Move to Recover

Running 50 miles in one day is tough.

This week is all about recovery for me. That doesn't mean I'm just lying around all day with my feet up. I'm doing active recovery.

After the race, I iced my tired, sore feet and legs. I took a warm shower, put on some comfy clothes and crawled into bed. I sat in bed with my feet propped up and ate a little food and drank a beer. Then I went to sleep.

The next day I drove 5 hours home. Being in the car for so long made all my muscles stiffen up. But once I was home, I put on my hiking boots and headed into the woods. I didn't go far and I didn't go fast. I walked for about a half hour. In the days since then, I've tried to do a little walk each day. Today I went for an easy 2-mile run.

It's so tempting, when we've overused muscles, to to nothing. Moving hurts, so we don't want to move. But not moving just prolongs recovery, making it that much harder to get back to normal.

Our muscles recover much faster when we continue to use them. Moving keeps things from tightening up even more. Moving gets blood flowing to the muscles. Moving helps to move any fluid from swelling out. Moving is good!

There's a reason why nurses make patients get up and move so soon after surgery. Moving gets all your body systems functioning again. It keeps your muscles from getting weak, thereby limiting your mobility even more. It helps clear your lungs.

I remember after my 10+ hr. mastectomy & reconstruction, with massive incisions everywhere, how I was quite convinced that my nurse was evil - literally evil - when she made me sit up and move to a chair. But she was right - it helped. I recovered remarkably quickly: my lungs were clear, my head was clear, I quickly regained my balance and strength.

Those nurses, they're on to something.

Whether you're recovering from over-exertion, surgery, or some types of injury, recover by moving. OK, a serious injury where you've broken or torn something does not apply. If your doctor tells you to stay off your feet or not to move something, do what she tells you!

But the rest of us, move to recover.

Julie

Run, Julie, Run - Vermont 50 Race Report

Yay! Yes, I did it. Fifty miles in 11:39.

First, I want to thank everyone involved in putting on the Vermont 50 Bike & Ultra Run. It was a great event benefiting Vermont Adaptive Ski & Sport. The race organizers did a great job, especially considering the devastation of Irene that they had to contend with. They had to do a lot of last minute trail maintenance and re-routing. But they got it together and provided us with a challenging course through stunningly beautiful country. Thanks to everyone who helped make it possible.

Many special thanks to the FABULOUS volunteers all along the course on race day. These guys spent long hours offering us refreshment, assistance, and lots of encouragement. Thank you - I can't say it enough - thank you!

And also a huge thank you to the local landowners who make this race possible. The course criss-crosses park land and private. Without the owners' permission, this race would not happen. We so appreciate that you all agreed to allow hundreds of bikers and runners to stream through your land. You are all wondrous and beautiful human beings!

Someday, I'd like to learn how to get some sleep before a race. Maybe as I run more races, I won't be quite so anxious/excited before and can get more than a couple hours of sleep.

Up at 4:00am. Get ready - shower, some coffee, a little food. Re-check that I've got everything. Re-check again. Drive through the dark to arrive by 5:15 check-in.

Driving down the highway in the dark, I'm nervous. As I approach the exit, I realize there really is a lot of traffic for this hour. And most of them are getting off at my exit. There's a steady stream of cars winding along these roads, heading the same way I am - members of my tribe. All these headlights represent at least one other crazy person. My tribe. OK, most of them are faster and better members of the tribe, but they're still my people.

5:15, check in, mill about, eat, pee, eat, drink. Bikers, bikes, runners everywhere. Bikers are the ones in the helmets. And family and friends. I'm amazed at these people who get up at this ridiculous hour to send off their running or biking partners. We also drop off donations of food and supplies for the hard-hit families of Vermont.

It's hot. It's the end of September, and it's hot! And humid! It's close to 70 degrees at 6:00 in the morning and dripping wet. Temperature is expected to get close to 80. This is not good for me! Not good for anyone who's trying to cover 50 miles in anything other than a car, but I really have trouble with heat. This worries me.

6:00, first wave of bikes head out into the dark. Waves of bikes leave over the next 25 minutes. 6:35, 50 mile runners. I need to be back here in 12 hours.

The start of a race is always a little anti-climactic. Getting a couple hundred runners going is a gradual process - this is not a sprint. We walk, shuffle, and jog until we space out and fall into the rhythm of our run.

The course is a mix of roads, most of them dirt or gravel, and trails. We wind our way through incredibly picturesque Vermont farms and woods. We pass fields, horses, cut through woods, go over and through streams. We chat with the aid station volunteers as they help us refill our water bottles and get us back on our way. We wave to the locals who have come out to watch & cheer us on.

I have to work really hard to stay hydrated. Sweat is poring off me, not dripping - poring. I will not need the long sleeved shirts I packed in my drop bags along the course. I sip my water often, take electrolyte caplets at regular intervals, and snack when I can. The aid stations are great. The volunteers help us re-fill bottles. They have a variety of drinks and snacks: water, Heed (a type of sport/electrolyte drink), soda, chips, fruit, peanut butter sandwiches, ramen noodles in chicken broth, cookies, chocolate. My personal fave of the day: ramen noodles - liquid, salty, noodles! And later in the day a special treat: orange slices that I dip in salt - it's like a happy little margarita!

The trail sections are beautiful! But muddy. Much are better than I feared, given how much rain Vermont has gotten this Fall. But there are sections that are like a lake of mud. I'm very pleased that I chose to wear gaiters! In places, the mud is more than ankle-deep. This is loose-your-shoe-deep mud. Several times, I do almost pull out of my shoe. I hear the sucking sound as my foot goes in and feel the shoe stick. I have to suddenly clench my toes to keep my shoe on.

And all the while, we laugh, we curse, we chat, we look out for one another, we encourage each other. We are members of the tribe. We all understand the elation and the struggle. If someone stumbles, we offer a hand. We offer words of encouragement when we see someone's will flagging. We step to the side and cheer them on when someone else has a spurt of energy and passes us. And we know they'll do the same for us.

We exchange stories and make new friends. There are so many inspirational stories. Someone who was fat and a chain smoker a year ago, now running his first ultra marathon. A married couple who decided this was something they could train for and do together. Others just taking on a new challenge or facing fears. My favorite story of the day, however, was the guy who is a Type 1 diabetic running his first 50 miler with his insulin pump pinned to his pack. Oh, and he was just diagnosed with MS. I ran with him for a short while at the beginning of the race. I lost track of him by the end. I have no idea how he did. I don't think it matters. He was out there. He faced his diseases, acknowledged the risks and challenges, and decided to try to be more than their limitations. Did he finish? I don't know. I don't care - he tried!

My GPS watch didn't charge fully, so my battery dies sooner than I expect. Then I'm left trying to figure out my pace from the time I arrive at the aid stations. In my fatigue, I am completely incapable of doing any math! I try to calculate my pace, but can't: Wait, OK, there are 60 minutes in an hour, right? OK, 7 miles in an hour and a half is what? 60 plus 30 is 90. 90 divided by 7 is what? 7 into 9, 7 into 9, 7 into 9....wait, where was I? There are 60 minutes in an hour. What's my pace? Wait.... It's utterly shocking to think that at one time I was considered good at math!

I'm worried about making the cutoff of 12 hours. I am not a fast runner. I'm arriving at the aid stations well-ahead of the cutoffs, but I'm tired and having trouble from the heat. My muscles are cramping up sometimes. I'm tired. I'm tired of walking, I'm tired of running, I'm tired of sweating.

I believe that if I can keep my pace, I will make it. But I'm filled with doubts. When I need it most, I get help from other runners. When I'm having trouble getting going after leaving an aid station, can't make myself run, a couple of guys come by at a good steady pace. I fall in behind them. It's easier to get running when I can just watch their feet in front of me. I thank them; they welcome my company. We run together for a while. We take turns leading up the hills. Later, I meet Mario. We're both worried about time. We're in the last 10 miles. We know we can finish, but in time? I pass him in a sudden wave of energy. He falls in behind and keeps pace with me. We chat and we run in silence. We admire the view. When my energy lags, Mario takes the lead. He encourages me up the hills. Eventually, I am unable to continue at his pace, but I am grateful to have had his company for a while.

Finally, a sign saying 5 miles! And I have plenty of time to do it! I have pushed myself and now I know that I can almost walk the rest of it and still make the cutoff. I cannot describe the total elation at the moment of realizing that this really is within my grasp!

And then the despair at coming to another uphill, and then another, and another. The final aid station is less than 3 miles from the end. I am ready to cry when I realize how much more uphill there is in those last 3 miles. It seems so unfair, and I am so tired. I just don't want to run anymore. There are 4 of us who end up grouping together, more or less, for the end of the run. We try to make jokes, we try to laugh. We curse - well, I curse. I talk to myself. I remind myself to run. I remind myself to run with proper form.

Then there's a man coming toward us - about a mile and a quarter to go, good job! Yay! We're almost there!... But then there are more hills, more damn hills! Then there's another man - about 1400ft until the you hit the ski slopes & you're there! Yay! We're almost there!... But what does 1400ft mean? At this point, my brain cannot process any numbers except time. I understand time. I understand that I have to cross the finish line before 6:35 - 12 hours after we started. Finally the ski slopes - yay! We can hear the cheering at the finish line... But it's over there. We have to cross over this slope, then another, then wind our way down and across another.

Now, there's the finish! Now, yay! Now, the final downhill - ow! Kids are lining the end of the course, cheering us on. I get in a few high fives with some cute, young boys waiting to cheer on their father. I pick up the pace. I'm now leading my little band of 4 runners. Everything hurts, but I want to finish strong. There, the finish - 11:39 - yay!

Congratulations all around! I guess someone won the race, but at this moment no one cares. We finished - yay!

Oh, and did I mention there was mud?

Julie

Run, Julie, Run - Butterflies

I'm just finishing packing. I'll leave in a couple hours to drive to Vermont for my next 50-mile race, the Vermont 50. Proceeds from the race help to fund Vermont Adaptive Ski & Sport, a program that helps everyone get out and enjoy the outdoors, no matter what their limitations.

The race is tomorrow, 6AM start. Cutoff is 6PM. If you have a minute during the day tomorrow (any time, I'll be out there a long time), send me some good strong vibes.

I'm nervous. I'm always nervous. I've done my preparation, but I'm still nervous. I had such a good race last Spring when I ran the North Face Bear Mountain 50. I wonder if that was an aberration - just dumb beginners' luck. I wonder how this will be. But I know that every race is different. It's a different day; it's a different race. Just do the thing that's right in front of you, Julie.

And adding to my nerves is my last long run. I had been feeling good about my prep., but then had a really bad last long run. As I wrote before, I know that 16 miles is not nothing. It would be considered pretty good for most people. And I know that one workout doesn't mean all that much. But mentally it kind of freaked me out.

I've tried to put it behind me - mostly I have - until this morning. I had a very good speed workout with my coach on Tuesday, and I got in a gentle run and some stretching the rest of the week. I'm rested; my muscles feel pretty good. But my brain is churning.

I'm hoping that this last long run is like a bad dress rehearsal for a concert. Often, when a dress reh. doesn't go well, it bodes well for the concert. Everyone redoubles their efforts and concentration, and the results are good. So I'm hoping that was my bad dress rehearsal.

Oh, and stop by the Life-Cise Forum for a discussion of runners' injuries. There's a recent question, and I welcome input from any of you runners. I'm still relatively new to running (just have run a LOT of miles), and I've never had any real issue with running injury. I don't have any of the knee or hip problems that a lot of people have who have been running for years. Please share your thoughts.

Alright, I'm off. Finish packing, drive, drive, register, eat, sleep, run, and run, and run....

Julie

Healthy Lifestyles at the United Nations

I was excited that this week the United Nations held a 2-day summit on non-communicable diseases (NCDs). There were high-level meetings discussing the social and economic costs of NCDs and ways to combat the issue worldwide, including healthier diets, more physical activity, and less tobacco and alcohol use. (I wrote about the summit on the Life-Cise News page.)

NCDs, most notably heart disease, cancer, diabetes, chronic lung disease, and mental illness, have a huge economic and social impact. They pose a clear threat to the economies of the world, especially for lower and middle income nations. A report by the World Economic Forum which was released in advance of the UN summit estimates that NCDs will cost the world $47 trillion in the next 20 years. That includes medical costs, non-medical costs, lost productivity and lives. Cancer alone is expected to cost $458 billion by 2030.

The answer, or part of it, according to the report and the conclusion of the U.N. General Assembly is lifestyle - a healthier one - and access to healthcare for all. Recommendations were to promote healthier diet and more physical activity, reduce tobacco and alcohol use (the World Economic Forum suggested the possibility of higher tobacco and alcohol taxes), and provide better access to healthcare, including mental health.

Yea for the U.N.! It is abundantly clear that NCDs are a large and increasing burden around the world. Dietary changes - like more fast food available worldwide - and a more sedentary lifestyle have produced a dramatic increase in many of these diseases. And it is only getting worse. So, good for the U.N. for beginning to address the issue. They did so because the problem has gotten bad enough that there's real potential for real economic devastation across the globe, not to mention the social and personal suffering.

And I'm pleased to see the emphasis on healthy lifestyle. These are low-cost, accessible solutions. No, exercise and eating right will not solve the problem. People will still have heart attacks; they'll still get cancer. (A whole lot of us are examples of that.) But we do know that a healthier lifestyle will have a positive affect. It won't eliminate NCDs, but it can reduce them.

All is not happiness and light in this story, however. Because of pressure from the food industry, the resolution to address the issue included few specifics. There was no limit set on salt intake, for example. This prompted around 150 organizations to sign a Conflict of Interest Declaration, published in The Lancet, calling for greater transparency in how the U.N. engages with the food and beverage industry.

For example, I listened to some of the meetings which were streamed live. I heard representatives of the food and beverage industry calling for action on this important issue. But they are representing some of the large corporate interests which are a large part of the problem. Obesity and all the health issues associated with it, including diabetes, cancer, and heart disease, is certainly affected by fast food and sugary sodas.

The signers of the declaration acknowledge that industry can be part of the solution. However, they caution that corporations which profit from sale of alcohol, tobacco, and unhealthy foods should only be brought in once policy has been made. They should not be part of making the policy.

All in all, I still find this a positive story. I am glad that attention is being paid and solutions are being sought. It's not perfect, but it might be enough - for now.

Julie

Conflicted

Yesterday, I went to watch someone else race. Actually, I was late, so I didn't get to see my friend race. But she did finish 2nd - yea, Jen!

The event was the NYC Komen Race for the Cure, and Jen is someone I met running the Komen race in 2008(?). Jennifer and I were up front, running with the other survivors. I was very new to running, and she was new to cancer, being in the middle of chemo. She took off fast (she was not new to running). When I caught up to her, she was fading, ready to stop. I slowed to run with her, offering whatever encouragement I could. I was so impressed that she was running - running - the race. She was bugged that she was so slow; she had been a competitive runner. I tried to convince her that her time didn't matter that day. There would be other days for that. It was enough that she was there. We ran the rest of the race together, alternately encouraging each other.

We emailed a few times, but lost touch. Recently, through Young Survival Coalition and the wonder that is Facebook, we reconnected. (I love these weird circles of connectedness) It's great to see her healthy and doing well - running races & triathlons.

So there I was, watching, not running, the Komen race. And it brought me face to face with all my conflicted feelings about Komen.

Komen has gotten a lot of justifiable bad press in the last couple of years, from in and out of the cancer community. Their legal battles against other cancer non-profits turned many of their supporters away in shame. Some of their corporate partnerships have raised eyebrows. There are questions - legitimate ones - about where their money goes. There is a lack of transparency for their funding. Nowhere on their site can one find what percentage of donations goes to what programs. Does the money go to research? What research? Does the money go to provide free mammograms? Does the money go to programs that support women currently fighting the disease?

Some of the criticism comes from the breast cancer community itself. Many wonder why, if your name is "for the cure", is such a small amount of money raised spent on research? Others would like to see less emphasis on awareness (isn't there enough of that by now?), and more on programs that benefit those who have the disease. But mostly, critics would like more transparency.

Of course, Komen does not stand alone in the ring of legal wrangling. Plenty of big non-profits tie up smaller ones in long legal battles. Some of the biggest and most popular cancer groups do this - just more quietly than Komen. Let's face it, big non-profits are Big Business!

I understand the need to protect one's brand, but these fights do nothing to help the people these groups are claiming to help. Yes, protect your brand, your logo. But really, does anyone own a color - or a common word that many people might use in connection with fighting cancer? While you're busy suing others, you're not helping your cause. You're wasting your attention and our money!

But I said I was conflicted....there's a lot of good, too. There is a strength and power in these large events. Yup, I got teary-eyed.

With all of my reservations about Komen, I cannot deny the sense of community and empowerment felt by the survivors yesterday. For that day, they are not alone fighting their disease. They are backed by 20,000+ people all headed the same direction. They see others in all stages of the fight - newly diagnosed, young, grandmothers, long-term survivors, runners, survivors in wheelchairs being pushed by loved ones. They are not alone. They are fighting and they are raising money. There is power in that action.

And these events are important for the families and friends, as well. Our loved ones suffer along with us - not in the same way as we do - but it is hard on them. They stand by us feeling helpless, and here is this event that let's them do something.

For everyone who has felt encouraged and empowered by one of these big events, I thank Komen.

And I thank Komen for helping to change how we view breast cancer. When I was growing up, breast cancer was still only spoken of in hushed tones. There was such a stigma - against disease in general, but especially breast cancer - breasts, my god! Women often felt guilty, that they somehow were letting their husbands and families down. It's reported that when Nancy Reagan woke up from surgery, her first words to Ronald were, "I'm so sorry." But some very tough women tried to change all that - Betty Ford, Happy Rockefeller, and many others. Komen was part of that change. Komen helped lead us into a world where we can all be as open, public, or private about our disease as we choose. Into a world where it's a disease, it's not our fault. Into a world where we don't have to apologize to anyone because we don't have breasts.

I am a beneficiary of this. Thank you, Komen - and all the women who came before me and refused to sit quietly in hiding!

For all the good, thank you, Komen. But there's the conflict: I don't deny all of that good. I just want more.

Julie

Run, Julie, Run - Long Run Fail

My last post was about accepting that sometimes good enough is enough. In the comments I wrote that the post was as much a reminder to myself as anyone - that's often true. No matter what your goal - having the strength and energy to walk to the mailbox, lifting 20lbs., walking 5 miles, or running 50 - the principals of reaching that goal are largely the same.

This idea that less than perfect is enough, that an honest effort will do (even if the results are less than planned) is such a hard lesson for me. And it seems to be the lesson of the week.

Today was my long run, my last long run before next week's Vermont 50 - my next 50 mile race. 

Long run FAIL! - I only managed 16 miles. That's a far cry from the 38 miles I had planned.

OK, I know that 16 miles on steep trails is not nothing. I know that in a lot of people's eyes, 16 miles is pretty impressive. But I had planned on 38 - or at least something close.

My body had other plans, however. I started off pretty well. I had moments of great fun. But then everything started to change, and not in a good way. I was just tired. I've been a little tired and headachy for a couple of days (possibly fighting something off??). I was running out of steam. I changed my planned course to loop back by my house so I could have a snack and refill all my water bottles. (I always carry food and water with me, but on a long run it's hard to carry enough and there's nowhere to refill when I'm running trails.) I even had a quick cup of espresso, hoping that would perk me up. 

It was really tough to force myself out of the house and back onto the trails. I ended up only going another 4 miles after that break. I simply couldn't make myself go. It wasn't about nutrition or hydration; I simply didn't have the energy today. Even running (and sometimes walking) the 16 miles was a huge struggle. My legs didn't want to move. All I wanted to do was sleep.

I wanted to persevere. I wanted to pull it out, struggle through and do it. I wanted to be like Frodo and Samwise Gamgee in Lord of the Rings, struggling ever forward, against all odds, to their goal. Instead of Lord of the Rings, it was more like The Wizard of Oz - "Poppies, poppies....sleep my pretties." Maybe there's a Wicked Witch hiding in these woods....

So I came back home and took a bath. I can barely keep my eyes open at this point. I'm just tired.

Of course, once I was home, I kept thinking maybe if could have done it. While lying in the tub, I thought, "maybe I should go back out - I'm sure I could do a few more miles...." 

I know that I am capable of pushing myself beyond anything I thought possible: I climbed Mt. Rainier just one year after finishing a full year of cancer treatment, I summited Aconcagua in spite of puking the whole way (the joys of e coli), I ran 50 miles, and I finished every one of my cancer treatments when I was sure I couldn't face one more. I am very capable of struggling forward and pulling it out.

But I also know the importance of listening to your body. And today, my body was telling me "NO!" 

I listened. I know that exhausting myself in an effort to prove something to myself one week before a big race is foolish. And I know that one workout does not determine my overall fitness or readiness for this race. I am sure that it was the right thing to do, but I am disappointed. 

So now, instead of feeling triumphant after my final long run, I am struggling to accept that a good, honest effort is good enough. And that good enough is just that - good enough.

Julie

Good Enough

Last week was a rough one. I was traveling home, got stuck driving in the remnants of yet another hurricane, narrowly escaped the flood waters of the Susquehanna, felt my heart break at the sight of the devastation the raging waters was causing, and then spent the weekend remembering....My weekend was filled with music - the music of remembrance.

My training took a backseat. Normally, that's not such a terrible thing. None of us are professional athletes; sometimes life gets in the way of our best exercise plans. As long as our overall trajectory stays on target, a day or two here and there isn't going to make a huge difference.

But I'm training for a specific goal. My next 50 mile race - the Vermont 50 - is next week. My workouts at this stage really are important; there's no time to make it up later.

I needed to get in a long run on the weekend, but had concerts. I planned to get up early on Sunday, run 26 miles, then go play a concert. Running a marathon right before playing a big concert is certainly not ideal. I need to rest and recover after a long run, not get dressed up in high heels. But this was my only option.

Unfortunately, I didn't get started as early as I needed. I knew I wouldn't make 26 miles.

The perfect is the enemy of the good. ~ Voltaire 


That was the Life-Cise Daily Tip I posted the next day. (it's easy to sign up for the Daily Tips & Newsletter from Life-Cise.com)

I knew I couldn't get in the full run - I'm not that fast. I had to decide: run fewer miles, or skip it and try to make it up the next day. I chose to run as many miles as I could, which turned out to be around 20. It wasn't perfect, but it was good enough.

It's so easy to just put off the workout if we can't do what we planned: "Oh, I'll never get in 26 miles, I'll just wait and do it tomorrow. I'll get an earlier start." Or, "I will only have 20 minutes at the gym. It's probably not worth it, I'll just do more tomorrow." The problem is, all too often the tomorrows pile up and we never get it done.

We don't have to be perfect in our quest for a healthy life. Getting something done, even if it's not ideal, is always better than nothing. Getting something done consistently is what leads to a healthy life, it's what gets us to our goals.

Don't put off being good enough because it's not perfect.

Julie

It Begins....

I just got my first Facebook messages about Breast Cancer Awareness Month. It used to just be confined to the month of October, but maybe breast cancer awareness needs more room. Or maybe the month of October has been trademarked.

This is a continuation of the stupid little viral FB game: 2 years ago it was women posting the color of their bra; last year it was the location of their handbag, saying that's where they like to do it. No mention of breast cancer, no funding for research or free mammograms, nothing but a slightly titillating phrase: I like to do it on the kitchen table, hall closet, rocking chair, whatever.

This year's "fun" is based on our birthdays. Your birth month is assigned a number of weeks, your date corresponds to a snack that you will claim to be craving. The result is something like "I'm 12 weeks and I'm craving meatballs." Once again, no mention of cancer, no funding for research or any useful services.

So, for the next couple of months I guess we get to read a bunch of updates that sound like a whole lot of women are in the throes of pregnancy cravings.

I'm generally all for increasing awareness, especially if it's aimed at younger people who don't think much about breast cancer - assuming breast cancer is a disease of their mothers or grandmothers. And I'm also in favor of having fun! However, these stupid little viral games have bugged me from the start. I believe that if you're going to have an awareness campaign, you really ought to provide something useful - you know, information or funding or something.

Also, I think that any awareness campaign should not be hurtful to the people who actually have that disease. These viral games, while they may seem like harmless fun to many, actually touch on some potentially very painful issues for those of us who live with breast cancer.

And this one is particularly painful. Most younger women who get breast cancer (or any type of cancer) will have to deal with fertility issues. Chemotherapy and other drugs often cause instant, premature menopause. Sometimes the menopause is only temporary, sometimes not. Even if it's just temporary, the years spent fighting our disease may have been the years we needed to start a family.

The reality of cancer is not charming or titillating. Cancer is ugly. Cancer is not a game. Many of us go on and live good, fulfilled lives. But cancer is ugly. Our bodies are cut and rebuilt, mangled beyond our recognition. We sit and feel our libido drain from our bodies - yes, it is hard to get excited about sex when you feel like puking. We may suffer joint and muscle pain. Our hands and feet may burn, tingle, or become numb. We lose function of limbs, organs, and sometimes our brains. We get lost in the fog of "chemobrain" - losing our ability to complete sentences, remember, or understand. We lose work because we're too sick, or maybe just because we make other people nervous - being the perfect picture of their deepest fears. We watch our childbearing years pass while taking various drugs that we hope will save our lives.

And that's for those of us who are lucky enough to survive. (and that's just the physical losses - not even getting into the depression and fears)

I'm someone who tends to focus on what I have, not what I've lost. I've lived with the reality of breast cancer for 10 years now, and I have a great life that's full of laughter, love, and fun. But it is also filled with loss - loss caused by breast cancer.

My body is not the body I lived with for most of my life. I'm cut and pasted. I have large areas of my body that have little or no feeling at all - stomach, breast, part of my hips, upper part of my arm. I'm constantly on the lookout for signs of lympedema - swelling of the arm or torso for which there is no cure. I still suffer from a slight aphasia, the result of lingering effects of chemotherapy on my brain. I suffer weakness and loss of range of motion for which I continue to struggle to compensate. I consider myself lucky that, unlike many others, I did not suffer any permanent heart damage from my drugs. And I knew that after so many years of life-saving drugs, trying to get pregnant in my mid-40s might be theoretically possible, but a great longshot. I knew that I would likely be able to respond to the question, "Do you have children?" by saying, "No, I had cancer instead."

But I am someone who tends to focus on what I have, not on what I've lost. So, I relish in the things I can do. I can run - far. I can climb; I can swim; I can windsurf; I can ski. I can write and try to encourage others to find all the things they can do - and then do a little more. I can teach others to be more self-sufficient, to be strong enough to do the things that matter to them. And while I may sometimes hide my tears behind dark glasses at the beach while I watch the young families with envy, I can be thrilled at the good fortune of my friends. I can be a great aunt - the one who's always fun & encouraging. I can do and be many wonderful things, but I will never be some cute, sexy young thing with a perfect body wearing a sexy bra, and I will never be 12 weeks and craving meatballs.

I am 0 weeks and am craving nothing - because I had cancer instead.

I don't want to discourage anyone from having fun. Write silly, titillating FB posts. Just don't use my body and my losses for your fun. Please - it's just too painful.

And if you want to do something for cancer awareness, do something that matters, something that might actually help. Donate to an organization that provides free mammograms to low-income women. Give money or time to a group that helps fund research. (if you need suggestions for good programs, ask me) Volunteer to drive people to their chemo appointments. Write your state representatives to re-instate funding for programs for cancer screening for low-income individuals - most states, like NY, have drastically slashed funding for such needed programs. Or, the next time your friend/sister/colleague whines about getting a mammogram or going to her gyno, tell her to shut up and go! Invite your friend to start an exercise program with you - we know that regular moderate exercise reduces many cancers, especially breast cancer.

For now, I'll get on my bike and ride - that's one thing that I can do.

Julie