Running After Breast Cancer: Katie’s Diagnosis Story
Hi, I’m Katie. I’m many things: a mom, a wife, a professional, a new AMR team member, and I’m also a breast cancer survivor. I’ll be sharing my story here on Another Mother Runner as I get back into a regular running routine and train for a half marathon. I hope you’ll come along. Feel free to ask questions or share your thoughts in the comments section below.
It was a beautiful sunny day in Colorado when I found The Lump. After a fun morning at the pool, we came home, I turned on a show for my girls (6, 5 & 3) while I hopped in the shower alone—a luxury for us mamas. My boobs had been aching a little bit, so I was feeling around and to see what was going on when I found a hard, round lump in my left boob. After nursing 3 kids, my boobs were nothing more than sad, saggy sacks of tissue, so I immediately knew that something was wrong. I’m not one to be a hypochondriac, but I called my OB/GYN to be on the safe side and I got in to see her the very next morning.
My husband was at work, so I brought the girls to my appointment—armed with iPads & headphones—while she checked me out. She reassured me that it was probably nothing, but “let’s get you scheduled for a mammogram, ultrasound and most likely they’ll do a biopsy at the same time.” Um, doesn’t sound like “nothing” to me, but ok. That happened the next day. And as I lay there during my biopsy, I looked up at the sweet Radiologist and asked him if he thought it was cancer—and he looked at me with the most compassionate eyes, and said, “Yes.”
During our trip to Mexico, right after I was diagnosed.
The next day we were leaving for a 2 week trip—1 week in NYC to visit friends and then we were headed to Mexico to celebrate my mother-in-law’s 70th birthday. Even though I was scared out of my mind, I still boarded the plane with my girls the next day to head to NYC. We had such a fun weekend meeting up with friends, eating cookies from Levain and slurping milkshakes from Shake Shack that I almost forgot about my looming biopsy results, when my doctor called me first thing Monday morning and told me that it was, in fact, an invasive ductcal carcinoma. Shit.
My birthday celebration – I had chemo #2 that day.
Fast forward 6 months—I’ve completed five months of chemo, a bilateral mastectomy and reconstruction, and I’m currently pumping up my expanders every few weeks until I get my permanent implants after ski season (#priorities). I’ll be taking Herceptin through the end of July. I just started running again and will be part of the TLAM Heart Rate Training Half Marathon Program, so I’ll see you ladies in there. While I’m much slower than I used to be and have to take lots of breaks to walk, I am so thankful that I have the energy to run again and enjoy the gorgeous Colorado sunshine.
About 2 weeks after my first chemo treatment my hair started falling out and I made an appointment to get my head shaved. My husband suggested that the we all go – at first I was hesitant because I thought it would terrify the kids, but it ended up being a really special experience for all of us. If my BC teaches them anything, I hope its to be brave, no matter what!
If my story can help anyone, my Breast Cancer was worth it. Check your boobs, no matter how old you are. I was 38 when I was diagnosed and Breast Cancer was the furthest thing from my mind. Everyone says that having cancer gives you perspective, and they’re right. I’m really trying not to sweat the small stuff—I’ve decided to take a deep breath when I’m about to yell at my kids (again), go out on more dates with my adorable husband and to go for a run when I have a break in the day instead of checking email. See you on the trails—I’ll be the bald(ish) one with a big smile on my face.
What a Mother Runner Looks Like (2017 Edition)
Remember this Instagram post?
It was the winner of our final Thankful Mother Runner contest, and the Tribe went wild for it. It was the perfect mix of confidence and pride, beauty and reality of motherhood. It also reminded us of the “What a Mother Runner Looks Like” slideshow that Dimity put together in 2012 (check out part 1 and part 2) and this time of year—with all the New Year, New You/Find Your Perfect Body posts floating around—seems like an ideal time to revisit it.
So here’s our official call to action: We’re looking for your Mother Runner snap. it’s the one that shows that stretch marks and strength aren’t mutually exclusive, and that runners come in all shapes and sizes. We want you—all of you, no matter how fit you feel, no matter how many little stretchy rivulets run along your abs, no matter if you’re currently channeling badass or not—to join in.
Please send us a picture of yourself as a mother runner. You can be with a pal (the two- or four-legged kind); you can crop off your head or not (or ask me to do it); you can be as revealing as you want. (We’d prefer to see you in a sports bra, please, to keep some consistency with the pics.) Might be good to take the pic before a run so we don’t get you in all your sweaty glory, but we’ll take that, too.
Info to include:
Age; number of kids (fine if you don’t have any); number of years you’ve been a runner; proudest running moment; favorite body part (no wiggling out of this one).
Pull it together and send it to: runmother at gmail dot com. We can’t wait to see what arrives in our inbox.
The Best Ways To Deal With Winter Running
We recently posted on Facebook:
“We know some of you are dealing with wintry weather, cold temperatures, and snow, so let’s chat about how you cope with it. What are your best tips for winter running?”
And of course the Tribe responded with A+ answers. Here are the best takeaways to keep you outside, warm, and piling on the miles:
“I love my merino wool base layers! And “layers” is the key word! here’s [above] what I wore for a run in -24C a couple days ago, the face mask and ski goggles are a must for me below about -15C or in wind.” —Monica
“To keep cold wind and slushy water out of your running shoes, duct tape over the vented areas of the toe box.” —Kim
“Hot Hands inside my mitts. Have at least one BRF with you, so you can reinforce the ‘you are so badass!’ message.” —Anne
“When the roads aren’t crazy icy I will get outside with plenty of light, technical layers on me. Maybe a fleece on top. And a fuzzy neck gaiter [above] pulled up to my nose is a must!” —Lisa
“Today I put a wool sock over my iPhone, which will shut down in cold temps. It worked! Also layers! I love knee high socks (by under armor), today I also added compression shorts under my pants. I always use a vest (bc the pockets zip, and as I remove hat/gloves I shove them in the zip pockets).” —Kristy
“Layers, Aquaphor on exposed skin, a face mask, and YakTrax. I will do anything to avoid the dreadmill!” —Amy
“The balaclava WITH the hat, double socks, smartwool base layers. Top layer wind proof.” —Jackie
“Due North ice cleats. Ran about 6 miles on ice and packed snow yesterday—no slipping at all.” —Cate
“My best tip—live in California!” —Allison
Any more tips to add? Share them below!
#243: Motivational Running Advice — and Then Some!
In this hour-plus episode, Sarah kicks off the New Year with two co-hosts—dear Dimity and Amanda Loudin—to talk about motivation: how to bolster it now and throughout the year. The three mother runners draw on personal experience as well as professional tips they’ve gathered in their years as freelance health and fitness journalists, starting with the importance of being happy in life. The conversation takes many twists and turns, especially as they discuss the “beauty in suffering” and why you need to “show up” to have some runs become “magical.” There are a lot of numbers bandied about in this episode: Find out what 3-1-2-1 means to Dimity; why 20 minutes is long enough for a mental and emotional reset; and the significance of 18:30. Sneak a peek at Dimity’s 5:00 a.m. lying-in-bed routine, plus Sarah and Amanda’s 30-minute pre-run requisites. And discover how The Boss enters into this entertaining conversation.
Whether you need help sticking to a training plan or getting out of bed instead of hitting the Snooze button (again!), this trio serves up suggestions with you—along with a hearty dose of laughter.
And, remember: The gals want to hear the scoop about your poop. Tweet Sarah, Dimity, and Amanda (@sbsontherun, @dimityontherun, and @misszippy1, respectively) to let them know if you drop the kids off at the proverbial pool before your morning run or not.
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Dry Martini: Run the run, get the sticker
I hope 2017 is treating you all well so far. We kicked off the new year by staying up too late playing board games and eating too much fondue because we are rock stars.
Because there ain’t no party like a Martini party, I celebrated surviving the debauchery with a New Year’s Day Eminem run. (For the uninitiated, an Eminem run is eight miles. I slay me.)
Someone celebrated New Year’s Eve at the used car lot.
The run itself was more or less terrible. I was tired. I had a cheese hangover. It was cold. The sidewalks were icy. I spent the last two miles desperately needing to pee but not willing to take advantage of either a conveniently placed Walgreens or the Sarah Bowen Shea capri-pee approach. It was just One Of Those Runs. You get through it. You get your sticker. You move on.
And then…
Then ….
I’m going to keep you in suspense for a second.
Let it be known that I almost never find money on runs. I see some of y’all’s pictures with your sweaty hands full of change and wonder how the heck that happens. My theory is that since I live in a college town and college students never have money, they are careful with their coins. In 2016, I found, maybe, 30 cents — and 20 of those cents were two dimes I found next to each other on a run in December. I was over the moon about those dimes, frankly, and felt that was the pinnacle of my run money career.
My two dimes.
And then….
Because the cemetery I usually run through was closed because of the snow and ice, I had to add a half mile by running through a neighborhood I generally don’t run through. And there it was. In a snowbank. Pocked by ice crystals. A flaccid George Washington.
Reader — I literally did a double-take. I also looked around to see if I was being punked. When Ashton Kutcher failed to appear, I flicked off as much of the ice as I could and shoved the bill in my pocket.
AIIIEEEE!
I’d like to say my steps were light and joyful for the last mile. They weren’t. Lately, right around mile seven, my lower back starts to grumble and moan. It feels like a couple of the muscles have decided to not be team players and are knotting up in protest. I’ve already made an appointment with my acupuncturist pal. In fact, odds are good that I’ll be a human pincushion as you are reading this. Fingers crossed.
Still, finding folding money seems like an excellent start to the year, right? A reminder that pushing through the less than spectacular parts will lead to a reward? Ah, running. You teach us so much.
Unrelated to running: this was my Christmas gift to me this year. So far, I’m a fan and made the best black eyed peas for January 1. Other converts: what should I try next?
Depending on what my back chooses to do, I may or may not be running the 3M half in Austin in a few weeks. I will be gong to Austin regardless. If I can’t run, I’ll be the most enthusiastic athletic supporter I can be. And no matter what, I’ll be eating as many breakfast tacos as a human can hold. One must have priorities.
How’s 2017 treating you so far? And what are your priorities for the coming year?
On Chocolate Cake, Cars + Chairlifts
The cake kinda looked like this, but no shavings on top. This is definitely more gourmet than my City Market purchase.
Last Tuesday afternoon, I went for my first run in weeks.
The nervey ball of nerves that won’t unwind in my right hamstring and glute was less angry, so I was smiling. In fact, the whole situation felt positively luxurious: running around 4 pm, not 5 am; maintaining the perfect temperature thanks to the right clothing choices combined with the Colorado sun; listening to Sun in an Empty Room, by the Weakerthans; launching from and landing in a quiet house. (My family was already in the mountains at my mom’s house, where I’d join them Wednesday.)
This is really my Christmas present, I thought to myself.
About 35 minutes into the run, I stopped at a traffic light to cross a six-lane road, not insigificant in size or traffic. I waited for the little white man to illuminate to show me I was safe to cross, so I stepped into the street; I was running with traffic, not against it, because the other side of the street didn’t have a sidewalk.
A black car whose driver evidently didn’t see my 6’4″ body in the crosswalk gunned a right turn directly behind me.
My quad felt like it was millimeters from the front bumper. My hand grazed his rearview window. I felt a draft from the car’s momentum. The wheels didn’t squeal in real life, but in my memory, they did. I felt like I saw the driver and his passenger laugh or act otherwise unremorseful, but I may be making that up. He definitely didn’t do one of those “I’m really sorry” waves one does when you make a bad driving decision.
What I’m not making up: I stood in the middle of a six-lane road, and yelled “REALLY?” I wanted somebody to get out of their car and be outraged with me. It didn’t happen.
SoI shuffled along, and within 15 seconds, I felt more scared than I can ever remember feeling as an adult. I saw myself on the pavement, completely splayed out. I saw random people calling 911. I saw myself in the hospital, in a wheelchair, in a coma, in other scenarios I don’t want to type. I saw my family living without me.
I came home, tweeted about it because my house was empty and I needed human connection. I didn’t have much of an appetite. Later, I half-watched, half-drooled through The West Wing at 2 a.m. because sleep was not happening.
Although I’ve had close calls running and riding my bike, this one felt too reckless and too real.
Fast foward to Thursday morning. The small ski resort near my mom’s house has an awful accident. A 40-year-old mom is on a chairlift with her 9- and 12-year-old daughters. I don’t know exactly what happened—the investigation is ongoing—but they all fell 20 feet from the lift. The mom died. One child is fine, and one child is still in the hospital. As a skiing mom of skiing 10- and 13-year-olds who has ridden that lift countless times, I just…ugh.
The one-two car-charilift punch echoed like a true fist to my gut, break in my heart. Rationally, I know tragedy and death happens every second, but there’s a difference between hearing a news story about Syria or reading about a friend of a friend on Facebook and intimately feeling mortal.
I’d like to say I was able to maturely process my emotions amidst the Christmas hangover, family dynamics, minimal exercise, maximal sugar and wine, but I couldn’t. I was teary, snappy, and not very merry. I wanted to know the details of the chairlift accident, but I really didn’t. I kept feeling my pinky graze the rearview mirror. I couldn’t focus for longer than one game of Exploding Kittens, the surprise hit of Christmas.
Thursday afternoon, I dragged my 13-year-old to the grocery store with me. “Come on,” I said, “I just want to hang out with you.” She rolled her eyes and put on her Chuck Taylors. The seven-minute drive there was silent, and once we entered the store, I sent her off to find pasta. We reconnected, and I said, “Let’s find something good for dessert,” turning the cart for the bakery section, where the scent of sugar just hangs in the air. The whole house had tired of Christmas cookies decorated with red hots that may or may not have been touched by nose-picking toddlers.
Even though, on the 29th of December, the last thing anybody physically needs is a dessert from the bakery of City Market, a brick of cake—three layers of frosting, three of cake—is exactly what I needed. I just didn’t know it until I saw a row of them sitting in a case.
I tried to buy carrot cake first, but my daughter did not condone that flavor. We settled on chocolate, the variety you’d find in an office break room and not decline. Not home-baked with love, but definitely good enough to justify the eating the whole piece.
“Muti (her grandma/my mom) will not approve,” my daughter said, picking it up and cracking a smile in I don’t know how long. “I know,” I said, laughing, “Which is why it is perfect.” I carried it like a beautiful silver serving platter over to the DIY checkout.
It rang up onsale—$3 off!—which further affirmed the righteousness of the purchase. Back at home, it sat proudly on the kitchen counter, prompting questions, laughs, family memories of other slices of chocolate cake too boring to go into here.
We all had a slice with vanilla ice cream after a dinner of leftover tamales and salad. Muti, who had been out at a neighbor’s party during dinner, came home and cut herself a piece. “I saw the dessert table, and didn’t want it. I knew this was waiting for me,” she explained, taking another forkful. We all watched the end of Project Runway Jr. together, excited about the palm-tree dress that won this week.
Of course, a $9.99 slab of sugar can’t magically rewind the chairlift accident or make me not feel spooked on one of my favorite running routes. Life—moments good, awful, scary, shitty, awesome, mortal, life-affirming, boring, whatever—is going to continue to happen in 2017.
But cake—and family, laughter, love, appreciation, presence, connection—will also continue to happen in 2017. Phew.