When I was in college, my older sister asked me to run the mini-marathon (13.1 miles) with her. No problem! I play college basketball; I can run 13.1 miles no sweat. Plus, I was never the fastest player in sprints but the more sprints we had, miraculously I just would keep my pace and become one of the faster athletes. So half marathon, did I train? Unless you call a 30 minute run training, I did not. I geared up in my cotton socks and a cotton tshirt and long sleeve. It was chilly in the morning so layering seemed like a good option. Needless to say, I struggled in this race. My hips were burning, I had blisters on both my pinky toes, my cotton shirts were sticking to me like plastic wrap. To top it off, there are railroad tracks around mile 9 or 10 and in my fatigue, I tripped over them. I couldn’t lift my feet high enough to get over a difference of an uneven inch. That’s pathetic but also good laugh. I finished that mini marathon and I could not walk for at least a week. I thought I would never sign-up for another race. That was a lie. I signed-up for several more after that. But the other half marathons, I actually trained for them. Shocker, it made a big difference. 

I had my meeting with my oncologist before treatment #5. My tumor shrinking and responding well to treatment is “wonderful news.” Direct quote from my oncologist. Yet at the same time, we are still discussing surgery with a permanent colostomy bag. Umm, what? I thought the MRI showed good things. And here’s the truth: it did. The road is just long. For me, the mental toll is harder than the physical. Much harder. Working to stay positive all the time is exhausting. Lately, I have found myself more in a lull. I’m over cancer. I’m over not feeling well. I’m over the mental load. I’m over not being able to outwork my way out of it. So here is what I am learning. Cancer is a marathon. That part in the race that is just awful and you question why you signed-up for the race in the first place. The excitement of the start has ended and you’re really not sure where the finish line is and the spectators are bored. That is where I am. And to my runner friends, the so-called runner high. When does that kick in? Instead, this is the part we just grind it out. One foot in front of the other. One day at a time. Always. Moving. Forward. I finished treatment 5 out of 9 this past weekend and that means we are on the downhill for treatments. We are still looking at two more months of chemotherapy then we’ll talk next steps. And that feels overwhelming. But for now, it is focusing on the now. Today, I am feeling better. I am at the pool with the boys and I’m about to whip Jude in a game of basketball P.I.G. in the pool. Wins all around. 

My continued thanks for the on-going prayers and support. The cards, meals and encouraging words are greatly appreciated.

Liz