I don’t know why I’ve always been more anxious about radiotherapy than chemotherapy. Maybe it’s my embedded perceptions of radiation and the damage it can do. Like anything else, once you experience the process, it becomes less intimidating. Two weeks and 8 treatments in, I’ve gotten comfortable and developed a cadence with my Toronto Waterfront Marathon virtual race.
Chemo and radiation are often contrasted in the cancer community as the difference between a marathon and a sprint. I get that. Chemo regimens like mine can be long — 6 infusions over 18 weeks — and the treatment day itself often means being at the clinic for an 8-hour day. By contrast, radiotherapy is shorter — 5 weeks is standard — and treatment sessions are less than an hour.
Still, I’m discovering that radiotherapy — at least for me — feels more like a marathon than chemo ever did. Maybe it’s that I’m working through 26 sessions in total, maybe it’s that its come at the end of a long year of navigating what living with advanced endometrial cancer means. Whatever the the reason, what’s been running through my mind this last week is ‘run the mile you’re in’ as a way of getting through treatments and not getting too far ahead of myself. My running has definitely helped offset the anxiety.
When I first signed up for the virtual edition of the Toronto Waterfront Marathon, I imagined doing 4x10k and then saving 2.2k for race day to wrap up the effort. But when the calendar flipped over to October, I landed on 10 x 2.6 miles instead, with the .2 mile as my race day effort. I’m glad I made the switch.
At the JGH, radiotherapy is delivered by a piece of medical equipment called a Varian Truebeam linear accelerator. It is state of the art and called to mind the Star Trek medical bay when I saw it on Day 1.
As advanced as the the equipment is, it relies on you — the patient — being able to lie in the exact same position each day, and remain still for the 15 minutes or so your treatment requires. There are customized props to make you comfortable, but doing that 4x on trashed legs after racing 10k wouldn’t be a great experience. So 2.6 miles became my interval standard — far enough to feel like work, but short enough that I could relax during treatments and channel my inner cat to remain still.
So far, treatment has been uneventful. After trial and error, I’ve mastered my water intake so that I pass the ultrasound test at the beginning of each session. I’m also learning from the technicians who deliver the treatment — they’ve been great at explaining the difference between my tattoos (marking the treatment field area for designing my plan) and my magic marker crosshairs (marking the precise treatment field from my plan).
Each treatment day has its routine. My appointments are usually at the end of the day, so the flow is work, treatment, home … then I typically nap, eat, and go for a run. I’m running at the gym instead of outside so that I don’t have to think about washroom access, or getting myself home if I’m not feeling it mid-run.
My team has become invested in my race, so it’s not unusual for them to ask how it’s going when I see them each day. Because I’m competitive with myself, I’m tracking each interval and want to lower my time over the course of this process. That there’s a 6+ minute difference between my fastest and my slowest is a good indication that my legs can vary pretty wildly. I have no time goal, just a commitment to finish and enjoy the process, building a stronger base as I go.
And collect one medal from this race season. 🥇
Running from hysteria 
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