First, Show Up.
01.20.2010 By September 2009, I had been training for five weeks for a half-marathon that I wasn’t really sure I even wanted to do. I had never run more than two consecutive miles in my life. Ever. But a friend had talked me into it and so I found myself getting up at 4:30 on Saturday mornings to meet at Memorial Park for group training runs. Even after he stopped going. This did not come without pain (IT band, shin splints) or expense (knee and hip rehab, sitter costs).
And I was about to hang it up when I learned a friend had been diagnosed with cancer. Here, someone I had known since my earliest days in graduate school was facing the fight of her life: as a reward for making it through major surgery to remove the cancer, her reward would be a shitload of chemotherapy. That’s the thing about cancer, it’s brutal and unfair.
A seasoned commercial real estate professional and visionary of a successful non-profit organization “dedicated to providing sport and movement opportunities to underserved girls in the metropolitan New Orleans area” because they believe that "…by achieving this goal, we can effectively decrease a participant's inclination to engage in unhealthy behaviors such as substance abuse, alcohol abuse, and sexual activity “, Helen is not the kind of person who backs down easily.
The day of her surgery, a family member launched a website as a way to keep track of her progress, as well as a place for friends and family to offer encouragement and support. It was there, on September 23, that I committed to seeing the race through in Helen's honor.
Which, really, that was more symbolic than anything because let me put it this way: if you were Cancer, and I had heard that you trespassed on Helen's property, I would be afraid for you because she’s one of the spittiest spit fires ever in the history of the world. So my dedication of the race was as much a source of accountability for me as it was a symbol of support for her impending battle. I mean, seriously, how could I bitch about a bum knee when she was being filled with poison and still making it in to the office with a smile?
Exactly.
I began the race with my partner Jennifer, and my good friend Art at my side. Around mile four, I thought ‘this is a piece of cake’. Art and I were chatting away, there were bands along the route and fans cheering the participants along. Around mile six, I started feeling achy and tired and thought of my kids and my family, giving thanks for our health. Somewhere between mile nine and ten, my right IT band screaming at me, the blisters on the bottom of my left foot throbbing, I though I might crawl the rest of the way. I don’t even remember the mile before the finishing chute. It was just air rushing by, interrupted only by the cadence of my breathing, a blur (semi-consciousness, not speed) of people on either side.
In the last quarter mile, though, I was startled into the present by what began as a murmur and grew into the roar that was thousands of people calling out your name, encouraging your next step, telling you you are almost there. Tears began streaming down my face as I prayed prayers of gratitude for my children, my partner, my friends and family, and Helen, without whom the experience would have never come. The sun shone brightly on downtown Houston and the cool, crisp air embraced my every move, and somewhere in the mid-morning of Sunday, January 17th, I crossed the finish line of my first half-marathon ever. Oh, I didn’t run the whole thing. Didn’t run very much of it all, to tell you the truth. To be honest, had it not been for Helen and Art and Jennifer, I never would have made it to the starting line.
The day before the race, I spoke with a mutual friend who reported to me that Helen would be undergoing her final course of her final chemotherapy treatment this very week.
And that’s the thing I’ve learned in this journey: that with the support and encouragement of family and friends, we'll most certainly get through whatever Race we are presented with. But the single most important thing in any given challenge - big or small - is having the courage to show up.
**********
If you would like to make a contribution to Girls First, Inc., the organization that Helen co-founded, you may do so here.
Reader Comments (8)
Well done on the commitment and the finish (run, walk, or crawled). It's a great story, and I am thinking strong thoughts for your friend, though she seems like she's got strength and support in spades.
Good for you! And congrats!
Something changed in my brain last year after my whole stupid skin cancer scare. I realized I was letting life happen instead of doing what I wanted. I used the kids as an excuse for a long time. Anyway this all went through my brain as I was running the Phoenix half with my sister on Sunday. It kicks ass that we're in our mid-30s and able to do it, walking or not. Like you said, the alternative (not showing up) in no way to live.
I am so proud of you!! Thanks for being a huge part of my life!! I love you!
MaMa Janet
Congrats, Rachel! That is a wonderful accomplishment!
What an amazing accomplishment and a wonderful way to show support for your friend. She sounds like an amazing woman, and I pray that her treatment will go well.
SO awesome. Im so proud of you :-)
Very proud of you!!! Now maybe I can get back into running and run one with you guys next time!
Beautifully said, Rach. These races are about so much more than the running...every time.