Keeping my balance



“Happiness is a journey, not a destination.”

We don’t go through life with the vision and goal of getting to a certain place. That’s because who we are and what we do and what we believe in is constantly changing, constantly evolving. We are not the same person today that we were yesterday. Our ideas change. Our visions change. Our passions change. Or souls change.

Life is about the journey. Happiness is about the ride. We are never fully at the end of something. We are merely on a continuous path.

So when I ask myself: “how do I get there?” I am referring to a state of mind. Not a place. But I think that was pretty obvious in my last post. But I am just now realizing that just like life isn’t about the destination, neither is state of mind. State of mind is not about the destination. It’s not about the final result. State of mind is ever-changing.

Yes, you can be happy. You can BE a certain way. You can GET to a certain emotion. You can FEEL happiness, success, power. You can BE accomplished. You can FEEL comfortable in your own skin, or confident in what you’re doing. But when you set yourself up on a journey of continuous self-improvement, you have to ask why.

Without getting too philosophical here, I’ll cut right into where today’s post is going. I think it’s OK I’m not “there” yet. I also think it’s OK that I’m not quite sure what “there” means or how to get there, or even if I want to get there. I actually think it’s a good thing to continuously want to improve. Improve my cycling, improve my running, improve my health, improve my relationships, improve my mind, improve my thinking. We should never stop improving. Instead of looking at my training as something I’m unprepared for, I should look at it as something I am improving.

When people ask me how my training is going, I give them the typical Marjie-doubting-pessimism-let’s-not-get-too-excited response: …. “uh, OK. I’m … GETTING there.”

And when he or she responds with something uplifting and encouraging like “You’ll do great,” I respond by saying “Well, we’ll see.”

Always doubting myself. Putting that doubt first so I don’t disappoint myself or anyone else. Not REALLY believing I’ll be ready.

Does this remind you of another scenario in my life?

My wedding.

I would never let myself talk too much about my wedding or get too excited about my wedding just in case it didn’t happen. Just in case I had to get another implant removed. Just in case my breast cancer came back. Just in case I got another cancer before the wedding. JUST IN CASE it didn’t work out.

I held back. I was inherently excited about the wedding. So excited I could burst, every single second of every day. But I worked so hard to suppress it. I worked to suppress it so I wouldn’t let myself down if something went wrong again.

I got Leukemia a few months before my Bat Mitzvah. I didn’t have my Bat Mitzvah.

I got breast cancer before my wedding. I had my wedding.

I’m training for a 200-mile bike ride. I’ll do the bike ride. I’ll DO the bike ride.

One of the things I pride myself most on is being able to sort out my thorns and move forward, even if just a little. Writing helps me figure out what exactly I’m feeling, and oftentimes why, and sometimes, just sometimes, what to do about it. The goal is always to move forward. Improve myself. And that includes improving my ability to figure out what’s stunting me, come up with a viable solution, and move on. Because life is too good and life is too short to weigh yourself down. You should never let anyone else weigh you down. But come on, to weigh YOURSELF down? What a waste.

Granted, it’s not always easy and I know I have a million little emotional and mental “glitches” to work out. Nothing is perfect. If I didn’t have some emotional challenge or task to take on I wouldn’t be human. I’d probably be pretty boring.

The moment we stop trying to improve is the moment we should be scared.

It’s not that we can’t get there.

It’s not that we don’t want to get there. It’s not that we DO want to get there.

It’s not even about what “there” is, or what “there” means.

“There” is something different to everyone; we choose our own “there.”

For me, it is about being at a place where I feel comfortable and confident in my training for Tour de Pink, and comfortable and confident in my life to the point I’m not always thinking about cancer or worrying about cancer. A place where I am comfortable and confident that I AM healthy and will continue to BE healthy, and anything that changes that is NOT in my control.

Getting “there” most certainly is a journey. And I realize that now. I was so frustrated before, trying to get “there” – to that place. I thought once I got to that place I’d be good. But that place doesn’t exist. Just like trying to find happiness, trying to find your own “there” is a constant journey. We never complete the journey. If we did complete the journey, we’d embark on a new one. That’s life. A constant journey within yourself to work towards something. And that’s not a bad thing. It’s something to embrace.

Perfection doesn’t exist.

There’s no way I will perfectly ride my bike 200+ miles from Philadelphia to Washington, D.C. this September. There’s no way I will glide up hills, a smile on my face, taking minimal water and food breaks and laughing along the way.

MY perfect is completing the ride. Even if it takes crying and falling. Even if it takes swallowing bugs and mud on my legs. Even if it takes 200 tries to get my feet inside the pedal straps. Even if it takes me 8 hours to complete the first day. Even if I throw up on the side of the road. All I want to do is finish Tour de Pink, no matter what it takes. I don’t care how it looks or feels. It probably won’t be pretty and it probably won’t be glamorous.  But it will be ME doing it.

So how do I get there?

Albert Einstein once said: “Life is like riding a bicycle. To keep your balance you must keep moving.”

So how do I get there?

That’s no longer my question.

Like I said in my last post, the finish line of Tour de Pink is only the beginning.

The finish line isn’t even “there.”

And if the finish line of a double century bike ride isn’t my “there,” then where is my “there” and what is my “there?”

I am happy to report is doesn’t exist. But I can assure you I have every intention of keeping my balance in the meantime.

Our new house!

How do I get there?



This past Saturday's 35-mile ride with Sean! We completed it in about 3 hours.



On the toughest, most grueling hills, just when I think I can’t possibly take it anymore, I am almost to the top. The steepest of hills. Those hills where your heart is pounding, your face is clenched, your thighs are burning and if you see someone on the side of the road you kind of want to punch them in the face to spread out the absolute agony you feel at that exact moment. And then it’s over. Deep breath. Recovery. Keep riding until the next hill.

The past two weekends I’ve gone on long rides with Sean. Last weekend was about 30 miles on Saturday, this past Saturday was 35 (our longest yet). And then Sunday we did 10. The longest ride we’ve gone on is still only half of my easiest day on Tour de Pink. Day 1 is about 60 miles, Day 2 is 90, Day 5 is 55 or whatever is left. I know I have about two and a half months to go, but I feel SO behind on training. I know I am doing everything I can, and I am trying my absolute hardest. We go on rides every time we can. I train at the gym when I can. But I feel like it’s not enough.

I feel like I won’t be ready.

Sure, a lot of it is the hills. Getting up those hills (thank you Central Pennsylvania) is half the battle when it comes to training. I need to be able to get up those steep hills and then recover in time for the next one. But it’s also about being comfortable on my bike, which I’m not yet.

I am going to admit something here: I am TERRIFIED when I ride my bike. Not all the time. But most of the time. It goes so fast, sometimes in and out of traffic, and I still haven’t figured out how to sit on it just right to where I can effectively control both the right and left gears. I still haven’t figured out how to move the left gear. I’ve been using the right ones, but the left one has been stuck in the middle since I got the bike. So my rides could probably be a lot easier or a lot harder if I wanted them to be.

 I need to feel comfortable on my bike. I need to feel like it is my best friend. If I’m afraid of my bike and its power how can I possibly ride? I need to CONTROL the bike. The bike shouldn’t control me. I take it where it needs to go. I slow it down when it needs to, and I push it up the hills. It stops when I want it to stop. It stops when I need water or a break. And I’m getting there, slowly. But I’m not there. Pink Flash: I love you, but you scare me. I am scared of you. I need to trust you and trust myself.

I am not a cyclist.

If you asked me to make a list of everything I needed to be able to do to feel ready for Tour de Pink I could come up with a million things. Learn how to use this gear, learn how to hold the steering wheel the right way, learn how to ride with cleats, learn how to get my feet in the pedals faster, learn how to stop without feeling like I’m going to fall over, learn how to brush a bug off my leg without losing balance, learn how to drink water WHILE cycling, learn how to go through traffic lights without having a slight panic attack.

WITH TIME. WITH PRACTICE. WITH PATIENCE.

I keep telling myself: one thing at a time. One day at a time. When I first got Pink Flash, having pedals with straps was new to me and I couldn’t figure out how to start riding WHILE putting my feet into the pedal straps. It would take me multiple tries and sometimes I would have to start and stop again. Now, I can do it faster, usually without having to stop again. It got there. With time.

I think when things are scary or overwhelming to me I psych myself out. I remember: last time I couldn’t get my feet in the pedal straps and I fell over. So I’m more inclined to repeat that process. And then finally, when I effectively did it, I try to remember the successful time (not the failure time) for next time. So when it happens again I envisioned myself being successful in getting my feet in the pedal straps. I remember: I did this last time, so I can do it again.

Same with the steep hills. Just when I want to stop and get off my bike, I push just a little further, and I remember I got up that same hill last time, so I can get up it again.

I try to remember each time I was successful at accomplishing something on my bike or with my bike, so when I am faced with the same or similar problem again I can move forward. Instead of looking back on what I did wrong, I remember what I did right, and encourage myself to do it right again. And if you do that enough times it becomes habit.

I have to give myself time. I am not going to be perfect, or near perfect, right away. I know I have a lot of training to do. I know 90 miles is a lot. I know 60 miles is a lot. I know three days of nothing but riding is a lot. I know I’m not a cyclist. I know I’ve never done this before. I know I’m not entirely comfortable on my bike. I know, I know, I know. I get it. And I want so badly to be there. To feel prepared and to feel ready and to go into September feeling strong and motivated. And I do. I already do feel strong and motivated.

I think I have to remember I don’t learn things overnight. I don’t become perfect at things overnight. They take time and patience. I just want to get to a place where I feel 100 percent (or even 85 percent) ready.

So how do I get there? The answer is simple. Keep doing what I’m doing. And when Sept. 27 comes, it will be what it will be.

And the good?

I can get my feet in the pedals faster now. I can make it up some of the hardest hills with minimal recovery time. I like riding. Especially on bike paths through parks, and double especially on country roads in the middle of nowhere: passing llama farms and cornfields and blue skies. When I am out there that is where I am happiest. And in the sun. I love riding in the sun.

I love the feeling of sweat on my forehead and I love knowing I am working my body and knowing it is working right back for me. I love that feeling after I’ve gone up a huge hill (the kind where I want to punch someone), and then I take a deep breath, my legs have a few seconds to rest, and I almost want to close my eyes and take a quick nap. I love the speed. Even though I’m terrified at how fast Pink Flash goes, when we’re out in the middle of nowhere on country roads and she takes me down a hill it is both exhilarating and relaxing at the same time. Deep breath, wind in my sweaty hair. And then I prepare for the next hill.

So maybe instead of feeling discouraged at what I still have to learn, I can try to enjoy what I still have to learn.

When I started running a few years ago, I was not a runner. I had that same feeling – of wanting to punch someone in the face when I was so exhausted I couldn’t take it anymore. And then I ran more and more and more and more, and now, two years later, running brings me so much joy. It frees me. When I run I erase agitation and stress. I find strength and motivation. I find a special connection, each and every time, each and every mile, with my body.

Today I am not a cyclist. But I am learning to love it. I am learning the craft, the art of it. I am learning the skills and the techniques. And when September gets here I’ll get on Pink Flash and take her through what we practiced. And I’ll be as ready at that moment as I’m meant to be: no more and no less. And it’s because I am putting my heart and soul into it. When you put your heart and soul into something there is no right or wrong. Because your heart and soul are yours. They are yours to own, to do whatever you want with. They take you where you need to go.

So many people are counting on me for this, and so many people believe in me. So many people think I’m crazy to take on this challenge. Crazy or not, they still think I can do it. The person who is most counting on me is myself.

My body

My strength

For breast cancer

For what I went through

For being a young woman

For all the young women survivors

For all the young women who are still battling

For all the young women who didn’t make it

Because breast cancer happens to young women

Because breast cancer happened to me

Because we only have one life

Because I can

Because I want to

Because I want to do something amazing with my passion and drive

Because I want to finish the race

Because I want the finish line

Because the finish line is just the beginning

How do I get there?

When I registered for Tour de Pink it was sometime in January or February. I thought to myself, sure, September is pretty far away, but I’ve got lots of work to do before I can “get there.”

Now, Tour de Pink is less than three months away and I still have lots of work to do before I can “get there.”

But what is “there”?

For me, lately, it is a place where I’m comfortable and content with all things. I couldn’t get “there” during my breast cancer journey and wedding planning. I was always stirring, waiting for the next thing. I couldn’t get “there” after my breast cancer journey was over. I was always reshuffling, looking for another project or activity to keep me from stirring. I am not “there” in my training: I am still lacking in so many departments.

I put a lot of pressure on myself. And a lot of that is about finding my “there.” “There” is comfortable with all things, content with all things, PREPARED.

I think when I stop trying to get “there” – somewhere, I let my worst fears in. Fear of Li Fraumeni Syndrome giving me cancer again and ruining this life I’ve worked so hard to create. I think that’s one reason I’m never “there.” Because once I’m “there” – once everything is perfect and content and I’m prepared, then it could be destroyed, taken away. So maybe subconsciously I am always, always, always working towards something to keep myself from getting to a place where I feel completely comfortable. Maybe it is a defense mechanism. Because I know when I stop trying to perfect everything and anything, I leave the door open for cancer.

So I keep asking myself how to get “there,” when quite possibly, I don’t want to. I don’t want to stir and I don’t want to feel unprepared. I do want to be content and comfortable, and I am. But I think part of my function is to constantly work towards something. Somehow, someway, I think cancer can’t find me when I’m busy. Or maybe I don’t think of it as much when I’m working towards something.

It’s scary to be stirring and it’s frustrating to not feel prepared and it’s terrifying to think about cancer. Memories I’ve blocked out are coming back to me, and in my head I hear Dr. Kass saying things like “invasive” and “non-invasive” when she was explaining my diagnosis two years ago. I replay things in my mind I hadn’t thought of since, things that no longer matter, yet things I feel I need to run in my mind again and again.

So how do I get to a place where I’m not doing this? How do I get to a place where I’m 100 percent happy with my training, feel prepared for Tour de Pink? I feel like I’m wasting my time. Why am I not enjoying this more?

Patience.

“Have patience with all things, but especially with yourself.”

I guess right now, but best “there” I can get to is admitting I’m not “there” and I don’t know what “there” is.

Up each hill one more time.

Unpack one more box.

Run one more mile.

Thank G-d every day for my health and my life: the best life I could have ever hoped for, a life I am so blessed and lucky to have. A life not without pain, but with so much healing. A life of recovery. A life of moving forward. A life of FUTURE. A life that gives me the time I need to get to where I’m going, wherever that may be.

Pink and Pearls doesn’t give me answers. It helps me sort out my questions.

From a blog to a bouquet

The dried roses in a vase on top of my dresser are the most important flowers to me. Touch them and die. I’m only half joking.

When we moved into our new house (oh, did I mention we moved into our new house last weekend?!) I carried them ever so carefully, never letting my hand leave their side as they sat next to me in the car. They’re the roses from my bouquet from my wedding. And since my wedding day they have been with me in that same glass vase. A few petals have fallen to the bottom of the vase, but about four or five dried pink and white roses, and their stems, remain intact.

They are a constant reminder of the beauty of my wedding day and the beauty of my life. As the seasons change and our houses change and life moves forward the roses remain in one place, still, silent. They are my wedding-day bouquet.

Last week I realized that the second anniversary of Pink and Pearls is coming up in July. I was reading some of my old entries, including ones from when I just started writing, and it brought up a lot of emotions. It’s funny to me (not in the “ha ha” way, but in the other way) that some of the stuff I wrote in July 2011, following my first mastectomy and before my LFS diagnosis, still rings true today. The stuff about the breast cancer “never really being over.” I wrote that back when it WASN’T really over, not in the least. Little did I know I had five more surgeries to go, would get diagnosed with LFS and decide to get my healthy breast removed. Little did I know that as much as I wanted my bachelorette weekend to be about me and my wedding, it became about the breast cancer when one of my implants had to be removed because it caused my skin to rip around it. Little did I know I would get married with one breast. So back then, it really wasn’t over. And today, I am lucky. That part is over. The cancer is over and the surgeries are over. But I somehow knew back then it would never be “over.” I always knew I would worry about it coming back and I always knew I would have to get lifetime screenings and I always knew I would have to be diligent.

And I guess I always knew I would be too scared to touch my skin when I wash myself in the shower. When I wash under my arms I use the soap bar (or washcloth) straight to the skin; no fingers. If I have an itch under my armpit, I scratch it as fast as I can, trying not to touch the skin. Because I know a lump under the armpit can mean breast cancer.

I still have pain and tightness on my right side from my surgeries and implants, and most bras (including sports bras) are still uncomfortable to wear. Yet I somehow make do. I run and I bike and I do yoga and I have clean armpits. But in the back of my mind it’s still there. Not a single day goes by that I’m not reminded I had breast cancer.

My chest will never feel the same. I know that. My implants still hurt, and I still have trouble sleeping on my stomach. I see the scars every day in the mirror. I still “check” the placement of the implants at least six times a day to make sure they haven’t shifted or no skin has ripped. These are daily things I do. Like brushing my teeth I peep down my shirt a few times a day to “check on things.” I’m looking for signs of breast cancer and I’m making sure my implants haven’t moved. Yet I won’t touch them. Not even for an itch. My fingers don’t go near my chest.

Because that’s how I found the cancer. I know I found it myself and maybe even saved my own life (or at least saved myself from more gruesome treatment) by feeling around and poking around, and I am a huge advocate of self-exams, no matter what doctors or the government say. But I have a breast MRI every year, so I’ll leave the cancer screening to that. If I go in for an itch or to wash myself and think I “feel something” like I always do, my life will literally come to a halt. I’ll cry and panic and crawl in bed and I won’t eat or sleep or work or answer my phone until I can see a doctor who can tell me everything’s OK. So I’m not putting myself through that. I am way too busy to be crying and panicking over cancer scares. Other stuff? Sure. Bring it on.

So Pink and Pearls is two. We’re moved into our new house and we love it! It’s absolutely gorgeous and more beautiful than I could have ever dreamed! The most beautiful part is that we built it together and as the years go on we will continue to build and create this home and this life for ourselves. From the beginning (the floors and the walls and the doorknobs and the perennials) to the middle (furniture and decorating) to the forever. We created a living space for ourselves today and our family tomorrow. It will continue to grow and blossom into something more and more beautiful. Because it is OUR home, that we built. And we built it in more ways than one.

And Pink and Pearls is two. I’ve been writing for almost two years. I know now I don’t write as much as I used to. Life has changed and things have changed. But it’s good to know Pink and Pearls, my ol’ gal, is still here and will always be here. For days like this when I remember I’m still scared of getting breast cancer again – so scared I don’t touch my armpits in the shower. Days when I’m scared and sad, and days when I’m happy. All the days. Even if I don’t write I know I can. I know Pink and Pearls is here for me. It provided me so much when I was first diagnosed. When my brain couldn’t hold the hundreds upon millions of conflicting thoughts. When I had to get them out or I would explode. When I had to figure out what I meant or what I was feeling or had a message to say. When I was in pain. When I was happy. Through the wedding and the surgeries to today, nearly two years later.

Like my wedding day bouquet, Pink and Pearls has blossomed into something I carry with me. It’s provided more than I could ever imagine. From my feelings and my thoughts to awareness to support. It has become my blanket. My comfort.

My wedding day bouquet of pink and white roses, covered in white ribbon and pearls, was symbolic of love and peace and my future as I carried it down the aisle to Sean. I held it close and dearly. It was perfect.

Pink and Pearls, though not tangible or palpable, is something now that I also carry. Symbolic of a journey behind me, and a journey ahead. I may always be scared. I may never again touch my armpits, and I may peep under my shirt a few times a day for the rest of my life. But I AM healing, and Pink and Pearls has helped me do that and see that. For me, one of my healing processes is writing.

Happy almost birthday, Pink and Pearls. Thanks for being there, always. I’ll always need you. I promise.

It's my turn

The whirlwind continues!

In the midst of three weddings in three cities in three weeks in May, I started training with my Tour de Pink bike, which Sean has named Pink Flash for me!

Pink Flash! Thank you Liv/Giant and the Young Survival Coalition!

It’s been phenomenal. We’ve done a few short rides, but with traveling the past few weekends, we really haven’t had time to do another 30-miler. I completed my best ever 5K two weekends ago with a time of 25:55, coming in second in my age group and winning a prize! And this past weekend I did my first Dirty Girl Mud Run in Pittsburgh! I distinctly remember WHEN I signed up for the run. My friend Amy, who used to live in State College but now lives in Pittsburgh, asked me, as I was in bed and recovering from my final breast cancer surgery, if I wanted to do the Dirty Girl Mud Run. At that point, pretty much being unable to move my arms, I said to myself I was sick of lying around and YES, I want to do the mud run! That was in September.

Ready for my first Dirty Girl Mud Run!

Since then Amy and I worked hard to put together a team, design shirts and coordinate everything else that needed to be coordinated. And last weekend it was PERFECT! Myself and 11 other ladies took to the 5K, 13-obstacle course at 8 a.m. last Saturday. It was one of the most fun things I’ve ever done in my life! The obstacles were fairly easy for me, and included climbing walls, swimming through a mud pit, and at the end coasting down a large slide into another mud pit, and then being handed a beer at the end! We laughed hysterically the whole time, and there was lots of cheering, singing, dancing and high-fives, and I made so many new friends. And although the course wasn’t too challenging for me, I did accomplish things I hadn’t done before or maybe thought I was too scared to do before. One of the climbing nets WAS really high, and I was nervous ahead of time about scaling a wall knowing at one point I had virtually NO upper body and chest strength. But I did everything – we all did – in an hour, and celebrated afterwards with beer, hair-braiding and pancakes.


Team Stealing Second Base!
Photo by Chris Cendana

And in between all that we’ve been packing and moving! We closed on the new house last Friday (the night we drove to Pittsburgh for the Dirty Girl), and since then have been packing and moving and packing and moving. We hope to be completely moved in by this weekend. And between all that I decided I’m ready for my next running challenge: a 10K!

I mean, you could have seen this coming, right?



Photo by Chris Cendana
(That's me at the very top to the right!)

At this point I’ve done five 5Ks (plus a mud run), and I go running a few times a week, usually around 3-4 miles at a time. A 10K is 6.2 miles. I can already run 5 miles, so if I can just up that over the next two months (the 10K is in August), I should have no problem. And as this will be my first 10K, I’m not going for speed; just to finish. PLUS, running is EXCELLENT cross training for my bike training. Running and cycling go together nicely, and it helps to train for a double century ride by breaking up my cardio a little bit: run a few miles here, bike a few miles there.

PLUS, I’ve reached out to some local cycling and running groups in the area and will be running and cycling with the Women’s Adventure Club and the State College Cycling Club. They each have rides/runs that cater to me, including a beginning bike ride (one hour or so), Thursday nights. I can work my way up to riding in the advanced groups later on. So I feel good. I’ve been doing a lot, but am still nervous about September, because I know I have a long way to go in terms of training. But I am loving every minute, and each week that goes by I am more excited, more nervous, more anxious, more ready, more NOT ready, more emotional, about and for this ride.

I think the fact of the matter is that this ride is very important to me. It’s a big deal. It’s a big challenge. It’s one of the biggest, scariest things I’ve ever (willingly) taken on. So it’s normal to be nervous and it’s normal to never really feel fully prepared. How can you?! Kind of like when I spoke for The Moth last June. It was the first time I told my story out loud without notes, away from Pink and Pearls, in front of an audience, by myself. I prepared for months with The Moth team and with myself, and yes, I was READY. Ready for my monologue in the sense that when you practice you become prepared. But was I really READY? I think sometimes you just jump in.

I was prepared for that 10-minute speech. I had rehearsed my notes, gone over the order. But was I READY? Are we ever really ready?

Sometimes yes, sometimes no.

I think you just jump in.

So with Tour de Pink I will TRAIN. I will PREAPRE. But will I ever actually be READY for a 200-mile bike ride to reclaim my life, myself, after breast cancer? No. but I’ll do it. And it will be amazing.

You can train and you can rehearse and you can prepare. But the point is we never know what to expect in life. We never know what will be thrown at us or what will be taken away from us, or even HOW we can be ready for something that we DO know is coming. We do our best every day to make the best decisions for us. And if something is a challenge, then it’s a challenge.

This ride will no doubt be a challenge. But I also know, deep in my heart, this will be one of the best things I ever do. Me, myself and Pink Flash. We’ll scream. We’ll cry. But we’ll do it. All 200 miles of it.

I’ve been reminding myself lately of a quote from Nelson Mandela: “It always seems impossible until it gets done.”

Building a new house. Moving into a new house. Training for a double century. Riding a double century.

Even some days I train it seems impossible. Yesterday, for example, I rode 15 miles on an Expresso bike at the gym. 15 miles at the gym is boring. But it was dark and rainy outside and I needed to get a ride in. The beginning is always hard. It seems like it will never end.

Me and Amy!
Photo by Chris Cendana

I used to be that way with running, and sometimes I still am. Just starting out I am tired and feel overwhelmed. And then I get into my groove and I feel good and I remember why I’m doing it in the first place.

Running 1 mile used to be a daunting challenge for me. Now I can run a 5K is under 26 minutes and just registered for a 10K. I’m hoping the same will be true with cycling. Yes, it’s hard at first. But what isn’t? But with time and practice and patience it will not only get easier, it will get done. Just like with running, I push myself to get one more mile in.

On the bike at the gym, sure, I could stop at 13 miles. But if I stop at 13 I’ll never get to 15. If I get to 15 JUST THIS ONCE, I can do it again, and do even more next time. I would have never gotten to running 5 miles if I stopped each time at 3.

It’s the push that gets you there.

I never thought I’d ever finish my breast cancer surgeries. I never thought there would be a day I’m scaling walls and climbing on my stomach in mud pits and moving boxes into a new home. But I healed and I regained and now it’s almost like I’m starting again.

And every day I think of the women who don’t have this yet. And I pray they do one day. I remember what it was like to not be able to open car doors. I remember what it was like to be paralyzed by pain and by surgeries.

I remember when I said yes to the mud run. I wanted out. I didn’t want something else dictating when I could move my arms or my chest, or how.

So that’s one of the millions upon millions of reasons I’ll be riding in September. Because now it’s my turn to steer.

A constant beauty

I think one reason pink roses and pearls were such an important part of my wedding is because their beauty is everlasting.

No matter what you’re going through in life, no matter how heart-wrenching, sad, devastating, confusing … the seasons keep changing and rosebuds always, without fail, spring up out of the ground.

As spring is (kind of) here in Happy Valley and flowers are starting to bloom, including pink rosebuds, I am reminded that life moves on and the seasons change, no matter what happens in life.

When there was so much uncertainty during my breast cancer journey, pink roses were always beautiful and pearls were always perfect and classic.

And my wedding. That was something that was always beautiful, no matter what. The surgeries in between. The scars and the crying and the pain and the waiting and the uncertainty: those were not. They were hard. They hurt. But the wedding was always there. It was always upcoming. And it was always beautiful.

It was beautiful when I only had one breast.

So much in life is reliant upon health and events and what happens to you. So much in life has to be altered by things you can’t control. So much in life is cancelled by the unexpected and devastating.

But pink roses are always beautiful. It’s like they are untouched by life events. They are pretty and they are delicate and they are bright. They have a calming presence.

And pearls are timeless. They are perfect and shiny and precious; a true symbol of femininity and beauty in the past, the present and the everyday.

And my wedding. It was still being planned and it still happened even when I had breast cancer. And like pink roses that grow each spring and pearls that are flawless and timeless, my wedding was untouched. Its beauty, its meaning, its purpose, its spirit, untouched. It was beautiful between it all.

A lot of that had to do with me making the decision to not let anything get in the way of my wedding. But a lot of it had to do with nature. Something that is meant to be beautiful all the time will be beautiful all the time, no matter what happens to it or during it or around it.

Pink roses. Pearls. My wedding.

Our new house, which is scheduled to be ready in only a few weeks, will have a white picket fence and pink rose bushes. Those things will help make our new home always beautiful, no matter what happens in the future. And the rest is natural: our new home will be beautiful because it is meant to be beautiful. Because something that is meant to be beautiful all the time will be beautiful all the time, no matter what happens to it, during it or around it.

On a completely separate note, I received my Tour de Pink bike earlier this week! It is absolutely perfect! I am so lucky, blessed and honored to receive this donation from the Young Survival Coalition/Tour de Pink and Liv/Giant, the bike manufacturer. Now I can start training with the actual bike I’ll be riding Tour de Pink with!

I was also lucky enough to be asked by the YSC to share my story in an email to go out to young breast cancer survivors to encourage them to register for Tour de Pink. A copy of the email here:

Dear Marjorie,

Will you join me and 100 other survivors riding in Tour de Pink®?

In April 2011 at the age of 26, two months after getting engaged, I was diagnosed with breast cancer. I planned my wedding, got married and honeymooned in Europe in the midst of six surgeries: a double mastectomy and reconstruction.

Today I am healthy and strong and have made it part of my mission to reach out to women, share my story and challenge myself, both in mind and body.

I know that life brings the unexpected. That's why I believe in living each day to the fullest, and in challenging myself when given the opportunity. I am thankful each day my body is capable of physical activity, and I want to bring out the absolute best in myself.

I’m riding in my first Tour de Pink for other young breast cancer fighters and survivors. I want to make sure young women with breast cancer don’t travel this journey alone. I want to make sure no other young women are turned away from their doctors because they are “too young to get breast cancer.” I want to meet and connect with other survivors like you. It’s women like you who give me strength and inspire me, and I only hope I can do the same for you.

And I’m riding for myself. For the challenge, for the experience, and because I know I can do it. With the unwavering support of my husband Sean, and my amazing family and friends, I can accomplish anything.

I’m ready for the future, and breast cancer will not stand in my way. Join me and register today for Tour de Pink!

• East Coast: 9/27–9/29: Philadelphia, PA to Washington, DC
• West Coast: 10/18–10/20: Thousand Oaks to Huntington Beach, CA

You help change the lives of other young breast cancer survivors everywhere; join me on this incredible adventure.

Sincerely,

Marjorie S. Miller
Survivor, First Time Tour de Pink Rider

I received an email this morning from another young survivor who got the Tour de Pink email and reached out to me. She was also diagnosed in her 20s with DCIS, and was planning her wedding through it all, just like me! She recently started a nonprofit with another young survivor friend of hers, Fighting Pretty, which caters to young women with breast cancer.

After exchanging a few emails with her today I learned we have much more in common than I thought. She, too, believes there’s not a lot of support for young women with breast cancer, since many of the support groups by her in NYC, and by me, mostly have older women. She believes it’s important young women have a place to go for support and for beauty tips, such as wearing red lipstick while going through chemo, or putting on high heels to go to the doctor’s office. She understands the importance of these resources – websites, groups, networks. Young women with breast cancer ARE rare, but through her work and the work of the YSC (and hopefully my work with Pink and Pearls and me speaking in my local community), young women can connect with one another, and awareness can be raised and people can be educated. Because it DOES happen to young women and it needs to be talked about.

At Joel and Ashley's Arizona wedding earlier this month!

I was honored this young woman reached out to me, and honored that she did through an email she received from the YSC. The YSC works hard to share these stories in hopes of inspiring others, and they do, every day. It was the YSC that brought this woman to me – someone I have so much in common with. It warms my heart to know this other young woman not only beat her cancer, but she got married, is planning her honeymoon this July to Europe, AND started advocacy work for a cause she believes in. She took what she knew and loved and made it something that can and will impact others and change their lives.

At the end of my last email to her I responded to what she had said about never being “done” with breast cancer because you’re reminded of it every day when you look in the mirror. And I agreed. You are never really “done” because even though the cancer is gone and the surgeries or treatment is over, you still have your scars and you still have your new body and you still have a lifetime of screenings and tests and you still have fear of recurrence. I told her it is devastating that both of us went through such a scary, shocking and confusing experience at such a young age, especially during such an important times in our lives of planning our weddings.

And it’s true. And then that got me thinking. Yes, it’s true. It’s devastating. The cancer. Having our breasts removed. All during our weddings. And our futures of pregnancy issues and screenings and fear and scars and life will never be the same.

But we have each other.

I don’t KNOW her, but I know her. And we have the YSC. And we have Fighting Pretty. And we have all the other young women who are breast cancer fighters and survivors who share their story every day. We have this whole community. We are small but we have it.

And that beauty is everlasting. That beauty will never go away. Because it’s meant to be forever. The beauty of the human spirit is never faltering. Telling your story of pain and telling your story of triumph and strength. Telling it openly and honestly for millions and millions of reasons. That’s us. I have her and I have the other women.

And that is constant. A constant reminder of life and hope. A constant piece of heart, of soul. A constant beauty.

Like pink roses, like pearls, like my wedding. The beauty in life is always there, untouched. Waiting for you to see it, to use it.

Fighting Pretty

Immersing myself: part 2

I think something very tricky I’ve been doing since my final surgery last September is immersing myself in something larger. Something that’s not running or cycling or public speaking. Something that’s all of that and more: my “new” life.

When I was planning my wedding and having breast cancer surgeries, for the most part I allowed myself to be angry. I allowed myself all of those feelings. It’s true: I focused on the good and did the best I could to push forward and find new and better ways to look at the situation. Ultimately I decided my wedding trumped the breast cancer. I decided to live life that way, while still letting myself be angry.After my final surgery in September I decided I was done with the breast cancer. I knew I was still reshuffling. I knew I still had to find my place in this life, post-breast cancer. I had to find my purpose, my meaning, my balance. But I told myself there was nothing left to be angry about. I was healthy, I was healed, I no longer had breast cancer, and my life was and is phenomenal, more than I could have ever dreamed of. I told myself there was no room for anger. That I had been angry long enough and now I had no reason to be angry.
People with breast cancer, now they could be angry. I wasn’t allowed. Because I was better, because I was stronger, and because I had created this “new” life of Pink and Pearls and public speaking and 5Ks and a double century bike ride and getting involved in the community and sharing my story and building a house and making plans and planning parties and getting more involved with my work and working harder and eating healthier and eating cleaner and coconut oil and kale and yoga. Because I had gotten BETTER. Because I actually overcame the cancer. Because my life had no limits. Because I COULD run, so I should. Because I COULD register for a 200-mile bike ride, so I should. Because I COULD choose what to eat. No restrictions: dietary, physical or otherwise. When for so long there were SO many restrictions. I couldn’t lift my arms, couldn’t lift a gallon of milk, couldn’t walk Campbell, couldn’t sleep on my stomach, couldn’t sleep on my side, couldn’t eat after midnight. And then? None. I had my life back. No, correction: I had a “new” life and I was going to augment it. Make it bigger, make it better; say to the breast cancer: “no, you took nothing from me. Instead, look what you gave me! Strength, in mind and body.”I didn’t get to be angry anymore because I had built this new life.
But there was one problem. I’m still angry.

I think more than anyone, I, myself, forget that feelings don’t have rules. There are no rules on when and where and how you’re “allowed” to be angry. You can be angry for no reason and you can be angry for a million reasons. I think I was so immersed, if you will, in not being angry and in doing better for myself (in my “new” life), I forgot I still had some anger. And I always will. And instead of bottling it away, I need to acknowledge it. I’m allowed to be grateful for my life and I’m allowed to want better for my life and I’m allowed to MAKE better for my life. But I’m also allowed to be angry.And I think I spend so much time expecting so much of myself that I forget this. I still have anger. Probably not every day, but it’s still there.

-When I was getting my survivor picture taken before the Pink Zone basketball game, and the photographer told me to pose with the woman in front of me – because the photographer believed that woman was my mother, the breast cancer survivor. No, I was there for myself. I AM the survivor. Young? Yes. But a survivor.
-When I have to call and plead and call again to doctor’s offices, trying to explain what Li Fraumeni Syndrome is and why I need an MRI and why I can’t have a dental X-ray. Why I need an MRI, yes, again, only six months later or a year later. Why I need, yes another, abdominal ultrasound. Why I can’t have mammograms. I no longer have breasts. Yes, I’m only 28. But I no longer have breasts.
-When people dismiss me because of my age, saying or implying I don’t have any “health issues” because I’m “so young.”
-Trying to explain why my chest hurts when I ride a bike. I have breast implants. No, not in addition to regular breasts; in place of. Why? I had breast cancer.
-When I try to tell doctors this or that needs to be followed up with immediately because I’ve had cancer twice and I have Li Fraumeni Syndrome, and they spell Li Fraumeni Syndrome wrong on me sheet because NOBODY’S HEARD OF IT.
-When I try to think of something smart and (not rude) to say when people try to preach the importance of breastfeeding directly to me. Thanks, but I don’t have breasts. Actually, not all women have breasts.
-When people ask me when I’m having a baby. (Do you want the short, 15,000-word answer, or do you want the long, 900,000,000,000-word answer?)
-When I’m at a new doctor’s office for the first time and I have to fill out the part of the questionnaire that says: “have you had any previous health problems?” And there’s only ONE line to write ONE cancer.

Despite having amazing doctors, people really still don’t understand and often don’t take me seriously when I call to make appointments. Because I’m so young they don’t think I need this or that, or they tell me to “keep an eye on it.” It’s hard to have to explain myself and defend myself and fight for myself all the time at doctor’s offices because I’m the one who knows my body and I’m the one who knows about LFS and I’m the one who found my breast cancer, so you better as hell believe I know what’s going on.

So yes, I guess there still is anger. Those are feelings I maybe don’t address anymore because I’m “done” with the breast cancer, so they don’t have a place anymore. But I need to realize that they do. Anger is natural. If I address it instead of bottling it up, I may actually feel more at peace. I may actually feel I’m being honest with myself.I need to let myself in. I think I got lost in trying so hard to be better. I think I forgot what exactly it is that MAKES me better. And that’s looking deep down and figuring it out. I already know the journey doesn’t stop. I already know life is hard and it will probably be hard again. I already know I live in the moment. But maybe I need to figure out, again, that yes, I’m better, and yes, I’m lucky. But I’m also angry. And because that feeling is genuine and honest, it has a place. Let me put it in its place: a little pocket tucked away. Not bottled. Not hidden.
There, but tucked. It’s not dominant.
But it exists. I need to accept that. 

Immersing myself: part 1

Since I’ve started training for Tour de Pink, there is no doubt my body has gone through, and continues to go through, serious changes. The number on the scale is going up, WHICH I HATE, but my clothes still fit and I’m getting more muscular and more toned. People keep telling me I’m losing inches but gaining muscle. Well, this SHOULD help me feel better, but it doesn’t. At least not that much.

I haven’t changed my eating habits, and it seems the more I exercise the “bigger” I get. It’s actually very frustrating. Trying to control my weight while training for a double century. In addition to riding 30 miles on the weekends, I run 3-5 miles about four or five days a week. And in addition to that I’m still weight training, though not as much since I’ve started biking.



I've raised more than $3,700 for the YSC!



This past Sunday Sean and I had our first real bike race: the 28-mile Linden Loop. We had just done 30 miles the weekend before, so I thought I was pretty ready. After all, when I registered I thought it was a GREAT way to get some competitive training in my regimen. True, true, true: all of those things. But MAN was that ride rough.

Not only was I the slowest with the worst bike (little Pinky is only 7-speed and has huge, short tires), but I was the least trained out of everyone. I got lost and came in last, and my amazing husband Sean actually came back to look for me instead of finishing the race before me like he could have. We finished the last few miles together.

First long training ride with Sean!

The route was extremely hilly; hillier than anything I’d ever ridden before. Rolling hills. Yes, welcome to Central Pennsylvania. Despite that, it was a gorgeous day and the riders were nice and supportive of me, which was especially apparent as I had to walk my bike up some of the steepest hills.

Because we were riding in a group I pushed myself harder than I ever have. I guess I have to remind myself I have only just started training, this was my first real organized bike race, AND my little Pinky is not the best for riding hills and long distances. So it was tough. But I did it. I finished.

It's finally spring in Happy Valley! With Audrey at girls' night last week

There was part of me, during the miles I was truly by myself on the open road, I felt kind of brave. Don’t get me wrong: there was nothing to panic or be worried about. I had my cell phone, people knew I was on the ride, and I had my race bib on. But I felt like I was on an adventure. My own personal adventure. I especially felt this after getting lost and then being pointed in the right direction again. I was miles behind everyone else, the bright sun was beaming down on me (hi Mommy and Grandma, YES, I WAS wearing sunscreen), and it was just me and my little pink bike. I knew I had a long ways to go. I knew I had hills up ahead. I knew everyone else would be waiting for me at the finish line. I knew I could take my time. And I knew I could get there. I pushed and pushed, and Sean came and we got there together. It was hard but I did it.

Lauren and myself at girls' night last Thursday!

I found out last week I qualified, as a survivor, to receive a FREE bike from Liv/Giant to ride on the tour, which I am so excited about! It should come to me in about two weeks, and I can start training with it. Don’t get me wrong, I love Pinky, but I need something a little more serious: a road bike with 10 speeds. I know it will make the hills easier.

Speaking at the Powerful Women Paving the Way conference April 19! Such an amazing experience!

So as I’m immersing myself, if you will, in training, I’m gaining muscle. I’m gaining strength. My thighs are hard as a rock. It feels great to be able to ride 30 miles. It feels great to be able to run 4 miles in the morning before work and feel ENERGIZED afterwards. But maybe what I didn’t expect with all this training was that my body would change. I would actually get muscle. Who knew?! And yes, that means the scale is going up and I want to cry every day because of it.

I’m really only about 1-2 pounds higher than I’d like to be, but I’m trying to remind myself: I’m training for a double century, for goodness sake! I’m pushing my body harder than I EVER have, in my entire life. I guess I should have expected this. But for everyone who knows me, they know I watch very carefully what I eat, and since starting Weight Watchers nearly three years ago, I write down everything I eat every single day, with the exception of my wedding day and the days following surgery. So you can imagine how hard this is for me to watch what I eat, count my points and write it down, only to have the scale go up. Don’t get me wrong: I LOVE being toned and having muscle, and knowing I can probably outrun some people and kick other people’s asses. I love that. I’m strong. But I feel a little out of control. With this new strength comes a new body. And it’s hard. I’m in transition.

Campbell is getting big!

So I tell myself: right now, I am immersed in cycling. I signed up for Tour de Pink, and it’s one of the most important things in my life right now. To get through this ride. To raise money. To do this for myself and for other young women. This is my cause right now. This is my strength, my drive. If I have to gain a few pounds (of muscle!) in the process, I guess I will. I don’t have a choice. I have to train. I can’t be a blob on the couch with this race four months away. I have to be ready to tackle 60-90 miles a day in September. I have to be ready for this for so many reasons. After the ride I can go back to “normal,” although now I don’t know what that is. The feeling I get from running and cycling cannot be matched by anything. And now those things will probably be a part of my life. I’ll never call myself an athlete or a runner or a cyclist. Never. But I can say I run and I cycle. I can say those things make me happy. They make me feel good about myself, they make me strong. They are a part of me now. And I love them.

I always knew I would run after breast cancer. But I never imagined I’d run like this.