The Equalizer

Cancer is an equalizer of sorts. It doesn’t matter if you are rich, poor, black or white, you can still have a loved one develop cancer. Your mother, your father, sister, brother, friend or child can get it. I lost my dad to a blood cancer two years ago. My children’s stepmom lost her father to a combination of degenerative diseases the year before I did. Sadly, it is one thing that has united us, in a way that someone who isn’t a member of the “cancer” club can’t really understand or comprehend. Those of us left behind are constantly trying to live with a “new kind of normal.”

I will never forget stopping by Lynn and Greg’s house after her father had died and mine was close to doing so. I knew the time was near. Carolyn, or “Lynn” to insiders, asked how my dad was doing. I listed the most recent developments and eventually the conversation turned to Lynn sharing about her dad. She was very empathetic and within moments I was asking details about her father’s last moments. She started to slowly recount the last week of his life matter-of-factly but as the retelling continued she soon began to cry and choke out the words. My eyes welled up, and soon I felt a familiar lump in my own throat and a mirror of tears begin to gently flow down my face matching the ones on hers. Eventually I crossed the room, and in my mind’s eye we embraced, sharing in our sorrow. My daughters were in the room observing this phenomenon, mother and stepmom embracing.

Over two years have passed since that incident. In that time my youngest daughter and I completed a sprint-distance triathlon in memory of my dad near anniversary of his “Heaven Day.” It was quite an accomplishment for the two of us, even more so for her as she juggles her Juvenile Diabetes. Somewhere along the line I fell in love with the swimming and biking portions of the 3-tiered discipline. I did not fall in love with the run portion. In fact, I loathed it. I did it because I had to do it.                  

Earlier that year at one of my more memorable triathlons it was very hot. In the weeks leading up to the race I had tried to run the route. The first time I could not complete it because I had stomach problems. The next time a friend and I went back for a “do over” but it was awful. Leading up to race day I knew I would complete the course but I simply dreaded it. As it would turn out, I finished but managed to lose three toenails and was quite overheated. I hated every step of the run portion that day. Do you get the full picture?  I HATED RUNNING.

No sooner had I completed another shorter triathlon than a friend phoned me up. She was recently going through a divorce, would turn fifty the following year and had a goal to run her first marathon. She had joined this group of people, a seemingly makeshift band of runners who tongue-in-cheek called themselves the “Diablo Harriers.” She talked about how great they were with her (a beginner) and how even though she was slow, their patience encouragement and sense of humor kept her attending the early morning runs. She hated running too.

We were a perfect pair.

Soon I joined in on the fun, feeling it was the ideal time to work on my feared portion of the triathlons, running. And so I began to get up at 5:30am three times a week. Together my friend and I huffed and puffed our way through the assigned distances. We rekindled out friendship. We made new ones with this Diablo Harriers’ running group. Slowly, their enthusiasm spread and my friend and I completed a half-marathon with them, in costume no less. And don’t let the fact that the men wore dresses, fishnets and skirts with us fool you. They ran fast. They even placed and qualified for Boston.

Over time my friend and I have developed a love for running. I look at that statement with sheer baffled amusement. Over this half year I have experienced the “runner’s high” which must explain why I signed up for my first marathon in March. The term “March Madness” has taken on a whole new meaning.

While I have been building my strength and endurance, Lynn has undergone her own battle. She was recently diagnosed with invasive breast cancer. It has been a very trying and frustrating process to even learn what has been growing inside of her body. The diagnosis and treatment is the most painful and serious you can experience. She is not finished yet. She is healing, resting up and preparing for the combat ahead.

Her husband, my former husband, has lovingly and devotedly taken care of her throughout this process. He is soft and gentle and steadfast for her, in a way that is a living example for our three children. He is a teacher to them right now.

This last time my youngest was staying with me, she mentioned something Lynn had jokingly said, "Ha ha, maybe your mom should run a marathon for me." Immediately, I knew instinctively I would do it.

During one of the many clinics my racing club held, I heard several speakers tell us to practice what you do during the races. And what you do in the off-season will pay off later. And so I sit here today preparing to run my first marathon. This is at the same time my ex-husband’s wife approaches the difficult part of her fight. I can envision running and it getting difficult, as did my Olympic distant triathlons. At those points, I thought of my dad during his cancer treatments and his steadfast nature. It fueled me to the point of finishing the most difficult leg of the event. This time, I will think of Lynn. My children, our children, will be there to cheer for me. My running partner will be there, as I will be for her marathon a few weeks later. Other friends will be there too. And although I don’t imagine Lynn being able to come, she is welcome. She will be there with me, for all 26.2 miles of the journey.