Let me start by saying that I have never described myself as a runner.
In fact, I used to joke that I would only run if something was chasing me. I never imagined that in April 2020, I would begin running a marathon against cancer.
There was no training or preparation for this marathon—I was thrust directly into it upon being diagnosed with stage IV neuroendocrine cancer. The diagnosis came at the start of the COVID-19 pandemic, with things moving very quickly after a grapefruit-sized tumor was discovered on my right kidney. I had a partial nephrectomy five days later.
Runners often experience a sense of camaraderie with other runners.
My husband and two children drove me to the hospital the morning of surgery. They had to drop me off outside the hospital due to COVID-19 restrictions. The start of my marathon was lonely, as I had to spend four days alone in the hospital after my surgery. It was the scariest moment of my life, and I was unable to have my wingman beside me to hold my hand. Looking back, as difficult as those first few days were for me, I can only imagine how helpless and scared my husband felt not being there. He was alone in helping our children understand and process their emotions about my diagnosis, while still trying to process his own. Our lives had changed very quickly—the marathon was underway.
Runners may feel a mix of emotions, including elation, determination, and fatigue, as well as experience a moment of self-doubt, wondering why they are doing it.
Cancer patients feel a range of emotions, including disbelief, grief, sadness, loss of control, and fatigue, in addition to moments of worry and doubt. My cancer marathon has been an emotional rollercoaster, to say the least. The first year was filled with worry and doubt until I finally found the medical team I was looking for. Finding the care I had been seeking was a real moment of elation in my cancer marathon! I am incredibly thankful for my husband’s determination to find me the best possible care. He has been by my side, encouraging me through every moment of my cancer marathon, along with our children.
Running 26.2 miles is an intense experience, one that leaves you with a mix of physical and mental exhaustion.
Cancer is a marathon; you can’t look at the finish line. You take it moment by moment, sometimes breath by breath, other times step by step. Having cancer is intense; it’s physically and mentally exhausting. At times during my marathon, I question whether I have the stamina to continue. I have to remind myself of everything I have to run for and I feel a sense of gratitude for the new perspective cancer has given me. I am more present, which has made me a better wife and mother. I find joy in the simple things: my family and dogs, my friends and life experiences. I am grateful for each moment of the race—I put my head down and keep on running. There is no finish line for my cancer marathon. Running is my new normal, and I am determined to keep racing against cancer!
-Jordan V aka Ginger