My latest endeavor of my anti-cancer lifestyle is that I have started running. Many factors seem to have come together, leading towards this, including family members and neighbors who have been running races (even marathons!) and, of course, my diagnosis this year. During my cancer treatment, when I needed (and wanted) to just rest, I would longingly look at the latest Athleta catalog that arrived in the mail and I would yearn for my treatment to be over, so I could start running like those women. I wanted to look like those tough-looking girls. Not ‘tough’, as in ‘steroids’ and ‘I’m-going-to-kick-your-butt’, but ‘tough’, as in ‘I can handle whatever obstacles come my way and run my way right through them’.
Yesterday evening, I ran my first 5K (3.1 miles) without stopping or walking. And I even felt good. Maybe it was due to my first dose of the recreational runner’s drug: endorphins.
I’ve never been a runner, although my 8th grade science teacher kept telling me that I would make a great runner. But since when does a 12-year-old listen to their teacher’s lifestyle suggestions? I have always been a walker, hiker and biker. But when it came to running, I just shuddered at the thought. The first run I attempted on the pavement lasted about 1/4 mile, before I had to slow down and walk. That was just a couple months ago, and I had radiation and isolation in the meantime. I figure that if I could make it through cancer treatment and my accompanying autoimmune disease I had for years (also my dad’s illness and passing during the same time period), that I can do just about anything that I want to do. Running should be no exception.
So, I run because it may help keep cancer, inflammation, and heart disease away. I run because I can, and who knows what the future brings. I run because it feels great (after the first aching mile or so). And I run because I want to look like a bad-a** like those girls in the catalog. I’m running for my life.