I Run for Life

I've been remiss in my physical activities of late.  Partly because I haven't physically felt well, but mostly because I've lacked the general motivation to do anything after work and a commute most days, blah, blah - let me grab a little cheese to go with that whine...

Whatever.  I haven't run in three weeks, I've missed it terribly, I've cursed the day I fell in love with it, I've looked forward to the moment I'd get back out there and do it again.

Tonight - finally!  Change into running clothes, head to the gym, twirl the curly stairs up to the track, and find my friend Patty already bouncing along, sweaty and smiley, like an angel in a sports bra.  <insert chorus of heavenly song here>

Patty is an angel, really.  We met during my first time around, when she volunteered at our infusion center.  Her smile and hugs were as warm as the blankets she's wrap me in, while we'd chat and nibble chocolate chip cookies during my visits.  We ran into each other again at the Y where we both particpate in the Turning Point program for breast cancer survivors.  We'd meet on Wednesday evening for yoga or cross training or running the track - whatever we can do to keep ourselves moving and grooving.

When I was re-diagnosed Patty was one of the first people I told.  The next day she sent me an email with a link to a video and the words to a song I'd probably heard but never noticed.  "It's on my playlist," she said, "and I never run without it.  I need to share it with you so you know.  So you can run."  And so I put in my earbuds and closed my eyes and listened to Melissa Etheridge's gravely, tender and powerful voice belt out these words with force and knowledge borne of experience:

"I run for hope, I run to feel
I run for the truth for all that is real
I run for your mother, your sister, your daughter, your wife
I run for you and me, my friend
I run for life"

The few times I've run since receiving that email, I've replayed that chorus in my mind - a mantra moving me forward with every step.  Tonight was no different.  Three weeks since my last run, and as Patty whizzed by with her quick steps I started walking the first revolution, willing my body to warm up, to remember, to be with me in this moment.  On the second revolution I start my run...ankle stumble, momentary knee lock, am I wearing a fanny pack?  Oh no, that's just my ass jiggling in time with my pace, it's been a little while.  Breathing in quickly, exhaling faster...  let's walk that third revoltion, shake out the knee a little.  Fourth revolution, muscle memory starts to kick in, my thighs tighten as they engage a little more, my pace increases just a tad, stupid stitch in my side...let's walk that next revolution.

And so it goes for the 16 spins around the track, the mile I haven't run in three weeks.  Three months ago I was pacing at 10:30/mile, increasing my distance and planning for that half-marathon.  Tonight was a mile.  One mile.  But it wasn't a mile - it was my marathon, my ultra, my endurance race, my own personal Warrior Dash.  With every step, Melissa in my head, I carried with me the sisters I know and those I don't.  After a few revolutions my pace evened out, my steps became rhythmic, my breath flowing, the mantra I call out quietly under my breath, the names in my head and my heart:  my dearest friend, my new sister, my BCO sisters far and wide, all those I love, all those I miss.  All of them.  Over and over.  As Patty laps me she smiles, thinking I'm singing, and I am - a song of strength and hope and determination and experience and love.

The longest mile I've ever run - and beyond doubt, my best mile ever.

"It's a blur since they told me about it
How the darkness had taken its toll
And they cut into my skin and they cut into my body
But they will never get a peice of my soul

And now I'm still learning the lesson
To awake when I hear the call
And if you ask my why I am still running
I'll tell you I run for us all."