why i livestrong, and why i'll continue to do so

here's the thing.  i have more in common with lance armstrong than most other people reading this blog.  sure, you might ride a bike faster than me, but lance and i share a common tie that binds us together in a way i, for one, would love to rescind.  i'd love to know nothing of his life.  but we've both looked into a person's eyes as they told us "you have cancer".  the feeling in my stomach, the beating of my heart, the sweat on my palms, and the dryness in my mouth - i have felt it more than once.  lance was lucky.  he had a terrible prognosis and came out on the other side.  me, i haven't really had an "after" cancer.  but we've both trodden the same path for at least part of our lives. 

when i first got sick and faced three debilitating chemo treatments spread across nine weeks, not knowing whether it would work or not, but knowing it would make me even sicker than i was to start, i read "it's not about the bike".  i went to the livestrong website.  and this is what i learned:  you are a survivor from the moment the doctor tells you about the cancer.  some people might not adhere to this, but for me, it is precisely what i needed to know in order to face the coming months.  it is about doing what you need to do, turning yourself inside out, being selfish, leaning on others, and taking everything one day at a time until you can be finished with the treatments and surgeries and once again find yourself back on the bike, so to speak.  normal life feels a million miles away, yet you can touch it with your bare hand - the paradox is wild.  and anything you can do to get yourself through the treatments is what you have to do.  and, importantly, knowing that if you've done all you can do and it isn't enough, there is a way to let go with just as much honor and grace.

so.  i made myself at least go for a walk every single day.  i went into chemo with a smile on my face and proclaimed i could feel the cancer dying.  i ate broccoli and chicken in copious amounts.  i ate even more in apple turnovers.  i took my anti nausea meds and steroids.  during radiation i climbed onto my bike and spun my legs, just so my mind wouldn't spin out of control.  i went on a vacation and immersed myself in my family.  i laughed.  i cried.  i showed off my scars and befriended nurses.  and i laughed some more. 

amazingly, this has somehow managed to go on for almost six years now.  but i do firmly believe i wouldn't be here, in the extent that i am today, without livestrong.  without lance.  forget about his contested wins of the tour de france.  what he said in his book spoke volumes to me when i needed it most.  so, they can take his wins away and award them to the guy that finished last in those tours because maybe, just maybe, the guy bringing up the rear was the only one not doping.  people can point and say "i told you so".  but i ask everyone this:  do just one good thing.  one.  good.  thing.  one that helps millions of people find their way, helps them find a home among strangers in a terrifying world.  because that's what cancer feels like - like being terribly lost and alone.  and livestrong gives me a home, a roof over my head.

so i'll keep his name on the wall and look at it and remember that evening, when three young cancer survivors stood toe-to-toe.  from afar, we could have been siblings with our brown hair and blue eyes; but instead, for a couple of seconds, we were just three people who like to run and ride our bikes, saying hi to each other, because we're part of a really shitty club.  but a really great one, too.