running
the five rounds of chemo have been taking a toll on my body. slowly but surely, almost so insignificantly i haven't noticed it much at all, signs that the drugs are killing more than just the cancer rise to the surface. there is a disconnect between my brain and my body. i see people running or biking and i think i can do it myself. i think i am where i was last summer, the summer before, or even in january. as recently as december i was coming home from work and going for a run before cooking dinner and relaxing, two or three nights a week. i even think there might have been a day or two where i went for a run during work and then went climbing in the evening, saving dinner for as late as eight or nine. and somewhere in this thick skull of mine i seem to think i am still that same person.
the truth is, i'm not.
i woke up this morning and saw the sunshine and blue sky and wanted to go for a run. i used to run eight miles almost every sunday. it was my church, my time for pounding it out for an hour or more and getting myself straightened out. since today was sunday, i thought, why not try a little run. i knew it would be slow, and i knew it wouldn't be pretty. all the travels and being sick and having chemo have kept me from establishing any sort of fitness routine. so i set out to see what would happen. i shuffle along at a snail's pace. the cold lingering in my chest causes wheezes to escape. i'm sure that in my skinny state i look like someone who might run a lot, but i cannot fool anyone with my speed or stamina. my form, i'm sure, is fantastic, but it doesn't change the fact that a mile nearly did me in. and with every step along that mile, i have to fight my heart breaking. every single step. it breaks.
i've realized in the past week or so that i have arrived at a point where i have difficulty crying. this time a year ago, i cried every single day. beautiful things made me cry. the thought that i might actually have beat it made me cry. being tired made me cry. everything. now, the only time i seem to be able to do it is when i am angry.
and today i just couldn't do it for some reason. i guess i've gotten to the point where there has to be some semblance of acceptance of the cards i've been dealt. at least i could run a mile. being able to do that didn't make me angry. i stopped, walked for a while, and ran the rest of the way home. two miles in a half hour. it doesn't make me angry anymore, and it doesn't make me cry. it just makes me sad for a while, that i just can't shake the part of me that thinks i can still do it. and sad that there's part of me that wishes i didn't remember how it felt to do it, that way i wouldn't waste time thinking, and comparing. then, i move on. i sat in the sun and drank some water and stretched my ridiculously tight limbs out.
so, even though i kind of wanted them today, i couldn't make the tears come, even though i thought the running i can't do would do it.
just like the chemo taking its toll on my body in unseen ways, i guess mentally i am changing a bit, too, learning to grow with this and live with the disease. i don't want to accept it as part of me, because frankly, i don't want it, but i think it needs to happen in order for progress to continue. it is a strange path to walk. in trying to deal with it i disappoint and amaze myself every single day.
the truth is, i'm not.
i woke up this morning and saw the sunshine and blue sky and wanted to go for a run. i used to run eight miles almost every sunday. it was my church, my time for pounding it out for an hour or more and getting myself straightened out. since today was sunday, i thought, why not try a little run. i knew it would be slow, and i knew it wouldn't be pretty. all the travels and being sick and having chemo have kept me from establishing any sort of fitness routine. so i set out to see what would happen. i shuffle along at a snail's pace. the cold lingering in my chest causes wheezes to escape. i'm sure that in my skinny state i look like someone who might run a lot, but i cannot fool anyone with my speed or stamina. my form, i'm sure, is fantastic, but it doesn't change the fact that a mile nearly did me in. and with every step along that mile, i have to fight my heart breaking. every single step. it breaks.
i've realized in the past week or so that i have arrived at a point where i have difficulty crying. this time a year ago, i cried every single day. beautiful things made me cry. the thought that i might actually have beat it made me cry. being tired made me cry. everything. now, the only time i seem to be able to do it is when i am angry.
and today i just couldn't do it for some reason. i guess i've gotten to the point where there has to be some semblance of acceptance of the cards i've been dealt. at least i could run a mile. being able to do that didn't make me angry. i stopped, walked for a while, and ran the rest of the way home. two miles in a half hour. it doesn't make me angry anymore, and it doesn't make me cry. it just makes me sad for a while, that i just can't shake the part of me that thinks i can still do it. and sad that there's part of me that wishes i didn't remember how it felt to do it, that way i wouldn't waste time thinking, and comparing. then, i move on. i sat in the sun and drank some water and stretched my ridiculously tight limbs out.
so, even though i kind of wanted them today, i couldn't make the tears come, even though i thought the running i can't do would do it.
just like the chemo taking its toll on my body in unseen ways, i guess mentally i am changing a bit, too, learning to grow with this and live with the disease. i don't want to accept it as part of me, because frankly, i don't want it, but i think it needs to happen in order for progress to continue. it is a strange path to walk. in trying to deal with it i disappoint and amaze myself every single day.
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