Part XI: Running Through Early Remission
On October 24th, my post-chemotherapy PET scan demonstrated complete response to treatment. On November 6th, still in the midst of the two weeks of radiation that followed chemo, I signed up for the Indianapolis Mini Marathon. The “Mini” is the one of the largest half marathons in the United States with a two mile lap around the Indianapolis Motor Speedway as the pièce de résistance of the 13.1 mile course.
I’m hardly the first or most impressive to attempt to reclaim ownership of my body from cancer through literal sweat equity. James Conner and Eric Berry kept working out and lifting while being treated for Hodgkin’s Lymphoma, determined to not only return to their football careers, but to do so stronger than ever. Stuart Scott continued MMA training even while facing down the advanced stages of a much more aggressive and lethal form of cancer.
Nevertheless, running had helped me endure two months of chemotherapy. Moreover, I’d always told myself that perhaps one day I’d run a half marathon. And though it may seem counter-intuitive, there was no better time to check that box off the bucket list than in the first six months of remission.
So in February, I started training.
While treatment had left me significantly deconditioned, the biggest obstacle I faced early on was leg cramps. The training schedule I had found online had me running 4 times a week (in addition to my weekly 2 hour tennis clinic). While I usually could manage the distance of any given run, my ability to recover afterwards had taken a significant hit. I would wake up at night with aching calves and hamstrings, then struggle through the next day’s run.
I was never able to find any published information referencing muscle cramping as a lingering effect of chemotherapy. When I brought it up at my 3 month followup with my oncologist he said he hadn’t heard many patients report similar symptoms — but then again he also hadn’t heard of many patients who decided to train for a half marathon so soon after treatment.
Whether a lingering effect of chemotherapy, the result of muscle atrophy, or a bellweather of my upcoming 30th birthday, the cramping eventually improved. I bought a foam roller. I started obsessively drinking Gatorade with an added electrolyte solution. By March, the issues with leg cramps had diminished substantially.
Training for the Mini wasn’t an entirely grueling, joyless endeavor either. I ran 3 miles around the campus of UNC on a gorgeous Saturday afternoon — killing time before attending the UNC-Duke basketball game later that evening. I ran 10 miles around White River State Park in Indianapolis on a beautiful early spring morning in March — the first time I knew I’d be able to finish the Mini. I ran exactly 3 miles before every one of North Carolina’s NCAA tournament games from the Sweet 16 on — in part to diffuse some nervous energy but also because I’m superstitious… and hey IT WORKED!
After 12 weeks of training, I woke up last Saturday morning at 6:20 AM, walked a couple blocks down the street from my apartment to the starting line. I went into the race hoping to run at a sub 9:00 pace — eyeing 8:45 miles, perhaps 8:35 if I really ran fast. Whether race day adrenaline or the Run the Jewels blaring in my headphones, something kicked me into overdrive.
By the time I had finished my lap of the Indianapolis Motor Speedway — during which I slowed just momentarily to bend down and kiss the bricks then popping right back up in an impromptu burpee — I knew I was gonna finish at an 8:30 or better pace. By the time I hit the final mile, I was gunning for even faster and in true Dominic Torreto fashion I broke out the metaphorical NOS and sprinted the final hundred feet across the finish line. My final time was 1 hour, 49 minutes, and 19 seconds — a 8:20 pace. If it sounds a bit like I’m tooting my own horn, well then I guess… TOOT TOOT!
At the end of the day though running the Mini wasn’t about hitting some benchmark pace. For three months I had my good health and fitness unexpectedly taken from me. Moreover the youthful sense of immortality that I and so many other young adults blissfully enjoy was stripped away (at least momentarily). I understood at the time that those sacrifices were necessary, but I refused to succumb to their dominion on a permanent basis.
Now six months and 13.1 miles later, I feel like I have reclaimed mastery over my body. Even if I know deep down I am anything but, I once again feel just a little bit immortal.
Note: I don’t know if I’ll continue writing entries to this blog or not. If I have some interesting point or insight to make regarding my experience or cancer in general going forward I will do so, but at the moment I am fortunate to be back at full health. Either way I appreciate everyone who has read and said nice things about my writing over the past year.
