Since we are surrounded by so great a cloud of witnesses, …let us run with perseverance.
I haven’t taken the time to reflect much on this whole marathon-training process since it began in late April. All the usual words to describe such an undertaking apply, I suppose. Hard? Yes. Challenging? Yes. Rewarding? Goes without saying.
Two weeks ago, halfway through a three-hour run, I was winding my way through the Newbury salt flats on a quiet back road. Gulls and pipers could be spotted at random—some riding the tidal currents, others floating overhead in the early morning sunlight. No other person in sight. Apart from the peep of an occasional bird, the only sounds to be heard were my breathing and the rhythmic steps of my sneakers on the pavement. At that moment, an unlikely thought popped into my head—“I love this.”
I never expected to enjoy running. Never. I never expected to succeed in running, much less enjoy it. Prior to this training process, I had never run more than a mile at one time, and even that was for some kind of a farce of a high-school fitness test.
So imagine my surprise to discover that running is not only possible, but even enjoyable. Of course there’s a feeling of accomplishment after setting a new record of time or distance. But it also comes with just getting out of bed and forcing myself to run on an overcast morning, and then feeling energized all day; or looking at myself in the mirror and feeling good, or at least better, about the way I look—and being motivated to continue the good work already begun. And it’s about having a new community of people with whom I now share a common experience.
As strange as this is going to sound to anyone outside of this situation, I have come to be grateful for Julie’s cancer.
If Julie had not gotten cancer, I would have spent most of this summer sitting on my butt wallowing in self-pity, feeling bad about the way I looked, and preaching to others to get out there and accomplish their dreams while squandering my own potential. Instead, I have been motivated to structure my sleep schedule, work schedule, meal schedule and free time around my running schedule.
If Sandy had not gotten cancer, Julie would have never started running. Instead, when her friend broke the news to her, Julie’s response was to inconvenience her own life to such a degree that her friend would receive this gesture of empathy.
If Julie had not responded to her friend’s cancer in such a way, I would not have learned to take that unspoken cue from a friend. Imitation is the highest form of flattery—and it also can be a highly personal and deeply meaningful expression of love.
If Julie had not taken the cue from her friend, then none of us would have taken the cue from her. I say “us” because what we’ve dubbed “Team Cancer” has taken shape organically, person by person deciding to respond in kind. There is now a group of of at least six of us who have undertaken something we previously thought was not possible (and certainly not enjoyable) because of one person’s cancer diagnosis.
When I finished my 14-mile run this morning, I did what has become standard practice after completing another long run and texted to Julie the latest accomplishment. She responded with a simple, “Yeah for you!”
Her words stopped me. “Yeah for you!” I knew she meant this as a note of encouragement, but to celebrate my accomplishment alone—as good as it felt (which, I’m not going to lie, it did!) still somehow did not capture the breadth of what I was feeling.
After reflecting a moment on the entire training process, and remembering why I had undertaken this whole crazy endeavor, I responded. “Yeah for us. I strangely felt very much a part of something while I was running this morning.”
