Today, on July 28, 2008, 166 days after surgery, I can proudly say that I've faced (and passed) many tests in that time. Some, I didn't ask for; like getting out of bed the morning after surgery and struggling not to fall over just to make it 3 steps to the scale. Or, completing my first few laps around MSKCC, mentally and physically intimidated by the scene that surrounded me. Or, taking 5 weeks to rest at home, day in and day out spending my time watching TV when I would rather be back on my feet. I didn't ask for any of that, but I had to face it nonetheless. Some things I did ask for. I asked for them because I wanted to show the illness that it had nothing on me. Like playing in 2 basketball leagues beginning the same week I returned back to work. Like playing in Harlem at the Rucker, one of the most physical basketball leagues in the world, professional leagues included. And, most importantly, challenging myself physically to run the NYC half-marathon, 13.1 miles, just 3 months after I was cleared to resume physical activity.
Over the last 3 months I've prepared myself in the gym to get ready for this, to prove to the illness that it could impact my physically - but not defeat me. To exercise was an exercise in will power. I primed myself mentally to have this be bigger than a run or a race.
As the race approached my training only took me to 9 miles. 13.1 was a realm I hadn't even really come close to. However, whether stupidly or not, I knew I could count on a (not so) secret weapon - adrenaline - to carry me. So, on the morning of July 28, I entered Central Park knowing that there was no chance I wouldn't conquer this race. There was no way, after all the tests I'd passed, that this would beat me. If anything, this race was a culmination, a celebration even, of the months I had put in to physically get back to normal.
The race started, and the camaraderie was stunning. 10,000 people all united in a single cause to take their bodies to the limit, and get to take in some sights of NYC in the process. 7 miles through Central Park, 3 miles through midtown & times square, and 3 miles down the West Side highway. NYC had literally shut down for this race. It was a truly unique experience.
The first few miles flew by, as it was more of a spectacle than anything else. It was hard to even think about being tired with such positive energy all around. At every phase of the race people were cheering you on. One of the most amazing aspects was looking at all the signs that family members held up. Signs of inspiration. Some people were battling back from injuries, illnesses, or were running in honor of lost family members, or for a cause - like cancer. Everyone had a reason to be there.
As I rounded out mile 7 I felt great. I was finishing up Central Park, and overall my legs and body still felt strong. I exited the park into Midtown where I was greeted by an amazing sight: Times Square lined with people all cheering their hearts out, bands playing on the side, cheerleaders, ABC cameras, and more. It was at the point I felt very small in comparison to all that was in front of me. I was trekking across Manhattan, surrounded by 10,000 people all doing the same.
I stopped at nearly every fluid station to down gatorade and dump water on myself, as my body tried to keep up with my excited and inspired mind. I hit mile 11, and it was here that I finally felt the wear and tear of the race. My legs felt heavy. But, I had come too far not to push through this. I had come very far, indeed.
I hit mile 12 and let out "one more baby, one more," to which the man next to me turned and smile and lifted one single finger in agreement. I picked up the pace yet again, as I was almost sad to have the whole thing come to an end. I hit the "800 meters to go" mark, and then a few minutes later the "400 meters to go." I was ahead of my 2 hour goal, and was very very close. Around the bend and I spotted the finish line. It was here that it hit me all too hard. I came to the end and lifted my hands in the air, then over my face as I crossed the line and took a few moments to soak it all in: A few months ago I could barely stand under my own power, walking came next. When I began running after the surgery I noticed that without a true rib cage on the right side, my lungs couldn't expand to same way they could on the left, which made heavy breathing very difficult. My core muscles were left severely weakened from the surgery, and your core is an immense part of running. Yet, despite all this, I took it upon myself not just to get back into shape, or begin running regularly, but to take on a feat that I had never even thought of while in my best shape pre-surgery.
I had one overarching thought throughout the duration of the entire race, and it culminated at the end. It wasn't the day after my 5 hour surgery that cemented this single fact, nor was it when I returned to work, or began playing basketball. Thing single thought I had, 5 1/2 months after surgery was this: I beat cancer. In a weird way, it took this - something I could never have done before cancer plagued me - to prove that I won. That if this couldn't beat me, nothing would. And now I have a gold medal to remember it by, and another reason to believe that there is always hope.
