs on my current mix: Ke$ha: Blah, blah, blah; and Jason DeRulo: Whatcha Say.

Get Inspired
If you can't seem to break yourself from the computer to go work out, watch something that will make you want to go do something productive. I watch Nike ads again and again. They're awesome. Not to mention that they'll give you some songs to add to that playlist. Watch a couple times and you'll be able to visualize the video while you work out, even more motivation. Examples:

No Excuses
Courage (my favorite)
I Can
Move

The Bottom line...
Staying motivated can be tricky, but the key is to just do something, anything. Sometimes I don't want to go, but once I put on my shoes and get out of the house, I can honestly say I have never regretted going for that run. Ever.

What motivates you?

Hope, Love, Run,
Marathon Girl

Where's the Beef? (and do I have to eat it?)

2010-04-06T19:13:00.000-04:00

After a long journey this past week, I am back home and ready to kick up my running, assuming my body cooperates. I have been running maintenance for the past two weeks and my knee and shin splint are getting better. My right leg still hurts at the end of a three miler, but I can do it without stopping. I'm continuing the stretching program and plan to gradually increase my mileage like the book I got suggests after an injury.

In my ongoing quest for health, wellness, and strength, I came across some interesting information regarding metabolic types. I don't know how legit it is, but it seems like a sound concept. People are efficient or inefficient in processing carbohydrates, fats, and proteins. Based on what you can process efficiently, those foods should be the major staples of a person's diet. Eating too much of a food group that is not processed efficiently, say carbohydrates, results in that food being stored as fat.

Apparently a person's metabolic type can be determined through a lipid profile (blood tests) or a simple questionnaire. I happened to have recent blood work to look at, and found my type was protein-fat efficient. (73 percent of people fall into this category) I also took the survey to see if that matched up, and it did. So where does this leave me?

Answer: Confused! Running sites, like runnersworld.com suggest a diet of 50% carbohydrates to fuel a runner. However, according to my (alleged) metabolic type, I should be eating 50% protein and 25% of both fat and carbohydrates. Aside from this being contradictory information, I have been fiddling with possible combinations of foods on LiveSTRONG's Daily Plate (LSDP), and I cannot figure out how to manipulate what I eat to have a 2:1 protein-to-everything-else ratio. Not to mention that LSDP tells me I am way over my protein allowance when protein makes up anything close to half of the daily protein/fat/carbs pie chart.

Not being much of a carnivore and trying to eat only organic animal products makes this metabolic type diet even more complicated (and expensive!) However, I think it's worth a try since the research I read indicates that eating based on lipid profile can make a person feel better. However, if it makes me feel physically healthy but I'm crabby from eating all this meat- it's nothing personal, I just don't really like it- is it really a good idea?

Like I said, I'm confused. I think like anything, finding a middle ground is important. Maybe eating 50% protein is not realistic. I like noodles. And fruit. However, trying to include more protein into my diet is doable and realistic. As for eliminating all the carbs, I don't think an all-or-nothing mentality is healthy. Besides, I need them to fuel the night run I am going to do later.

Hope, Love, Run,
Marathon Girl

Reflecting, Remembering, Pushing Through

2010-03-27T11:30:00.000-04:00

Over the last week in the absence of adherence to 'The Plan' I have had more time to be annoyed with my body. I did some research and identified multiple reasons I am in pain, and to put it bluntly, this is all my fault.

Although I have been running for over two years, I forget how much I don't know about things like running form, stretching, and the long list of ways terrain can hurt me. I feel like I should know these things simply because I, like others who find themselves in a body they cannot trust or count on, have become so attuned to the voice of my body; an awareness that comes from living in a shell that for so long I did not have control over.

This week of pain and not running reminded me so much of the months I spent holding my breath, waiting for my body to turn on me. Again (and again, and again...) for so long I feared my insides would light up on scans because things I couldn't feel or control were happening in there. Not to mention all the other smaller betrayals; at the most awkward time my stomach would decide it didn't want to keep food inside, I would spike a fever, accompanied with sweats and chills the night before I had to take a test, rendering me a sleepless zombie. This week, I was reminded of that helplessness. Not being able to run made me feel just like I did when the treatment monster occupied my body, holding me captive.

The longer I felt helpless, the angrier I got, and the angrier I got, the more I felt empowered to take back my body. Not being able to run is not the same as treatment, I can fix my body this time. With a new found motivation to push through, I started reading articles online and I located a book to guide me through the transition from casual runner to half-marathoner. Now I am beginning to learn how much I didn't know.

Armed with knowledge, I see that I have made a step in the right direction, getting new shoes. Now I also have an arsenal of stretches to do after running, and a name for the pain in my knee (Runner's knee...How appropriate!). I learned that I should not stretch before I start off on a run. I need to warm up, then stop and stretch. As I continue to heal my shin splint and this case of runner's knee (who knew?!) ice packs are my new best friend.

I ran today. I took a flatter route that is a road not traveled by cars, allowing me to stay in the flat center of the road. (Running on the left side of the road all the time creates an uneven plane, resulting in pain and injury to the right knee.) I also took it easy, listening to my legs. They were whining, but not screaming for me to stop like the last time I ran. I think my body and I are back on the same team. Maybe we were all along. Maybe I just wasn't listening to my teammate as well as I thought I was. At any rate, I am back on the road. Like I used to say when things were tough, "I am NOT a quitter."

Hope. Love. Run.
Marathon Girl