Guardian angel

(Above: pictures from Sean and Alifia’s Sangeet last weekend in NY! The first day was an Indian celebration, and Sunday was a Jewish wedding and ceremony. We had such a phenomenal time and are so happy for the newlyweds!)

This time last year I was preparing for my final breast cancer surgery: tissue expanders exchanged on both sides for silicone implants.

This time this year I am preparing for a 200-mile bike ride.

If anything, looking back at last September’s Pink and Pearls posts reminds me how much life can change in a year, and just how much we have no idea what will happen, or what things (Tour de Pink) we’ll get ourselves into!

I am really, really blessed to be able to say last year at this time I was going into my sixth and final surgery, and today, nearly one year later, my scans are clean and I’m healthy enough to take on the challenge that is Tour de Pink.

The ride is now, officially, less than a month away. This month is either going to go by incredibly slowly or super fast. As I’ve written before, now it’s down to the wire: five days a week riding, and 40, 50 and 60-mile rides on Saturdays and Sundays. I am feeling more confident now during and after each ride. This week on Monday and Tuesday I rode more than 20 miles each time in under two hours, and on Thursday morning I rode 12 miles. I’ve been getting more confident with the clip-ins, though Thursday morning I fell probably five or six times from either not being able to clip out in time or not making a decision in time if I was stopping or turning. But each time I picked myself up and rode on. For a little while there I was mad at myself: why am I still falling with the clip-ins? Am I making negative progress? Is that even a thing? And then I remembered that whole “stop being so hard on myself” bit and I decided to chalk it up to a bad ride. (Not a terrible ride, but a bad ride.) I told myself not to obsess over the falling and instead focus on the progress. Don’t lose sleep over it. MOVE ON.

My pace is getting better, my balance is getting better and I am FEELING better on the bike, which are all really important things.

On Monday evening during my 23-mile ride, there is a route I do in which part of the road doesn’t have a little shoulder for cyclists. It’s only a tiny part, but it’s very scary to me since it’s downhill. But it’s part of a route that is crucial to me so I need to take that road when I’m doing 20+ mile rides. I always get nervous on that part of the road. But I slow down, take notice of my surroundings, continuously look behind me, let cars pass when they need to, and remain calm. Getting into a tizzy won’t help anyone. Anyway, Monday during that scary stretch of the road I hate, just as I was feeling nervous, this male cyclist passed me on the left. He was all decked out in cycling gear, said “hi” really confidently, and flew by me like it was no big deal. I didn’t even know he was behind me until he passed me. I call people like that “no bigs” people: people who think something is no big deal. To me, as a new cyclist, that road is scary and cycling down it takes an extreme amount of concentration. For him, someone who clearly has been cycling since he came out of the womb, it was no big deal. No bigs. He was confident. He was happy. And he glided past me. As soon as that happened I felt a huge wave of relief pour over me. “Today I am not cycling alone,” I thought. Sure, I wasn’t riding WITH this guy, but he was out there, riding the same road as myself, and he could do it and he was confident, showing me that it’s not so scary after all.

After he passed I kind of smiled and thought to myself: “I can do this after all. Maybe this road is no bigs.”

Kind of like when I used to wait in line for roller coasters or other scary, nausea-inducing rides at amusement parks and would be terrified out of my mind. And then I would see a little kid waiting in line for the same ride, completely calm and happy, and maybe even excited to go on the ride. And then I would think, “if this kid can do it, and he’s like 5, then I can do it.”

Seeing someone else do something that scares me, and seeing them do it with confidence, gives me confidence in return.

It lets you know that you’re not alone. There’s “others” like you. You’re not alone on the scary roller coaster ride. You’re not alone on the road.

That rider Monday night was like a little guardian angel. Just when I got really scared, he was there for a split second, reminding me that cyclists do this all the time, ride these roads. And throughout the rest of my ride, just as I felt lonely on a long stretch of road along farmland, another cyclist would pass on the other side of the road and wave to me. Each a reminder that I am not in this alone. And with Tour de Pink I’ll have 200 of them. Sometimes I just need a reminder that other people can do this, and that I can do this.

Just as it does every year, September will bring so many events and milestones. I know these next few weeks will be tough as I’m really pushing myself with the training. It’s hard to fall and not feel completely discouraged. It’s hard to make myself ride 20 miles in the evening after a full day of work, or wake up at 5 a.m. and ride 10-15 miles in the morning just as the sun is coming up. It’s hard to reserve every single Saturday and Sunday from now until the ride just for riding and making sure I get in 40+ miles each time. It’s hard to be living and breathing cycling. But I remind myself that this is temporary. This final push means the ride is right around the corner. I must stay strong and motivated and get each ride in. And it will be here before I know it.

Trust me, there are days when I really don’t want to ride. There are days when I feel like I haven’t ridden enough, or didn’t do well enough. There are days I’m antsy until I get on the bike, and days where all I want to do is be off the bike. But I know this final push will be worth it to feel confident on Sept. 27, 28 and 29.

Though the training and preparation is important, I can’t lose sight of why and how. I can’t forget that Tour de Pink is supposed to be FUN. It’s about friendships and overcoming. It’s about challenging yourself and setting and meeting goals. For me and for my sisters.

Sometimes it’s hard for me to fully comprehend how I got here. I still can’t grasp the breast cancer. I’m still learning what it is to heal. I’m still finding a way to live life after breast cancer while not living life BECAUSE of breast cancer. I’m still finding myself.

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

I think sometimes I overdo the “keep moving” part in order to find that balance. Sometimes I’m afraid of what will happen if I slow down.

What’s scarier than moving too fast? Not moving at all.

If you ride too slowly up a hill you fall over.

If you run too slowly up a hill you tire, and may not reach the top.

What happens if I fall over? What happens if I don’t reach the top?

When I first started this blog, all I wanted more than anything in the whole world was to walk down the aisle on March 31, 2012. It was all I envisioned for a year. I knew, if I could just get down that aisle, then my wedding would happen and everything would be OK and I could move forward in life, steadily, confidently, consistently. It didn’t matter what happened after; I just had to get down that aisle.

And I did walk down the aisle, in the way and on the day I had dreamed about. And we have moved forward in life. And because I’m married to Sean I am prepared to face anything, prepared to take on anything, prepared and ready for every adventure, planned or unplanned, life has to offer. The good and the bad.

What does it mean to live out loud? What does it mean to live fully, and without regrets? For me it means taking on challenges when we are able; doing things that scare us but are worth it; and giving everything in life your all. It’s taking on a task or a challenge and devoting yourself to it. It’s pushing yourself to improve yourself. It’s expanding your skills and horizons. It’s learning about yourself and others. It’s reaching out to other people. It’s nurturing yourself.

It’s immersing yourself in life: things and people and activities that make you happy. It was planning the Hadassah wine tasting this week. Screeching with joy when new rose buds bloom in our flower bed. Snuggling with Campbell on the couch (he lets me put my head on his back). The little feeling of excitement in my heart, that little flutter, when I hear the front door open and I know it’s Sean, when Campbell dives off the couch, his paws pounding the wood floors, running as fast as he absolutely can, to greet him.

It’s welcoming people into our new home. Using the fancy cheese plates and knives. Looking out of the kitchen and living room windows and seeing the sun set so clearly each night, and knowing there’s nothing back there but farmland and a winery.

It’s in having a job where I get to do what I love every day. It’s having a full circle of friends to host parties with and go out to dinner with. It’s having a full calendar of traveling and weddings and visiting new babies and football games and holidays and family gatherings.

It’s having a husband who supports everything I do, from my vegetable juicing to my stock of coconut oil to signing up for a double century bike ride to making plans with friends and then crying and saying “I’m so busy all the time.” He lets me buy the kale. He lets me go to bed early to play Words with Friends. He lets me DVR endless episodes of Roseanne and Keeping up with the Kardashians. He buys my favorite K-cup coffees even though they’re more expensive than the store brand. And when I put Kashi cookies on the shopping list, instead of asking me which kind to buy, he buys one box of each kind. He puts up with me eating raw garlic and soaking our fruit in apple cider vinegar to remove the pesticides. He puts air in my bike tires before a ride, and understands mail I get from doctor’s offices is too overwhelming to read right away so he lets me put it aside and read it when I’m ready.

How lucky and blessed I am to have a husband who not only loves me for exactly who I am (quirks and all) but who embraces all my ridiculous habits and ways. He knew from day 1 we would get through the breast cancer together. He knew from day 1 we’d have the wedding on the day we wanted, and it would be what we wanted. He knew from day 1 I could do Tour de Pink.

He always, always, always knows.

That partnership, that love, that commitment, that loyalty, that strength fuels me. It fuels every nook and cranny in my life.

I live, every single day, in an ocean of warmth and love and support from Sean, and from my friends and family.

How lucky I am to not only live in that ocean, but to swim in it?

How lucky I am to not only be able to get on a bike, but to ride it?

Adrenaline

It’s officially been one week since I started using the clip-in shoes and pedals, and I have to say I’m feeling more confident! No more major falls (just some slip-ups here and there), and I am definitely noticing the benefit of being hooked into my pedals, especially up bigger hills.

Since my 10K I have been mostly following the Tour de Pink training program (with my own adjustments) of riding five days a week: shorter rides during the week (I’ve been averaging 10-20 miles in the mornings/evenings) and longer rides on the weekend, though with recent and upcoming travel that’s been hard. We are going to New York this weekend for a family wedding which I am REALLY excited about! It will be an Indian and Jewish wedding, so two days of parties, food and outfits! What could be better?! (I love events where I need multiple outfits, shoes and accessories!) For the Indian portion of the celebration (the Sangeet), I went shopping with Karishma this past weekend in Northern Virginia at an Indian clothing store and picked out a gorgeous pink skirt with matching pink and gold bangle bracelets.

After this weekend I will be mostly home on the weekends leading up to Tour de Pink so I have some 40, 50 and 60-mile rides planned before the end of September. I am really lucky in that not only is State College an IDEAL cycling town and community, but I have lots of really awesome friends here who are eager to ride with me!

My adrenaline has been really REALLY high the past few weeks (remember me writing about my heart racing before bed?). Or at least that’s what I think it is: adrenaline. I talked with Dr. Kelly about it yesterday and that was the conclusion we came to. Since before bed at night I think about Tour de Pink and my training and all aspects: riding, the clips, the day before Tour de Pink, fear of falling, picturing myself riding IN Tour de Pink, picturing the next day’s ride, etc. My heart has been checked multiple times and is fine, and my pulse and resting heart rate are slow. So it has to be adrenaline. So I’ve cut back my coffee from 3-4 cups a day to ONE. UGH. One. And that hasn’t even helped. My one cup (ONE!) is early in the morning. I used to cut off my coffee around noon, but now my one cup is before 9 a.m. Dr. Kelly also prescribed something that’s supposed to help: a beta-blocker which essentially does something to your adrenal glands and sends a message from your brain to not pump so much adrenaline, thus slowing heart rate, reaction, etc. I tried it last night but I didn’t do anything. Alas, I laid in bed, of course thinking about TdP, and of course my heart was racing. I. CAN’T.CALM.DOWN.

Part of the problem, which I’ve addressed with Sean and Dr. Kelly, is that I feel I’m never good enough and never making enough progress, despite my training. If I ride 10 miles one morning I’ll feel good, but I’ll feel like I should have ridden 20. If I miss a day of training I beat myself up until the next time I ride. Athletically I will admit I am doing great. I average 12 miles an hour, can burst up hills and recover immediately, and am rarely sore. But as far as balance, the new pedals and actually BEING comfortable on the bike, I am severely lacking. I still freak out. I still grip the handlebars for dear life. I still get wobbly shifting up and down hills. And I’m still scared. And that’s part of the adrenaline. And I know there’s nothing really I can do about it except keep riding. Over time I will continuously feel more and more comfortable and fears will subside. There is really no way around being scared; you just have to be scared and do it, be scared and do it. And I know I have to give myself credit. I’ve only really been riding since February, and have only had Pink Flash a few months, and the clip-ins one week. But instead of giving myself credit for all of those things, I’m thinking about what I SHOULD be doing: drinking water while riding, clipping out without freaking out, stopping at traffic lights without having a panic attack, riding alongside other riders without freaking out. Notice a pattern here? “Do X without freaking out.”

So the adrenaline is being nervous I’m not ready, being excited to get started on the challenge, and just sheer anticipation of how it’s going to be. Will it be easy? Will it be hard? Will it be anything I’ve expected? How will I feel?

Kind of like the months leading up to my wedding. I was ready. Everything was in place. But the adrenaline came from wondering how it would be. For a wedding a lot of that is wondering if this and that will go as planned, or if this will work out that way. For Tour de Pink it’s not so much about plans or orchestration; it’s about “Can I do this?” and “Will I do this” and “HOW will I do this?”

And again, there’s no way to know until it gets here. And it will be what it will be and blah blah blah. But my style is this: I tend to be OVER-everything. Over-prepared. Overly concerned. I tend to build things up to prepare myself. But that’s fine. That’s me. It has actually served me well. I love that about myself, but at the same time it can be tough on me. Tough on my sleep schedule. Tough on my damn beating heart.

I tell myself all the time to just do the best I can and what is meant to be WILL BE. I believe half of that. And then I also believe in working my ass off, yet it’s not enough. But it’s how I ran a 10K. because every time I ran, I pushed myself a little further. One more minute. One more mile. And a few weeks ago I ran over 8 miles.

My fear of failing is failing myself. And with Tour de Pink and the nearly $5,000 I raised and the hundreds of people I know counting on me and the hundreds of thousands I don’t know … there’s no room for failure. And the funny thing is, my definition of failure isn’t in riding less miles than planned or not riding the full 200+. It’s in not trying. It’s in not pushing myself. And I AM trying. I AM pushing myself. So much so that I can’t sleep at night.

This was my choice. Just like when I told my story for The Moth. I signed up for things I am scared of. Public speaking, cycling 200 miles. I signed up for things I knew would be a challenge. But I am more confident than anything that they are worth it. I know The Moth was. That opened a million doors for me. Telling my story without notes about how I walked down the aisle with one breast in front of family, friends and 200 strangers was one of the best things I ever did. I know Tour de Pink will be one of those things. That’s why I choose things that make me scared, that get my adrenaline pumping. That’s why I tell myself the waiting is hard. The waiting, preparing, anticipation is tough. I get that. But these are the best things I can do, and I know that also. So if the next few weeks are a little bit like this, fine. So be it. It’s part of the journey.

I’m sure after Tour de Pink I will sign up for something else that terrifies me. I don’t plan to stop doing things I’m scared of. The interim is a little shaky right now. Just like before my Moth speech. A little shaky, a little nervous, a little (or a lot) of adrenaline. Fine. I’ll weather it. If I wasn’t a little bit scared it wouldn’t mean anything to me. If I wasn’t a lot scared it wouldn’t mean the world to me.

Being nervous is my way of preparing for something big, something that has depth in my life. It sometimes can be rough to be overly passionate about everything in the world. It’s exhausting. But it’s what makes me me. And I guess, sleepless nights and all, I wouldn’t have it any other way.

3, 2, 1

3, 2, 1

3: The number of times I’ve “re-learned” how to ride a bike since registering for Tour de Pink

2: Names of young women breast cancer fighters and survivors I will wear on a shirt during Tour de Pink

1: (Almost) month until Tour de Pink

3: First I had to kind of re-teach myself how to ride a bike when I signed up for Tour de Pink in February. I had Pinky, the little pink, seven-speed bike. I hadn’t really ridden since I was a child so I had to once again become comfortable with pedaling and balancing. And then I had to push through challenging rides as part of my training before Pink Flash (my donated bike from Liv/Giant) arrived. (Remember the Linden Loop?)

Once I became comfortable with Pinky, my Tour de Pink bike came! What a relief it was to have TEN speeds, TEN! I could push up hills with almost no problem. Pink Flash felt smooth and fast. But I had to re-learn the gears and how to shift the gears. I had to feel comfortable with going a lot faster down hills than I was used to. I had to learn how to sit on the bike, and get my body used to bending over. (With Pinky I was mostly sitting upright; with Pink Flash I’m entirely bent over.) My back and neck had to get used to the new positions. I had to re-learn how to ride with cages. The palms of my hands would be blue by the end of a ride from gripping the handlebars, and my fingers would become numb. My neck and toes would cramp up.

Once I got used to riding Pink Flash and getting my feet in and out of the cages at red lights and stop signs, my Shimano cycling shoes and pedals arrived. And they definitely DO make riding easier, as my shoes clip INTO the pedals, thus pushing me forward every time I move my foot up or down. And now I’m in the process of teaching myself how to ride being clipped in. HOLY HELL. I was absolutely terrified. I still am. I know it will help in the long run, and this is exactly what I need for a double century. Plus the shoes and pedals were donated, which I am really happy about. So far I’ve completed two 10-mile rides with the new shoes and pedals. I knew I had to get used to everything all over again. Teach myself how to clip in and out. And I knew, KNEW I was going to fall a few times, which I have, and I know I will continue to do.

We put the new pedals on Wednesday evening, and I sat on my bike, while Sean held it still, in the garage. I practiced clipping in and out. And of course I fell on my ride side, scraping my knee, right there in the garage.

Last night we rode about 10 miles round trip to our friends Ally and Eric’s to see their new chocolate lab puppy. I was scared and frustrated doing a real ride with the clips. Getting the first foot in (usually the left, which is how I did it with the cages) is no problem. Then it’s clicking the other foot in while I’m moving. It’s figuring out how to get the pedal in the right position so I can clip in. And it’s actually pedaling with only one foot, trying not to fall over, until the other foot is in. And then it’s stopping. I have to clip one foot out (usually the right) and quickly lean my bike to the right, or whatever side I’ve clicked my foot out. Sometimes I can do it fast enough. Sometimes my bike leans the opposite direction of the foot that’s free. And sometimes I have every intention of freeing my foot and leaning in the correct direction, but can’t in enough time, and fall over anyway.

I fell a few small times on the way to Ally and Eric’s, and then one “big-ish” time up the street from our house on the way home. Of course I fell on the exact same side as I did the day before in the garage: same right knee, same right upper thigh.

One of the hardest things for me to do was wake up at 5 this morning, still sore from falling the past two days, and ride. But I knew I had to practice with the new pedals. It will only become easier if I do it. It’s the ONLY way. It won’t become easier otherwise. I just have to bite the bullet. Do it. Fall. Do it. Fall. Again, again, again, until I can go training distances (30+ miles).

Now there is nothing new. I’m getting more and more comfortable with Pink Flash. I’m riding more consecutive days. And now I’m learning how to use the new pedals. I’m still working on sitting correctly on the bike, with my hands on the right part of the handlebars, and shifting the left gear while riding. Those are two things I need to practice. But I’m hoping each day I ride I feel more comfortable. And each small ride (10-15 miles) I do a few times a week will help my long (30-40-50-60 mile) rides. I keep telling myself there really isn’t any other way to get better than to actually go out and ride, fear, anxiety and all. Part of the practice is BEING scared. Part of the practice is LEARNING how to overcome being scared. As much as the training is about the riding and the technique and the endurance, it’s also about your MIND while you’re on the bike. How you’re feeling, how to change what you’re feeling and how to feel better. What am I telling myself while I’m riding? Am I feeling confident or nervous? How do I get my mind in the right spot? How do I talk myself into and out of situations? How does my MIND navigate sharp turns, stopping at a red light, or how to ride around other cyclists or walkers? What am I telling myself? What do I NEED to be telling myself? What am I doing wrong, and what am I doing right?

2. Since a big part of why I’m riding in Tour de Pink is for other young women who have been affected by breast cancer, I decided to design a shirt with the names of two young women I know on the back, to wear during part of the ride. Caity and Lainie. I have gotten to know both in a variety of ways. Lainie, like myself, has Li Fraumeni Syndrome, and had breast cancer in her 20s. We’re also the same age (born the same month) and got married the same month and year. (Little fun details!) She has faced many different cancers many different times as part of her LFS, including breast cancer more than once. She is one of the strongest women I know. Always a shining light, positive, inspirational. We might go to a LFS conference together in Boston in October. More on Lainie here: http://lifraumenilainie.wordpress.com/lainie-in-the-media/

And Caity, whom I met through Sean since they grew up in the same area, and went to the same high school. Also diagnosed with breast cancer in her 20s, Caity is now facing the disease a second time. She has a young son, which I’m sure is challenging all by itself, but is undergoing treatment while being a young mom. She also blogs about her experience: http://thistimearound33.blogspot.com/

She is also one of the strongest young women I know: happy, upbeat and positive.

I have met many other breast cancer survivors, many of them young, throughout my journey with the disease itself, and afterwards, but Caity and Lainie stand out in my mind as two young women I have found such strength, encouragement, support and friendship from. When I ride next month I’m riding for all young women affected by breast cancer. But by having Caity and Lainie’s names on the back of my shirt I know it will be a constant reminder of WHY I’m riding. All three of our journeys were and continue to be VERY different. But one thing is for sure: they helped ME. Their spirit encouraged ME. And Tour de Pink supports women like them. I can’t speak for all survivors of breast cancer or any other cancer, but I know, personally, when I was diagnosed, one of the single most helpful things was support from others. From friends, from family, from my blog, from websites, from online forums and support groups, from resources. I knew right away I needed help. I reached out because that’s how I knew I would find the strength I needed and the answers I was looking for. And through the Pennsylvania Breast Cancer Coalition (and its Friends Like Me care package), Bright Pink (and my “buddy” Tamar who I spoke on the phone with), and the Young Survival Coalition (which has reached out and encouraged me to bring out the best in myself), I could foot the journey. I know what helped me. Now it’s my turn. Because I can, I will ride.

I tell myself, and say out loud, every day, how much of a challenge Tour de Pink is going to be. But I know I really have NO idea what that means. I don’t know what it will bring. I don’t know what the ride will do to my body and my mind. But I DO know what I need to help me through it. Support. Coconut water. Kashi bars. A heating pad. Bananas. Advil. My RoadID bracelet that says “I can and I will.” Sean, and my family and friends seeing me off and meeting me at the finish line. The support of other riders and the Young Survival Coalition. And drive. And passion. On the back of my shirt will read the names of two women I’m riding for. They will be right there when I need a reminder of WHY. When the going gets tough, they’ll, quite literally, have my back.

1.And then there was one. Although we’re not quite there yet, Tour de Pink is almost one month away! Time has really flown by since I signed up, and I know it will be here before I know it. Wednesday my breast MRI came back clean, thank G-d! Now nothing stands in my way. I knew I was healthy before, but I was still worried about the MRI. But now I have my answer. I’m fine. I’m really, truly fine. I even have the blessing of my breast surgeon, who told me to send a picture after the race was over. I’m healthy and I’m strong and this next month is going to be a push as I prepare. And when Tour de Pink gets here, who knows if I’ll feel ready. I may not feel ready. I may not BE ready. But one thing’s for certain: like all things in life, it will come and I’ll do it.

Until then I remain focused on the small goals: complete this day’s ride, then worry about tomorrow’s ride tomorrow.

Today my ride is done. Tomorrow I’ll do tomorrow’s ride.

And when Tour de Pink gets here it won’t be any different. First I’ll do these 20 miles. And then I’ll rest. And then I’ll do the next 20.

It's a journey



PART ONE: RIDE N’ CRY

I’ve been extremely emotional about Tour de Pink lately, especially yesterday, during a 30-mile ride with Sean. I had just run my first 10K (more on that later) the day before, and was feeling tired. Yet, it was the weekend and I had to get in a longer ride. I hadn’t ridden since Tuesday and I knew if I didn’t ride Sunday I would regret it. Especially the next two weekends, since we’re traveling for family affairs, and my training time will be very limited, if at all.

So Sunday was tough. 30 miles was not my longest ride. My longest ride so far is 42 miles, and I’ve done 30-35 miles a bunch of times. But the route was hilly and my legs hurt from the day before, and all I wanted to do was be done and go home. So on one of the hills (one I had previously climbed) my body gave out, I pulled to the side of the road and started crying.

Crying for frustration. Crying because I was exhausted. And most of all crying because I was SO mad at myself. Did I NEED to run a 10K the day before? Did I need to sign up for a 10K to prove to myself my running abilities? Did I need that 10K for myself? I was so mad for pushing myself, yet not pushing myself enough.

With a little more than one month until Tour de Pink I am having serious anxiety. On nights I try to go bed without Ambien (which are always unsuccessful), I lay in bed, literally racing. My head is racing and my heart is pumping out of my chest just thinking about Tour de Pink and how I’m not ready and not prepared and WHY AM I DOING THIS AND OMG.

Normally I have a very slow pulse and heart rate from being active. My pulse is slow most of the day, and even into the evenings as I try to wind down and relax. But as soon as I get to bed it feels like my heart is jumping out of my chest it’s beating so fast.

SO. MUCH. ANXIETY.

So yesterday I was crying because I felt like I wasn’t ready. I felt like I had taken on too much. It was the first time I actually let out tears of doubt. Actually saying out loud “I am not this person.”

I may have felt it before. I may have thought in my head “I’m not this person now, but I can do this. I’ll get there. I will work through it. Give myself time and patience. I’ll BE this person.”

But yesterday was the first time I outwardly released all of my fears and anxieties, and as I got back on the bike and started riding again I was still crying.

For the first time, yesterday, it hit me: I’ve taken on a lot. I was so immersed in being this new person after breast cancer that I lost sight of what that all means. Yes, it DOES mean challenging myself. It DOES mean pushing myself. It DOES mean living the hell out of life. But maybe between the 5Ks and the 10K and the training I forgot that I’m JUST ME. I’m not perfect.

And I’m allowed to doubt myself. As Sean said, it is part of the process. Everyone goes through this part during their training.

Sean is the most amazing, supportive husband. He comes with me for most of my rides, picks routes that challenge me (think hills and sharps turns), keeps me motivated and strong, and believes I can do Tour de Pink, and he tells me that every day. He tells me every day, in one way or another, that I can do this.

He knows I can. He’s the best husband in the world. Just thinking about it makes me want to cry. I don’t know how I ever got so lucky. I love him more and more every day. We had already been through a lot by the time we walked down the aisle. My breast cancer made us stronger before we got married, and Tour de Pink is making us stronger still. And the move and our new house; building this life and challenging ourselves every day is bringing us closer. And the absolute best thing in my life is knowing I have this forever. For the rest of my life I get to experience these challenges and milestones with Sean. We get to be best friends forever. We get to grow, together, forever. That makes life so thrilling to me, and at the same time so peaceful.

Sometimes I get so caught up in my doubts and anxieties I forget to take a breath and look around. I am such a proponent of being grateful for everything in life, and feeling so blessed, but lately it’s like I’ve forgotten how to do that. I’ve forgotten, in my challenging myself and being so hard on myself, that I am supposed to be ENJOYING this. I need to LET myself enjoy my health.

My cycling cleats and pedals arrived last week! Donations from Shimano and the Young Survival Coalition.

My friends and family tell me I can do Tour de Pink.

I know I can do Tour de Pink.

But Sunday I had an off day. I had a tough day.

I cried because I was frustrated with how hard riding still is. I cried because I thought maybe I couldn’t do it. I cried because I felt overwhelmed.

And a lot of that anxiety has to do with Wednesday: my breast MRI. It’s been a year since I had one. My body feels like a tightly-wound ball of hard rubber bands.

There’s the beating heart when I try to sleep at night.

It is absolutely terrifying. I am absolutely terrified.

But I’ll have my test, wait for the results, and pray that everything looks fine.

This past weekend was a physically rough weekend. It made training hard. But I got through it and I will move on.

And I’ll have better days. And I’ll be scared. And I’ll cry. And I’ll be anxious. I’m allowed to have every feeling I have during the training process, and every feeling I’ll have during the race. It’s OK to feel. I’m SUPPOSED to feel. This is a big deal.

I need to take a step back, take in some air and thank my body and myself for getting me this far. And that’s it. Just say “thank you” to my body. Leave it there. Thank you, body. You’ve done me well. You’ve made me proud. And that’s important.

And that’s it. Nothing more. No more “it’s not good enough” crap. I’ll continue with my training program, ONE DAY AT A TIME, and do MY best. And I’ll let myself have all the feelings I have. Because they are genuine. Fear, doubt, anxiety. They are all real. Crying, laughing. They are real, too. But most of all I need to remind myself WHY. And when I remember why I can remember HOW. How? With patience. With love. With grace. I already have the determination. I already have the drive. But maybe I need to give myself another dose of self-love and appreciation.

Instead of “this isn’t good enough” or “I need to be doing more” or “I need to be doing better,” it should be “I am trying my hardest today, and that’s all I need.”



Sean and Joe on our 42-mile ride a few weeks ago! We had just climbed a huge hill and were enjoying the view!



Faith in myself and faith in faith. That my MRI will be OK. That I’ll be ready for Tour de Pink. That I’ll finish Tour de Pink. That I’ll challenge myself in a new way after that. There’s no destination. But there is a journey and there is an experience and I must, MUST remember that. Love what I do, do what I love, and most of all, be proud of myself. I am my harshest critic.

PART TWO: THE 10K THAT WASN’T

So my first 10K happened to not exactly be a 10K. Long story short: I got lost on the route and ended up running somewhere around 8 miles. (a 10K is 6.2 miles)

Long(er) version: The route was poorly marked. Most people got lost on the route.

I was so excited to be running my first 10K! After completing seven 5Ks (plus a mud run) over the past two years and running 10-15 miles per week and LOVING every minute, I decided to challenge myself by signing up for my first 10K. I placed as the second fastest female in my age group in two 5Ks this summer. I knew I was ready. I wanted to have the experience, to say I did it. It would be the last big running push before Tour de Pink.

The disappointing part is that after running my first 10K I have NO IDEA how I placed or what my time was. I stopped my RunKeeper at mile 7.44 and 1 hour, 6 mins. (awesome time, right?!) Because at that point I knew I had run well over a 10K, and had met up with two girls who were also on the 10K but said they had no idea where they were, either. None of us had any clue where the finish line was; we saw no people, no signs, no arrows, and at that point I had run almost 8 miles. Anyway, we ended up running another 9 minutes, finally found the finish line, and I finished (?) miles in 1 hour 15 minutes.

So my first 10K was not a 10K. BUT 7.44 miles (or 8ish, however long it ended up being) was my farthest run thus far! Not only did I prove I could do a 10K, I proved I could do MORE than a 10K, even if I wasn’t planning on it. So it was a bit of a disaster. (The race coordinator apologized afterwards). So I don’t know how I did, but I know I did well and I did it and I know now I can run 7.44 miles in 1 hour and 6 minutes, which is bomb.com.

So, wrapping up this weekend, an 8-ish mile run Saturday plus a 30-mile bike ride Sunday, I think it’s OK I got discouraged, felt exhausted and cried. Alright, maybe I overdid it. But I learned and I survived and I’ll move on.

From this point out I will live and breathe cycling. I will sleep with my cleats on. I am totally just kidding. But I need to look at the rest of this journey (notice how I don’t say “training”;it’s a journey to be ENJOYED) as something that I am in control of. Pink Flash is my friend. She is here to help me. I should not be scared of her. I should not be scared of the miles, scared of the road. This is a journey.

Running scared me at first but after a while I began to love it more and more and then I took ownership of it. I made it mine. I made running work for me. That doesn’t mean it’s not hard. It’s always hard to go out on a run. It’s challenging. But it’s euphoric. And I’m so glad I have it. I’m so glad I have it as I prepare for Tour de Pink. It’s helped me in so many ways. But now that the “10K” is over, it’s time for me to take a break from running so much and focus on cycling.

I do love cycling. I love the feeling of being in control of a little adventure as I take Pink Flash all around. I love the feeling after I’ve made it up a big hill. I love the rush of going down a big hill. I love transforming myself. Transforming my body and my mind and my life.

Yesterday I said “I am not this person.”

But even as I said it, I knew I didn’t mean it.

I’m smart enough to know I can be any person I want to be. 

I'd rather be a rock

When I was a little girl at summer camp (didn’t matter if it was sleep-a-way camp or day camp; I attended both), when an activity was coming up I really didn’t want to do, I would find something in nature, most memorably a large rock on the ground, and I wish I were that thing so I wouldn’t have to do the activity. I so badly didn’t want to do the activity I wished I were an inanimate object.

It was usually an activity I was scared of. Like dodge ball or BMX’ing. And as a little girl I was scared of most activities. I remember my mom telling me that when I was little I was afraid of literally everything, including my shadow and the water. I was never one to jump head first into anything. It was more like one toe a time. I didn’t like to get dirty or messy or hurt. I was cautious. In fact, my most notable childhood injuries came not from being involved in sports, but from being a bystander to them. The time I got hit in the head with a volleyball in high school was when I was walking past the volleyball game. And the only time I ever got stitches growing up was in fourth grade when a broken glass bowl, containing cookie dough, cut my leg. And the one year I was on a soccer team, I never actually played soccer. I was happy playing goalie because it meant I could stand there most of the game and not get “involved” with anything dangerous. The only problem was when the ball came my way.

Despite being overly cautious and scared of mostly everything, as I grew up I found ways to feel comfortable with life and its events and decisions. With big decisions I used my heart and my gut foremost. That’s how I decided to major in journalism. That’s how I chose West Virginia University as my college. That’s how I chose my first job after college. It’s how I moved to middle-of-nowhere Pennsylvania, to a town I’d never heard of, to live by myself in an apartment at the top of a house, just to write for a newspaper and have my byline in the paper every day. It’s how I chose my wedding dress, my wedding colors. It’s how I ended up married to Sean, in the house we’re in now, with Campbell.

 I just knew. Something deep in my heart and gut and soul told me certain things were the right things for me at that time in my life. Some decisions weren’t always easy and oftentimes they were scary, but I always knew, deep down, they were right for me. And I made them with my heart and gut and never looked back, never regretted anything, and to this day continue to use my heart and my gut to make decisions.

It wasn’t always easy, it didn’t always make sense, sometimes it seemed ridiculous, it was usually scary or a challenge, but I knew, deep down, I had to do it. For me and for my life. It’s how I signed up for Tour de Pink. I just knew.

That’s not to say I don’t use my head. I think most people will agree I’m pretty level-headed about most decisions, using logic and reason and thinking about the future and the impacts of my decisions: how will this affect me now and later, and how will it affect the people around me? Does this make sense? Sure, I use my head. But it’s my heart and gut that give me that push I need to move forward.

To this day I am still scared of mostly everything, and still overly cautious. I’m scared of burglars, heights, complete darkness, fires and other disasters or bad things happening. My fears and anxieties have shifted from dodge ball and my shadow to actual real-life dangers. That’s why I think I have to be patient with myself. Just because I’ve made some really good decisions throughout life thus far and am in a happy, beautiful, wonderful place with a happy, beautiful, wonderful life, doesn’t mean I am a different person. It’s true I’ve grown and learned to adapt and have taught myself new things and new ways to think and live, but deep down part of me is still the little girl who is scared of getting hurt. Only this time it’s not from a dodge ball, but from bicycle riding.

Tour de Pink still is, and will be, one of the best things I ever do in my life. I want to be able to tell my future child or children someday that “Mommy rode her bike 200 miles.”

The best decisions are often the scariest. The scariest decisions are often the hardest. No decision is easy.

My heart and gut told me 1,000 different reasons to do Tour de Pink.

My head told me three:

1.       I am physically capable of this so it wouldn’t damage my health. I have asked my doctor about it, and she approves. She says I am fine to do this ride. I’ve also had my heart checked, and it’s strong enough.

2.       I am mentally capable of this. Sure, it will be a mind game, but I have overcome other mind games before.

3.       There are no Jewish holidays, or home football games during Tour de Pink weekend.

See, I used my head? I checked with my doctor, I checked our schedule. And I used my heart and my gut, both of which simultaneously yelled at me to sign up for the ride. They nagged me, if you will.

My RoadID bracelet came in the mail yesterday, something Tour de Pink highly recommends for the ride. Plus it’s beneficial for me to have for my running. (More info at roadid.com.)

The first few lines are my name, emergency contact numbers and my medical allergies.

The last line they let you put whatever you want. On mine it says “I can and I will.”

The scared little girl who was afraid of water turned out to love swimming and the ocean.

The scared little girl who was afraid of her shadow turned out to love the sunrise and sunset.

The scared little girl who was afraid of dodge ball luckily wasn’t asked to play it again.

And the scared little girl who was afraid of BMX’ing at summer camp signed up for a 200-mile bike ride.

New house, consider yourself warmed.

This past weekend we had our housewarming weekend! It’s been close to a month since we officially moved in, and the past few weeks have been a little hectic unpacking, putting things away, cleaning and buying new furniture. I know we have all the time in the world to “get settled,” as we’ll be in this house forever. (I’m never moving again, thanks). But I did feel a little anxious knowing people would be coming over, plus I wanted it to start to feel like home.

So over the past few weeks we’ve been organizing, unpacking, taking inventory, organizing, unpacking, decorating, unpacking, moving things, finding things, buying things. It’s overwhelming to say the least. I love the idea of starting from “scratch” – a brand new house with nothing in it, and then decorating as I go. I love a clean slate. This new house is the beginning of a chapter. And it will take time. It will take time to fill the walls and the rooms. It will take time to pick color schemes, buy pieces, and fill in the blanks. And time we have. There’s no rush. The pieces that will fill the house will come from life, like they already have. We’ll collect pieces as we go and live, from traveling, from art shows, from here and there.



Beautiful sign for our front yard made by Uncle Gary!

Like most other things in life, when decorating the house or choosing things I use my gut instinct. Usually I know right away if I like something or not. I know when it works and when it doesn’t. If I have any doubts, I won’t buy it or it doesn’t go there. I probably arranged and rearranged our hutch and curio 75 times placing our picture frames, decanters, Judaica and crystal vases in the perfect spots. And I love it. I love doing that. I love being able to look at the beautiful items we got from our wedding and arrange them and rearrange them so they represent us and our love.


Cam was tired from all the chaos!

Seriously, though, half the fun has been actually opening and unpacking and putting away wedding gifts we didn’t have room for before. And finding places for all of the beautiful things I love. And actually using them. And feeling like a real, live grownup woman.

Speaking of becoming a woman, I cooked dinner for 18 last Friday night. SUCCESSFULLY.

Our backyard fence was completed just in time for the housewarming weekend!

I’ve never made dinner for more than two people before, and one of those people (Sean) doesn’t always eat everything I’ve made. So this was a real first for me. I knew, when we started planning our housewarming weekend, that I wanted to cook dinner for my family in my home. That family dinner grew to 18 people. I planned a menu, Sean and I bought the food, and I prepared some ahead of time, and on the day of the dinner I had help from everyone. Everything went off without a hitch, save some plastic tags leftover inside the oven that we discovered when we turned the oven on. But besides that, the goat cheese stuffed peppers I imagined in my head came out great; the salmon’s honey mustard sesame glaze (that I also came up with) actually tasted wonderful; the sweet potatoes, asparagus and quinoa with cranberries and walnuts (another one of my inventions, might I brag a little!); tasted wonderful and people actually enjoyed everything! And like I said, I had a TON of help, from my mothers Ruth and Becky bringing cakes and cookies and making fruit salad, to Dan and Julie making the perfect hummus using fresh garlic and tahini – it was amazing. And then Sunday we had an open house party, where some 50 people came throughout the day. Sean, my father-in-law Jeff and Uncle Gary grilled hotdogs, hamburgers and chicken in the backyard as people filtered in and out. Oh, the food and the wine and the flowers. We gave tours and people drank beer and Coke out of the 1960s Coke machine. And Sean wore his football grilling apron, which I love.

It was really such a beautiful weekend. Though hectic, it was exactly what we wanted and a very me and Sean thing: opening our house to all the people we love. We even had a few surprise guests come in from out of town on their way back from Arts Fest and weddings, which was amazing.

Mom brought me a high heel candy/nut dish! Perfect for me, right?!

Yes, it was chaotic and even I thought it was a little crazy to host that many people only weeks after we moved in, but it’s what we wanted. That’s me and Sean. That’s us. We thrive off a little chaos. And as much as I was anxious about cooking dinner for 18 people, I loved the hustle bustle in the kitchen. I loved the layering of the courses – this goes in the oven while someone washes this and someone chops this and someone opens this wine. And it was loud and hot and busy, but it was FUN! A bunch of people crowded in the kitchen each doing a different thing or preparing a different food, and all talking over one another and laughing, and asking me where this serving plate is and where this knife goes and when to open this bag. I love it. I secretly, and not so secretly, love a little chaos (or a lot) in the kitchen. I love the warmness of being surrounded by family and friends and preparing food. And more than anything I loved the occasion. Celebrating a new house in good health and happiness. In the future. In moving forward. In a new beginning.

And everybody knows this already, but I love a good party. I love to plan. I love to host. I love having people over.

Julie and Campbell in the backyard!

For the first time this past weekend I felt like a homeowner. It was MY kitchen and it was full of the people I love and it was a dinner I planned and a dinner I served. I never thought in a million years I would have such a beautiful house with such a beautiful husband with such a beautiful dog with such a beautiful community of family, friends, neighbors and co-workers, who came from near and far to celebrate this huge milestone.

Housewarming hydrangeas from Drew and Anna!

Plenty of open spaces remain in the new house for furniture, rugs and wall art. The new house, which Sean and I named Project Prairie Rose during the construction of it (Prairie Rose is our street name), can now be called Prairie Rose. Sure, it’s still a project. We still have years of work ahead of us, from covering the walls with paint and pictures to furnishing and re-furnishing, to finishing the basement to building a deck to ordering chairs for the porch … the list goes on and on. But we are in it. We are living in Prairie Rose. And this past weekend it was introduced to the hustle and bustle, the love, of our life.

Little Miss Prairie Rose, with your beautiful newness, consider yourself warmed. Love, your new owners, the Millers.

Control and its many cousins

I think one of the reasons I’m freaking out so much over being prepared for Tour de Pink is BECAUSE I have control over the situation.

Don’t get me wrong: I LOVE control. Some would call me a control freak. But in a healthy way. I have learned, and continue to learn through life events, what I can and cannot control. I learn, and continue to learn, what I need to let go of. I am learning the beauty of “it will be what it will be.” I can’t say I’ve mastered that quite yet, but I’ve come a long way.

Part of the reason I have decided to take on the challenge of riding 200+ miles from Philadelphia to Washington, D.C. this fall is to TAKE BACK CONTROL. Of my body, of my strength, of my destiny, of my experiences, of my life. I am CHOOSING this challenge. I am choosing to prepare myself in mind and body for this ride, and I am making the choice to do it. I decided when. I decided why. I decided how. And again, because it’s so important, I decided why.

I’ve learned when it comes to cancer, there’s only so much I can do. I can get my checkups and screenings and I can try to live a healthy lifestyle. But beyond that: nothing. I can’t control my genetics or my cell environment. I can’t decide what mutations do in my blood and my tissue. I didn’t cause the Leukemia or breast cancer. And I won’t be able to prevent it if either of them come back.

So I taught myself a way to live with it: I will do the best I can to maintain a healthy lifestyle. And I’ll also NOT let it control my life. I won’t obsess over it. IT WILL BE WHAT IT WILL BE. I may get cancer again. I may not get cancer again. I’ll be proactive with my health. I’ll report illness or changes in my body to the doctor right away, and keep up with my CBCs every four months and my colonoscopies every few years. I’ll see my dentist, dermatologist, gynecologist, general care doctor and oncologist regularly. But beyond that: nothing. I do what I can. I do what I CAN control and then I let the rest be.

But with the bike ride, all of the pressure lies on my back. The pressure to be ready. The pressure to do it. The pressure to finish it. For myself and for my millions of reasons. Nobody else will judge me if I don’t finish. Nobody else will judge me if I can’t finish a day of the tour. But I’ll know. This is a challenge I’ve taken on that I CAN control. I control my body and I control my bike and I control the training and I control my physical fitness. I said in a previous post that now, after the breast cancer, it’s MY turn to steer. It’s my turn to decide what my body does and where my life goes. MY choice. The breast cancer doesn’t have a say and it didn’t leave more than scars. I’ve taken it all back.

And the pressure is on.

I came to the realization today, that as much as I told myself I will prepare for the ride and do the best I can, and that IT WILL BE WHAT IT WILL BE, I never actually believed any of those words. Today I do. Today I believe them. While Tour de Pink IS in my control, from the seven months of training to the three days of riding, there comes a point, even in cycling, where you LET GO AND LET G-D.

That means that from the time I registered from the time I begin the tour on Sept. 27, I will do my absolute best in my training. And beyond that: nothing. What else is there beyond your absolute best? If I’m trying my hardest all the time then what else is there?! I keep thinking there’s more. But there isn’t. I’ll do the best I can, and when the ride gets here, IT WILL BE WHAT IT WILL BE.

Whatever is meant to be will be, even with Tour de Pink, even in a situation where I have control, even in a situation I HAVE CHOSEN.

Just because I’ve chosen it doesn’t mean I can control it.

Not to be pessimistic or dramatic, but this might help put what I’m trying to say in perspective: take a marathon runner who trains every day of her life. It’s the day of the race and one mile in she sprains her ankle and can’t continue.

She doesn’t finish the race.

Did she choose to train for a marathon? Yes. Did she choose to sign up for a marathon? Yes. Was she prepared for the marathon? Yes.

You.can’t.control.every.outcome.

With the breast cancer I’ve been learning and I’ve had practice on letting certain things go. From my stage to the tumor size to the margins to the skin ripping around the implant … none of that was up to me. It just happened. Breast cancer just happened. So I learned. I learned to accept reality. THAT THIS SUCKS. That I got diagnosed with breast cancer while I was planning my wedding. I tried to find the best in every situation and maybe even sugar-coated some of it. But eventually I accepted reality: I was dealing with breast cancer while planning my wedding. I didn’t choose it and I couldn’t control it. I taught myself those things.

The same applies to Tour de Pink. Just on a whole different scale. While I’m choosing this challenge and taking on this mission for myself, I can’t control what happens on those race days. But I do know that as long as I try my hardest every day, that’s all I can do. I keep say it doesn’t matter if I’m screaming and crying and throwing up and my legs are bleeding, I just want to finish the race. But the reality is I don’t know what will happen. I do know I will do my best. And the outcome will be what it will be. I’ll either finish or I won’t. But there’s no use trying to control that now.

The best I can do each day IS MY BEST. And the best I can do in September during Tour de Pink IS MY BEST. And whatever happens happens. The point is I’m trying. I’m challenging myself. I’ve decided to do this and I am and I will.

I think I got so caught up in this being a thing I can finally control that I didn’t realize it’s not really a thing I can really control. As with ANYTHING in life, control only goes so far. Sometimes you have a lot of it, sometimes you have a little bit of it, and sometimes you have none of it. But you never, ever, ever have all of it.

What a relief that is. What a weight to be lifted. To allow myself to let Tour de Pink be what Tour de Pink will be. Instead of bricks sitting on my chest as the race draws nearer and nearer, I’m choosing feathers. That doesn’t mean this won’t be one of the biggest challenges of my life, both physically and mentally. That doesn’t mean it won’t be a life changing experience. That doesn’t mean this isn’t like one of the biggest things I’ve ever done. And it doesn’t mean it won’t be hard. It just means I’ve made a choice to let some of the pressure go. Because I know now, that doing my best IS the best I can do.

I originally started this post because I have my annual breast MRI coming up next month. It has been one year since I’ve had a breast MRI. I got my last one right before we left for our honeymoon and I remember thinking that was NOT a good idea because if they found “something” it would kind of sort of ruin our trip to Europe. But thank G-d it came back clear. And now it’s time for my next one, of course, right before another big thing: my race.

I’m trying to keep my cool but there’s always that anxiety. With breast MRIs there’s more, and a different type, of anxiety, than when I see my other doctors. I see my oncologist every few months and she does a blood check and physical exam. Of course I get anxious EVERY time I go to the doctor, but at least with this I feel somewhat in control (there’s that word again) of my health, meaning I can tell if I’m not feeling well or if something isn’t right. Same thing when I see my dermatologist. I watch my moles closely and I’ll know if something changes. Things like a breast MRI are scarier for a few reasons:

1.       I’ve had breast cancer before

2.       I don’t feel my breasts or armpits. I know I’m supposed to, but I’m too scared to, so I don’t know what’s going on there. I made a personal decision not to give myself self-exams post mastectomies because it gave me too much anxiety. (I always think I feel a lump even if nothing is there. This, in turn, causes me to stop eating and sleeping and functioning, which is not productive to life.) I told this to my oncologist and she said it was OK – that I didn’t have to do self-exams, and she would do them for me. So my doctor knows and thinks it’s OK.

Those are the two reasons: having had breast cancer once, and not having any knowledge about what’s going on in my breasts. Though the latter is my choice and preference, it puts me in the dark a little. But I decided the cons far outweighed the pros. Seeing an oncologist every four months gives me a little leeway and takes some of the pressure off. Because I see her so often I don’t need to be feeling around my chest giving myself heart palpitations and panic attacks.

So, despite my best efforts, I’m already thinking about my MRI before bed at night, which is when I entertain all of my worries. I give it a few minutes, tell myself it will probably be OK, and then I tell myself it is what it is and if I have breast cancer again then we’ll deal with it, and then I tell myself if I have breast cancer again it’s not my fault and I didn’t make it happen. And that tides me over until the next time I think about it.

I know it’s normal to be worried for these screenings. I know what I feel is normal. I talk about it, I write about it, I address it. And there’s really nothing I can do except lay on that table and hope for the best. I can’t control what happens in my body and my cells. I can’t control the outcome of next month’s MRI.

And I can get on my bike and pedal up hills and learn the language and prepare myself, but at the end of the day I can’t control what ultimately happens at Tour de Pink. I can only get on my bike and hope for the best.

And it will probably be OK. Just like my MRI.

I put a lot of my fears and anxieties into riding and running. Because when I lay on the exam bed at the doctor’s office or on the table during an MRI I can’t really do much. I try to keep breathing and wait for that moment when the doctor says everything looks OK and I can sit back up again. It’s like my life is on hold until I get the “all clear.” Like I’m holding my breath, waiting to see if everything is OK, if I’m healthy.

In the meantime there’s nothing I can do. I just have to wait.

On my bike, or when I run, I am MOVING. I am making a conscious decision to move my body. Pushing myself on the bike is for holding my breath at the doctor’s office.

Moving my legs, sneakers pounding the pavement, is every single second I’ve waited, world on pause, for a flinch, a twitch of the doctor’s eye or mouth. Any sign of concern. Any furrowed brow. And when I’m done, free to go and healthy, the world moves again. I move again.

And I’m terrified one time it won’t. One time I won’t.

So it’s almost like I’m running, or cycling, in the meantime.