It was a great pace.
A fucking awesome pace… I was hauling ass.
Paul and I had set out for a run with Harper in the Jogger this afternoon and I took off and didn’t stop to look back.
No music. I never run with no music.
Only my thoughts and a distinct, almost painful distraction, banging in a rhythmic beat against my wrist keeping me moving and stirring up the deepest of emotions.
It’s all coming to a head now.
I’ve taken a bit of time away from my MRI schedule and agreed in April to stretch it out.
The timing was good.
Summer was upon us and so was my time with my kiddos. I relished in the time away from the schedule and I relished the time away from the stress. I essentially took a time out from my brain tumor and cancer this summer. I took a time out from worry and a time out from reality.
I bathed in it naked with a drunken smile.
I spent the last four months focused on life.
I focused on everything but the piece of shit and its cancerous wrath.
I spent a lot of time behind my lens and I relished it as I engaged with long lost friends and began to find a groove in a life not revolving around MRI’s and distancing myself from the piece of shit.
There were fewer moments spent losing my shit and more moments taking time to enjoy and absorb life as it was.
Summer was awesome, adventuresome and happy.
About a month ago I began catching myself wondering when it was that we agreed I would schedule my MRI and I intuitively knew it was time. I will call this week…
As I pulled away and ran this afternoon, there was a painful distraction on my wrist. The medical ID rhythmically banging against my wrist was a repetitive reminder, over and over, that life has not changed. A glorious reminder that some things just don’t change no matter what you will them to.
I’ve pushed the ID out of the way hundreds of times on runs and workouts, holding it between my thumb and palm while running trying to gain some semblance of strength from the history and future that it represents.
This time was different.
The painful distraction as it rhythmically banged against my wrist and hand feed my desire to push on. I ran, pulling ahead, yelling in my mind that this effort and pain was nothing and I ran until I couldn’t run anymore and felt as if I would vomit. I pushed until I couldn’t push anymore. Spent, ears ringing, lightheaded and weak, I turned around and walked half way and then ran home.
I am exhausted. It has been six years since my surgery. It has been six years waiting and fighting against the hammer dropping. This mental chess game is beyond marathon proportions. It is an epic marathon.
I am tired of fighting a beast and piece of shit that has more power and influence in my brain and a petri dish than I can wield against it.
I am winning today and I am grateful. Yet, I must maintain my perseverance and I must maintain my fight, yet it isn’t easy.
As easy as it is to remove my medical ID and not run against the painfully rhythmic beat, I accept it and the challenge it presents. There is no escape and there is no hiding.
This is real.
This is my life.
This is OUR life.
We choose to fight.
I choose to live.
It is not easy.
To donate to Jennifer and her team Babes With Brains benefiting the Southeastern Brain Tumor Foundation, please click here.