As I covered my kitchen table with bib numbers from races run, rough drafts of speeches given, torn out journal entries and pictures, my file transformed into something else for me. It has become my visual outline for my book. I have been stuck with my writing. Trying to decide which route to go, how deep to delve, which angle to pursue. But finally (emphasis on finally), going through the file and seeing, touching and remembering, I started to see the path I need to take.
I haven't been back through this file in a long time. It's made it's way from first in line in the top shelf of my file cabinet, all the way to the back of the second drawer, occupying a good half of it. It has slowly been pushed back by additions of my most current life; high school and college info, certifications, pet stuff, you name it. When anyone needs something I always point to the top drawer. If we ever had to get out due to fire or something, the whole drawer comes out first.
But today, as I quietly celebrate 18 years of life since my original diagnosis on June 5, 1998, I am somewhat compelled to get the file out and go through it. In the past, I have had to be in just the right mood to go through it. There is so much there. The raw emotions in my original handwriting of speeches that I have given to different groups. Some right after the first diagnosis, ripe with hope and courage. Some after the first metastasis tinged with disbelief and vulnerability. And then very few after the second metastasis; I didn't need notes anymore, it had become my life. And then there is a part of me that no longer exists because of my disease...the athlete.
I describe myself as being athletic when I was young. I always loved to play kickball and softball with the neighborhood kids. I loved field day and was quite competitive, always taking it very seriously. To this day, I love watching sports of all kind, especially my kid's. When we moved to West Hartford, I was hijacked by my friend Audrey to play women's soccer. I adored the camaraderie but was definitely not an "A" player. I had to stop playing when my port was put in. My teammates were so wonderful, that they had pink ribbons embroidered onto their jerseys; a gesture that still can make me misty eyed. But, due to cancer, I developed a new passion and that was running.
When I was newly diagnosed and was in the waiting room at St. Francis Cancer Center, I picked up a book by Nancy Brinker about her sister Susie Komen and her life-ending battle with breast cancer. It described the promise that Nancy made to Susie to try to find a cure, thus beginning the Susan G. Komen Race For the Cure. I asked my nurse about the race and she said that there was one in Connecticut each year and that I should so that I could meet other young survivors. A few months later, I went to the Race with carrying Torrie in a frontpack. I was amazed at all of the festivities, the runners, the walkers and, especially, all of the survivors. I made myself a promise that I would come back the following year and participate in the walk. At that time, I never even entertained the idea of running a 5k race. I was NOT a runner.
Going back through my file today, I found journal notes from April 5, 2000 "I decided early this morning to walk. Must quit waiting for cancer to come back (my 1st premonition?) and get back to real life - and FIT. Had Ken drop Torrie and I off at school For Young Children with jog stroller. Walked home. 4 miles; beautiful morning. Felt great. Took an hour". April 25, 2000 "2.5-mile run/walk. Am now running more than walking! Need to buy running shoes." And finally, Wednesday, April 26, 2000 "Have planned all along to walk the Race For the Cure. While doing my 2-mile run/walk (Albany to Main to Asylum) - decided to RUN the Race For the Cure! I'm so excited! I have 17 days until the Race. Just want to complete it. Got new shoes." The running bug had bitten me.
More daily entries with further distances. I love reading back and feeling the excitement build to Race Day. It was finally here - May 13, 2000 "RACE DAY!! Woke up at 5:15 a.m to thunder and pouring rain, ugh. On my way to Survivor's Breakfast radio actually mentioned race may be canceled. Got to park and rivers were flowing down the sidewalk. I was prepared enough to bring my flip flops so I could preserve my shoes and socks. My feet were freezing, though! Had to pee and missed survivors photo. Also missed hearing my name be called to represent CT in Washington at the National Race! Was so excited when I found out that I started to cry! Ken finally showed up with kids - he was so excited for me. Went to starting line area (rain finally stopped, skies cleared up) made my way to front 1/3. Got very emotional - I can't believe I'm running this race! Ken and kids gave me a thumbs up, the horn blew and we were off! It was tight going at first through the park, had to find a space and my pace. Was proud of myself for not getting too caught up with the people around me and their pace. The park was packed with people clapping and cheering. There weren't many pink shirts around me so I got a lot of cheering. Saw Ken and the kids at around 1 mile and felt great. I ran out of the park and continued to feel super. Started passing people at 2 miles! Came upon the BIG HILL. A group around me started talking it up 'heads down, arms pumping, don't walk.'! I made it! Yahoo! Breezed into the park to people clapping and yelling. Had energy left and started to sprint. The announcer yelled 'here comes a pink shirt' and I started clapping and waving. I sprinted the small last hill and saw Ken and the clock all at one. I saw I was going to break 30:00 and I was ecstatic! Time: 29:25! It was an incredible moment. I am a RUNNER!" What a great memory for me.
That race inspired me to keep running. I ran many more 5k's, a 10-mile race, a 20k race, a 1/2 marathon and, unbelievably, seven months after completing my first race, I completed the Walt Disney World Marathon. I had become an ATHLETE. But just a few months later, my cancer returned and running came to a halt.
As my disease progressed, accompanied by all of it's surgeries, complications, and treatments; running turned into walking. And now, as I gratefully sit here 18 years later, I have come to another realization: I am still an athlete. You must be one to endure and live with this disease.
I am still running the Race and the name of my blog is changing; it is now "Eighteen Years Of Pink".
Namaste.
Kim
No comments:
Post a Comment