Our diversions are metaphors for
our lives. For me, it’s running and gardening. So, when I was diagnosed with Acute
Myeloid Leukemia (AML) three months ago, naturally, I leaned into one of those activities
to cope. Gardening was out when I was admitted directly into the hospital for
induction following the diagnosis. I saw nothing green for 30 days, including
food. Running it was. My marathon training had taught me I could make my brain
do anything. My blood may be failing me; my mind was not about to. I knew three
strategies that worked for me in running, maybe they would work here too.
Find a Mantra
I needed to find a new one. My
running one was you chose to do this; get on with it. That one didn’t seem workable in this case. I found one in my stack of get well cards and not the ones about
this being a “journey” or a “plan.” It was on a card from a friend whose whose granddaughter was also
going through chemo. She wrote these words, “Eat well. Rest well. Think
beautiful thoughts.” What a wonderful mantra for running and recovery.
Run without a Watch
It’s easy to get caught up in the
numbers these days. When they’re up, it’s like a burst of endorphins. I’m
invincible. When they’re down, it’s like a muscle pull. I’m vulnerable. Some of my
most enjoyable runs were when I ran simply to run. I didn’t judge myself by
minutes, miles, or days in a row. The critic voice popped up in recovery too. The
markers were ever moving and difficult to hit. I reminded myself not to judge success;
however small, by a CBC number. Numbers didn’t define me; not in running, not
in recovery.
Weather the Course
I’ve never run and experienced a
marathon the same way twice; there’s the weather. Some were humid. Some were
rainy. Some were perfect. Then, there’s what my body did. Some with blisters.
Some with chafing. Some with bladder issues. In all those situations, I just
kept telling myself to keep moving; either the conditions would change or I
would finish. Believe me, no day is ever the same in this process either. One
day, I feel like I can run several miles. The next day my tech says your
numbers are in the “terlit.” Keep moving, I tell myself; there’s someone with
Vaseline on a stick ahead; metaphorically speaking, of course.
