Marathons and Cancers #4
Today I am grateful for the inquisitive nature of young children, from toddlers to teens. I am also grateful for the writing process and how it helps me.
I thought about these words after I composed them for my post yesterday:
"Nothing would replace my God-given pair, so I might as well use the pairs I was left with--my arms and legs, my eyes, ears, lungs."
There is substantial gratitude in those words. One can live a full life minus breasts. I am not less of a woman, just a woman less her breasts. I am fortunate the cancer in my body was in my breast and not a vital organ. That doesn't minimize the loss, it keeps it in perspective.
As we considered which marathon to run in the fall of 2009, Kansas City caught our eye for two reasons. One was that it was within driving distance. The other factor was the clincher for me. It was scheduled for October 17. The number 17 had gained significance in my cancer journey. My first surgery, a lumpectomy and sentinel node biopsy, had been on July 17, 2008. My third surgery, the bilateral mastectomies, had been 5 months later on December 17.
On May 17, 2009 I ran my first half-marathon on this side of cancer. It was a freeing run, publicly flat and working through those first self-conscious months. I had already come to appreciate the ease of no running bras and could even joke a little about the aerodynamic advantage of mastectomies.
So it was most fitting to head to Kansas City for my first post-cancer marathon ten months to the day since having my breasts removed. Darcy and I also headed there with a new goal: to finish side by side. We had made it many miles together in previous marathons, but after facing the physical, emotional, mental, and spiritual challenges that come with cancer, it meant so much to us to set this goal. Darcy was and is a steadfast and supportive spouse in every way as I first faced the diagnosis and in the time since.
Other than turning that corner in Chicago and seeing the finish line of my first marathon, running this one side by side and crossing the finish line together is the most profound emotional moment in our numerous marathons. Within this marathon, there was a hill in the later miles and a boombox blasting Gloria Gaynor's "I Will Survive." Another moving moment.
Here we are each holding our medals from KC:
Blessings and perspectives on that day in October of 2009. And they continue today. Onward!
I thought about these words after I composed them for my post yesterday:
"Nothing would replace my God-given pair, so I might as well use the pairs I was left with--my arms and legs, my eyes, ears, lungs."
There is substantial gratitude in those words. One can live a full life minus breasts. I am not less of a woman, just a woman less her breasts. I am fortunate the cancer in my body was in my breast and not a vital organ. That doesn't minimize the loss, it keeps it in perspective.
As we considered which marathon to run in the fall of 2009, Kansas City caught our eye for two reasons. One was that it was within driving distance. The other factor was the clincher for me. It was scheduled for October 17. The number 17 had gained significance in my cancer journey. My first surgery, a lumpectomy and sentinel node biopsy, had been on July 17, 2008. My third surgery, the bilateral mastectomies, had been 5 months later on December 17.
On May 17, 2009 I ran my first half-marathon on this side of cancer. It was a freeing run, publicly flat and working through those first self-conscious months. I had already come to appreciate the ease of no running bras and could even joke a little about the aerodynamic advantage of mastectomies.
So it was most fitting to head to Kansas City for my first post-cancer marathon ten months to the day since having my breasts removed. Darcy and I also headed there with a new goal: to finish side by side. We had made it many miles together in previous marathons, but after facing the physical, emotional, mental, and spiritual challenges that come with cancer, it meant so much to us to set this goal. Darcy was and is a steadfast and supportive spouse in every way as I first faced the diagnosis and in the time since.
Other than turning that corner in Chicago and seeing the finish line of my first marathon, running this one side by side and crossing the finish line together is the most profound emotional moment in our numerous marathons. Within this marathon, there was a hill in the later miles and a boombox blasting Gloria Gaynor's "I Will Survive." Another moving moment.
Here we are each holding our medals from KC:
Blessings and perspectives on that day in October of 2009. And they continue today. Onward!
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