Every day is a winding road
I get a little bit closer.
— the prophet sheryl suzanne crow
A day in chemotherapy is a lot like running a marathon.
There’s much anxiety leading up to it, the experience itself takes about 5 hours (ok, it’s like a really SLOW marathon) it’s a drudge in the middle and you just want it to be over, and your brain is fuzzy at the finish. Yes, I had a banana afterward. And just like at a marathon, they had run out of Lorna Doone cookies by the time I finished. dammit.
I’m always torn as to what to do after chemo. Feeling totally crappy, is it better to rest, or shake it up with a shakedown stroll? Normally i do the former, but today I went out to battle the SCC Gnats From Hell and get in a couple miles.
Sirprise! It felt great! Once you forget you’re supposed to feel lousy, you don’t. It’s easy to dump all the worries and drugs and negativity into the happy spot where your run lives. The burrowing owl on the back stretch reminds me not to dump. Nnever doubt owls. They are wise. And they have talons.
Besides, i have new orange shoes. Obinutuzumab is no match for orange shoes. Only 2 miles, but the last 2 miles of a marathon are 2 only miles. coincidence? (Bonus: I also get a nasty steroid that makes sleeping a pipe dream, and I have no pipe. Hellllllo, 3 a.m.!
Dr. Sheehan had the right idea: The real competition isn’t other runners. The real competition is against the little voice inside you that wants to quit.
Bottom line: less whining, more miles. and maybe not so many bugs. Where the hell’s my medal? And my Doones?
My brain is usually fuzzy anyhow, so it’s not too different. Miles is miles. I get a little bit closer.
The Chemo Marathon Training Plan. This could be a thing. See you again in two months, little chemo voice.
Every day is a faded sign
I get a little bit closer
to feeling fine