t.m.i. ...

Once, some time ago, I mentioned to my oncologist some random pain or ache or other that I was currently and inexplicably experiencing.  He responded, oh so reassuringly, that everything I was feeling, all the unusual and frequent sicknesses, all the random and probably harmless ailments, were a direct result of either the chemo or having had cancer or both.  I posed this question while I was still in relatively active treatment, still receiving some chemo once a month.  Now, 20 months after finishing any and all chemos for ALL, I can't help but wonder if I can still pull the "C" card as an excuse for current and inexplicable sicknesses.

Generally, as a rule, I don't like to bitch.  Grumbling serves no purpose to anyone and usually only reinforces all the negative energy that seems to run rampant.  That said, cancer sucks.  Rather, cancer Still sucks.  Everything that has been wrong with my body for the past 20 months, barring the one running injury, may or may not be a result of having had cancer.  I honestly feel like I haven't been really and truly Healthy since probably months before my diagnosis.  Case in point, I have spent the past two weeks alternating between feeling just OK, and feeling like I am dying.  Haha, and that is only a bit of an exaggeration.  After I returned from Moab, I came down with a gnarly little buggy that destroyed me for about a week.  While I know everybody loves bodily fluids, my own body was doing everything in its power to purge every drop of anything from my insides.  Pretty sure I'm still somewhat dehydrated.  Although I did manage to lose about 5 pounds, so Bonus?

Then, just over a week ago, I went to see a GI doctor regarding the intestinal problems I am still having.  (I brought them up in a post a few posts ago...)  He thought I might have IBS and prescribed me some anti-spasmodics to help with the irregular bowel spasming.  Well, those were a bad idea.  The spasms certainly didn't get any better, and, in fact, I'm pretty sure I just became more dehydrated.  The tips of all of my fingers actually started peeling, which, while interesting, was probably not a good sign.  He had also done a blood test to check my thyroid as well as to check for markers of Crohn's disease.  Supposedly, my thyroid is fine, but the Crohn's test came back with funky, unusable data.  I guess my blood or something has been affected by my ALL.  I'm shocked?  The nurse told me this information over the phone, and I didn't understand it, but she didn't need me to come back in, so I hope it's all good.  What isn't all good, though, is that following the little plastic-coated blue pills I took for my supposed IBS, my muscle cramps got worse, and Awesome!  I've broken out in a sick rash on my buttocks.  There's the tmi for ya.  Bam.  Haha.  Buttocks.

So, once more, I have spent my entire day in bed, wondering what I did in a past life to warrant so many random and inexplicable sicknesses that are preventing me from running, from eating, from going to the bathroom like a normal person.  The reason I bring this up isn't because I am looking for a sympathetic audience.  Nothing like that, because seriously, whatever; all this will pass.  What I am more concerned with is that there is no playbook for young-adult ALL survivors two years post-treatment.  Can chemo give you IBS two years down the road?  Or can it lead to an increased risk of developing shingles?  Or will it give you the colon of a 72-year old man?  I am 23 years old.  My knee shouldn't be busted; there shouldn't be wicked rashes on parts where the sun don't (usually) shine.  So who knows.  This is all new territory for me, and it is extremely frustrating.  I can't help but question whether I will ever feel "healthy" again, for any extended period of time.

In Moab, I had the privilege of rooming with a beautiful and strong woman, Phoenix.  Phoenix has chronic myelogenous leukemia (CML), which means she lives with her cancer and its effects on her body and mind every single day.  This woman, quite literally, Owned the rocks out in Utah.  She was a natural climber, and if she was afraid at all, she certainly didn't show it as she pretty much just scrambled up cracks and over some serious overhangs.  By the end of the week, her fingers and her feet were torn apart, blistered and bruising.  Yet she persevered, ignoring the pain and proving to all of us that a little pain wasn't going to do Anything to interfere with her FD experience.  She has, like all of us, since returned to her "real" life in the city, waking, working, drinking coffee, and heading back home to her apartment at the end of the day.  She has also started running since she returned from Moab.  At camp, she had talked about how she frequently went to the gym anyway, but she biked more than anything else.  Now, though, for whatever reason, she is throwing running into her mix of awesome.  This woman's strength of mind and body blows me away.  Chronic leukemia be damned, she is going to Live her life.  I'm sitting here, feeling angry and sorry for myself, and for what?  Because my butt itches?  That's stupid.  Like I said, I have no precedent for these physical ailments, but if this is what life will be like for a while, I guess I'm going to have to take a page or two from Phoenix's book and get over it.

So those are my mid-May grumbles.  Hopefully you're all feeling better than I am, and if not, Feel Better!  Sickness stinks.  Nobody likes sickness.  But thank you for reading, as always.  :)  Peace.

motivation. (a vaguely self-indulgent running post...)

But first...  V-logs!!!  I recently became aware of a huge number of video interviews on the Dana-Farber website that cover pretty much any survivorship topic you can imagine.  Check out the link HERE!.  Dana-Farber has a Lance Armstrong Young Adult Survivorship Clinic, and they have really been working hard to increase awareness of the clinic as well as offer more support to young adults.  I've looked at some of the videos, although not all, and they seem pretty helpful as far as information goes.  Obviously the advice and info offered by the interviewees will not apply to everyone, but I think they've got the right idea at least.  The nutrition video was super interesting, although the chemo brain video peeved me a bit because my memory still fails me All the time, and I know I get enough sleep and eat well and take anti-depressants, so that wasn't much help.  Haha, but I digress.  I continue to be amazed by the resources available to young adults and the growth in awareness that has occurred even over the past three years.  A lot of this stuff was around three years ago, but there is so much more information now, and there is (I truly hope) a greater willingness from young adults to take charge of their lives in light of cancer diagnoses.  Amazing.

Segue to: Motivation.  Over the past six or seven months, this concept has been on my mind a lot.  Last August, First Descents sparked my running fire, which had been mostly dormant for a while.  In Jackson, I met a lot of runners and a few marathoners.  I realized these people are no different from me, really.  And they're running and accomplishing goals I have, so far, only dreamt up.  So I returned home to Chicago and decided I would run in the 2010 Chicago Marathon.  My motivation was at an all-time high because I was still riding the First Descents wave of awesome.

Of course, waves crest and fall, and mine fell pretty far beginning about January.  Treadmill running, the beginnings of an injury, and general winter-induced malaise all contributed to a gradual reduction in my marathon training.  And then in the beginning of March, my IT band pain got completely out of control, and I stopped running altogether.  For just about two months.  And then (timing being everything), it was time for me to once again meet up with my FD family, this time in Moab, Utah.  Once again, I met more of the most amazing people: funny, encouraging, generous, unconditionally accepting.  Oh and they run too.  In fact, our camp photographer, Bear, who I had the huge good fortune of getting to know a little bit over the week, is actually an Ultra runner.  I had a suspicion of this the first day or two we were there, and when I finally gathered my courage to ask if he was a runner, and he told me, Yes!  and I run ultras!, my mind seriously exploded a bit.  

I've recently been reading a bunch of running-related books, some on marathoners and a few on ultrarunners, and here, out in Moab, Utah, I actually, somehow, had met one.  We talked some about running, and I admitted, rather sheepishly, my goal of running the marathon.  I also voiced my growing fear that I won't be able to do it because I hadn't run in two months and my knee has been so super wonky.  He, like so many of my fellow campers that week, expressed his confidence in me and my ability to overcome the obstacles ahead.

Flash-forward to this past Thursday...  Having battled a Nasty stomach virus and come out on the winning side, my body was almost screaming at me to go outside and run.  My mind resisted, but my body was all like, "Girl, you can do this; I'm ready!  Remember that you seriously can do anything!"  So I did.  I ran.  Haha, I ran two whole miles!  But, but but...  My knee didn't hurt.  I don't really believe in miracles, especially when there is a physiological explanation for the recovery of my IT band (I've been using a foam roller).  But if I wanted to follow a mystical tack for a brief moment, whatever happened out in Utah, whatever I learned or realized that I still can't quite define, whatever motivation I found from meeting an ultrarunner who thinks I can run a marathon, any and all of those things combined to heal my leg.  It's still twinge-y, and I'm walking a fine line right now between desperately wanting to jump right back into training and not exacerbating the problem, but I still ran on Thursday.  I ran again on Friday.  And then, this morning, I saw Bear's Facebook status that he had run a "quick 14 miles," and, even though earlier I had talked myself out of going for a run, I quickly threw on my running shoes and went for Another run.  2.5 miles today.  And still no pain.

Good things are happening.  So many good things.  Not just with the running, but that is all I wanted to mention today.  There will definitely be more updates soon with other good things going on.  Let me just say that while I am talking about literal running, it is also a metaphor for my life over the past year.  Buncha waxing and waning, but now I am ready to go.  People are my motivation.  People's stories, their interests, their insecurities.  We are all in this world together, and who is to say that one person can run 14 quick miles before breakfast and I can't?  (I can't, but it's only a matter of time.)  So what's your motivation?  What gets you out of bed and running into your day?  I hope it's something good.  Peace.

There are no words

Well, there are many words, but most of them are inadequate; they will fall far short of acceptable enough to describe the past two weeks.  How is it that the events of a certain group of 14 days can change everything you feel about yourself, change your entire future?

But first, some context:

One year ago yesterday was my last day of college.  I was in Washington, DC, still taking pictures, running through Rock Creek Park and around the National Cathedral.  I was 22 and had absolutely no idea what I was going to do with my life.  I was no longer in any sort of active treatment for cancer, and so I thought I was done with it.  I thought I could just move on with my life having beat cancer and graduated from college all in four years.  But when I graduated on May 17, when I walked onto and across the stage at Agganis Arena at BU with my family watching me on the Jumbotron and all of my best friends sitting on black folding chairs on the arena floor, I had no plan whatsoever for the next day.  The funny thing about having no plan is that you will not accomplish anything with it.  So I floated through the next few months in Boston, shooting concerts and bartending.  And then my mom told me to pack up my life; I was coming back to Chicago.  It was either rent or health insurance, and, well, one sort of trumps the other.

And then, at the end of August, 2009, I showed up in Jackson, Wyoming, for a week-long climbing adventure with a bunch of other young adult cancer survivors.  First Descents didn't really change my life; it would be unfair of me to take that away from some of the others whose lives it did change.  It did, however, change a lot of things about me.  I started blogging again; I realized how truly important it was for me to recognize myself as a cancer survivor.  I also instantly found a new family, my FD family, and I would be in a much worse place now if it weren't for them.

So.  Two weeks ago, I flew to Boston to speak at a young adult cancer conference.  I went into the conference tremendously intimidated because the keynote speakers the past few years have been these amazing, successful women who have published books and been on television and pretty much set the cancer-survivor bar pretty high.  Me, I am just another person who has struggled with a whole lot of personal issues.  But that's what I brought to the table.  I am someone you pass on the street and not normally think twice about.  I work at Starbucks.  Yes, I blog, but there are a lot of better-known or better-worded blogs out there.  So I shared my experiences as any other person.  I joked about struggling at college parties, and I tried my hardest to say something relatable.  And it was a success!  The conference was all kinds of amazing.  I met other cancer survivors, other young adults who Got what I was saying.  If I may be a little immodest, I want to share some of the conference feedback:

"Loved her, really related to her as a college student!" 
"She was awesome!" 
"Caroline was wonderful! She was a voice for some specific feelings and thoughts that I have had.  I truly appreciated her courage to share her experiences and genuinely felt inspired by it, thank you"

This may sound silly, but I don't really have a lot of deep-seated confidence.  It's a process; I'm working on it.  But to have someone actually Underline that I'm awesome?  Haha, that's cool.  I can only hope the other young adults left that conference feeling something of the tremendous pride I felt.  We are all a pretty amazing group of people.

And then, one week ago today, I hopped on a plane to Grand Junction, Colorado, where I would be meeting 12 other cancer survivors.  Once again, I was going to a climbing camp, this time in Moab, Utah, with First Descents.  I thought, erroneously, that I had learned everything there was to learn about myself at camp in Jackson.  I thought this would just be another opportunity to make new friends and climb and take some stellar photos.  All of this ended up being true and then some, but I was also shocked into the realization that 12 people I've only known for a few short days can know more about me than I know about myself.  That to actually hear someone tell me they are proud of me and they believe in me means a whole lot to me.  That someone pretty much yelling at me that I am "effing awesome," while I blush and shake my head, can actually penetrate my intricate shell.

This time, these people changed my life.  I am actually tearing up right now remembering the tremendous amount of love we shared this past week.  I am still trying to process everything that happened, everything I learned and came to terms with.  So there will probably be another post sometime to try and word-vomit all of that out.  But I needed to write something now.  This was the beginning of something new for me; I can feel it.  I don't yet have a solid plan, but I am so ready to go.  It has been a year of waffling, but no more.  Things will only get better, and in the meantime, I am just about to explode from all of the emotions I am still feeling.

So that's my update.   Sorry it is so wordy...  But I figure you only get one of these things every so often; a longer post makes up for it.  I hope everyone is enjoying their spring so far.  It is almost May!  Where is this year going?  Best wishes from Chicago, though, and if you're looking for a photographer, give me a holler.  Right on.  Peace.

photo courtesy of Barry Reese c. 2010

Please leave your shoes (and your modesty) at the door

Have you remembered your (large) towel?  Are you wearing little and lightweight clothing?  Have you brought your own water bottle?  Oh, no?  Well, don't worry; we have a refrigerator chock full of Zico, now in environmentally friendly tetra-packs!  It's like yoga's Gatorade.  Grab your mat, head into the hot-room, and calm your mind in anticipation of sweating out a few gallons of water.

If any of this sounds vaguely familiar, then perhaps you, too, have experienced the unique experience that is Bikram yoga.  My first experience came just a few short hours ago.  Recently, I decided to give yoga a second chance, especially since I haven't been able to run and my new bike is still in transit.  (I dismissed yoga the first time around as ineffective.  That was before I learned how to calm the hell down.)  My gym offers a few yoga classes throughout the week, and I have been going to some of the 7 a.m. "gentle" yogas, unsure of where I stood technique-wise or even whether this stretching/breathing/focusing thing could work for me.  The early classes have been pretty good as far as getting a handle on the basics, but they were far from challenging for someone who is already fairly flexible.

A few days ago, I was talking with a woman at my gym following a sub-par bike workout, and she mentioned that there is a Bikram yoga studio only a few towns away.  Now, I had actually been playing with the idea of looking more into this whole "hot yoga" thing.  Learning there was a studio mere miles away provided the impetus I needed to take that first step.  So today, I showed up wearing running shorts and an Old Navy tank top and signed my name to their Bikram yoga release form.

I did my homework.  I knew the classes take place in rooms heated to around 105 degrees F.  I knew to drink plenty of fluids all day, and I hadn't eaten for three hours prior.  I was prepared to sweat like a maniac; I was prepared to stretch like a maniac; I was even prepared to breathe deeply.  And so for 90 minutes, I did all of those things.  But I also completely forgot about everything that wasn't directly related to keeping my balance or remembering to breathe.  It was the strangest combination of relaxing and heated hell.

Sweat poured from my, well, pores, I guess.  When you first walk into the room, the heat isn't overwhelming.  It embraces you while it gradually insinuates itself into your body.  Even just lying on your mat waiting for class to start, finding your center, you begin to perspire.  When the yoga instructor walked in and directed us to stand to begin, I could feel my sweat beginning to mass.  And then possibly ten minutes into our Warm Up (!), I looked down and saw that my thighs were beading sweat that was already letting gravity have its way with it.  For a minute, I freaked.  While a totally natural and healthy cooling mechanism, sweat is still kind of gross, still slightly embarrassing.  Then I slyly glanced around and saw that everyone else was in the exact same boat.  Hands clasped together, arms above our heads, chests out, breathing deeply, as deeply as you can and then just a little bit more, we were all already sweating.  And this was the warm-up.

Needless to say, the poses became more intense with more complicated names.  Standing on one leg in a 105-degree room, trying to hold your other leg at 90 degrees with your clasped hands in front of you ("So your legs look like a perfect 'L'!"), you become acutely aware of your body.  You have no choice but to focus on your positioning and breathing if you want to keep your balance and not cramp up.  With yoga, it is all about total awareness of your body and your placement in the present.  You are in this world, but not of it.  As it was though, I know my limitations and with about 20 minutes left of the class, I was starting to bottom out.  My heart was pounding furiously from the relentless heat and the sustained poses.

I am proud of doing as much as I did though.  I don't know the names of most of the poses, besides the most basic: triangle, tree, sphinx.  Like they say too, the best part really is when the class is over.  Walking out of that literal sauna into the cool entry room was the best part of my day.  I toweled off and drove home, singing along with the radio and feeling all kinds of accomplished.  Dare I say, relaxed, even.  Hopefully, I can convince my body to go back.  It seems like my sort of yoga: intense and athletic but with a big focus on breathing and placement.

So that is my account of my first experience with Bikram yoga.  Any other stories out there?  Yoga or otherwise...  Everyone loves stories!  Hopefully I will have a running update soon, but for now, my knee is still not cooperating.  Who knows, maybe all of this will help.  Either way, enjoy your Tuesdays, and thanks for humoring me once more.  Peace.

A confession.

A few days ago I wrote that I was doing splendidly and moving on with my life, etc., etc.  Which is all fine and well and good and mostly true.  However, on rereading said post, it occurs to me that A: I come off as super narcissistic and B: there are a lot of things I did not mention that deserve to be mentioned.

In response to qualm A, well, it is my b-log, so I suppose I am entitled to write about my goings on.  My problem with the post stems from the fact that, as written, it "tells" rather than "shows" how I feel, which pretty much directly violates the instructions of every writing class I have ever taken.  The writing is bland, boring.  Some of my posts from bygone days have literally made me laugh out loud or physically cringe when I reread them.  Tuesday's post makes me want to cringe too, but not in the good, oh that is some crazy descriptive writing there, way.  It is funny because it was all pretty much good news; I just totally dropped the ball with the writing.  To my college-sophomore COM 201 writing professor, I apologize.  Thanks for passing me.

As to qualm B...  Here is the truth:  I am going a bit nuts.  Don't worry; I haven't started talking to the little men who live under my bed.  I have, however, not run in over two weeks.  As in, almost Three weeks!  Three weeks??  And the shameful reality is there is a small demon voice in my head whispering no way I'll be able to train to actually run 26.2 miles.  Two weeks ago my three months of relative health caught up with me, and whatever bug has been zooming around my family and coworkers found its way into my system.  Coughing, sneezing, labored breathing, the whole usual bit.  And then a few days ago, just as I was feeling better, the sickness resurfaced in my sinuses.  It is currently residing in my nose and lungs, but it is also slowly diminishing.  So.  The point is that I haven't run for the past two weeks with good reason.  The problem is that I am too hard on myself.  Par for the course.

The broader picture: I find it very interesting to read and hear some of the motivation offered to us runners with Team in Training.  Obviously, I support Team in Training and what they do and where they direct their funds.  But I would be interested to hear from or talk to other runners who have actually survived their own diagnosis of a blood cancer.  I would like to know why they are running, what motivates them.  Personally, I am running for me, to prove to myself that this is something I can do.  I would assume (possibly incorrectly) that many of those running with Team in Training (who have not had cancer) are running for someone else (who has).  Please do not misunderstand me: I chose TNT because of their mission, because I know some amazing people who have been diagnosed with leukemia or lymphoma, and their struggles pretty much tear my heart apart.  No One should get cancer, and if I have to run to do my part to help eradicate it, then so be it.  I am just struggling with will and motivation.  This may sound strange, but other people's running provides me with a lot of motivation.  I have been stocking up on different runners' memoirs and crazy accounts and histories of races.  The science behind running is my motivation, nutrition, the effects running has on our bodies.  Does that make me strange?  Probably, a little.  Whatever I have though, is it enough to get me out the door every morning when my knee is killing me and I have a Nyquil hangover?  Is it selfish to think, "Hey, I've been there, done that cancer thing.  I am not running for the cancer"?  So much, then, for empathy.

And finally, a few weeks ago, I was flattered and honored to be asked to speak at an annual young-adult cancer conference at Dana-Farber, the "I'm Too Young for This" conference (not associated with the i2y organization; just a funny coincidence of names).  Three weeks from tomorrow, I will be standing in front of a crowd of young adults who will probably think I am some kind of nutter and wonder if they can get their money back for this free conference.  Self-deprecation will abound!  Thinly-veiled requests for a job from the sponsors will fly!  And somewhere buried deep in my speech will be a desperation to connect, to make an observation or raise an issue that will resonate with whomever hasn't yet fallen asleep.  Surely, with everything I have experienced, I can find something to say that won't be total bollux...  But we'll see.  I still have to write the speech.

And so that's my real b-log update.  Tuesday's post may have been true and all that, but those were just words.  This here is good, solid, unresolved conflict in my brain.  Happy Spring.  Peace.

The mysterious case of the missing blogger...

Resolved!  I apologize for, yet again, dropping off the board for a while.  Although, when I don't blog, it is mainly because I don't have anything cancer-related to report.  Which means - and this is important - my cancer diagnosis and treatment are rapidly becoming another part of my past.  This past is hugely important to me, and it has pretty much defined who I have become, but it also no longer controls my present.  My anger at my personal cancer has basically disappeared; my body is back to normal; my energies are focused elsewhere in my life.

I am a year and a half finished with my treatment, and as of one week ago, I am still cancer free (!) and clear for another six months of straight chilling.  I do need to note, however, that I have chosen to make cancer a part of my life.  Perhaps "chosen" is a strong word, but after everything I have gone through, I have found that I cannot just ignore the fact that I had cancer and move on with my life in some unrelated direction.  I volunteer with Imerman Angels; I am looking for a job working at a non-profit; I am running for The Leukemia and Lymphoma Society!  The social effects of my illness have made me realize that I can use my experiences to help others, and I want to help.

So, cancer, I hope you have enjoyed your day in the sun, because your influence on my day-to-day living has ended.  I would like to thank you for everything that you have given me: amazing new friends, countless opportunities to help others, a voice with which to blog, a level of maturity and self-awareness I might not have found for years.  For all this and more, I thank you.  I know everyone's cancer-story is unique, and many people possibly don't share my sentiments towards this disease.  All things considered, I got off pretty easy.  A little depression here, some hair loss there, but I've gotten through it and am stronger for having survived.  I can only hope that people with a similar situation can one day have a similar response to their cancer.  That's the funny thing about this world: it keeps turning, the days keep coming, and all we can do is respond so that hopefully we can enjoy the days we have.  Or something.

It has been a super long winter for me, and my words cannot do justice to how happy I am to finally see things growing again.  To run outside.  To (hopefully) invest in a mountain bike and pedal all over these crazy suburbs.  So that's what is up here.  Happy Tuesday, sad toad. 

Generally ridiculous....

For a few different reasons, I was recently doing a very small bit of online research on William "The Fridge" Perry.  Perry is a former Chicago Bears defensive lineman, well-known not only for his size, but also (and particularly in Chicago) for being a member of the 1985 Super Bowl Bears winning team.  As this year's Super Bowl draws ever nearer, Chicago Bears fans are reminded, yet again, that we, yet again, didn't even make the playoffs.  But I digress.

This past August, I had the luck and privilege of attending a climbing camp for cancer survivors in Jackson, Wyoming.  One of the stipulations of the week-long adventure was that every camper was given or earned themselves a nickname.  One of the amazing things about First Descents is that once you arrive, the person you were before camp, all of the pain and uncertainty that marked your life, doesn't matter.  You are given a new name; all that matters are the people surrounding you, the friendships you make; the literal mountain to climb.  On my first afternoon in Jackson, I mentioned to one of the group leaders that I was a pretty big Chicago Bears fan.  (FYI, I don't remember statistics or names or most of the football minutia.  I am unable to identify plays and only recently learned what a "pump fake" is.  In short, I am a terrible football fan.  But I also spent a lot of time in a hospital bed about three years ago with nothing to do and not much to look forward to other than playoff games and a Super Bowl in which my Home Team was playing.  Those games got me through a pretty long mid-winter in Chicago and solidified my allegiance to the Chicago Bears).

So I was dubbed "The Fridge," Fridge for short.  William Perry and I have very little in common.  Sadly, I do not get to run people over for a living.  I am also nowhere near 6'2, 382 pounds.  I do like to eat though, so I suppose that is something...

This all ties together, I promise.  In Jackson, for whatever reason, more than a few of the survivors there were runners.  Meeting them, even, once, running with two of them, I realized, hey, maybe I really can do this.  These women and men have triumphed over cancer, and now they are running marathons and participating in triathlons.  They took their illness and what they learned from it and ran with it.  Literally.  I couldn't stop thinking about them and their strength once camp was over.  I returned to Chicago and on October 11, 2009, the day of the 2009 Chicago Marathon, swore to myself that I would be among those runners in one year.

As of January 20, 2010, I have taken the second step.  I, Caroline "Fridge" Bridges am now officially registered to run with Team in Training for the 2010 Chicago Marathon.  I know it is official because they have even given me my very own Fundraising Page!  I am not soliciting donations (yet), just pointing out that I am Going to do this.  Although October and 26.2 miles seems a damn long way away from January and three miles...

Sitting in my bedroom, pushing through some SADness, I know the winter doldrums cannot last forever.  It helps to have a long-term, solid goal.  It also helps that I am running with Team in Training, and I know that everything I am doing, all the running-pain I will be willingly forcing on myself over the next eight months will (hopefully) help another person with leukemia or lymphoma.  I'm all about paying it forward, that is, once I figure out the best way for me to do it.  Which in this case, means running like a maniac for an organization I strongly believe in.

So that's what is up.  Hopefully you are surviving January....  Go for a run or something!  Haha.  Alright, happy Saturday.  Peace.