on limitations and the new normal

there are days when i don't ever have to think about my cancer. and then there are days when i cannot help but spend minutes, maybe hours, thinking about it. the past two days have brought me multiple reasons to look back and look forward concerning my cancer and my new normal. i'm really lucky and happy to have had these two days. i went into them expecting litle and reaped huge benefit and insight. and i know tomorrow's run will give me more reason to celebrate and reward my acheivements and savor my victories. because, when it comes down to it, i really am quite lucky to be here.

sometimes i wonder whether all the hope i clung to during my most difficult months is what got me through. is it possible that someone else, given the exact diagnosis and prognosis, but lacking hope, would have had a different outcome? despite or in addition to medicine's best efforts, perhaps it is my spirit, and that of those around me and with whom i closely identified, that propelled me down this road. and i don't want to sound like i am taking my success for granted as a given; there is still time ahead with the waiting and the watching and as much as every ounce of my being wants to believe whole-heartdly that i am out of the woods, there is indeed part of me that worries about there being more. i guess i am trying my hardest now to live my life as fully as possible.

sometimes it is tough to align my thinking process with the "new" normal. sometimes i am feeling so positive, so full of hope, that i nearly convince myself that there is some "old" normal left in me. today i headed down to fair hill maryland to participate in a cx race for the first time. i've found myself surrounded by an incredibly supportive community and there are days when i feel so good and believe with all my heart that i can somehow manage to "get back" - maybe not to "old" fitness levels, but to a "new" one that slightly resembles the old. participate, come in not first but mid pack or back. but get out and do it and live and breathe and embrace it all as part of this life that i am so fortunate to have. today it was cold and windy, cross weather, all we needed was some rain or snow to make it official. the course was fast, save for a sand pit that resembled a beach at low tide (vast). i wasn't nervous. i was cold. the start went off and i just puttered along at my own pace. but i learned that as soon as i turned into the wind, i couldn't breathe. this is probably the case for everyone, but when i miss a breath it takes a bit more to catch up. i was soon operating at such a deficit that my body became unhappy. a number of things happen. i am telling myself a combination of the following statements:

if you can't breathe in the cold, you're not going to be able to ski. holy shit, they better not have taken skiing away from me. you have to put your head down and finish this thing even if you are lapped twice. finish the thing. you beat cancer you shithead, you can do this. your body is telling you something here. a lap is good. this is a beginning. baby steps. you are starting over. you had to use a walker for a couple of days just months ago. you cannot do this. you'll never do this again. they've taken it away from you. they've given so much to you. you'd better be able to freaking ski. you never should have done this. you should do this more often.

on and on for the minutes it took me to complete my lap, this cacauphony rang through my head. a mix of old and new. in the end i had to give in. in the cold i simply could not get enough air to provide my body the oxygen it needed to do the job. it broke my heart. i hate quitting. that's one way of looking at it. old. new is that i had the guts to even go out there in the first place. the old me would never try something with such a high possibility of losing. now it does not matter. i didn't lose. i was there, i felt like i could do it, and now i am one step closer to doing it completely. there are days when the road levels out and i can see as far as possible behind and in front of me and it all makes sense. i'm not saying it was easy to be there, knowing how i used to be and facing more uncertainty in front of me. but this thing happened and it isn't always going to go as i had planned or how it used to go in the past.

but i can hang onto hope and work my ass off. that, i know for sure. and in the off chance hope is what got me through the cancer then finding peace with my physical ability will be easy. hope is a strong thing, and i will never, ever lose it.

so, rewinding to friday evening and the beginning of my weekend full of reflection and learning and living, i was pretty lucky to be standing where i got to stand, talking for a moment about biking and running and being healthy; three young cancer survivors who are very much alive looking and sounding the part of healthy and happy. spread the word. cancer doesn't always mean death. it means hope and drive and rebirth and new beginnings and adventure and gratitude and grace - so many things i never dreamed myself capable of possessing.

enough. time to go to sleep. i have a new PR to set in the morning.