Francie: No One Knows You Better

Part two of three in a series

If you missed my first post, Running as Grace, I can catch you up to speed: Girl trains for third Ironman, has breast cancer surgery three weeks before race, scratches race, running is (again) her saving grace. You can read the full story in The Competitor in Me II: Conquer Fear. Though I had running for strength, facing treatment for cancer wasn’t easy. Staring down 31 days of this therapy, I had to take stock in a few things: my faith, and that no one knows me better than me.

Halfway through my sessions, I met with my doctor to talk about progress, side effects, and ways to stay as healthy as possible through the process. Over and over, I was told how two thirds of all patients experience fatigue some time after the halfway point. I was waiting for the shoe to fall but now halfway through my 31 therapies, I had great energy. “How’s your energy?” She asked, though she looked at my chart, not me.

“Good. I have been trying to be conservative with my workouts. It’s working.” “Tell me more. What does that mean?” She asked, her physician’s assistant sitting beside her.

“I limit my training to an hour and fifteen minutes or less; then everything stays in balance. Except swimming. I only do 45 minutes of that.” I was a little worried that telling her this would somehow cause me to be benched.

“That’s a lot of working out.” She looked at me, eyebrows raised. What part of me training for Ironman did she miss? All of it. We talked about all of this before I began radiation, but now it was clear Dr. Gray wasn’t listening. The physician’s assistant, who had followed my story, smirked. “How often do you do that, Francie?”

I hesitated with a crooked smile. “Six days.” “Exceptional. But that is a lot of working out.” Spoken by someone who sees a lot of sick, not healthy people. And by someone who wasn’t listening to me from the get-go. “My theory is that if I am a moving target, I will be harder to hit. Just keep moving.” Dr. Gray went on to say I had to be careful about listening for signals from my body. How ironic that she was telling me to listen to my body when in fact she could not listen to me! Yes, of course I would listen for those signals. I am an Ironman and a mommy. Signals are my life.

I hope you see the signals in this post. You must know your body in order to know your limits during times of stress and illness. There is a time to play hard, and a time to rest hard. Miss out on the signals for either one, and you are missing out on taking care of you. Trust me, no one else will do as good of a job of taking care of you.

Francie: Running as Grace

Part one of three in a series
 

As a runner since age 15, my sport has taken me through a lot. From children to divorces to job stress, running has been my saving grace. When I had breast cancer recently, running was again there for me.

Three weeks before my third Ironman, I had surgery to remove breast cancer. I scratched Ironman. I will spare you the grumbling I had about how highly inconvenient this all was, after all, I’m here today in perfect health. You can read more about my experiences in my book, The Competitor in Me II: Conquer Fear. Two weeks to the day I had surgery, I couldn’t stand it anymore. It was time to start running again. On a sunny September day after work, I headed out into the fresh air. The plan was to just run easy and savor the day, the freedom.

The sun’s warmth was marvelous. I didn’t have one moment when I regretted being out there. I praised God for the opportunity and asked Him to keep helping me through my journey. The sidewalk quickly moved past me. So much for worrying about how hard it would be to get moving again. The doubt demons were at it again, telling me I wouldn’t be able to keep running, but my legs put a stop to them.

Running felt so natural and easy. My body craved the warm sun, the breeze in my face. I wanted to be out there for two hours. I settled for 42 glorious minutes. Later, I texted my running partner, Ben. My words are a great summary of that run:

Me: Went running today. I’m not sayin’ it didn’t hurt. I’m not sayin’ it was a mistake. Thrilled.

Ben: AWESOME!

Grinning, I saved Ben’s text for a very long time. His encouragement came in handy many days.

That day caused a shift in my recovery. Not just the outward shift in getting back into running, but a shift in my perspective. By running for just 42 minutes, there was a noticeable deliverance of grace to my recovery. The day, the week, this recovery no longer felt completely out of my control. I had this.

Running just one day gave me the grace to unlock new hope. It was always in me but there was so much fear in the way, I couldn’t see it. In the days that followed, I felt so renewed and refreshed as I pushed through recovery. How down I had been! It’s true that I had no idea just how bad I felt until I began feeling good. And now I knew the real source of my pain, my flatness. It was a huge shroud of fear. I was unconsciously walking through my days, knowing I was fighting but not what I was fighting. Running crystallized things, and set me on a path to conquer my fear. Stay tuned for part two...