It was my 18-mile long run, the farthest I'd gone so far in my New York City Marathon training, when I felt anxiety creep into my ankles. Central Park was full of life and happiness, but I was suddenly acutely aware of every mile, every ache, and every vulnerability I couldn't outrun. A year earlier, I was in active treatment for breast cancer at 32.
I had undergone chemotherapy, a mastectomy, and reconstruction, and was still learning to recognize my new body. Now, I was preparing to run 26.2 miles, completely topless, with my scars visible. But I pushed through the fear: This was exactly why I chose to run in the first place.
Not because I’ve overcome everything or that I have nothing left to hide—but because I’m learning to show up as I am: Uncomfortable, imperfect, and still moving forward. I’m running like this in the hopes that my story might help save another woman’s life. If seeing me and learning about my journey helps her speak up or look into her own breast cancer risk, this run becomes bigger than me.
In 2023, I left my career as an associate in wealth management at Merrill Lynch to raise my son. Six short months after I resigned, everything changed. My ob-gyn told me I was too young for a mammogram.
An ultrasound came back benign. It was a third doctor, a breast surgeon, who finally took me seriously and sent me for a mammogram, a biopsy, and an MRI. I was leaving the gym on an ordinary Thursday when the call came.
I had breast cancer in both breasts: stage 2 triple-negative cancer on one side and stage 1 ER/PR-positive cancer on the other. The world went blurry, and every sound was muffled. I couldn't leave him without a mother, and my husband without his partner.
Extract — continue reading at the source.
