Choose your own Adventure.

Winter is a difficult month for me. If I were a bear, I'd be hibernating like a boss, sleeping in and through the day, living off my own fat stores.

But I'm not one of those lucky hibernating mammals. Just like you, I am oh, so human. And right now, I find myself mired in what has become an annual struggle - my health is mediocre, my motivation levels are low, and sometimes, forward progress seems more than a few steps a head of me, backsliding on an icy sidewalk.

On Thursday night, I attended a panel presentation by five women - strong women leading the way in various aspects of the outdoor industry. A theme emerged: know your truths, and live your adventure. Georgina Miranda, the CEO and Founder of SheVentures, spoke about her truths and it was all I could do to keep from crying because nobody ever has it easy, but some people push through their barriers and radiate this immense confidence and self-assurance that I wish I could harness. I left the event with a new hat and a profound sense of discomfort in my own fear of pursuing true adventure.

Adventure means different things to different people. For me, it means taking a chance on a situation or circumstance without knowing what might happen. For the past few years, I have been adventure-averse. I am certainly not complacent in my life, but I have let fear of the unknown dictate my existence.

Now, finally, I have Zero interest in continuing to live this way. I am still fighting my fear of change, of taking chances, but I am not living my truth, which might be the worst way to live. My Truth - embracing the unknown; pushing myself to my physical limits; finding joy in the small beauties surrounding everything. Caring for myself. Spending as much time as possible out of doors. Loving more than I knew I could! And running; always running. (this is sort of, kind of, technically still a running blog, right?)

In this heart of winter darkness, I am committing to a change. I am choosing adventure - choosing to keep moving forward. If you want to help me, I am looking for inspiration and maybe a training buddy or two. I'm going to build up my physical strength and my endurance. I want to be able to literally haul myself over a 5-ft tall fence, which I couldn't do last summer (Spartan Race = humbled). I want to run a 15-mile trail race in June and spend the rest of the summer enjoying the high-alpine trails I've never explored.

For some reason, I'm still here, still kicking and screaming my way through this life. The past few years haven't been wasted, but they haven't been particularly fulfilling, either. With everything going on in our world, now, why not take this opportunity to define some dreams and then go after them?


End of page. To choose a life lived fully, turn to page 95. {shuffles through to page 95...}

Days like these

Nobody told me there would be days when the sun stays in bed. Wakes up, sure, but pulls the covers far overhead to keep the waking from overcoming the sleeping, too quickly. Days where the grey wind makes its way down wide city streets, pushing hearty cyclists either forward or back and bundled-up pedestrians deeper into their winter puffies, muted tones moving along like leaves on a mission.

Of course, this would be the day I return to the Windy City - this the day I stand with others grasping for our best memories of our best friend. The last time I was here, more than a year ago, was for a wedding. This time, of course, a funeral. Surprisingly, in one week, my heart hasn't stopped hurting; this void a new, tangible addition to my day-to-day.

The nature of my grief manifests itself as the pain of my cracked ribs, cracked from the car crash I lived through the day before I learned my friend had died. I can't inhale deeply without pain radiating across the left side of my body and down to my elbow. Which is poor timing, as I would like to be able to inhale to fuel the sobbing I occasionally give in to. But my heart hurts; why shouldn't my ribs hurt, as well?

I don't know how to process this type of grief. I know broken hearts, but those crimes' perpetrators still live on, somewhere, oblivious to the small scars they caused. This is a different beast, altogether. This brokenness won't be salved by online creeping and reassurances that his new woman isn't really all that attractive. For heartaches past, I've numbed the pain with sugar, caffeine, exercise, cigarettes, whiskey, repeat. But I'm learning that self-medication isn't the best option for me. I haven't had a cigarette in nearly 10 years, and I can't hold my liquor like I used to (nor do I want to). Caffeine makes me anxious and shaky, and while I still run and love it, that whole rib thing. My fail safes have failed for now, and I'm left questioning best next steps in light of these considerations.

Will your memorial service bring some solace or only more pain? I'll know one way or the other, in a few hours. For now, I'm so nervous and so close to my edge. And I stupidly put on mascara this morning. At least some bit of me will be running today.

My dear friend - thank you for being a part of my world, however briefly. Thank you for all you brought to this world and the impact you had on everyone you met. My heart breaks further to think that you didn't know how deeply you were loved by so many. But I pray that you've found some relief, wherever you may be. And I know you'll always be with me in some way, riding on that wind and pushing me to adventure and release of inhibitions. You're totally right - they're not always a good thing.

I love you; I'll miss you; I wish I could have said goodbye.

Three-mile run and a Giant turkey sandwich

Bald eagle on the trail.
Hard to see, but (s)he's there!

Three weeks ago, I ran one mile for the first time in an embarrassingly long time. It was short, and it was slow, but it happened. I went for a run. Over the past three weeks, I have run a few more times - still slowly, still not very far.

I first started running in highschool, when I was 15 or 16. I have never been fast, but I do consider myself a Runner. Running has been many things to me over the years: the enabler of my eating disorder in highschool; a way to lose weight and forget about my broken heart in college; proof of the resiliency of my body after cancer; and recently, a faster way to explore the trails and wild areas of my beloved Colorado. Also, and most importantly, it has always been my primary method of decompression. I turn to running in times of stress and distress, and it is perhaps the only thing I still rely on for my own health and happiness, as various other strategies and coping mechanisms have come and gone again.

I have had a number of running-breaks over the years, most notably during that whole cancer thing. But I slowly jogged my way back to health, and even went and limped through a marathon two years after finishing two years of cancer treatment. Somehow, I hobbled through another marathon, a year and a half later. So the last marathon I ran was in April, 2012. I have run a few more trail races since then, of which I am most proud of finishing the 2014 Imogene Pass Run.

In 2014, though, the strangest thing happened - I got a corporate desk job. I launched into a career with one of the biggest companies in Denver, blindly assuming that this is what I really wanted, what I was meant to do! Never mind that I left Boston, DC and Chicago to get away from high-stress, high-pressure companies and the individuals who value work as the end instead of as the means to an end. I have been at this job for almost three years, and I have begun to draw a few correlations between that job and my overall health and happiness. Let's just say that I believe my job has had a direct, negative impact on virtually every aspect of my Health.

But this post is about running. I'll save the story of the sad, stressed and sick Caroline for another day. Today, I ran straight through for 30 minutes. Well, to say I "ran" is incredibly generous. I felt like I was shuffling along a dirt trail, barely more than jogging. And yet, I was surrounded by prairie dogs, prairie hawks and a glorious bald eagle, and there were no other humans on the trail. For the past three weeks, I have had to come to terms with the fact that I am truly and unavoidably starting over. All of my Healths - mental, emotional, physical, etc. - have slowly been destroyed over the past three years. Perhaps not least of all, I have barely run in over a year. Finally, sadly, I have reached my rock bottom. The good news is that I didn't end up in the hospital, but I think I would have, soon.

I am changing my life. I am putting myself first. Among many other things, this means that I am running again. Slowly, and for only a few miles at a time, I am running again. I refuse to give up on myself and the "being-aliveness" that I love so dearly, and I will continue to put one foot in front of the other and remember to stop and take a picture of the nesting bald eagle because how often do you see that on a run??

Stay tuned because I have a whole lot more to share as I head down this particular life-trail. I am so scared, but I am so excited because, finally, I am going to acknowledge and prioritize the one person I can never escape - myself.

This is the most Me I can be.

Sunday afternoon musings - hopped up on chai and sunshine

What have I been doing these past five months? Clearly, I haven't been writing. I was working and hiking and running and backpacking and wedding-ing (my brothers'), and generally doing lots of things that were not writing. I have also been trying to heal. As I alluded to in my last post, my body was in sorry shape, earlier this year. I went to Italy in January, and on my return, everything seemed to spiral out of control for me, health-wise. I started losing weight because I had chronic diarrhea and extreme fatigue. I was falling asleep at my desk at work and Lord knows I couldn't run. By May, I had met with a naturopath and was trying to not eat grains and not eat sugar and slowly get back into exercise and gradually get over my fatigue.

The thing is, my health seems to operate as one of those Whack-a-Mole games. You can only whack one mole at a time, and as soon as you do, there's another mole waiting to be whacked, and another and another and you inevitably miss one or two and then the game is over and you may or may not have hit enough moles to get a few tickets spat out at you that can be redeemed for something Made in China. But I digress. My gut is healing (*Knock Wood!!). It no longer starts bubbling after every single thing I eat. I have gained five or six pounds, so I'm about back to a normal weight. But the moles: my hemoglobin count is falling.

Yesterday, I went for a pretty stout hike, and the mountain nearly broke me. My generation has embraced the notion of collecting experiences versus things, and we share everything cool with everybody who follows us on social media. Don't get me wrong - I do it too. But yesterday, it occurred to me that if I posted the selfie I took after finally making it to the saddle between the mountains, as the sun was setting and the mountains and the plains were both glowing, if I shared that moment with my social media world, it would be wrong. It would be a pretty picture of me almost on top of a mountain seemingly celebrating four miles and 2,500 feet of vert! Totally badass! And yet, that was one of the most brutal hikes I've ever forced myself through. I did it, but only because I would have felt even worse if I had turned back. But for four miles and 2,500 feet, I couldn't breathe; I felt like I could barely move.

I've come a long way since the end of May, but all the sneaky moles that pop up keep reminding me that I am sailing uncharted waters. None of how I feel is normal, and I haven't yet found any sort of precedent for these sicknesses. But it is all I can do to just keep pushing onwards and upwards. Even if I have to take a break to let my heart rate chill out every few minutes; even if I have to remind myself to drink water and stay fueled. I am not ready to turn around or just quit because if I have learned one thing from my years here, the view from up high is Always worth it.

Here's to another five months of living!!

A long time coming

I have halfheartedly sat down to write an update on here a number of times over the past few months. Something always comes up to keep me from finishing more than a paragraph. I'm braindead after work; The Voice is back on; the sheer bulk of thoughts and experiences I want to share is overwhelming. How on earth will I condense everything into one post when there's so much I need to get out onto the Internet? But for the sake of my sanity and hopefully to help someone else out there, I am committing to starting to write again. I realize that not every post needs to reveal some epic, thought-provoking "Come to Jesus" moment, though I am certainly working through plenty of those. In writing for a public forum though, I think the most important part is to stay focused and stay true to your purpose. For a long time, I had an easily defined purpose - to share my cancer journey. My cancer journey is no longer the focal point of my life (thank goodness), but my experiences as a survivor, I think, constitute a decent reason to keep writing publicly.

Here's my plan, and here's why: I'm going to keep writing, and I am going to keep writing about my survival. I hereby dedicate my blog to writing about running and hiking and living as much of my life outdoors as I can, despite the fact that my body is close to the edge of wrecked. We have all survived something, and the most thrilling part about it is that we continue to survive and get to enjoy this phenomenal world in which we live!

Cancer destroyed my body's secondary immune system. My blood can no longer produce a specific type of b-cells, immunoglobulins. Various doctors and specialists ranging from immunologists to gastroenterologists to the naturopath I'm currently seeing have all tested my blood extensively to determine the extent of my deficiency. They all agree: I don't make any immuoglobulins. Diagnosis? Hypogammaglobulinemia. Gezundheit. This, they agree on, once each has run the exact same test and seen the exact same results. After which point, their agreement ends. It's pretty amazing and strangely universal in Western medicine - medical tunnel vision. "I specialize in this one thing and so will treat the symptoms you are experiencing for this one thing." So, the immunologist monitors the immunoglobulin replacement therapy I receive at home, monthly. And the GI guy monitors the steroids he prescribed for "nonspecific inflammation" of the intestinal system. And my new naturopath is at least looking at my entire system and trying to figure out why my liver enzymes are elevated while my blood glucose levels are totally normal and my cortisol levels are off the charts and in the meantime, I just desperately want to stop pooping everything out of me that I put into me. More than that, I want to run a full trail marathon in Moab in November, and I'm genuinely not sure my body can pull it off. 

With all of that on my mind, I'm going to write for other people to read about it! In case you've ever wondered what it's like to dive into the GAPS diet and try to consume little to few carbohydrates while training for a summer's worth of backpacking with a potential trail marathon cherry on top, this is the spot for you! There's no way I'll be able to write daily, but I commit to a bit more regularity. How's that for just vague enough?

This will be exciting. Hopefully, it will be cathartic. Even more hopefully, at the end of this grand experiment, my gut will have healed more and my True Health will be back and here to stay. Thanks in advance for your support and for your patronage!!

How many lives do we live in a lifetime?

Nine years ago, today, I wrote my first blog post at http://carolineb-log.blogspot.com. My (B)log - forum for my fears, frustrations and exalted successes during my treatment for acute lymphocytic leukemia. Nine years was a lifetime ago, and yet, as many survivors might tell you, there are few sensations like the passage of time after a personal tragedy. Undoubtedly we are living, growing, forging a new path through unfamiliar woods. And yet I can't shake the feeling that I was stuck for so long and have only very recently begun to develop into my adult self.

When you are diagnosed with cancer at age 20, you are robbed of the opportunity to mature in tandem with your peers. You miss out on so many familiar experiences, both positive and negative - college house parties infused with that unmistakable jungle-juice aroma of college student invincibility. Mac and cheese and two-buck Chuck during those few lean post-college years, busting ass at whatever job you have and then closing down the bars that night, celebrating the little bit of independence you've eked out since graduation. Love and mistakes and heartbreak and the mostly inconsequential relationships sparked through Tinder. Finally, a salaried job and the sense that you might finally, maybe, be starting to Make It. Life in your 20s. It is different from any other decade - though I suppose all decades have their own distinct flavor.

This week was my nine-year "Cancerversary," the anniversary of my diagnosis. I have spent the past few weeks pestered by an intermittent pensiveness, occasionally considering where I am and whether this is where I want to be. First and foremost, I am Alive. There: the crux of my internal struggles of self identity and accomplishment. If you are reading this, you, too, are alive. Do you realize what that means, every single day? Do you inhale deeply when you step outside and see the sun rising once more, unbidden, in the east? Most days, I do. Most days, I wake up and am awestruck for a moment that here I am, again. It was only maybe two or three years ago when I realized that I could plan for a future. I had spent years just existing in the present, afraid of more disappointment when my plans would inevitably shatter.

The return of my confidence in myself has been so incremental, so snail's-pace slow that at times I still question what I am missing, what I must be doing wrong. I survived Cancer! I can do Anything! And mostly, I'm pretty sure I can do anything, but that isn't the point. The point is whether or not I am doing the right thing. Not necessarily right in the moral or ethical sense, but what is right for me. I am not so naive as to think this plight is unique to me or to cancer survivors. Most individuals struggle with these questions of self and direction, and I'm sure many people never come to an answer.

My adventures and experiences from the past nine years have taught me strange things, broadly. I have learned that our lives are continuations of days. One leads into the next and the next and that sun will continue to rise no matter what our human selves do to ourselves and each other. I have also learned that our bodies and our souls are more resilient than we tend to give them credit for. My body might be broken, but it will still begrudgingly oblige when I ask it to perform ridiculous feats of athleticism. I have learned that at the end of the day, regardless of friends and family and lovers alike, you have to be at peace with yourself because you are your sole biggest supporter in everything. And this seems like the hardest lesson to put into practice.

We are beautifully, tragically, amazingly human, which classification does not lend itself well to ease of living. Life is difficult. Every day, we are surrounded by struggles - private, public, global. Every once in a while, we assess our own lives and ask ourselves if what we are doing is meaningful, sustainable, worth it. In 10 months I will turn 30. Gasp! I'm so young! And the thought of quitting my stable, stressful corporate job and trekking across Spain keeps rolling around in my brain like a marble whose texture enchants me but I don't really know how to play the game and so don't know what to do with besides roll it around. Confidence in myself and my future self. Toss the damn marble and see where it rolls. I am not fully the adult-Caroline, but nine years after heading down this road, I get to keep growing and breathing and learning that we won't get anywhere exciting without taking some crazy chances. I pray for the confidence and faith to discover what living truly means, for me. 

Survival requires tenacity. And so much more.

I am eight and one-quarter years out from my diagnosis with acute lymphocytic leukemia. By medical standards and definitions, I am "cured." As part of my treatment plan those many years ago, I signed up for a clinical trial that included follow-up for a number of years post-treatment. I don't know how many years they follow us for, but I do know that once a year, I get a phone call from some research assistant at the University of Chicago Comprehensive Cancer Center wherein she asks whether or not I am "still alive?" The first time I received one of those calls, I was flabbergasted. "That's all you want to know?" I queried. But they didn't care about the extensive long-term side effects I was dealing with, just whether the drugs or the cancer or something else had killed me. Maybe the side effect issue is part of another clinical trial I haven't heard about yet.

I haven't really written about cancer in a few years. I actually don't really even think about it all that much. My medical issues have morphed into separate demons, and cancer has become so peripheral that it is almost part of a past life. That isn't to say I don't think about the medical issues because I do. I think about them all the time. I think about them every time I eat a meal or a snack because my stomach gurgles ominously, warning me that in about 15 minutes I'm going to have to find a bathroom. But anyway, over the past week, I have read a few articles that women have written about their own survivorship. One of them, by Suleika Jaouad, you may have already read. She's a celebrity, basically: a strikingly beautiful, young woman who writes about her cancer experiences for The New York Times. I haven't read any of her articles about her life as a twenty-something with leukemia. I didn't want to. But a friend linked to this specific article on Facebook with the caption, "Yes Yes Yes." So, I clicked through. What I read saddened me, more than anything else. She is much more eloquent and honest with herself than I was when I was a year out of treatment. At that time, I still believed I could charge forward with my life, break down walls, inspire others to push through adversity.

My life slowed to an unexpected and drawn-out pause. I lost everything that I once believed I was: driven; motivated by goals; fearless; powerful; confident. Yes, I had a remarkable appreciation for the beauty of living day-to-day, but I also felt there was a significant part of me that wasn't realized. I am grateful for the time I had living at home, and I appreciate so many things about my years at Starbucks and Hyatt. But I wasn't hungry for anything. I was drifting, and it was brutal. It was even worse when I realized that that piece of me was missing, and I had no idea how to either get it back or create it from scratch.

Suleika is barely in her first year post-treatment. Hopefully she will adjust better than I did; she is already heading down her path of recreation. I am seven years post-treatment, and I feel like I am barely getting a handle on my hunger, on my future. That drive is there; that burning in my chest to just Rule the world I inhabit, is Back. I wrote in a post on here, months ago, that there are no absolutes, no black and white situations. Maybe that isn't quite true: You Absolutely Have to believe in yourself. You Have to Want to live and Want to experience everything that this world has to offer. If you hesitate or forget or are dragged from that living river of excitement and emotion, it is its own struggle to find your way back. But we are resilient. We are tenacious. We are all survivors of something, and we are all fighting to find our ways in the world.

It may have taken me longer than some to dive back into myself and what I want from my life, but I am finally beginning to figure it out, once more. And I am not giving up.

The tortured adventures of a troubled tummy

We take for granted so many things in our daily lives. Breathing normally; living pain-free; walking. Here is another big one: eating. Most people don't think about what they eat. They don't consider how sugars are broken down by enzymes in saliva, that digestion begins before you even take a bite of food. Sometimes food makes a person sick, and that person becomes immediately conscious of what he or she ate, regretting that last chicken wing or week-old soup languishing in the fridge. But generally, food is our friend and we love it.

Recently, in my world, I have been made painfully and frequently aware that an "iron constitution" is a luxury. In about mid-January, my digestion started going goofy. My digestion is always off, so I didn't pay it much mind. But then I traveled to Japan for a ski trip. The food we ate in Japan, on the island of Hokkaido, was amazing and different and so deliciously Japanese. Giant bowls of Ramen; skewers of beef and lamb cooked over a bed of coals directly in front of us; a grilled rice ball, slathered in miso and stuffed with bonito... And quite literally the best fish I have ever had and will probably ever have in my life. We went to one sushi restaurant where the tuna sashimi melted in my mouth. And have you ever tried actual wasabi root? What a crazy experience!

Alas, despite my heart and head loving it, my gut did not approve of all the exotic and international foods I was consuming. During and following our trip, I basically stopped digesting anything properly. My symptoms became progressively worse to the point where I was waking up in the middle of the night with calf cramps so bad my calves were sore for the next few days. That's when I started on the serious electrolyte replacement - it has helped a lot. Don't get dehydrated.

I also realized this: I am lazy. Or jaded or frustrated or over it when it comes to medical issues. But the way I've been feeling, the detrimental effects these GI issues have been having on my body, these things are ridiculous. I want to be able to take eating food for granted again. I want to be able to run for longer than 20 minutes and not be wrecked. I want to be able to ski an entire run without stopping because my lower legs are cramping up again in my boots. So, I am slowly working with a GI doc here, trying to force them to want to figure out why this is happening instead of just prescribing me steroids to "help the inflammation" in my gut.

Ready yourself, here's the moral of this tale: Take Care of Yourself. We are given one life in this incredible world where, for some reason, the sun continues to rise every morning. I can't tell you not to take things for granted, because we all fall into that complacency. But I can implore you not to ignore when something feels off or wrong. We know our bodies better than anyone else, and only we can take the first steps to fixing them. Also, take care of your gut. It is way more important than you probably realize.

I will still be running, even though it isn't as far as I want right now. But I have a crazy trail run scheduled for August and a whole spring and summer full of adventures ahead. It's time to take control of these problems that have been crippling me for so long. Cheers, salud, go live your life and love it! And if you know of a GI doc who is more curious about the cause than the symptoms, let me know.

Gratitude Circle

Eight and a half months ago, I found myself wearing slacks, a blazer and office-appropriate footwear and entering a building built to accommodate 950 workers, 98% of whom have direct access to natural light. The building is LEED Gold certified; there are a lot of windows. Eight and a half months ago, I took a calculated risk and accepted a position at a company that sounded cool; it seemed like this company made a legitimate difference in the lives of others. The position - an internship - came with no guarantee of full-time employment at the end of six months, and it paid less than what I made as a barista. (Side note: barista-ing was never supposed to be long-term for me. I reluctantly allowed it to turn into a medium-term thing that served as a band-aid for my somewhat directionless mid-twenties.) So, I quit barista-ing, spent two months skiing and looking for a job, took Anatomy & Physiology I, and was offered this intern gig. I had no idea what I was getting myself into, and I knew very little about the company where I was about to begin my first sort of official 9-5 something or other.

And yet I took that leap and began a combined Communications/Corporate Social Responsibility internship with DaVita HealthCare Partners because thank Godness an employee on the Communications team thought I was worth their risk, experience be damned.

It is now three days before Thanksgiving, and this morning, we held a gratitude circle in my Monday morning homeroom meeting. Everyone sitting around the table expressed their gratitude for something in their world. "My health;" "my growing family;" "Colorado..." The energy in the room shifted. It changed from "Ugh, Monday morning meeting ugh," to something more positive, more reaffirming. What struck me the most was that all of the individuals in the room and on the phone said they were grateful they worked for this company, that they were a part of this team. I have never seen or been a part of such positivity in a work environment. I forgot to mention that this Gratitude Circle was actually a directive from our CEO, an instruction that every team around the country take some time during their Monday morning meeting this week to reflect on what they were grateful for in their lives. I told you this company sounded cool.

This year has been an absolute whirlwind of emotions and uncertainty and self-doubt and self-confidence and pretty much everything else that could happen short of popping out a baby. There's actually very little likelihood of that happening. But in all seriousness, as of November 10, eight months to the day of my walking into that beautiful, sunny, happy building as an intern, I am officially a full-time employee at DaVita. My position is incredible - I get to work with nonprofits across Denver and coordinate volunteer opportunities and design sponsorships and attend a huge variety of events that celebrate philanthropy in Denver and Colorado.

I am grateful. I am beyond grateful that I am still alive, still kicking and screaming and running and here to greet the Colorado mountains every single morning. That gratitude has been a part of me for a long time, and I know I will never lose it. But I am grateful, now, for this job and this opportunity to grow. I am shocked and awed that it has worked out like this - I work for a healthcare company while serving the nonprofit community in Denver. How freaking sweet is that?

The past eight years of my life have taken me down some crazy paths. It is not possible to predict where your choices will lead you or how certain decisions will shape your future paths and future self. I really have learned, though, that there is nothing more important than being grateful for at least something at any given point in time. Life's circumstances will necessarily change and shift and move in all sorts of unpredictable ways, but it is so important to recognize that there is always something to be grateful about.

I am grateful for life and for right now and for where I came from and wherever tomorrow takes me. How about you; what would you say in a gratitude circle, today?

Turn up the bass

When last did you do something with utter abandon?  Anything!  Run, play, laugh, cry, love with abandon?  Danced like you're wearing jazz pants from eighth grade and you're home alone and what do you care if you're bothering the neighbors?  You're just dancing, hair flying all around, spinning chaînés around the chairs and tables in the living room and then the beat drops and you drop into a split you can still just about do...  When I was a kid and into highschool, I used to dance around in my bedroom, utterly uninhibited.  Mostly, I'd just practice pirouettes and the splits and whatever I could fit into my small, square room.  But I would dance so hard - I can remember collapsing into my giant green papasan chair, out of breath and laughing and loving the fact that my body moves like that, can move to music and for a few brief minutes, absolutely nothing else matters.

I was never a great dancer; I was always a little chunky and off-balance.  I loved ballet, envied the grace and ethereal beauty of prima ballerinas, such that I even danced en pointe in high school.  But I was better at jazz and lyrical, and my favorite was jazz a la Bob Fosse: sexy, deliberate, each movement loaded with meaning and feeling.  More of my personality came through when I was onstage than perhaps when I wasn't.

And then what?  Life changed everything, took me in an utterly unimaginable different direction.  I haven't danced with any instruction in over seven years, haven't danced on a stage in almost nine.  I'm not even that old!  How does one's life change so abruptly that everything you thought made you "You" just fades away?

Perhaps, though, that isn't quite true, either.  I no longer perform, but that doesn't mean I don't still want to.  I am less goofy but more joyful.  And tonight, dancing by myself in my living room, I was reminded just how amazing it feels to let go.

Life should be less about the things that stress us out, the daily wear and tear that brings us down.  Jobs, the weather, our relationships or lack thereof - we put so much emphasis on certain things and expect them to fulfill us.  Shouldn't life be more about dancing and laughing and enjoying the moments you have with people you love?  I think so, and I am going to try and embrace that sentiment once more, and dance, once more.  So, please, go blast your music and let your endorphins and inner child dance freely for a few minutes.  And have fun!

January "reset" button

How many times can a person stop and start running again?  I've probably taken more extended breaks from running than any other person who runs.  Yet, I persist in considering myself a runner.  Mostly because when I don't run, especially for an extended period of time, I start losing my marbles.  Anxiety kicks in, sleeplessness, an overwhelming urge to eat nothing but cereal and ice cream.  It appears that I am one of those people whose moods can be regulated by frequent, consistent exercise.  It is fascinating how our bodies respond to exercise.  If you don't believe that exercising can make you feel better, take a look at me.  I'm not even talking about Working Out, but even just walking around the lake down the block or getting outside to do Anything for some period of time.  There must be some physiological reason why our bodies respond so well to being outside or elevating our heart rate a bit.  I feel considerably better about myself and life in general when I've spent lots of time outside and enough time of it running around.

It's interesting how we have evolved from hunter-gatherers into mostly sedentary folk.  Still, though, when we do elevate our heart rates, a whole slew of chemical reactions happen, not the least of which is the release of endorphins, those happy little chemicals that make Us happy.  Or at least feel better for a little while.

So, I went for my 30-minute run today, did some planks, wall sits, 6 pull ups, and I feel better.  And I feel like I'm starting this whole game over again.  Struggling to breathe through a 3-mile run...  It does get easier with time; I've done this enough times to know that.  But it's still hard restarting.  It's still something I am going to keep doing though, pushing through until it's easier, until I can run 6, 13, 26.2 miles once more.  Here we go!  And did I mention the 6 pull-ups?  I think so.  Cheers!

And... I'm back again

On a grey, unsettled, chilly January day in Denver, I have retreated to an eclectic coffeeshop with the students, the self-employed, the unemployed, the musicians, the artists.  And me, falling somewhere in the middle of it all.  I remain undefined while consuming some of the best tomato/spinach soup I have ever had, all creamy and tomato-y and cheesy without having any actual cheese in it.  I am scalding my tongue and the roof of my mouth, thanks to a nice barista who seems to be chronically undercharging me.  Maybe I already look destitute, in my mismatched pink and navy flannel shirt and fleecy purple plaid scarf and jeans ripped clear across the knee.  I'm pretty sure no one ever has paid only $8.35 for soup, a large almond milk chai, and a giant chocolate chip cookie (Giant).  The price is still boggling my mind.  Don't worry, I tipped my newfound best friend.

As of January 10, I am fully and so weirdly unemployed.  In the middle of November, my boyfriend and I took a week-long trip to Virginia to visit family, and I decided I couldn't come back to Denver and continue working at Starbucks.  I was done; it was time.  The Philadelphia Marathon came and went, and it didn't include me.  I spent September and October fighting a sickness I couldn't shake until finally, a week before the Marathon, I crumbled, called in the antibiotics, and called off this marathon I was supposed to have been training for.  Who knows if there's a correlation, but my training started suffering and my health started failing right around the time I started opening at Starbucks consistently.  Opening, for me, meant falling out of bed around 4 a.m. to bike 3 miles to work by 5 a.m., including a few sub-zero mornings.  School, caffeine, fatigue, constant coughing or sniffling or "coming down with something..." I couldn't do it.  My body paid a wicked price, and I wasn't able to join my friend in her very first, amazing marathon.  My boyfriend and I are still dealing with the after-effects of the prednisone the doctors put me on for a second time this year.

So here I am, sitting in a coffee shop, worrying about health care come February 1, sipping chai, not yet doing anything to find employment.  I have skiied a lot and all over since leaving the Bucks - Copper Mountain, Winter Park, Berthoud Pass, A-Basin, Steamboat Springs, an impromtu, ridiculous weekend trip to Jackson Hole this past weekend.  Needless to say, I'm ripped, now.  (Sort of kidding, but no, not really kidding.)  Skiing is a whole lot different from running, especially the slow, long runs I'm used to.  Skiing is short, intense, and quad-thrashing.  Ski in powder, and it becomes all of those things amplified plus the sensation of floating down the mountain in silence.  There were a few runs I found myself alone in trees, snow sparkles drifting all around while the lower sun illuminated my life, and the lactic acid disappeared, and the heavy powder disappeared, and the wrench in my knee disappeared, and it was just me, floating in a forest of crystals and sun beams.

I have learned and believe that nothing lasts and everything changes.  Life, changes, and you can help it change how you'd like it to; you can adapt to the changes; or you can drift along and watch everything shift and grow and die around you and remain encapsulated in whatever bubble you've created of fear and comfort.  I've been doing the latter for over 4 years, although I started tearing down my bubble and finding my footing when I moved to Denver on a whim and a prayer.  Now, it's time to kickstart my life, to jump in and make my own changes.  To finally embrace everything I am and the person I am growing into.  I am so many things, and while I was a barista for a while, I want to be so much more.  2013 sucked pretty badly in my world.  So, okay, time to make a giant change.  Time to ski and run and sip chai and eat delicious, gluten-y cookies and heal.  It is time to Live.  Here we go!

How to be a bad-a**

Wake up every day with some kind of a smile; bike to work; try to maintain that smile despite inexplicably entitled and disgruntled customers; laugh with your coworkers; make your coworkers laugh; make a customer laugh; smile at the sunset; bike home; run 3-5 miles after an 8-hour day on your feet; make something delicious and kale-based for dinner; sleep like you live a gratifying life.  Repeat.

How to be a bad-a** cancer survivor: do all the above while ignoring constant sinus infections, interminable GI distress, chronic fatigue from B-vitamin deficiencies.  Most importantly, live every day and appreciate every day for its very existence.

As part of our lives, we encounter setbacks - some small, some more significant, but always, something that gives us pause.  There are always situations and events that cause us to reevaluate our outlook and our approach to living.  I have been sick for So Long.  Without fail, just when I think I've kicked the immune deficiencies, that I am fully embracing my potential badassery, I regress.  Just over five weeks ago, I ran 10 miles.  I crushed 10 miles, running.  Training for the Philadelphia Marathon, I felt so incredibly powerful, invincible once more.  Two days later, my friends and I hiked La Plata Peak in Colorado's Sawatch Range.  It was a burly hike, at roughly 7 miles round trip and 3400 ft. of elevation gain.  There were sections I felt we were climbing practically vertically.  Not really, but it was a stiff hike.  Despite leaving the trailhead at 10:30 a.m., we powered through those 7 miles and made it back to the car just as the hail began to fall, around 5 p.m.  We were all aware that attempting a 14-er that late in the day was a dangerous endeavor, and I consider us lucky that we avoided any crazy weather when the clouds were building all around us.  But we did it!  Crushed this mountain, and the next day, my appropriately crazy boyfriend and I did a bit of off-roading leading to a little trail we could have potentially followed to the top of another 14-er.  We decided not to go through with the full hike, as it was even later in the day and still pretty sketchy weather.  But he and I did do the first portion of the hike: roughly 1/2 mile and 1000 ft. vertical.  Once again, incredibly steep.  It was rough.  The weekend was hard on both of us.  But being as bad-a** as we are, we conquered mountains.

Following our outdoorsy extravaganza, both my boyfriend and I got sick. So much for invincibility. Now, five weeks later, he is recovering well, and my body has pretty much just stayed in this sickness trough.  My marathon training has stagnated.  There is a constant party in my gut.  Not the awesome, aww yeah, we're having a great time! party, but the one where the frat house across the street is Blasting dubstep at 3 a.m. and drunk co-eds are shrieking in the streets while brahs exchange barbs and blows after way too much Natty Light.  Nobody's happy, and nobody's sleeping.

I don't feel like a bad ass right now.  I feel like a half-ass, and it is bothering me to no end.  I was rejected from yet another job I should have been qualified for, rejected with absolutely nothing to go on besides they went with a candidate with "more experience." Period.  Frustrating!  These setbacks are incredibly frustrating.

I can't help but feel that I will be confined to a coffee shop forever, slinging lattes and grin-acing through the day, not actually helping anyone or living up to whatever potential I might have to be an influential member of society.  I can't help but wonder if I will ever be able to train for a marathon or an ultramarathon and remain injury or sickness free, if it is even possible for me to conquer each and every mile.

I am pushing through every day.  Pushing through because I love each and every day.  I love that I can run, even if just a little bit, that I can make people laugh and laugh, myself, easily at so many things.  My life does not have any more setbacks than anyone else's, in particular.  Maybe some people have it easier...  There are those who can straight up run marathons without training any substantial amount.  Others have the right connections and social aptitude to have a fulfilling, engaging career.  I know these individuals exist, though I can't help wondering if they truthfully smile at every sunrise, laugh uninhibitedly at the sheer, glorious magnitude of this world's beauty...  Do they even know how lucky we are?  We are Alive.

While I am disheartened, frustrated and upset that parts of my life are not what I wish they were, I am Overjoyed every, single freaking day that I am still here, that I am still lucky enough to live in love with life and the wonderful people in my life in this beautiful world.  And physically, sure, I have a ways to go, but my perspective makes me a Bad Ass.  Nothing will take that away from me; nobody's rejection can tamp my appreciation for cheese and cider and being outside surrounded by Awesome.

Setbacks, road blocks, giant, gaping dilemmas with seemingly no resolution - these things do not a Bad Ass break.  Keep moving forward, keep laughing despite it all.  There are always the little things, and maybe, just maybe, someday, the big things will work out positively.  Meantime, I guess it's just going to be another slow marathon and a few more lattes to sling.

Thanks for checking in, checking back.  What makes You a Bad Ass?

Oh, HAI!!

Dear Blawg,

I haven't forgotten about you.  The past four months have just been a whirlwind of crazy and not enough running thrown in to make posting terribly worthwhile.  I have thought about things I would write: how my body keeps alternating between healthy and not quite; how every so often I would run and remember how much I loved it but it was still winter and I wasn't mentally or physically ready; how Denver received more snow in March, April and May (?!) than the rest of the winter; how I moved in with my love and got straight As in the classes I took this semester.  So far, this year has been all kinds of ridiculous and not at all easy.

But that is all for another post, perhaps, or maybe I'll just keep most of it to myself and my journals.  This post is about the fact that within the past 20 minutes, I found myself registering for my Third marathon.  This time, it is the Philadelphia Marathon.  Come mid-November, I will be in Philadelphia, running with a woman and friend who invited me to do this and who inspires me on a daily basis.  I am going to do this race for so many reasons, again, which I will save for another post.  For now though, I just want to say that I am terrified and beyond excited and eager to begin training and blogging once more.

Writing is one of the greatest catharses in my life, as is running.  It makes all too much sense to me to combine both in one epic quest for enlightenment.  Or peace.  Or a better finishing time.  All of those things!  This marathon and training will be unlike either before it: I am working on being So Healthy!  So, tune in and stop back because I'll be updating my medical adventures and running adventures and school and goals and maybe some recipes and Everything awesome in my life, along with the struggles that keep us real.

Thanks for hanging around.  Here's to believing in ourselves and making lofty goals realities!

Running (a lot) more.  Thinking less.  Loving it all, so much.

Fair Warning: having a bad day.

Every once in a while I treat myself to a self-indulgent, self-pitying blog post.  The sentiments are usually short-lived, but I need to get them out or they just sort of fester and don't heal.  Like that frustrating sore on the inside of your cheek you keep poking at with your tongue and occasionally nibbling on with your teeth even though you know it will heal quickly if you just let it be...  Today is one of those days.  This morning (before breakfast, a mistake), I opened a hospital bill and saw a bottom line that is more than my monthly rent.  So much for a new hiking pack with my tax return.  And then I began panicking a bit because that bill was for those drugs that I supposedly need to keep me healthy, the ones I supposedly need every three or four weeks possibly for the rest of my life.  The ones I haven't gotten since December 13 that, while I so desperately wish I could keep putting off getting more of, I so desperately need because I am not properly digesting Anything. 

Whose great idea was this to keep throwing all this in my way, one more thing to try and figure out how to manipulate, the best way around or over of straight through it?  Nobody in the medical community that I've met so far gives a Flying F*** about me as a person and what this immune situation is doing to my body.  Each is only so concerned with his or her individual specialty, and every single specialist has deemed my "case" as "definitely interesting."  My assumption is that no one knows Why this is happening...  Possibly this total-body post-chemo meltdown has never really happened among young adult leukemia survivors.  It is all so novel; there are no answers and only half-hearted attempts to treat the surface symptoms.  And, of course, expensive treatments only Mostly covered by insurance.

Often, I feel like I blame everything in my life on having had cancer.  Occasionally it's justified - it is doubtful these medical issues would have ever popped up without a leukemia-catalyst.  As for the rest of the times, I don't know.  Would I be working as a grossly underpaid and undervalued barista?  Would I have lost my belief in myself and my ability to Do and Be Anything?  Too, would I be living in Denver, have run 2 marathons, fallen in love, learned how to truly take care of myself as well as how to appreciate and empathize with others?  There are no black and whites, no absolutes, really.

Everything has this crazy amount of potential energy.  I am trying so hard to figure out a way to release mine, to get going and start making a tangible difference in this world.  Objectively, I know these medical issues will be resolved.  I'm looking into alternative ways to pay for medical bills.  I just stocked up on toilet paper.  Someday, I won't be living paycheck to paycheck and I'll be able to go skiing with my friends on the weekend because I won't be at my hourly-wage job.  Yet emotionally, today, only right now, I wish my life hadn't gone this direction.  Just at this moment because I basically never feel that way.  Truly, I love my life and am thankful for everything and everyone in it.  I am blessed; I am beyond lucky.  I'm just giving in right now.  It will pass.  This isn't some cry for help or blatant need for pity.  Quite the opposite: this is my admission that I am so human and an acknowledgment that it is okay to have a bad day.  I don't know right now what I'm going to do, but this too shall pass, and it will be okay.  I have to believe that everything will be okay, even if it doesn't happen until tomorrow.

So, I warned you.  Hopefully you are having a grand Monday today, which I do mean.  I love when people have good, productive days in which there was a lot of laughter.  Go laugh.  I think I'll bike around some then head to my chemistry lecture (which I Love!!).  See what tomorrow brings.  Peace love and not nearly enough miles covered lately...

Some things I will just never learn

Such as self-control when it comes to chocolate, peanut butter cup ice cream.  You'd think by this point in my life, after all the pints of various flavors I have consumed, knowing full well the epic, gastric consequences of eating more than I should, equally aware that I have almost Never stopped before it was too late...  You would think I might tone it back a little, or, better yet, Stop Buying Pints of Ice Cream.  Yeah...  No.

Instead, I continue to live for the moment and ignore the well-established precedent of post-cream pain.  Anywhoo.  Moving on, we have been having the loveliest spring here in Denver, Colorado.  I mean, winter.  It is winter.  Frigid, howling zephyrs, all long down jackets and sad faces...  But no, I can't even kid.  While the East Coast is in the midst of a massive winter spectacle (2-plus feet of snow in Boston??), I am sitting in my apartment in a tanktop and with the windows thrown open.  Only a few minutes ago, I was sitting out on my balcony in my tanktop while I digested.  Spring.  And yet, due to an most unfortunate bike-related spill in early January, on the one day winter hit Denver, I have not been running outside.  Until today, I haven't even been running inside.  Ugh.  I did, however, start lifting more to at least do something good for my body while I let me knee heal.  So, my biceps are gigantic.  True story.  Today, though, I had had enough and hopped onto the treadmill and busted out One entire mile! And then I went and lifted some more because I didn't want to exacerbate the still-niggling pain in my knee.  But One whole mile!  It was fine, too.  I really just stopped because my knee is stupid.  Since I still bike everywhere every day, my aerobic capacity tends to not decrease too much on extended run-leaves.  Yet another reason to lock up your car and throw away the key!  Fitness!

So I am slowly starting to run again, key word being slowly.  But I miss it like crazy.  I am also beyond excited for the sun's rising earlier and setting later every day.  Soon, soon it will be Actual spring and I will be all healthy and ready to rock those 6-milers and beyond once more.

In other news, I still have no globulins (*shakes head).  But I say, "screw them."  Perhaps I'm not better off without them, but I am managing quite well on my own, thank you very much.  So well, in fact, that I traveled half-way around the world in a little aluminum can surrounded by other people and their germies, then spent ten days in two foreign countries, exploring, eating cheese, eating more cheese, wandering around, taking photos, eating some more cheese...  Then traveled back to Denver in another little aluminum tube surrounded once more by germies and their peoples.  And I did NOT get sick.  At all.  For sure, got an upset stomach from all the cheese, but returned home triumphant and healthy and reluctant.  (Italy was Incredible!  Must go back...)  In fact, it wasn't until two days ago that I began to feel like something was attacking my chest and head.  Pretty sure I picked up whatever it was from this absurd child who was hacking all over the place at a super bowl showing I went to on Sunday.  I almost wrung her little neck.

The moral of This story is that two days later, I am back to normal.  Whatever my normal is, anyway.  My head is still a bit congested, but then, I am always a bit congested.  But...  Could it be...?  Could this focus on so-called "whole foods", the fruits, veggies and kale I've been trying to eat more of, actually be working to keep me healthy?  ("healthy.")  I finally met with an immunologist on Wednesday.  His gospel was that I unequivocally need the IvIG infusions and may forever.  I still have some terrible unresolved intestinal issues, so, I am okay receiving the infusions for now.  Hopefully they'll help my gut!  But perhaps I can avoid the pesky upper respiratory infections and sinus infections and the flu and pneumonia and cytomegalovirus and what have you all on my own, all by following a diet focused on Plants.  Could it really be that easy?

I sure hope so, because that is what I intend to study for the next three or four years.  Anyway, that is where I am at today.  Ran a mile, kicked a cold, time to head out for a cute date with my super cute boyfriend.  (Who is, himself, fighting a bug.  But he'll pull through.  I hope.)  Best of luck to everyone I know and love out east...  Stay safe, stay warm, get all cuddly and cozy this weekend, then go and enjoy the snow.  Don't forget your vitamin D.  Peace, love!

Globulins!! *shakes fist

Sometime in November, after my doctor suggested trying to avoid the immunoglobulin infusions, I realized that if I wanted to stay truly healthy, I would have to reroute my thinking and some of my habits.  My focus became a broader Wellness that included lifting and running shorter distances, and a much more pointed focus on nutrition: more vegetables; a greater variety of vegetables; sleep; water; tea...  Basically a shift to a sustainable lifestyle that would keep me healthy.

Last time I wrote, I was a few days away from my chem final and my quarterly PET scan.  I ended up with an A in my class and a clear scan.  Hooray!  I also found out that after six weeks, my immunoglobulin levels had fallen to nearly undetectable levels.  Boo!  Most doctors are funny in that they don't believe something until they have tested and proved or disproved it themselves.  Not one doctor over the past three years has believed my Ig levels could be as low as they are until they test them themselves and are appropriately shocked that, Yes, I am still here.  Without those globulins.  Needless to say, a few days later, I received an IgG infusion, which did help with how I was feeling.

As a brand new year gets underway, I have been reflecting on this last year and what I want from 2013.  2012 went by lightning-fast, and I am still trying to process everything that happened.  Between learning the ins and outs of a new relationship, innumerable hospital visits, figuring out how to change my diet and lifestyle following a celiac diagnosis, marathons, hikes, travel adventures, Burning Man, going back to school, and a sense of incredulity that This is really my life?!  Every month, almost every week, brought me some new reason to wake up with a smile on my face.  I truly believe that it doesn't matter much what happens in your life.  It is most important how you approach the challenges and appreciate the good moments. 

Disclaimer: I used to be a raging pessimist and cynic.  I had very low self-confidence and little appreciation for everything I am capable of accomplishing.  Having cancer did little for my confidence.  It doesn't help a 20-year old to lose her hair, her strength, to see her weight fluctuate an incredible amount.  Yet, everything that has come my way since 2006 has only made me so much stronger.  The immune issue and now the celiac issue both tried to once more take away my physical strength and confidence.  I chose to laugh (after a little crying and self-pity) and start baking delicious cookies and muffins full of nutrients and non-gluteny grains that could only help my body.  My poor body has gone through so much these past six years, and thankfully my attitude and perspective have changed almost as much.

So on New Year's Eve, I sat at home with a gluten free pizza, a movie, and time to reflect on what I want from this next year.  I wrote down a whole bunch of things, some fantastic, most definitely within my reach.  Not resolutions, but a loose map of where and how I want to find myself this time next year.  I fell asleep shortly after midnight, mostly satisfied.  I woke up a few hours later for work and realized that everything I had written down is wonderful, good ideas, nice to set goals, but I really only want one thing: I want myself and my friends and family to stay healthy this year.  School, work, travel, running, all of it will fall into place if I can make it happen, but it will all only matter if I am healthy.  If I have the energy to do everything, the strength to carry my bike all over the place, to study and work and dance around my living room and love as much as I am able, then it will be a Great year.

The best part is, to an extent, this is all within my control.  I've been reading a lot about immunity and self-care through nutrition.  I'm not sure how well it all applies to someone with a super compromised immune system (globulins! *still shaking fist), but it certainly won't hurt anything.  So to bring this (probably unnecessarily) long post to a close: Wellness.  I haven't run in about 3 weeks due to finals and then family in town and then I crashed on my bike and my knee has been out of commission.  I haven't gone grocery shopping recently and my supply of vegetables is basically nil.  While delicious, cereal for breakfast And dinner does nothing for my immunity.  I am hitting up the store shortly, and while my knee is still busted, I'm stretching and doing push-ups and planks and dreaming about the day I can start running again.  Even if I will once more be starting at ground zero.  This is my life and my body and my health.  I've come too far to throw in the towel now, so why not make the effort to truly take care of myself?  Like I said, if I can do that successfully, everything else will happen as it should.

And finally, a challenge!  I challenge you to figure out what is best for yourself this new year.  Is it eating more leafy greens?  Making time for breakfast?  Doing yoga or giving yourself at least five minutes every day to sit, clear your brain, and think about Nothing, just let go for a few minutes?  Figure out something sustainable that will ultimately make your life a little better, grow your confidence a little more, keep you healthier.  Let's do it together!  I think resolutions are stupid, hyped expectations that generally lead to guilt-induced bingeing.  Make a long-term plan, plot out a change that can only improve yours and others' lives.  I, again, am shooting for a plant-based diet with the occasional bacon strip thrown in.  Less (no...?) refined sugar, more sleep, moderated and consistent exercise.  Climbing mountains!  Live this life, full of love and gratitude - share it with others.  Thank you, 2012, for everything you brought me.  Here's to 2013 and a whole new slew of adventures, challenges and growth!  Cheers!

Happy Tuesday, once again!

Breakfast: kale/spinach/tomato/basil and goat cheese omelet, iced mate with honey.  Woke up this morning to (finally!) a sprinkling of sparkling snow and the tantalizing prospect of maybe eventually beginning studying for a final exam on Thursday instead of using my day off to escape to the snowy mountains.  Ah, to be a busy, working adult/student in Colorado in the winter.  Oh well, soon enough there will be lots more snow and many more days to ski.  Meanwhile, I need to pass my chem exam.

I also woke up with sore abs.  What? you ask.  Don't sore abs require some sort of activity to actually work those abs?  Well, yes!  Since I updated last week, I have run four more times and twice done lift-y things at the gym, including incline sit-ups, hence the sore lower abs.  I have decided to try something just slightly different.  Instead of running with the intention of gradually increasing my mileage for some long-distance race, I am focusing on a broader goal: strength and a solid base fitness level.  I have only been running between 2.5 and 3 miles, which is actually working out pretty well.

Here is a fun update: it has been six weeks since I last received IVIg.  (Immune-replacement therapy I'd been receiving since June 2011.  The chemo sapped my body's ability to produce its own secondary immune response).  I wasn't making my own immunoglobulins, so my doctor out here determined it was in my best interest to receive an infusion of someone else's immunoglobulins every three weeks.  Okay, fine, good, I stopped having chronic sinus infections, slept through the night, changed my diet, stopped having debilitating intestinal issues, blah blah.  And then, six weeks ago, I transferred my care from the children's hospital I had been going to to the adult hospital across the street.  The adult hematologist/oncologist I met with six weeks ago had a different plan for me.  He wanted me to NOT receive the immune therapy every three weeks, reasoning that it isn't necessarily that healthy to so frequently receive blood products.  Are they really doing all that much for me, anyway?  I have this long-term goal to eventually be off all medications and hospital infusions (including IVIg!).  So, while acknowledging my trepidation of just letting my immune system slowly get worse concurrently with flu season, I agreed to pause the IVIg and see what happens with the directive to contact my doctor Immediately if I started feeling sick or if any of my old symptoms came back.

Like I said, it has now been six weeks, and honestly, I haven't felt great, but I also haven't fallen deathly ill (or gotten sick at all, actually).  I go back in on Thursday for another PET scan, labs and a follow-up with my adult doctor.  I am interested to see where my IgG levels are - higher, lower, how much lower... But anyway, the point of all this: with no external help for my immune system and a massive reluctance on my part to rely on any antibiotics, I am focusing heavily on shoring up my body and my immunity naturally and nutritionally.  I am going back to school for nutrition to gain some credibility so I can help others do this very thing, but I am still going to start with myself and start now.  So, while I would love to train for another marathon, I know that running those distances throughout winter is not the smartest choice for my body.  Much more important is to focus on overall health - shorter running distances, strength training, perhaps yoga... Skiing! 

And, of course, food.  I would really like to add more vegetables to my diet.  Comparatively, I already eat pretty well.  (see: breakfast!)  But there is so much room for improvement, so many things to learn about nutrition and immunity and incorporating it all into a sustainable lifestyle.  I still have a sweet tooth; that isn't going away.  I love baking and am having a blast learning how to make healthy, gluten-free snacks.  (Side story: my roommate last night mentioned he tried a piece of the coffee cake I made the other day.  "Is it really gluten free?"  "Yup, sure is."  "It doesn't even taste like it!  It's really good."  Sweet.  I love when that happens.)  I have also found I have trouble fueling myself adequately if I run any longer than half an hour.  For some reason, my metabolism has skyrocketed, and the last thing I need is to lose any more weight.  As winter sets in here in Denver, other people can go ahead and get sick, but I will not be one of them.  I have too many more important things to worry about than viruses and bacteria.  Letting go of stress, maintaining a healthy weight, running, eating super well, and listening closely to my body.

We would all be a little bit better off if we ate more kale.  As the holidays progress, I just hope you can figure out a way to relax and take care of yourself.  Throw some garlic and spinach into your morning omelet!  Make an effort to drink more tea and less coffee (less, not none...).  I'm going to eliminate sugary beverages to make room for delicious homemade baked goods.  Hooray, here's to your health.  :)

Running just a little more, breathing deeply.

It is a Tuesday

Which means: jazz on the radio, garlic and rosemary sockeye, white sweet potato roasties, and, now, organic hot chocolate.  There is a mini Christmas tree glowing in the fireplace-space of my apartment, nestled beneath a large glass jar stuffed with some more glowey Christmas lights.  You cannot have too many Christmas lights glowing all around.  Standing in the corner, right next to my jam-packed bookshelf, are a pair of lime green and black and orange (?!) crazy, ridiculous powder skis that, every time I look at them, make me think of my crazy, ridiculous boyfriend powder skier. (I look at those skis a lot.)  There is a 1950s-era fully functional record player across the room, hanging out beneath our vintage disco ball.  It's time to bust out the Beach Boys Christmas album! which we do have.

I am blessed.  I am grateful and lucky and beyond amazed every day that I am here, living this life.  A blog I was reading earlier today contained this statement: "Life can change, powerfully, in six years."  She was referring to having been diagnosed with celiac disease six years earlier.  Six years ago, for me, I was diagnosed with cancer.  Life changed, powerfully, in the course of one week.  Six years ago, I had no idea what the next months, weeks of my life would bring.  I knew only that I had to do everything possible to stay alive, to go back to school the next year.

I don't think there is anything in this world that can prepare you for a life-shaking, paradigm-shattering event.  Doesn't matter if it is celiac or cancer or lupus or the birth of a child or whatever.  Other people say things like, "I couldn't do what you've done."  But that isn't true.  If you want it badly enough, you will do whatever it takes to adapt to this new challenge.  Even though I used it once, I really don't like the term "new normal."  Can anyone define for me "old normal?"  Is it normal to sleep 4 or 5 hours a night, depend on caffeine and processed foods to sustain us during the day, use alcohol or substances as a means of relaxation?  Don't tell me that is normal; don't even try.  We are all so individualized.  The glory of our lives is that we have the freedom to choose how we want to approach our days.  We really can choose our attitudes.  There is no science to confirm or deny that my (mostly) positive attitude helped me beat cancer, but I am cancer-free six years later despite still consuming mass quantities of sugar.

It's funny: most high school and college kids have a plan for their lives; they have at least a vague idea of where they'll be in five years' time.  When I was a senior in college, five years ago, I had no remote vision of my future.  I was still entrenched in the reality that I might not live to see the next semester.  Everything has gone in a completely different direction than I would have thought.  I always thought my younger brother would live in Colorado, not me.  I would have said, "Oh wow, that's super cool!  But so unlikely!" if someone had told me by 2013 I'd have completed two marathons, Chicago and Boston.  I'd have climbed in Wyoming and Utah and Colorado, photographed the President and countless bands, friends, mountain bikers.  Worked at Starbucks.  Still worked at Starbucks...  If someone had told me that in five years time, I would decide to go back to school for science.  Like, for real.  Science.  Who does science??

And yet here I am, six years later, doing science.  Doing science because I want to know what happened to my body and how I can fix it nutritionally.  I, too, was diagnosed with celiac, but it popped up as a result of the immunodeficiency caused by chemo.  Chronic inflammation, sinusitis: things that I can control with diet and exercise, things I so badly want to help others understand and control with diet and exercise.  "I couldn't do what you've done..."  What, couldn't eliminate gluten because it was a life or death situation?  Of course you could!  And discover quinoa and quinoa flour and garlic rosemary sockeye and white sweet potatoes!  Life is worth figuring out how to make it work.  It might even end up infinitely better than what you imagined.

In the meantime, so much for running and blogging about it.  I haven't been running almost as much as I haven't been writing.  I have been running a little bit, but not enough and with no motivation behind it.  I think I need something to work towards.  I'm not one of those people who can just Run.  I need to train, even if it's half-hearted.  I need a reason to haul out of bed when it's dark and cold when I would much prefer to sleep a little longer.  So, if anyone wants to suggest a spring/early summer race, OR, if someone wants to train with me, please let me know!

There are so many beautiful things in this world, in my life.  Again, so much to be grateful for.  I am normal (hah) and lose sight of that perspective sometimes, but I also always come right back to it.  It's been six years, and I am still kicking, and kicking it in Colorado, no less!  I have my very own pair of gnarly skis!  I have a plan and a vision for my future.  It's an incredible one, too.  I have No Idea how any of it will work out, but it is there, at least.  It is something to work towards while still living every day and appreciating everything I have.  We are all so lucky to be here.  I only ask that you consider everything you're blessed with, realize that nothing is permanent and it is all we can do to appreciate what we have right now.  Thank you for tuning in, hopefully I'll be back sooner.  There has been a lot on my mind lately; maybe I'll share some more of it.

Trying to run more; thinking less about the small stuff.  Love!

No good place to begin

Too frequently, I forget that I am not actually in this alone.  I forget that others have shared these experiences, these emotions.  People I know are, right now, fighting the same fight I am struggling with.  They are winning gracefully and embracing the new lives they have been gifted.  Less than three years ago, at a climbing camp hosted by First Descents in Jackson, Wyoming, I met a group of young adult cancer survivors.  I was utterly overwhelmed by the experience and by the other survivors themselves.  They all seemed so well-adjusted to this survivorship thing; they all seemed like they had their lives back on track and were living every day happily and purposefully.  And a few of them were regular and fairly serious runners.  I was none of those things at the time, and I didn't understand how one could possibly reach that point.

I learned over the course of the week that my initial conceptions were not exactly right...  We were all struggling with adjusting to being young-adult cancer survivors; not one of us quite knew what that even meant.  There was still so much pain and resentment, still so many questions that none of us could answer.  One woman, in particular, impressed me as someone I would like to strive to emulate.  Again, over the course of these past few years, I have learned she is just as fragile as I am; her own cancer struggle was ruthless.  Yet I still look up to her and am inspired by her wisdom and ability to verbalize pretty much exactly how I am feeling.  She blogged the other day, and while her story is completely different from mine, her words hit home, hard:
"Recovery seemed to go on forever, in a kind of horrific slow motion.  Time stopped.  During treatment, there are at least markers and milestones to let you know you are moving toward something.  Once it ended, it often felt as if the limbo would never end.  Life in the immediate aftermath of cancer is suspended animation."

For me, it has been five years since my diagnosis and treatment, and all of those years I have spent suspended.  Cancer took something from me that I have only recently been able to define.  I used to have this deep, burning energy, this drive I could never really explain but innately knew as part of me.  Those who have known me since cancer would probably say I am driven and full of energy, but I am talking about something a little deeper.  This energy was almost a cosmic pull from the future, something hooked and taking me as fast as possible into an incredible and limitless future.  I was going to be a singer! a journalist! I was going to travel the world, taking photos of sick children in Africa, making a difference!  I lived my whole childhood and teenage years believing that everywhere I was going was taking me somewhere new, that everything would lead to something else, unknown and wonderful.  So many years ahead, so much potential.

And then, when I was 20, I got sick.  All of those feelings and beliefs and unconscious understandings were stripped away and I was left bare of everything but a day-to-day struggle to live, to remember to wake up and inhale.  I lost my drive.  I lost my belief in a limitless and spectacular future.  And then when the cancer was finally gone, I think that drive was replaced by fear.  I graduated from college but had no idea how to plan a future because I didn't truly believe I still had one.  I spent a lot of time asking God and the Universe in general, "Where am I supposed to go from here?  What am I supposed to do with this experience; surely there is a reason for my still being here...?"

I know a few people now who would say that First Descents marked a shift in their view of themselves as survivors, changed their lives.  FD certainly changed my life, but I think my epic turning point started just about a year ago.  Just about a year ago, something sparked in me, very quietly.  Whatever that spark was, it brought me to Colorado.  I still had no direction, but I was going to live directionless on my own.  One year ago, I began treatment for immunogammaglobulinemia (basically no secondary immune systems.  Chemo was too effective).  Gradually, my quality of life increased to levels I hadn't experienced since I was 18.  I literally hadn't felt healthy in over five years.  And then I kept kind of getting sick, and it turns out I have celiac disease.  And it turns out my bones are osteoporitic.  And I have high cholesterol.  And I ran the Boston Marathon this past year.

This past year...  I made friends; I learned that I can actually support myself.  I changed my diet, and I feel Incredible.  And recently, within the past six months, the most important things have happened: I developed this crazy relationship with someone I actually want to have a future with.  Really?  Is that what it comes down to, this whole "love" thing?  My heart is growing in directions I honestly didn't think were possible for me.  But it is so much more!  All of these things, the immune issues, the celiac, finishing the Boston Marathon, hiking up a mountain at 14,000 ft in the air, and now this blowing open of my heart and soul for another person - this year, I realized pretty much two days ago, has reignited my drive.  This deep and growling fire in my chest was a feeling I thought was gone.  I thought the antidepressants were stamping it out or cancer had killed it for good.  But unimaginably, there it is.  Finally, painfully, almost reluctantly, I am looking to the future once more, allowing myself to be pulled into it once more.  I am still terrified of the unknown, the lingering threat of sickness, whether mine or someone else's, the fear of losing everything I've built up (again).

It does seem, though, that the most important thing a person can possibly do is define and face their greatest fears.  It isn't easy, and when you're living in suspended animation, sometimes it is actually impossible to pull yourself from that state.  Sometimes it takes a sea change of events to wash away our restraints: a beautiful, incredible, seemingly impossible baby (for my friend) and a family bursting with more love than seems possible but it is because of everything they have overcome.  For me, it took allowing myself to fully entrust myself to another person, to being diagnosed with celiac, to finishing the Boston Marathon though totally untrained and consuming no gluten and to pretty much fully recovering in about three days...  That stoked this ambition to go back to school for nutrition (?!).  So I am going back to school for food science and human nutrition!  It is going to be at least four or five years before I'll be finished with everything, and then everything Really gets exciting.  But look: a plan.  A long-term, long-distance, future-based plan.  A plan based around healing myself and hopefully, ultimately, helping others heal (and walk and run and eat lots of kale).

And fear, still, but fear tempered by love.  I don't know what will happen at any point down this line, but I know what I dream about; I certainly know what I am hoping for.  And so, like my friend, I have to end with this, because it is a universal something we all seek: Hope.  There is hope for a future and whatever it holds and whatever it throws at us.  I know this is supposed to be a blog about running, but humor me this post about running headlong, finally, again, into whatever is coming my way.  Running through the snow and the rain and the 95 degree days and the perfect, breezy spring mornings and running next to someone who won't leave me behind and loving it all just for the sake of being alive and moving and breathing and Oh My God, it's gorgeous outside today!  There is so much, and life is still hard too often, but it is all so worth it.  It really is nice to have Me back.  I feel so fully complete now, now with a purpose, with some ambition, with this love guiding me forward.

Thank you for reading, if you've made it this far.  Promise, more running and nutrition-related posts to come, just had to get all this out.  Love you, love me, love life.  It's all good.  Now go live a little!  And happy summer...