Thursday, December 8, 2011

Running for a reason

Just last night I was sitting at school completely rejoicing about the fact that I had survived the first semester. I was exhausted, in need of a facial, and wistfully wishing that Mary Poppins would somehow pop down my chimney for the spring semester when I got a phone call. Now, the call was a friend named Edgardo, a local runner and trainer who worked for the American Cancer Society, and he wanted to know if I would consider mentoring or coaching a marathon team for an upcoming race in Austin. Now, my first thought was, “Ummm….. no way.” (I barely have time to shower on a daily basis AND I have to somehow add an internship into the equation next semester)”…. but somehow (yet more proof that I was dropped on my head at birth) I momentarily lost all control and heard myself responding, “Ok…. I think so… Yes..?” Maybe it was the fact that the planets were aligned up just perfectly to give me that extra boost of confidence. Maybe it was because I had just gotten my hair highlighted that morning, and I was having an extra amazing I-got-red-highlights-and-I-don’t-look-like-an-American-Idol-wanna-be kind of hair day. Maybe it was the fact that I had just turned in my last paper and my brain was so taxed that I was still working on answering a question from two hours ago. All reasonable possibilities…. But the true reason, and the ONLY reason, I said yes was because my mother-in-law, Deb—one of the most amazing women and mentors a woman could ever know-- is currently fighting Stage Four colon-rectal cancer.

Now, I share a lot of personal information on this blog…. but I have yet to talk about Deb. Deb is amazing, selfless, and hilarious—the kind of woman who wears a smile in her sleep and sings Disney songs in the shower. In fact, I can remember driving with her, right after I moved to Texas, when the temperature outside had to be at least 5000K (even I was losing brain cells in the car and that was WITH the air condition on). Anyway, we were sitting in traffic, eyeballing a smoothie place, and just hoping that the air condition would find a way to pump more than a whisper of cool air in our faces. Across the street from us (and the source of the ridiculous traffic congestion) was a road crew working on something-or-other on the side of the road. They were hot and sweaty, and to be honest, I was more annoyed than sympathetic due to the fact that it was taking us an additional fifteen minutes to get to my son’s preschool. Deb looked at those sweaty workers, turned to me, and said, “I would like eight peach smoothies please.” One for her…and seven for the workers. THAT’S the kind of person Deb is. THAT’S the kind of heart that Deb has.

To this day, I will never understand why people like Deb get cancer. Why is it that someone who brings so much joy and light into the world should ever have her body betray her? How could the cancer be growing inside her for so long that it somehow found the path to metastasize to her liver, and nobody knew? How could we hear a diagnosis in August that reveals Stage Four? And the scariest of all…. How will we ever cope if Deb leaves us before we are ready? Because I am not ready for her to go. She’s not ready to go. And although she fights it with everything she has got (and this woman has more spunk than an Irish sailor), I can still hear the pain in her voice. And I am helpless.

For the past 60-ish years, Deb has been taking care of the world. Raising kids that weren’t her own. Loving soldiers like they were family. Listening to my long-winded rants and assuring me that I am NOT crazy. But for once, I wanted to show her what she means to me—to let her know that I am thinking about her, always—even when my life has me going around in circles? That although I haven’t talked about her disease publically, its not because I am ignoring it, but rather just desperately trying to contain the grief.

So this year I will train and run Zooma, a brutish hilly course in South Texas, in honor of Deb and ALL patients fighting cancer… but this time, I am taking a team with me. What can I give to a woman who has been an inspiration to me for the last ten years? What can WE give? The answer is simple: give of yourself.
'
Deb: this race is for you.
Everyone else: From here on out, I will only answer to coach.
See you on the track.

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