I am convinced that emotions, good and bad, are trapped in fat. I ran today and shortly after I felt a well spring of emotion. I cried. What the heck? Am I going to have to blubber everytime I run? Maybe I should be a swimmer instead. That way, if I cry it'll just get lost in the pool.
Interesting sidebar....I was out the other day and noticed a crumpled piece of rubber on the sidewalk and, as I reached it, I realized that I recognized what it was. A condom. Deflated and dirty. Laying on the sidewalk, no longer useful. Wow...I continued on, and what to my wandering eyes should appear??? ANOTHER freakin' condom!! What on earth???? Where have I been? Someone somewhere is having a much better time than me. And this, gentle reader, is NOT the first day that I have run across these...um,...odes to amour. I have run across a few others. An oddity, to be sure. If these were just falling off the trash truck, wouldn't something else fall off, too? A Pepsi can? A potato chip bag? Is it a sign from God? Is it just sort of disgusting? Interesting... Something to ponder as I travel on my chubby way. If it is a sign from God, what could he be saying? Maybe that I should move to a better neighborhood? I always thought men were messy, but this is ridiculous, going way beyond being careless. What if it were tossed out a car window? That would mean that the car would have been parked on my street, that inside the car, the condom would have served its purpose, that after it was used, it was....eeeewwwwwwwwwww!!!!!!!!! I wonder as I wander. Tune in!

Just back from my power walk. 45 minutes this week. So sweaty! My underwear is soaking wet and sticking to me. My brow is dripping. That's good, right? I tried to pick up the pace today. I walked strong with my head up until I started to get a cramp. In my ass. And I thought, " Oh my God, my ass is cramping!". Well, when you're out walking in a public place and your ass starts to cramp, you can't exactly stop to rub it-not without calling serious attention to yourself and perhaps a visit from the police. So, I tried to walk it off. I put a little extra hitch in my step which I told myself made me look jaunty, as if I were merely dancing to the music-getting jiggy with it, if you will. I'm sure I looked like a lunatic. Happily, it was early on a Sunday and I doubt anyone was actually looking. The cramp subsided and I continued on my drippy sweaty way. I don't know if I like walking, but I love having walked.
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The day the doctor called to tell me that the lump I had found in my right breast was cancer, I thanked her. Isn't that crazy? She said, " I am so sorry, "Okay, thank you." and I hung up. And the world fell apart. The next several months were a horrific whirlwind of doctors and surgeries and medicine and needles and sickness. I got gifts from people I'd never met. Blankets and bracelettes and books and cards. I got a box of cookies from a friend that had cost $25 to mail! Are you nuts? My first gift was from one of the nurses who had done my MRI guided biopsy. Her name was, and I'm not making this up, Nurse Jolly. She had told me to hold her hand if it hurt. She said, "Does it hurt, 'cause you're squeezin' my hand kind of tight..." I had blood down the front of my gown when I walked past my sister who waited for me. Nurse Jolly gave me a pink teddy bear. I hated that damn bear! I told my sister that I was scared. She said, " I know you are, honey." My sister is not one for endearments, so I know she was scared, too. We both cried in the car, albeit briefly, which solidified our sisterhood.
It's funny how thinking about running and breathing brings it all up again. It is always a part of me. The crazy gifts, (apparently cancer is the ultimate gift giving occassion...) the other bald pink women in the chemo room, the wires protruding from my chest surrounding my tumor on surgery day, the weird sharpie map drawn on my chest and breast for the radiation...it is all a part of me, now. Anyone who says cancer doesn't define them is lying. It absolutely defined me. It brought everything into critical sharp focus. Once you have the guy with the black hood and the scicle knock on your door, you are never the same. Mortality. It's for the birds, but it is a part of all of us. Just like cancer will always be a part of me.
And so I will run. Because the hooded dude is just going to have to wait just a little while for me. One day, I may run straight into his arms. But it won't be one day very soon.

Another 30 minute walk. Sweaty. Glowing. I have discovered that music is imperative. It makes me walk harder, faster, happier. It was spiritual. I defy you to listen to Melissa Etheridge sing " I Run For Life" and not GET it. Suddenly, I felt the pound of a thousand feet around me. Not just me. Candice and Angie and women from everywhere. I hate the "warrior" cliche, as if getting cancer made me a military commander, but that's what it felt like. The enemy. And I am the soldier going to battle. I cried. Walking around the neighborhood. It is such a relief to take action. And if you don't love Beyonce you are not alive. What a woman! Listen to "Irreplaceable." I lived with this song when my husband walked out on me and I still listen to it now that he's back. Oh, honey, I am strong and beautiful and I can find another man in a minute. Wow....maybe all of this was trapped in my sweat glands! Time to go shower it off and put on my other "suit" of armour and go to work...Sigh!!!!!!

Ladies and gentlemen, I have gas. I don't mean that inconvenient, tiny little toot, giggle behind your hand gas. I mean hot air balloon gas. Eighteen wheeler gas. Gas that makes your stomache pooch out and rumble so loudly that you have to convince people that you are not possessed and not about to give birth to a gurgling alien creature. This is gas that no amount of back bends or medication or trips to the can seem to alleviate. And, why, you may ask, am I so privileged to have such biblical, awe inspiring gas? Because I am trying to eat better. That's it. Too much produce, too much whole wheat, too much health. Evidentally, crap was working for me. Eating crap made it alot easier to...well, to crap. I hope my body can adjust to this new "healthy" way of eating. Big Macs were working for me. Just kind of slide right on through. And by the way, who the hell invented the probiotic yogurt? It's disgusting. What is it and why do I need it? Is it fighting in my body with the antibiotics? But, more importantly, is it giving me gas? As you can see, I'm a little distracted. Hope you'll keep tooting...I mean, tuning in.

Just got back from my first 30 minute walk with my eight year old daughter, Madeline, setting the pace. She has declared herself my official trainer, which seems about right since I don't think I have been in decent shape since I was 8. We walked in the freezing cold morning air and Madeline barked military commands at me to keep me going. Not a mountain, but a start, none-the-less. My ears are frozen, but I am sweaty all over. I wish I could say something inspiring like " it was the sweat that dreams are made of, " but really, I just feel sort of clammy and I will need to remind myself to wear earmuffs next time I decide to go out in 20 degree weather. I did keep getting the distinct impression of being followed, but that was probably just my ass struggling to keep up. At any rate, the sun was beautiful, the air was crisp, and I feel proud to have begun. A 5k seems wayyyyyyyyy down the road, but, thankfully, so is October.

Snow in the forecast for tomorrow, but that won't stop me!!!! Maybe....Just kidding. I will just have to move to plan B. Indoor bike. Maybe indoor running? Hmmmmmmmmmmm.....

2010...Here we go

The year has changed! Finally! Or too soon. We'll see. I have a training partner, Candice, a co-worker and a dear friend. Literally half my age and a skinny little thing, she agreed to train with me to do the 5k in October. Candice claims to not be in good shape, in spite of her itty bitty frame, but she told me a story the other day of how she started to use her new gym membership. Candice frantically rode the stationary bike and the stairclimber until it had reported to her that she had climbed 54 flights of stairs. " And I'm not even sore..." she told me. Are you kidding????? If I climbed 54 flights of stairs I'd have to be hospitalized! Obviously, I am going to have to start training by myself for awhile.
I ordered my family to finish eating all the crap in the kitchen so I can go to the grocery store and start fresh. Fresh fruit, yogurt, whole grains, vitamins, the works. I figured my body will probably perform better for me if I give it better fuel, right? If my stomache holds out, it'll probably be fine! The first step is always the hardest....