The day I ran cancer

I told Adam a month or two ago, “I want to run something after my last chemo. Before surgery.” 

I’ve never been a runner. My dad has forever been a runner. And a damn good one, at that. My brother, he can run with the best of them. And Adam can rock a half like it’s easy least. But me, I’ve always felt a bit like I have lead in my legs. 

I was a very avid and dedicated worker outer prior to my diagnosis. I would go to mat Pilates and LifeBarre and yoga classes. I had found that I finally felt strong and lean for the first time since having kids. In fact, I felt the healthiest I’ve felt, probably in my whole life. And then… Well… You know. The C biz. 

I planned to work out through the whole chemo regimen. Because my docs told me I could keep a normal life. And then neutropenia struck. And I put my gym membership on hold. The germs and I were not going to get along. Especially the ones my carrier monkeys would pick up in a childcare center. So, I would do yoga. I would do something at a smaller center. And then, c diff. 

And diarrhea. Like 24/7 diarrhea. And then 10 pounds lost in a week. And then 5 more. And so working out… Fell to the wayside in favor of trying desperately to pack weight on. My working out that I’d so loved, was no longer a part of any part of my weekly routine. 

And then, strep throat. Which meant c diff again. Another bout of weight dropped. And so during my 6 rounds of chemo, I snuck in, maybe a handful of workouts. This was hard for me. Not because I felt the need to “tone up” or to “be lean” but because just like I love playing guitar, exercising is something that makes me feel alive. 

And then, rounds 5 and 6 were better. And I decided, I wanted to do a run. Not because I’m a runner. But because I desperately wanted to accomplish that before my surgery puts me down for 6 weeks. And Adam was willing to slow his pace to help me accomplish it. 

I needed to run cancer for a day. As much as I try not to let it, when you’re doing chemo, cancer has an ability to dictate your life. It runs you. And I needed to show it that it doesn’t get to do that every day. 

So I asked permission from my oncologist, Dr. Tandra. He said that as long as I felt good, I had his blessing. Adam signed us up. And I got in two practice runs on the treadmill this week. 

I knew I could do it. I knew I would do it. Because it was just a 5k. Not a marathon. To some, it would be like walking across the street and back. Just 3.1 miles. But I needed to do it. 

I need to do things now. Today. Not in two months. Not in three years. Not because I’m amazing or trying to inspire or I’m strong or anything like that. Because I have to be honest, I have to be real, I still have fears that even if the cancer goes away, it could come back. I feel like if I want to do things in this lifetime, I can’t put them off. I have to just do it. Because in two years… Who knows what will be. 

So we got a sitter for the boys. We dressed in running gear. I sported my Wonder Woman socks. I made a playlist to keep my mind focused on the beats. And my best friend and I traveled down to 78th and Cass for the Super Bowl 5k. 

It was cold. It was breezy. But I only had two goals. To not walk. And to finish. 

And I did it. Outside of listening to “love runs out” one time, I replayed One Republic’s “I lived” for the every step. Adam stayed right beside me even though I told him over and over to run at his own speed. To not let me slow him down. Because I’m not a runner. But he was by my side almost until the end when he ran ahead to get a photo of my finish. 

And I met my two goals. I didn’t walk. And I finished. 

And then. The tears started to fall. 

Because I knew I had done something I wouldn’t have done before cancer.

I knew that I told myself in moments of feeling tired that this was not as hard as crash day. Or even as birthing a child. I closed my eyes for a few seconds after looking up and seeing the most beautiful sky above me as I ran. I was thankful for the running. I was thankful for the steps. I was thankful for running cancer. For just a little bit.

It was slow. 38 minutes and some odd seconds. I got hot on the way back and had to ditch my cap which meant I was exposed as the girl with no hair. My legs feel sore tonight. But I did what I set out to do. The Ashli before cancer wouldn’t have. She would have found excuses   She would have let a million things let her sleep in instead. And I liked that girl, too. 

But this girl, I was proud of her today. She cried like an idiot when she crossed the finish line. Of a 3.1 mile race. But I understood her. It was because she knew she ran cancer today. She knew she lived. 

I owned every second that this world could give. I saw so many places, the things that I did. With every broken bone, I swear I lived. 

{Thank you, Adam. You are the very best type of human. I couldn’t have done this day without you. I hope to never have to.}