Friday I headed into Georgetown with my friend, Sarah, to pick up my packet for the Nike Women’s Half Marathon. Nike knows how to throw a race– and a party– so after standing in line for maybe three minutes, we still had plenty of time on the meter to wander around. Perfect for a few photo ops. They even had a huge wall and theme colored sharpies so that everyone could leave a message– why they run, encouragement for themselves and others… I decided to go simply. Suck it, cancer. I will do this.

I have to admit that cancer didn’t really take all that much from me. I made it through the treatments pretty well.  I didn’t miss any major life events.  Maybe a couple of field trips, but I can handle missing a trip downtown with 25 kindergartners.  But I did miss this race. I had been looking forward to it, and there was just no way that I could run it last year. But this year, I was determined. Cancer had taken this away, and I was taking it back. Suck it, cancer.

They were so efficient putting together my bag at packet pick-up, I didn’t notice until I got home that I’d gotten assigned to the wrong start corral.  I don’t quite run less than an eight minute mile, at least not for longer than a block or so. I guess Nike was a little more optimistic about my performance than I…

It was a beautiful morning for a run. Crisp, cool, and sunny. And the course was so lovely. I’ve run parts of it before, and I’ve walked or driven most of the rest of it. But running through, with so many clapping and yelling words of encouragement, trees in bloom, was special. After mile 5, I still felt great and felt pretty confident that I would make it. Through East Potomac Park I started getting stiff and stopped to stretch a few times. After the third time or so, it became one of those situations where you start talking to yourself.  (Please tell me I’m not the only one who does this.) “You’re stronger than your legs,” I told myself as I stretched against a tree. And then it came to me. “You’re stronger than your body.” (Rats, that could have been my #5words2cancer!) I’m stronger than my legs. I’m stronger than cancer.

As I came out of the Ninth Street Tunnel and with less than a mile to go, I knew I had made it. A few times before and during the race, I was fighting back tears– not sad tears, not really happy tears, just overwhelmed. This was one of those times.  Yet the sun, the spectators, and loud music quickly overcame my tears and I finished strong. “On Top of the World” by Imagine Dragons will forever hold a special place in my heart. Perfect timing. At the top of that hill, the finish line in sight, I was on top of the world. My only goal had been to run the whole way, and after my knee started bothering me a month ago, my goal had become to merely finish. And yet, I made it. I met my original goal. I ran. I finished. I was stronger than my body.

Not only do they know how to organize a race at Nike, they know that most finisher’s medals end up in a drawer or hanging in a closet. But when it comes in a blue box from Tiffany? Oh, yes, then it gets worn.

I wanted that necklace. Yet I wanted to earn it, I wanted to be proud of it if I were going to wear it.  After today’s race, I will wear it, and I will be proud of how I earned it. I not only finished, but I finished well. I finished strong. I am stronger than my body.

Last year at spring break, the kids headed home with my parents and I stayed at home, thoroughly drugged up, recovering from my mastectomy. This year I packed up the kiddos and we headed that way together. So instead of being stuck in my house, sleeping and watching bad tv, I was running around the St. Louis area and literally, well, running.

I tried out the “new” trails around my home town.  Last year, I was stuck on the couch, and this year, I ran the entire trail that runs along the light rail tracks! At almost eight miles, I’m hoping that will be enough to prepare me for this week’s half marathon. (A pesky knee problem has kept my mileage down, but I’m pretty confident that I’ll be able to power through.)

I was a little bummed to be missing out on all the flowering trees along the trails at home.  Somehow, the view of cornfields, bus lots (yes, there were two!), and the train tracks just weren’t the same.  It was cool to run along the trail, trying to pick out exactly where I was.  I even ran past a softball field where I spent a night each week one summer, with my cousins while the guys played ball.  Fun memories really made the miles pass.

(I wasn’t kidding about the cornfields.  I really had to watch my step to make sure that I didn’t step on a corn cob and twist my ankle!)

Luckily, when I got home, the trees were still in bloom! Some have started to leaf, but there were plenty of beauties like this one from yesterday’s run. From the corn fields of Illinois to the flowering trees of Virginia, I’ve covered a lot of miles in the car and by foot this week. But more than that, I’ve been thinking about how far I’ve come in the past year– from the operating table to a half marathon. That’s a lot of miles to cover in a year.

To be clear, I was never a runner. At least not until a few years ago.  Diagnosed at 3 years old with exercise-induced asthma, my allergist told me that if something I was doing made it hard for me to breathe, I should stop. Empowered with his stern instruction (and his handy note!) I always got out of the one mile Presidential Physical Fitness run and anything else that required me to traverse the high school track.

The decision to become a runner was more about convenience. It was a way for me to exercise that took the least amount of time away from my family. I could sneak out for a quick run and be back before Clay was out of the shower during the week, or before anyone was even awake on the weekends.  Being a not seasoned (read: slow) runner and needing to get out and back quickly, I was always a solo runner.  Just me and my iPod.

While I have a friend who swears she couldn’t possibly run without her running buddies, I never thought I’d be a social runner. But last year as Sally was training for a half marathon (the one I was supposed to run with her), she would faithfully ask me to run with her at least once a week.  We enjoyed the time together, lots of good chatting was done as we covered the miles around Old Town.  I’m sure she enjoyed the company. But there was the unspoken– we both knew that while I was on chemo, I needed the run. My body needed to stay active.  My solo runs had dwindled to almost non-existent, and I needed those weekly invitations to get me out the door. Lately, finding a day when both she and I are free, have healthy kids, and aren’t snowed in has been tough. I’ve started running with a neighborhood friend, too, which is great as we can meet up while the kids are still (supposedly) sleeping. But I was a little worried this weekend when I headed out for my first significant solo run in a while, resurrecting my favorite Sunday run.  I struggled.  To put it mildly.  I stopped every mile to stretch my very tight legs.  I finished, but I felt defeated physically and emotionally.  I wrote my new running pal, lamenting my struggles.   “I thought I’d be faster without the chatting.  I guess chatting is good for the soul.  And the legs.”

Today’s schedule had a longer solo run waiting for me. If I could have come up with an excuse, I would have embraced it for all I was worth.  I had to force myself out the door.  And would you believe it?  That first mile flew by. I wasn’t tight, I wasn’t slow (for me), and I wasn’t dying to stop and walk home.  It was the longest run I’d been on in ages, and it was so fun to be back on the trails, reminiscing about when I used to run that loop all the time. Friends I’d run into at certain points. I finished strong, relieved that I could run strong on my own. But all those chemo runs with Sally encouraged me to say yes to the intimidating invitation to run with another friend. And the miles spent chatting have taught me something important.  I may or may not be faster when I run with a friend.  But friends are good for the soul.  And the legs.