Boxing Up Some Personal History

I boxed up a bit of my history today. 

I was a runner for 15 years. 2001 to 2016. Okay, I was a “wogger,” a walker/jogger. Speed wasn’t my thing, and propelling a 300-plus-pound body forward was never going to be about speed. At first, I ran to lose weight. When I turned 40 in 2009, I focused hard on getting my health act together. By 2012, I’d lost 100 pounds.

In 2010, I began running for a cause. The American Cancer Society went nationwide with a program called DetermiNation, which trained folks to run marathons or half marathons while also raising money. I asked a guy I knew by reputation but didn’t know personally who was a runner and had a heart for cancer if he would help me form a team to run the Rock ’n Roll Nashville Marathon in 2011. He later became my dearest friend.

A year later, I ran the New Orleans Marathon. March 4, 2012. That date is seared in my memory because of the irony. I was diagnosed with cancer three weeks later. 

After cancer, I ran because I damned well could.

Over 15 years I completed 7 marathons, 12 half-marathons, 2 Spartan Sprints and uncountable 5K, 8K and 10K races. 

All of the medals I’d garnered hung in our home office on a specially made “Determination” medal display hanger. All of them: the race finisher medals along with Relay For Life survivor medals, Buddy’s/Subway Race Against Cancer survivor medals and race bibs, media passes from the Rock ’n Roll races, and ID badges from ACS CAN State Lead Ambassador Summits and Leadership Summits and Lobby Days. 

That medal hanger was loaded.

It was also badly placed on the wall by yours truly. The medals, festooned with brightly colored or beaded ribbons, hung over the light switch. Turning on the light meant making a loud clanging noise as you blindly fished for the switch. 

But that’s not why I took the medal hanger down today. 

Running/wogging is now part of my past. An artifact of my history. An activity made unbearable because of persistent neuropathy in my feet. Thank you, chemotherapy.

I haven’t run since the Atlanta Spartan Sprint in 2016.

It was time. 

And we’re redecorating the office. 

It was time. 

I took the medals down. I kept some, placing them in a cool box covered with old typewriter keys that was awaiting something meaningful to hold. Most of them I tossed. 

I kept all of the survivor medals. Interesting fact: the only Relay For Life medal with a date on it was from 2012, the year I walked my first survivor lap.

There is the medal from my first marathon, the 2001 Flying Pig in Cincinnati, which I trained for by myself. 

The 2010 Covenant Health Knoxville Marathon, when I trained with Missy Kane’s media team and we decided, at some point, that I should walk the whole thing. 

The 2010 Marine Corps Marathon in Washington, D.C., where the lovely Sarah drove around the city to find me at various points along the course and where my friend and former ACS CAN colleague Alyssa met me at the 14th Street bridge and walked with me to the end. I cried when I got to that bridge because I beat the sag wagon and was going to be allowed to finish. 

The Nashville and New Orleans races. 

The 2012 Covenant Health Knoxville Half Marathon, which occurred four days after my diagnosis because fuck cancer. 

Also the 2015 CHKM, three years after my diagnosis. Trained for that one with my friends Anthony and Adam. Adam ran/walked the whole thing with me, and Anthony, Michelle and Julie met us 10 miles from the finish line and walked with us to the end. 

The Spartan Sprint medals. I trained for months for those obstacle course races with the most amazing group of people. 

In place of those medals now hangs my guitar. I hope to learn to play it some day.