The Best Thing About Having Cancer

Yet another example of how running can bring clarity and purpose to one’s life: While running the Des Moines half-marathon in October, I had an epiphany. The epiphany began to formulate at about mile four and by mile eleven, I finally knew what it means-to me-to be a “cancer survivor”, and what I need to do with that gift.

Those of you who know me, know that running another half-marathon is not, in and of itself, an earth shattering endeavor.  This time was a little different.  First of all, my “athlete profile” was in a local activity and the souvenir guide for the marathon.  It was a very well-written piece that talked about my two bouts with cancer and how running helped me get through the trials and tribulations of that time of my life.  The next momentous event was attending Above & Beyond Cancer’s “Evening of Inspiration” the Friday before the race.  The evening included a recap of the group’s trip earlier that month to Macchu Pichu in Peru.  It also included a small panel of cancer survivors.  They shared their stories. How cancer came into their lives and how it has impacted their lives.  They talked about their struggles, how they overcame them, and life-lessons learned.  All the while I’m thinking about wanting to go with this group on their next endeavor.  I was trying to figure out why I want to go to an exotic location with this group (could it be Nepal!?!?) and what I would say if I was on a panel of cancer survivors in 2015.  Is it just that I fancy myself a world traveler and athlete and that I just happened to have had cancer? Seems to be it should be a better reason than that.  I continued to imagine myself on next year’s panel.  Sure, I could share my story and lessons learned.  I’ve been told that it’s “inspirational”.  I love the idea and the possibility of helping and inspiring other people in difficult situations.  However, I also feel a little uncomfortable with it all.  I feel a little bit like, “hey, I had a couple nasty health issues, look at me, look at me”. That is to say, it feels a little narcissistic to go around touting my survivorship.  Lots of people don’t survive cancer.  Lots of people that I know personally don’t survive cancer. It was mostly luck of the draw that I found both my cancers early, had access to excellent health care, and am now cured of lymphoma and in remission from breast cancer.  I could feel that there must be an additional reason the universe is hurling me towards opportunities for my voice to be heard.  Speaking of opportunities for speaking about my experience; next, MediaCom’s channel 22 wanted to do an interview at the Expo the day before the race.  I agreed and had a lot of fun doing it. However, a lot of their questions stumped me.  Questions like: “How has cancer changed your life? What lessons have you learned by having cancer?” And, so on.  These questions are hard for me because cancer didn’t particularly change my life.  The lesson I learned about being present, of being mindful in everything you do, embracing life and those you love because everything could be gone in a moment’s notice (or lack thereof) started when one of my best high school friends was killed in a car accident when I was seventeen.  This knowledge and conviction to live a meaningful, heartfelt life grew when my dad dropped dead at 48 years old in the bathroom in the middle of the night five years later.   And, let me tell you, to have these things really hit home, there’s nothing like your own near death experience to add to it.  It wasn’t cancer that almost killed me.  It was child birth-over eleven years ago.  I’ll spare the details for this blog, but suffice it to say…I truly was knock knock knocking on heaven’s door.  I have never been so scared.  Not even when six years later, I was diagnosed with cancer. Twice.

But cancer is what people want to know about, and what I get to talk about.  So during the Des Moines half-marathon, I decided I needed to figure out what message I need to share since I have been given the gift of not only cancer survivorship, but the ears of others.  A hard run on a beautiful Iowa fall day did not disappoint. 

Now to the epiphany.

The Best Thing About Having Cancer is that there is little to no stigma attached to a cancer diagnosis anymore.  If you have family and friends, if you are part of a community, you will have support.  When I was first diagnosed with non-Hodgkin’s Lymphoma in June of 2010 and was in the hospital for five days, the plants and flowers that I received filled the room.  Cards of support showed up in my mailbox regularly from distant relatives, long lost friends, and high school classmates. My Facebook page was on fire with supportive, loving, and caring messages.  For the next three summer months, my neighbor mowed my lawn without being asked.  Four girlfriends came to thoroughly clean my house every two weeks.  A dear friend from church brought me homemade chicken noodle soup several times during the course of my chemotherapy.  When one of my best friends came over to bring me flowers, she caught me in the depths of sorrow as my hair was falling out in clumps.  She was there to support me by doing my hair for the last time in a long time.  I even had a hair-chopping party at my salon, attended by 20 of my closest friends, family, and supporters.  They bought me scarves, wigs, big earrings and wine.  They gave me their love, their hugs, their tears. 

The next summer when I was diagnosed with early stage breast cancer, the outpouring wasn’t quite as enthusiastic, but I most certainly felt supported. Many close friends and family checked in on my physical and mental health almost daily. The donations for my fundraising for the Leukemia and Lymphoma Society via Team-in-Training poured in.

During the same time, one of my best friends of over 20 years was suffering from severe depression.  The effect on her daily life was similar to mine.  We both suffered from extreme fatigue and spent a lot of time sleeping.  We both spent a fair share of time crying and scared of the future.  But, you guessed it…nobody sent her flowers, or cleaned her house, or mowed her lawn, or threw a support party to help her get through the dark days ahead.  She confided to a couple very close friends that she was struggling, but even that was exponentially more difficult for her to do than for me due to feelings of shame and a general stigmatized view of depression and other mental illnesses held by the society we live in.

Thanks to genetics and a pretty decent “Adverse Childhood Experiences” score (more on this indicator of trauma in a future blog), I’ve dabbled in both depression and anxiety.  Consequently, I feel qualified to draw a few conclusions having also had cancer twice. 

Here’s the punch line:  Major depression is a treatable illness that affects the way a person thinks, feels, behaves, and functions. At any point in time, 3 to 5 percent of people suffer from major depression; the lifetime risk is about 17 percent.

Anxiety disorders are the most common mental illness in the U.S., affecting 40 million adults in the United States age 18 and older (18% of U.S. population).

Anxiety and depression affects your friends, family, coworkers and neighbors. It affects you. It affects me.  It can easily lead to other ailments such as heart disease, as well as the abuse of tobacco, food, alcohol, and other drugs.  The great news is that treatment is available and effective.  The bad news is that only about 1/3 of those who suffer from anxiety and/or depression get the help they need.  The most common reason for not accessing treatment? Stigma. An outdated and harmful idea that we should use our willpower to get ourselves out of the predicament we’re in.  That asking for help is weak. 

Which brings me to my epiphany in October of 2014 during the Des Moines Half-Marathon.  I will use the opportunities presented to me as a two-time cancer survivor who likes to run to talk about the impact of trauma, depression, and anxiety on the public’s health and well-being.  I will fight to reduce the stigma and shame associated with these illnesses. 

I will urge you to reach out to your friends, your family, your co-workers who you suspect are suffering the aftermath of any trauma, anxiety, depression (or any mental illness)-anyone you would help if you found out they had cancer- and send them cards, make them dinners, clean their houses, and mow their lawns. 

42 Hours in the Woods

 

What can 17 people with over 160 years of collective experience in their field accomplish in 42 hours?

Seemingly, quite a lot.

In mid-September, 17 HIV-professionals came together.  They escaped their clinics, offices, and cubicles.  They flew and drove between 1 ½ to 4 hours to get to the woods in southern Iowa.  They came together to be inspired by prairie grasses, flowers, spider webs, grasshoppers, slugs, deer, bunny rabbits, one lost kitten, and an expansive night sky with no light pollution to interfere with star and galaxy gazing.

Click here to see a beautiful slide show by Jordan Selha of the event

It is in this setting that each of these 17 individuals unzipped from their dogma and destabilized fragmented and stagnant protocols that are no longer quite as useful in the fight against AIDS as they used to be.  They did this through a sort of “gestalt”; a being able to view the whole as other than the sum of its parts.   The first morning walk set the stage with an immeasurable number of beautiful, strongly woven, dew-kissed spider webs.  The metaphor was too blatant to miss.  Nature was screaming to notice the strong web of interconnectivity between the participants from all over Iowa-Sioux City, Des Moines, Urbandale, West Des Moines, Ankeny, Jamaica (the town), Waukee, Iowa City, Washington (the town), and even Washington DC (the Capitol)(of the United States). 

But the metaphor goes beyond interconnectivity. There is interdependency in a spider web-an infinite beginning and infinite end. And, of strength. This group came to know and understand that respecting the interdependent web is an effective response to the dangers of both individualism and oppression.  That it can be our solution to the seeming conflict between the individual and the group.
That evening, sitting around the fire, this group didn’t just think “outside the box”. They BURNED the box.  Thus, “the box” was destroyed and the group escaped.  They took the unencumbered and open road of understanding and hope and created a new tribe with a new language without the confines and walls of "the box".

Most impressively, these 17 individuals set aside insecurities (in some cases slayed their insecurities) and removed the blinders that they had imposed.  They faced, head on, difficult conversations and challenging relationships.  They faced them with openness, respect, and even innovative ways. 
Whether this group was in a conference room or a cabin, on the hiking path or around the fire-pit, there was an engagement in open dialogue, complete with authentic listening, a lot of passion, and even more laughter.  Oh, boy, did this group laugh! The kind where your belly hurts, the muscles in your happy face ache from such a workout, and laughing tears creep out of the sides of your eyes. 

Speak the truth, even if your voice shakes. -Unknown

There were shaky and cracking voices too.  There was the dilemma of succumbing to public tears. Or not.  Why? Well, when you’re sitting around a campfire, allowing yourself to be vulnerable, engaging in a refreshing, yet slightly scary, interchange of ideas pertaining to your professional life, many realizations, and remembrances, that fighting for the underserved, the stigmatized, the traumatized, is, has always been, or has become…your life’s work.  And…in this setting…it is impossible to ignore the ferocity of responsibility associated with your life’s work. 

Push…gently…respectfully push…beyond your comfort zone…where lessons await…to move you forward…to move your colleagues forward.

To burn, baby, burn that box.

Thus, 42 hours after they met for a Wednesday night barbeque, they left with a renewed passion and energy, a reinvigoration of spirit and hope, to meaningfully, collectively, contribute to an AIDS-free generation - and to the best health outcomes for Iowans living with HIV.

And, some SMART goals to get there.

Why Grandma's?

Why Grandma’s?

A Short Tale of Cancer, Divorce, Solstices, and Family.
And, Running. 
Of course.

I swore I’d never do it again.  No need to tax your body that much.  No need to take that much time out of your life to train.  Half-marathons.  Now that’s where it’s at!! Long enough to really be a challenge but short enough to not consume your life and wreak havoc on your body.

I’ve done two full marathons in my life. 

The first was Chicago in 1999. Trained for it while planning my wedding, getting married, and honeymooning. Ran it all wrong, finished in 4:47 and then didn’t run again for ten years.  I ran a 10k in 2010 and was surprised how fast I did it, was all set to do some more 10k’s (the other perfect distance), and then BOOM. Pow.  “You have cancer.”  This was shortly (3-weeks “shortly”) after Boom. Pow. You’re divorced.  Blech.

After finding out I had non-Hodgkin’s Lymphoma on the summer solstice in 2010, the first thing I said (after hyperventilating because I thought I was going to die at 41 and leave two boys, six and three, motherless) was, “Damn it, if I survive this, I’m going to have to run another marathon.”  Because I knew of the Leukemia and Lymphoma Society (LLS) and Team in Training (TNT). 

Sure enough…Summer 2011, I started training for the full marathon in Savannah, GA with TNT.  Raising money for an organization that most certainly had significant impact on the success of my cancer treatment.  In the midst of my training two things happened.  First, my grandpa died exactly 92 years after he was born-of lymphoma.  His memorial contributions were directed to the LLS, via me and TNT.  No going back now! I had to, had to, had to, finish this race.  Even if, and this is the second thing that happened, a month later I was diagnosed with early stage breast cancer, underwent two lumpectomies one week apart, and 6 ½ weeks of radiation.  I had my last radiation on a Thursday morning and then got on a plane to Savannah that afternoon.  I finished the race in 4:50. Twenty minutes slower than my goal.  I hated every step from mile 15 to the end.  Pain in my knees, my hip, and cursing for 11 miles.  Sometimes I can’t even believe I finished it. I was swearing for 11 miles that I would never, ever run a full marathon again.

But I AM running another full marathon.  Less than three years after Savannah.  It’s a popular race called “Grandma’s Marathon” that takes place along Lake Superior, near Duluth, MN.  This time is different though.  Just one reason is that I have run several (a lot actually) 10k’s and half marathons since Savannah.  When the Grandma’s Marathon’s race director sent an email asking for stories about why participants are running Grandma’s, I couldn’t resist submitting mine.  I love stories.  Here’s a passage I love from a novel I read a few months ago:

“Stories are people.  I’m a story, you’re a story…your father is a story.  Our stories go in every direction, but sometimes, if we’re lucky, our stories join into one, and for a while,

we’re less alone.”

From Beautiful Ruins, by Jess Walter

 

I was restricted to 300 words to describe why I’m running Grandma’s Marathon.  Here is what I submitted:

 June 21, 2014 will be exactly four years since being diagnosed with non-Hodgkin’s Lymphoma.  To celebrate surviving and thriving not only that cancer, but also breast cancer the following year, is not the only reason I’m running my third full marathon on the summer solstice.  It’s also because I was born on the winter solstice and I believe that the solstices are a powerful affirmation of life.  The dichotomy, the extreme, and the balance between darkness and light make me feel alive.  Running a “medal-producing race” in each state does too.  By the time I finish Grandma’s, it will be the 11^th state I’ve run a half or full marathon in, seven in 2014. 

But, probably the most important reason I’m running Grandma’s this year is for my brother.  The only time I have ever been in Duluth was with him and my dad for Father’s Day 1991.  Twenty-three years ago in June, my dad, brother and I road-tripped to Duluth from Ames, Iowa, spent the night in a hotel, and then meandered all the way north to Ely.  It was the only trip we ever really took with my dad.  He was elated to share with us the beauty he saw in the region.  The region him and my mother honeymooned in 1967.  My dad, then 48, died suddenly the next summer while I was backpacking in Europe. 

After a very difficult year, my brother is (re)learning about the significant healing power of running.  The power of having a goal.  And, the power of long runs with his sister.  Long, bonding runs in below zero temperatures with ice and snow, in the pouring down rain, and in the relative heat.  Culminating in a bonding summer vacation in a cabin by a lake.

 Oh, and 26.2 miles.

Post Cancer Cloud

A cloud of fatigue floats above my head, threatening to descend. It’s morning.  I slept 9-hours last night.  I should be at my best. Is the fatigue health related? Stress related? Activity related? Let’s think it through……Health related, I do have some weird things going on.  Unexplained gastro intestinal issues like churning, cramping, bloating, and other unmentionables.  How long has this been going on, you ask? Since mid-May.  Several tests by my primary doc yielded nothing.  I thought it was giardia, I thought it was cyclospora.  Nope. A review of a PET Scan on Friday yielded an unexplained abnormality in my abdomen area (NOT lymphoma) and now I am on deck for an endoscopy and a colonoscopy within the next 10 days.  Ah, well….by themselves these procedures are cake.  Especially compared to what I’ve been through before.  (miscarriages, c-section followed by hemorrhage and another emergency abdominal operation, unsuccessful IVF, chemotherapy, and radiation covers the “biggies”) An endoscopy and colonoscopy will not make this list. In fact, I just noticed that I left the two outpatient surgeries that it took to have one lumpectomy off the “pain-in-the-ass-health-problem” list.  I also left off a malignant mole I got scorched off last October, two bouts of shingles over the last two years, and oh, did I mention I woke up covered in itchy, like on fire itchy, hives on Monday? My point is, this gastro problem is not in isolation and I’m sick and tired of being sick and tired.  It’s a cliché saying.  It’s a cliché saying that I’m sick and tired of saying.  So, maybe my fatigue is related to some weird gastro intestinal issue yet to be diagnosed.

Or, maybe it’s stress.  Did you read the previous paragraph?  I suppose one could say all of that might be a little stressful.  In addition, I work full-time, have my boys 50% of the time as a single mom, and try to keep my house a place that my boys will thrive.  I’m a mother, daughter, girlfriend, sister, ex-wife, friend, colleague and more.  But these things I love.  All of them. My job is the best it’s ever been, I’m happy in my romantic relationship, and I’m feeling balance and control at home.  I don’t buy that this fatigue could be solely stress related.

So, maybe I exercise too much.  I did complete my first triathlon on Sunday morning. It took a lot out of me, but I don’t think enough to take three days to recover from.  Though I wasn’t prepared enough to place in the top half of my age group, I think I had a respectable time without killing myself.  In other words, I think I was adequately prepared. I don’t know.  I guess I’m saying I don’t buy this “too active” theory either.

I think I want to share my thoughts and feelings right now because many of you have been so supportive for me through many difficult times.  I’ve heard you say, “wow, Holly, you’re an inspiration, I don’t know how you do it!”  I often don’t know what to say back.  I guess I don’t really know how I do it either, or really what I’m doing. Or, if I’m really doing “it”.  I think there’s something to be said for the saying that life isn’t about the number of breaths you take, but the moments that take your breath away.  I have learned this lesson to my very core.  I’m trying to live my life to the fullest.  With Energy and Light. With balance.  With passion. With soul. With love. 

It’s difficult to accomplish when fatigued. And scared.

But, maybe this is the new normal.  Maybe this is what being a cancer survivor x 2 means.  Yearly physical obstacles.  Just to be reminded to not take health for granted and to stay awake to life.

Ferrari Coffee in a Rickshaw Apartment

My boyfriend drinks Ferrari coffee in a rickshaw apartment. There’s an awful lot that can go into your morning cup o’ joe, don’t ya know? You might be surprised. First there is the type of bean you choose. My man spends a considerable amount of time at the roaster in Valley Junction, discussing the taste characteristics of his recent shipment of beans, from all over the world (of course). Are they earthy? Bitter? Bright? Harsh? Nutty? Smooth? Floral? How’s the finish? And, yes, you read correctly. He goes to get his coffee directly from a roaster in town. The discussion about the taste characteristics of the coffee is intricately bound to the roasting process. The roasting process (light, medium, burnt to a crisp) needs to be matched to the type of bean or beans that are being roasted. If done well, the coffee that results is delicious. I’ve always loved coffee myself, but I had no idea how delicious it really could be. My bf only buys a half pound of coffee at a time, so that it's always fresh. He only grinds it in the morning (with a burr grinder), as opposed to me, who thinks it's okay to grind it at night. Actually, I think it's better ground in the morning, but I just don't have time. Or, is it that I don't take the time? Does it have something to do with my priorities?
My man would not, upon first glance, be described as a snob by most. He drives a car assembled in Detroit not much after he was born and lives in an efficiency apartment that costs him less than my property taxes alone. He does not wear designer clothes and cringes at the price of cable, internet and smart phones. But in the wee hours of dawn, when his coffee has been brewed to perfection in his French press, a.k.a a “cafeteriere” the water just the right temperature, the wait time timed precisely, he might go into his bathroom, in his clean but efficient efficiency apartment, to sip and savor it, as to not awaken his son, sleeping on the other side of the wall.
This scene of my man and his Ferrari coffee in his rickshaw flat brought to mind a time I was living in a mobile home park in Boone, Iowa. It was the early 80’s and my mom, brother, and I called home a fairly new 14x70, three bedroom mobile home. That’s efficient trailer speak for 14 FEET wide by 70 FEET long. (Which is significantly larger than the 10x50 I came home to as a newborn.) The car parked next to our clean and tidy 14x70 home was a four door ORANGE Matador that my grandpa found and paid for to help us out. His requirements were for the vehicle to be cheap and reliable. Not pretty. And, the little hole in the trunk was only a problem when driving down gravel roads. One day, mom and I saw the young man who lived across the street, pick up his bride and carry her across the threshold. Not only was I struck by the beauty and the romance of the moment, but also by the car in the driveway. It was a brand new, shiny, sporty, Monte Carlo. Or something. I don’t really know cars, especially circa 1980 cars. I just know it was brand new and shiny and looked out of place in a trailer court. Even our trailer court, which was pretty darn nice as far as trailer parks go. In fact, many Iowa mobile home courts or parks (or whatever we want to call them) are quite nice. As opposed to ones you might find in Colorado, or say, maybe New Mexico. Way, way better than Missouri trailer courts. Anyway, the groom’s trailer was not a total dump, but it was a small, modest looking 12x60. With a shiny new car proudly parked out front. This is when my mom introduced me to the concept of priorities. Neither of our families could afford both a nice mobile home AND a nice vehicle. My family valued a larger, newer space to eat, sleep and watch the Love Boat whereas Mr. Groom valued a newer, shinier way to get from point a to point b. This example seems to have become the nexus for me when thinking of, attempting to set, and allowing others to have different priorities.

We make choices, we prioritize….everyday. Probably every minute or two. We make trivial choices and set trivial priorities. What’s easier today? McDonalds or homemade Asian chicken fritters with edamame and brown rice? Should I exercise or meet my friends out? Should I clean the house or read a book? Should I make some fresh juice in my Jack LaLane juicer or have another bowl of Lucky Charms?

And, we make life defining choices and set life defining priorities. Should I get a higher education? What should I major in? What should my career path be? Where should I work? Should I get married? Have a baby? Get divorced? Move to a bigger home? Move to a smaller home? Should I hold a grudge? Should I open my heart and be vulnerable? Buy that couch or hike the Inca trail?

Or, we don’t. Often, maybe too often, we let chance and circumstances set our priorities. Many of us wander around with loosely defined, or no goals, priorities or values. “In the absence of clearly defined goals, we become strangely loyal to performing daily trivia until ultimately we become enslaved by it.”-Robert Heinlein

It's starting to seem to me that all roads lead to back to being organized. Identifying values, setting goals, prioritizing those goals, and then creating to-do lists. Yearly, monthly, weekly, and daily. What is a Type B personalilty to do? Turns out, what my Type B personality is to do, is to lobby to my Type A personality side to schedule an appropriate amount of "JUST PUTZ" time. Schedule some controlled chaos. And then, execute that plan.
But......and here's the part to pay attention to: This activity is important. We should all feel a sense of urgency to identify our values and then plan accordingly.We need to give ourselves the tools needed to execute the plan.
After surviving sudden deaths of a dear friend and my father, as well as a near death experience myself, two bouts of cancer, and a divorce, I find myself at the precipice of the rest of my life with a multitude of goals floating around in my head. I want to learn Spanish so that I can bring my sons, especially my Guatemalan son, to Guatemala to meet his foster families and his birth mother. While we’re there we could do a full Spanish immersion program for a week followed by a week volunteering at an orphanage. I want to learn how to swim so I can participate, competitively for my age group, in a triathlon; I want to become a yoga instructor, a writer, a photographer. I want to travel more. I want to provide a solid home base from which my boys can thrive, I want to be the top of my profession, and, I want to nurture my relationships. Romantic, friends, family……all of them. Oh! Let’s not forget! I want to retire with a good chunk of change in the bank. I actually have more goals than this, but you get the picture.
Why is it that so many of us have to have a personal brush with death to really grasp the importance and urgency of living a life of your own determined purpose? To feel the mortality of ourselves and our loved ones and know that we've only got one chance, one go around at our life on this earth. We have the power to shape much of how that time is spent. What we contribute to the world through our relationships and contributions is in our hands. "To accomplish great things, we must not only act, but also dream; not only plan, but also believe."-Anatole France
So I leave you reading my "longer than recommended blog" (by bloggers in the know), while I sift through all the tools and ways to determine values, set priorities, goals. Reviewing a plethora of tools to track the goals that make the cut through monthly, weekly, and daily to do lists.
All while drinking the most amazing cup of coffee, carefully brewed from shade grown, hand picked (hopefully by my son's relatives) lightly roasted beans, by a soulful and vibrant man with his priorities straight.

Today's Run in Rain, Sleet, and Snow

By the time the run was over, the snowflakes were big and beautiful.  The run was seven miles on an early March Sunday. It started out 35 degrees and raining.  By mile 3.46 it had turned into sleet. Sharp little bullets hitting my face, and sometimes, my eyeball.  By mile 5.37 it had started to snow. As I mentioned, big fluffy, beautiful flakes, slowly falling to the earth. I often think about how long runs are an excellent metaphor for survival. Surviving. Surviving anything.  Surviving a rotten childhood, a rocky relationship, a difficult workplace, or, today, I was thinking about surviving cancer.  Twice.  Now, as far as cancer survivors go, I have it pretty easy.  As far as two-time cancer survivors go, I have it ridiculously easy.  I mean really......just a little chemo for round one and a little radiation for round two.   So, okay, there was a 5-day extra credit hospital stay during round one, and a lumpectomy (ok, two) for round two.  Yes, I was scared. Yes, I was tired. And, Yes, I was truly very sick.  But, the outlook for survival seemed assured both times.  I clung to that, and for the most part never worried about cancer killing me.  And, lo and behold, the treatments worked flawlessly and I am a two-time survivor, just like that.  Ba da boom, Bob's yer Uncle, You're a rock star, You're in remission. 

But, alas, like a run, it seems a hell of a lot easier once it's done.  During a run, you can be cursing much or the whole time....oh my god! could this hill be any longer? How could I have managed to have to run up hill BOTH WAYS??? Oh, my shoes are soaking wet from that puddle, crap, I'm going to fall on that ice!! Ok, minivan lady, it's much more important for you to turn left onto Grand than me crossing the street in what's turned into a pretty respectable snowstorm.  No really, you go ahead.

Then you get home, stretch, take a shower. How was your run? Pretty good, thanks! Got 7 miles in! The last 1/2 mile was a bit tough, but other than that, pretty awesome!

Once somebody is diagnosed with cancer, they're a survivor. From Day One.  Pretty cool to think about it, really.  One day you can be walking along in the beautiful sunshine, going to kickboxing class, going to yoga, running10K's way faster than you thought you could, then suddenly, you can't walk because your guts are so bunged up you think you should eat more greens (like a truck full, cuz really, you already eat a lot) or you feel a lump (what the hell is that? Is there one on the other side????) then the clouds roll in like some weird cartoon or horror movie and it starts raining.

Running in the rain can seem peaceful. Almost refreshing.  It certainly can make you feel alive.  I think that's what I love most about any kind of severe weather.  It can take you by the shoulders and shake you.  Wake up! Notice your surroundings.  Yes, smell the roses.  The daffodils. The rain. The pine trees. Can you hear the birds? They can tell it's about to be full-on spring.  

Well, you guessed it.....a cancer diagnosis can do the same thing.  Slap you up side the head to remind you that you are currently alive.  but, hey, who knows how long that will last? Are you doing to best you can to have a meaningful life, chump? You've only got two.  Ah, you caught that.  Very clever. It's just the one, chump.  And, we can hope, pray, and meditate that we'll get to live until we're 102, but there are absolutely zippo, nada, naught, gaurantees that we'll live past tonight. 

Has cancer taught me these lessons? Yes. I think so. Not just cancer, but other things that I've battled and overcome. I have minimized or eliminated distractions as much as possible. I try to live fully most moments. Enjoy my children, love my lover, eat great food, engage with my community in meaningful ways. And, I run. I run in weather. I never used to run in weather. It had to be between 55 and 83, little to no wind, certainly no rain, sleet, or snow. Now, I run in anything between 10 and 95 degrees. The cold, the heat, the precipitation....it all makes me feel alive. Alive. AND WELL.