The Runs

No, not about poop!

There was a time when running was what I needed to heal my body.

It was around 2011. I had been immersed in cancer and chemo land throughout 2009 after being diagnosed with stage III ovarian cancer in May of that year.

If you have experienced that kind of humbling terrifying fucked up immersion, I hold space for you. If you have been close to it, as a friend or caregiver, family member, I also hold space for you. My spouse had to witness all sorts of mayhem and hard shit. Still not talking about poop, but if you’ve had chemo, you know it’s part of the deal. ‘Nuff said.

After surgeries and chemo ( I had a sexy port put in above my abdomen for IP chemo) and the wild adventures with nausea, fatigue, baldness, and deep aches all over, I crawled out from under that heavy fog throughout 2010.

I needed to understand a different kind of resilience. One that grew from a place that chemo hadn’t deadened. It turned out to be running.

I was on the cross country team in college. I liked running, I even loved it sometimes. Except for the running shorts. A bit too short for my liking.

But I didn’t truly understand the power I would feel from running until after I started to shed the effects of chemo, like a snake scraping off its old skin.

I started with training in the summer of 2011, with the goal of running a 5k that was organized by an ovarian cancer awareness organization. I had no idea how I would do, I only knew I had to show up and try. That September, I showed up, surrounded by other humans who also were wearing the ovarian cancer bright teal survivor t-shirts. That alone, got me from the start to the finish line.

me and my honey after finishing a 5k

The relationship to that group of humans with that shared knowledge, it lit a fire in my gut and my feet. I came back the next year and did it again, this time, in memory of my friend Patty, who was instrumental in helping me navigate so much. Team Patty was born out of my appreciation for the generous kind human she was.

And I didn’t stop. I ran more 5k’s. I trained for 10k’s, half marathons, and then, yeah, you guessed it, a marathon. When I was faced with loved ones who died from cancer, just as I was moving away from mine, for me, that is not only unfathomably heart wrenching, it also made me keep pushing. Because damn it to hell, they should all still be here.

Friends and family gather to run for Patty

I trained to run the Disney marathon, with fifteen humans, who all loved and adored and lost our friend TC, from pancreatic cancer at the age of 43. The same age I was when I was diagnosed. That marathon shifted something deep inside me. I’m still here and I’m going to show up to ensure this cancer thing that so many face, that so many witness, is not in vain. I am here to carry those who aren’t here to the finish line. And do it in a way that honors them, raising noise, raising funds, raising our spirits.

My radiant friend TC, Team WeLoveTC, Me showing who's boss to Epcot!

I ran many more races after that marathon in 2014. I ran three more marathons. Boston in 2015, ( team of four running for The Animal Rescue League of Boston where I have volunteered since 2004 - I LOVE DOGS!!). Chicago in 2016 (One person team, that’s me- for IMPACT Chicago) and my last marathon, New York in 2017 (with the team for Hole In The Wall Gang Camp - a camp for kids with serious illnesses that I worked at off and on as a clown over the years).

Here I am now, age 60. (I’m perpetually 11 yrs old in my mind!) And my body has clearly communicated to me (mostly through my cranky right hip!) that running is no longer an option on the regular. I can still do short run walks, sprints on grass) but that’s where things have to live from now on. (Unless I get a new hip - but more surgeries are not something I am particularly giddy about these days! Stay tuned.)

This saddens me, and also it’s a relief as well. I’m so incredibly fortunate, grateful, humbled by all the years my body had to heal from my cancer dance. I have loved ones who exist on another plane, who I miss connecting with as my mind kept occupied while running. But I can still feel them when I walk. And now as I grieve my Mom who died in April, I am in a new emotional field, adjusting to life without my parents.

Mom cheering me on during the Boston Marathon, 2105 (she had just had hip replacement surgery!!)

Sometimes, when a runner, breathing hard, wiping sweat from their forehead, passes me along the Charles River, I feel wistful. Wishing I could just push off and go, feel my feet pounding, sending that pulse through my body. Other times, I’m like, damn, so glad I don’t do that anymore! Mostly, because I just don’t feel that level of freshly stored resilience I used to. (Maybe I am just old and cranky, it’s not just my hip!) I also now have the wisdom of time, that that kind of running isn’t organically essential anymore for me to feel healed enough from that immediate timespan of cancer.

I’m still here. My body is miraculous. I get up every day, (with a few pesky aches and pains) but I’m here. I’m still carrying all those I’ve lost. They are with me. I hope they get to enjoy the view from wherever they are. And I hope they welcomed Mom.

I may no longer be a long distance runner, or any kind of runner, but it was what I needed at the time. And I’m so grateful I got to experience all of it. I have the medals hanging on the back of the door that clang and jingle every time I open it, that remind me of where I was and how I got here.

My last marathon, NYC, 2017, medals, marathon bibs

And as long as I keep moving my body, in whatever capacity feels good, I know new adventures are abundant. You hear that, you ol’ cranky right hip?

Thanks for being here, folks. I wish for all of us to find whatever brings us ease when we need it.

I know I will continue to walk dogs at the shelter. As long as they’ll have me. Woof.