Everything changes

This post started last weekend, celebrating my first run on the mountain — a glorious way to spend Easter Sunday. After testing my legs on the treadmill at the gym, I was ready — though nervous — to see what it might feel like to run on the trails for the first time since surgery. And it was lovely, in all the ways you imagine.

But what was an almost complete draft has been rewritten, because the view from here is changing.

On Tuesday, with my pathology results finally available, I had the conversation with my oncologist about what comes next. The short version is the results are not what we hoped for, but are treatable. In my doctor’s words, ‘We are aiming for a cure.’

No one wants to hear this is not the end of your cancer treatment journey. It’s been a week of emotional ups and downs as I process this news. I’m allowing myself to feel all the feels that come — I’ve cried, I’ve sworn, I’ve felt frozen. Right now, I’m settling into pragmatic realism and working to create a positive mindset.

There were changes from my biopsy to the results from surgery. The tumor itself was upgraded (this doesn’t feel like a benefit!) from Grade 1 to Grade 2, and pathology showed cancer cells in the left fallopian tube and one lymph node. This means my cancer is Stage 3A, and both chemo and radiation are in my future.

Now, what has been a base-building exercise to return to running post-surgery has a new outlook. Somewhat like when I learned a hysterectomy would be necessary last November, I’m processing how to prepare for the months ahead. It’s going to be a short training block for a marathon effort. The A goal is to eliminate any evidence of cancer, B and C goals have yet to be defined.

I don’t know what this will mean for my ability to maintain a running habit — or even the walking habit that has been my reality since my hysterectomy — but I do know I want exercise to remain one of the key tools I use to manage this course of treatment. Moving my body is as much about my mental health as it is about my cardiovascular health.

Looking forward, that seems like it will be even more important. The time I spend running or walking is when I get out of my head and get grounded in my body. It never fails to make me feel more in tune with myself.

It will be another three to four weeks before my first round of chemotherapy. Between now and then I have a CT scheduled next week and a follow-up appointment with my oncologist at the end of the month. The rest of April is about shifting my focus from increasing my time on feet to maintaining my current base while prioritizing strength training.

The goal is to mitigate the effects that come with chemotherapy — fatigue, neuropathy, and muscle loss from inactivity. Research tells us that maintaining physical activity during treatment has a positive impact, but there is room for so much more work in this area. I have lots of questions for my team, and will tap into both nutrition and physiology advice through the cancer centre to support me. Whether I’ll be able to continue with my own plan, or will work under the supervision of an exercise oncologist remains to be seen.

Between now and my first infusion, I’m going to use the better weather to get back to the mountain a few times. It is a straight climb up the hill that is my street and then a set of 94 steps takes you up to the entrance to the park. It doesn’t seem like much but in the space of five minutes, you’ve covered 250ft of ascent and it’s not unusual for me to get to the park entrance, stop to gauge my breath, and figure out the details of how I want to navigate the mountain from there.

That feels a little bit like where I am right now. I have a known calendar ahead of me for the next seven to eight months and a lot of choices about how that path will unfold. I’m choosing to tackle it one day at a time, and relish being able to move my body. It will be unlike than any other training block I’ve navigated so far, and being adaptable to what I’m capable of and how I feel on the day will be the guidelines. For right now, that’s OK.

I made this bracelet in 2016 at a retreat with friends. I pulled it out again today. This will be a different kind of marathon, but I know what hard feels like. I also know that hard doesn’t mean there isn’t also joy.