The Year I Went For A Run

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You won’t notice me as I line up with the back of the pack at the local 5k this weekend. You might notice my son, tucked into his running stroller in his bright orange “I Know You Can Do it” shirt. You might even offer him a high five, which he will gladly return. But you won’t notice me. I am neither the fastest or the slowest. I am not running in a costume, or the finest and newest in running apparel. I am not the heaviest or the thinnest. I will never be on your leader board. You won’t hear my name at the awards ceremony. You will not notice me this weekend.

I was never a runner. A singer, a cheerleader, an actress, a math nerd, yes.  But a runner? No. That was my sister. She played basketball, and she did it well. And in the off-season, she ran cross country and track to stay in shape. In the off season. Three miles a day, three or four days a week. Three miles? My God, I couldn’t imagine. Too much like work, as far as I was concerned.

I married young, when I was twenty three. My husband and I were desperately in love, happy and carefree. Three days after we returned from our honeymoon, I went to the doctor for a routine visit. I was a newlywed, relaxed and tan, and when the doctor began rattling off alphabet soup to her nurse, I didn’t think twice about it. CBC, T4, they meant nothing to me. I was the very definition of ten feet tall and bullet proof.

Six months later, after countless blood tests, uptake scans, ultrasounds, and biopsies, I underwent a partial thyroidectomy for a lump on my thyroid that almost certainly wasn’t cancer.

Only it was.

It was two different types of thyroid cancer, both aggressively attacking my lymph nodes, but fortunately very treatable. Two surgeries and a round of radiation later, I was on my way with a prescription for Synthroid and a clean bill of health. I told everyone I was fine. I thought I was fine. I was far from it.

Cancer changes you. My body had attacked me, so I attacked it back. I ate whatever I pleased, whenever I pleased. I was self destructive. I reveled in feeling poorly, paying my body back for what it had done to my spirit. Depression settled in, and the weight piled on. At the time, I didn’t realize how bad it was but looking back, I’m shocked I was able to keep from my family how very, very sad I was. After three long years and a very difficult pregnancy, I realized something had to change. I was sick and tired of the way I looked, sick and tired of the way I felt. Sick and tired of being sick and tired.

I easily talked myself out of doing anything rash, like joining a gym or changing my eating habits. But I did begin to walk. I strapped my son into his bulky stroller and walked around my neighborhood every day. I did it while my husband was at work; I didn’t want witnesses to my huffing and puffing. When I began having trouble getting out of bed because of my sore legs though, I had to let my husband in on my secret. He was immediately supportive, loading my closet with new running clothes and nudging me towards the door when I began talking myself out of my walks. A few weeks later, a shiny new running stroller arrived at our door. I laughed because running? Me? I don’t think so.

Slowly though, I did begin to run. At first it was just one lap, not even three quarters of a mile, around our neighborhood. Then two laps, then three. I can’t even remember who first suggested that I run a 5k, whether it was me (certainly not) or my husband or my sister, who began to run with me and take it in turns to push the stroller, but on June 23, 2007, I lined up to run my first 5k. I was nervous and uncertain and downright terrified. My sister stood beside me, prattling on so I wouldn’t have to talk.

We finished the race in 47 minutes. It hurt, and I was miserable, but as soon as I finished, I knew I’d run another.

And I did. I ran half a dozen 5ks, then decided to move up to a 10k. It was the best run of my life, and before I knew it, I had registered for a half marathon. On February 10, 2008, exactly three years after being declared cancer free, I finished the Mercedes-Benz half marathon in just over three hours. I finished with tears streaming down my face.

I started running to change my body. I kept running because it changed my soul.

My friend Angela is always telling me to take baby steps. I tend to rush into things without looking, expecting perfection of myself, setting myself up for failure. I finally took her advice and changed my life.

And somehow, when I wasn’t even looking, I became a runner.

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