RUN FOR IT

Athleticism and I go together about as well as the "Baby Mamas" and their recently lie detector tested husbands on any episode of Maury Povich.


Someone curses. Someone cries.



Someone is hit in the head with a folding chair.



"Someone" is me.




I cringe when I think about the first time my poor husband (fiancé at the time) playfully tossed a ball my way.



"Catch!"




His skilled throw had aimed the ball to fall perfectly in my hands. I only needed to raise my open palm 3 inches to complete the exercise.



I chose, instead, to swat at the ball and squeal, "Eek!" as if it were a giant, circular insect.




I watched as Adam's expression turned from shock to shame and eventually, pity. There is a very real possibility that if we hadn't already put a sizable down payment on our wedding, that he might've bolted right then.



I'm hopeless.



I couldn't even run the required mile in Freshman P.E. I walked it, and then ran...... to get my inhaler.


*puff, wheeeeze*



So it makes perfect sense that 9 months ago, when my friend Linsey asked if I would join her and 10 other skilled runners in Utah for the Wasatch Back 24 hour ragnar relay race (from Logan to Salt Lake) that I said,


"Sure!"


I think I've taken one too many folded chair hits to the head.




Whether is was a previous brain injury or that Linsey bribed me with the promise of a "karaoke all nighter" when I completed the race, I agreed to run all day and all night through the mountainous Utah terrain.


Who do I think I am!?



I know who I'm not........a runner.


Which became very apparent on my first day of training. I reported to the track, pretended I knew how to stretch, and geared up for the run. Halfway through the first minute I had to stop for fear my burning lungs would burst and bloody my new pretty running shoes.


Thirty seconds!?


I was disgusted with myself. I hated that feeling.

But I liked the idea of conquering it. So I went back the next day, and started again.



Thirty seconds became a minute. A minute became five. I was even able to pass the older gentleman who walked in the morning with his oxygen tank rolling behind him. (Passing him without the tank would take another month.)

Physically, I was beginning to improve. (I could stave off wheezing for a whole 10 minutes!) But mentally, I was on shaky ground.

I felt like an impostor. (An impostor in really fancy running shoes, but an impostor none the less.) There was not an ounce of grace in my stride, I was embarrassingly slow, and I still cradled my inhaler like a long lost friend.

How would I ever pull this off?

One day, while in the middle of a raging "This is hard!" pity party, I clicked on a blog link posted by my lovely and amazing friend, Melanie.

"Shelby's Journey" it read, in bold across the top of the screen.

I scrolled down through the months, back to the beginning of her story, when one of the posts caught my eye. Melanie had written this post for her sister. Shelby couldn't make it to the computer that day.

Shelby is not one to complain. And hasn't. I just wanted to let you all know that she has been quite sick this weekend. The weeks of chemo have finally caught up with her and she is sick and tired, has sores all over in her mouth, throat and intestines. Her fingers have lost most of the feeling in them now and she has a hard time keeping hold of stuff. She says she is dropping a lot on the floor because she just can't grip right. Her fingernails have finally started turning black and she is just feeling pretty rotten. I am so glad she won't have to go in Wed for another treatment. Please keep her in your prayers this week - especially tomorrow. We want that PET scan to be Cancer free! I love you Shel. I am sorry you are feeling yuck.

My "pity party" transformed into a lump in my throat. This beautiful, young mother of 4 had Non-Hodgkin's Lymphoma and was in the fight of her life. I continued reading Shelby's story, astounded at her courage, envious of her wit.


I've had a few different people ask me if i want to just sit down and throw a little pity-party sometimes. I don't. And its not because I'm a marvel or a super-hero. I have made lists over and over in my mind of all the bad and all the good that has come of this. The good list is much, much longer than the bad list and I think I would be so ungrateful to feel sorry for myself for one minute. There are things that I don't like, obviously! My fingers and toes are numb on the ends... and now my heels, too. My taste buds come and go. I have sores in my throat and weird jaw pain. I'm tired and sick sometimes. I'm bald. And there's other stuff. BUT I have felt all the love everyone in the world has for me and have been served daily by friends and family.

I wiped my tears and grabbed my running shoes. Her story had given me strength. I made a quiet vow to think of Shelby, the most inspiring person I had never met, if ever discouragement came to call.

Run like her.

My thoughts wandered to 8 years earlier, on my wedding day. Adam's brother stood to toast our love and our effervescent future. His freshly shorn head glistened under the lights. He was pale from an earlier dash to the restroom, thanks to the effects of chemo. I was young and stupid and self involved. I had no idea how much strength it took for him-for the whole family- to be there that day. They all selflessly put aside the crippling fear and constant worry brought on by his shocking diagnosis and debilitating treatment. Andy has been in remission from Hodgkin's Lymphoma for almost 7 years.

I knew that I couldn't make up for the time that I lost, but maybe I could do something to help ensure that my husband's beautiful family would never have to go through that again.

Run for them.

It was at another wedding, a year before my own, that I first witnessed the pain and sadness accompanied with cancer.

Jake, one of our dearest friends, was marrying Sara, the love of his life. It was a magical ceremony. If perfect is attainable- this was it. And yet, there was something missing, or rather, someone missing.

Kelly was Jake's older brother and personal hero. In November, 1997 he was diagnosed with CML Leukemia. I can't imagine the helplessness felt by Jake and his family when they were unable to find a match for his bone marrow. He received an imperfect match and fought for a year and a half before he passed away from complications from the transplant.

Kelly was 29 years old. His young wife, Jill attended her husband's funeral with their infant son, Wyatt.

There isn't a day that passes that Kelly isn't loved and deeply missed by his family.

Run for the families who were left behind.

These are people who know what it is to truly fight for their lives. Their experiences have given my silly running experiment a whole new meaning. And it would be my honor if I could help them in return.

Jake and his friends at the Leukemia and Lymphoma Society have been kind enough to help me set up a donations page. I will be running 16 miles total, so I thought it appropriate to set my goal at $1,600. I know that even the smallest donation would mean so much to them. This page will be up through the month of June.

DONATE HERE to help LLS

In return, I am completely willing to make a fool of myself with my gawky, "injured bird-like" running and finish this race.

No matter what, I won't give up.....they taught me that.

(I know that most of you won't be there to see me embarrass myself at this race, so if you need me to make a fool of myself in person in order to get your donation, I am without shame and more than willing to do so.)

Thank you from the bottom of my heart for your support!!!