Last spring, when I was getting ready to complete my first
open-water sprint triathlon, my only running distance goal was 5 kilometers, as
the race ended in a 5K. I remember
telling my husband (who is a long-distance runner from his high school days),
“I think a 5K is as far as I ever want to run.”
And so, in May, we joined some friends at the Long Island
Color Vibe 5K and jogged it together, playing in powdered paint, taking silly
selfies, and sampling the frozen ice truck’s wares.
That day, when I got to the end of the run, I turned to the
aforementioned husband and said “maybe a 10K. I feel like I could run that
again.” (I think you see where we’re going here.)
So when my CrossFit coach urged the members of our gym to
sign up for a local 10K, I saw my chance to give it a stab, and I started going
longer distances on my training runs.
Up until this point, I wasn’t really ‘enjoying’ running, but I was determined to do it, because it was part of triathlon and some doctor once told me I shouldn’t (and therefore, I believed, I couldn’t) do it, and nothing makes me want to do something more than an ‘authority figure’ telling me not to.
When I surpassed the 5-mile mark, I finally felt that thing
that runners keep talking about feeling (and that for years I believed didn’t
really exist), that zone of calm euphoria that comes from placing one foot in
front of the other over and over and over again.
I still love climbing and surfing and skiing and hiking, but there’s something about just strapping on your shoes and hitting the road all by yourself for an hour (or two or three) that is so accessibly blissful…it’s the ‘runner’s high’ and it’s real. I remember the first time I felt it, and I thought to myself, “I’m gonna run a marathon!” (pause) “Next year!” (pause) “Maybe!”
So, I did a 10K in September of 2017. And then there was the half marathon in
November (because doubling distances was now becoming a pattern). Adam and I decided that this occasion was momentous
enough to warrant a fundraiser, and in a pretty short time, we were able to
raise about $600 for Disabled American Veterans in honor of our favorite
Vietnam Vet, Mike Baritot.
When I
completed the Queens Half, I knew for sure I wanted to do a marathon the
following year—it’s my white whale, the thing that PT told me I would need to
do ‘a LOT of strength training’ to be able to accomplish.
When I didn’t get picked for the NYC Marathon lotto, I
started thinking of alternatives (including looking at different marathons
around the tri-state area)—a friend assured me that he could get me in to the
NYC Marathon through some connections, and I considered this option, though I
felt a little uncomfortable ‘sneaking’ my way in. I also considered running for a charity team,
though I was daunted by the amount of dollars I would be required to raise.
And then. And then. A really close friend and colleague of my
husband, a vibrant and lovely young woman in her 30s, so full of life it’s
almost hard to feel anything other than comatose by comparison, was diagnosed
with breast cancer. She’s been writing her own blog, chronicling
her journey here: https://sheisfiercecancerblog.wordpress.com/
She’s not the first friend or family member of mine to
battle this ugly disease, but she is one of the youngest, and she had already
lost her mother at a young age to the same disease.
 |
| so much money to raise. |
The announcement of her diagnosis was the moment when I knew
what I wanted to do. I wanted to run the
NYC marathon and raise money for breast cancer research and screening.
 |
| So nauseous. So cramped. |
I think of my history of back problems and
the recurring sciatica that troubles my right leg. I think of my tendency toward patellar tendonitis,
and my difficulties nourishing myself properly with food allergies. I worry that the autoimmunity will get in the
way; I’ll get too tired, or fall sick. I
think maybe I’ve made a horrible mistake.
There’s no way I can do this.
And then I think of her.
And I think of the others. I
think of the terror they face when they get called into the office after a
routine mammogram. I think of the
shudder down the spine upon hearing the word ‘malignant’. I think of the dread they feel when they
prepare for the surgery to remove what they hope is all of the cancer. I think of the daunting task of going to
chemo “therapy” (torture, more like) every other week, of the weight and hair
lost. I think of the barfing and
nutritional challenges, the physical pain and all the awful side effects that
come from ridding one’s body of a deadly disease by using an ostensibly
non-deadly poison.
I have a choice. I
could back out, give up, decide it’s not worth the trouble. They cannot.
They have been handed their lot, and must suffer the consequences of cruel
happenstance, and they must battle, or lose.
And so I have chosen to run.
During every training run, I will think of them. Every time I feel weak and tired, when my
hamstrings are screaming and my organs are protesting, I will remember that I
am making a choice to run, and my ability to do so is nothing short of a divine
gift, one that not everybody has the luxury of experiencing.
For too long, my friends and family have been hijacked by
their bodies and drafted into a personal war against cancer against their
wills.
This November, my husband and I are running the New York
City Marathon with Team Think Pink Rocks to raise a combined total of $6,000 to fund
Breast Cancer research and screening.
Please consider helping with our cause—A little gift can go
a very long way to helping all of us get a little closer to a cure. To donate, simply click the link below:
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