Fitness After Breast Cancer

Maybe It's Not What You Think

The unedited journal. There will be typos.

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In November, I had my one-year scan, and and a meeting with the nurse who heads the research project that I’ve been (sort of) taking part in.

I’d exercised 5-8 hours a week for a year. Weights, running, ballet, tai chi, pilates. All according to the recommendations, but all the time told that maybe I was doing too much. My fitness improved unexpectedly between March and June. I was strong. And had endurance, and I fit into my skinny jeans—which shouldn’t matter but absolutely does when you’ve lost half a breast and feel unattractive.

Then at the November meeting with the nurse, we found out my smart watch hadn’t been sending data to the researchers. I have no reason to feel that all the work was wasted, but I do. I don’t know if that is what took the wind out of my sails?—That all along I thought I was participating in something bigger than myself?—Something that would help other women? Or whether I just hit the wall.

All the pressure of being a model breast cancer patient. Finding purpose in the experience, showing everyone what it means to overcome.

Full-time work, and the pressure of hitting the gym and the classes before work or after work four times a week, was just too much. And there was the pain. The joints that ached, and the hot flashes. The mild arthritis in my big toe flared up, and an almost intolerable pain that kept me awake. No more hiking. No more running. And running is such a big part of who I am.

Since Christmas I have put on at least ten pounds. And I’ve probably lost as much muscle. I get winded on the stairwell at work. And I am judging myself.

This may sound odd, but from another perspective: I think this is a good thing. The self-directed anger, the frustration I have regarding my will power, the acknowledgement of pain in my body. I’m not thinking that much about cancer. The idea of cancer returning is still there, still a concern when I step on the scale and know that every additional pound increases the chance of recurrence… but it isn’t foremost in my mind. It doesn’t overshadow every aspect of me being in this body.

I am very aware of how messed up it is that my feelings of shame and dissatisfaction around my body indicates a kind of “norm”.

This week, I’m having surgery on my toe. I wish it was about “fixing” it, but it is “fixing” it in place, screwing in a metal plate and letting the bones grow together so they will stop rubbing against each other. In a few months, I will be pain-free. Until then, I have to work up the discipline to get on the rowing machine. To stay away from the candied dates. To remember that this body would be falling apart even had I never had cancer. This is what it means to get older. And it is so important to remember that the struggle to keep it agile is a privilege.

Agile: The ability to respond to change.

Agile.

Warmly,
Ren

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In Norway the breast cancer organization has an arrangement called “likeman” support. It’s just what it sounds like: peer support for people in a position that is (or has been) like your own. If you want to sound off, I’m here and will witness and support you. You’ve got this.