Killing Ink Cartridges and Trees

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

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

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

Great article in the Times about cancer vixen Kris Carr

Tri, Tri Again

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?

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