I did a thing this last week — posting on my Facebook page about my diagnosis and what comes next with treatment. Though I’m not the biggest Facebook user these days, it seemed the best way to let my really wide circle of friends and colleagues know about what was going on in my life. I wanted to be able to tell my story first hand. It was also starting to feel weird that Facebook was the one place where I wasn’t talking about my diagnosis, and I didn’t want to be self-censoring my choice of platforms anymore.
What surprised me about pressing ‘publish’ on that post is how emotional it felt immediately after. There wasn’t really anything new in the content — well new to me anyway. Still, I spent a good hour afterwards as a very inelegant, weepy mess, doing my best imitation of a puddle as I let the feelings come. Once I regained my composure, I said to a group of friends in a chat that when you have a Facebook network of 1000+ people, posting about starting chemo feels like announcing it to the world.
That evening, I ran the hardest I have since surgery — a 5k that came in just over 48 minutes. It was nothing fast, but it was continuous running, and the middle block of it was at a pace approaching something I used to hold with confidence. It was definitely the ‘yin’ to the ‘yang’ of my emotional rollercoaster earlier in the day. When I was done, my nerves were definitely settled, and my headspace was calmer than it had been in days. That is what I get from running.
Running through chemotherapy?
I’m learning that some people find the idea of running during chemo as a fairly radical concept. I’m not committed to maintaining the schedule I’ve rebuilt since surgery, but neither am I thinking that I want to just curl up on my couch and binge shows. Moving my body as a means of managing my treatment is important to me.
What running might look like I don’t know yet, but I do know there is science to support keeping active during treatment. I want to discuss the 2022 guidelines from the American Society of Clinical Oncology with my team — apparently a first-of-its-kind look at exercise benefits during chemotherapy vs pre-operative or post-treatment programs.
Oncology providers should recommend regular aerobic and resistance exercise during active treatment with curative intent.
Of course I’m biased, but the findings that exercise ‘improves symptoms and side effects in patients undergoing chemotherapy, radiation therapy, or both’ gives me a grounding — my why — to use as a guidepost for the weeks ahead.
The recommendations don’t vary much from general guidelines for good health — aim for 150 minutes/week, with strength training 2-3x times/week in that mix. I’m spoiled that I have a gym, and both an indoor and outdoor pool in my building, so access is not an issue. And if 150 minutes is a target, that’s roughly 50% of what I do now.
Am I ready?
I would be lying if I said I felt prepared for my first chemo session on Tuesday. I mean, I am as prepared as I can be. The team at the clinic has provided a great onboarding deck, with supporting videos, and tomorrow I’ll meet with my doctor and review my CT scan results as our baseline.
But what will treatment feel like? And how will my body respond? Those are things I’ll only know once I’m on the other side of my first infusion and the days that follow.
It’s a 21-day cycle with infusion being Day 1. From talking with others who’ve been through this, and taking in the advice from my doctor, navigating Day 1-3 may be easiest, though the anti-nausea meds and steroids that are pre-loaded during treatment are likely to make me jittery and may make it difficult to sleep. It’s Day 3-5 where infusion side-effects most often peak — fatigue, body aches, and general flu-like symptoms. And it is the week after where my white blood cell count will make me most at risk for infection, lasting 5-7 days. From there, things improve as my body recovers, just in time to repeat the process, resetting the clock on Day 22 to Day1. And just like running, there’s a training effect, where your body learns to recognize the process.
Phew … we’re going to do this 6 times.
Trust the process
For now, my goal this weekend, is to be in the moment. I’ve realized one of the reasons I have a strong aversion to the conflict-based language that often accompanies cancer treatment is that I don’t want to ‘fight’ with my body. I want to work with it — and chemo is part of that process — to find a healthy path on the other side.
So I’m going for a long run later today, and will plan on swimming or maybe some weights after my appointments are done tomorrow.
And on Tuesday I’ll likely the summon the same mantra I often use on the starting line for a race:
“I can do hard things.”
Running from hysteria 
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