This time last year, I was recovering from surgery that would reduce my risk of ovarian cancer. (If you missed it, you can catch the brief video here). It would be the last of the surgeries to reduce my risk from my genetic predisposition — the BrCa gene (breast and ovarian cancer gene) that gave me a 80-90% chance of developing breast cancer and a 45-60% chance of developing ovarian cancer. I wasn’t interested in playing those odds, of course. 

This blog was founded as I prepared for my mastectomy back in 2010. I wanted to train for and run a marathon (I ended up running two 1/2 marathons – close enough, right?) before my surgery — a la marathon before mastectomy.

In January 2014, I had my oophorectomy. Now, this was a 15-minute procedure and a 3 day recovery time. Well, the 15-minute procedure went just fine. But, my 3 day recovery time turned in to over 3-5 weeks of infections, allergic reactions, and what felt like my insides turning in to rock.

Once I got all of that under control and my life, sort of, back in order. I started working out again. In June, I was running regularly — 5-6 times a week and building up some serious mileage. In September 2014, I decided that I wanted to run another half-marathon. I was feeling great! I was easily building up my long runs to 6, 7, 8, 9, and then 10 miles. Though I was tired at the end of those runs, my mind and my heart were energetic and filled with joy. I was growing stronger each run, and I began to crave the wind on my face and feeling of sweat building up on a 40 degree day. I loved it.

Knowing that the cold, Northeast conditions were not conducive to winter runs, I registered for the Disney Princess Half Marathon for February 22, 2015. I spent weeks thinking about my costume, and even posted a blog about “I’m not going to tell you what I’m dressing as — you’ll have to wait and see!”

Well, you won’t be waiting to see anything….

On September 30th, as my running rhythm was as smooth as a Billie Holiday melody, I began to bleed. Given that I was in surgical menopause, this was not a good sign. But, I let it go for a while, thinking this was just going to pass.

Well, one week passed.

One month passed.

Two months passed.

I was still bleeding, and it was getting worse.

I finally called my doctor (yes, yes, I know… I should have gone in sooner) and went in for lots of tests. No one could figure out why I was bleeding.  All of my tests came back negative for the usual marker — cancer, etc. The doctors adjusted my hormone levels which only left me depressed and “flat.” I knew that exercise would help me, but I was bleeding so much that I couldn’t stand to be further than 1 minute from a bathroom.

In December, the doctor did a procedure in which they stripped my uterus to see if they could minimize the bleeding.

That didn’t work either.

For Christmas, my family and I travelled to Florida and went to Disney World. I mapped out the race course and memorized where all of the the nearest bathrooms were to the race course.  After a long day in the park, just before the big Mickey Mouse signs faded in my rearview mirror, I whispered, “See you real soon“, even though I had spent most of the day at the park changing pads or racing for a bathroom just before a major accident happened.

There’s something about Disney that makes you believe that anything is possible.

When we returned back from our trip, I called my oncologist to ask what my options were. At this point, I had been bleeding continuously for over 3 1/2 months. We discussed a possible hysterectomy but first she wanted me to go and see a menopause specialist. After all, my symptoms weren’t indicative of cancer, per se, so she felt she couldn’t really help me.

My appointment with the menopause specialist is on February 13 — just a few days before I was going to board a plane for Florida. I guess this whole time I had hopes that maybe the doctor would give me some sort of magic advice and that I would go back to training for the half-marathon …. with less than a week to go.

Well, on Friday, January 23rd at 10:00am, I made the call.

“Hello, and thank you for calling Walt Disney World where every day is a magical day! My name is Marsha, how can I help you today?”

She sounded so happy.

“I’m calling to cancel my reservation, please.”

I choked back tears.

I told her that I wouldn’t be running the half-marathon that weekend and so I needed to cancel my reservation for the Disney resort. I just couldn’t bring myself to actually go there and see all the runners gearing up for the Expo or coming back from the course. My heart just wasn’t ready to break that hard.

I’d be lying to you if I said it was all fine. I’d be lying if I said to you that I’m totally okay with this and, “Whew, glad I saved a few hundred bucks.” But, I’m not fine. I’m sad. I’m disappointed. And, I feel betrayed by my body.

I’ll make it down there one day, I’m sure of it.

After all, where the hell else am I gonna wear my Lilo-inspired running outfit?? Lilo

Peace, love, and Mahalo,


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If you’ve been following news, world events, or even just your local happenings, your heart is probably heavy, right? I mean, right? Like, how can we actually hear all that is going on and not feel something about it.

I’m not going to rehash it all here because, hopefully, you’ve at least been aware of some, if not all, of the social issues that have been heightened these past few months. The ones that have been weighing most heavily for me are related to

  • systemic racism that people who are Black have been subjected to and the continued dismissal of systemic racism;
  • the atrocities in Nigeria that have been going on for years, but that we in the Western world have only, kind of, sort of begun to pay attention to. In particular, my soul is heavy with the latest massacre and the use of children as suicide bombers
  • the unanticipated violence in Paris and the loss of life and safety
  • our continued acts of generalization and stereotyping despite acts being individual
  • this cold, cold weather we are having in this part of the country, and the privilege I often forget I have related to warmth, access to clean areas, and food

Though social media is the medium I use to communicate with people, to stay in touch with others, to get my world news, and even to send out my own writings, it’s especially during these times when my heart gets heavy with the lack of humanity and compassion people show towards one another. My Facebook “friend” group, for example, is very diverse — many different identities and intersecting identities of race, gender, sexual orientation, gender identity, faith/religion, socioeconomic class, education — and I’m “friends” with people for many different reasons. And, through all of this diversity, I like to believe that we are friends because we share humanity, we share this world, and we share a common commitment to see love win.

Yet, I’ve been struggling. I slowly disconnected (only to give in and re-install my social media apps a few hours later!) and have felt the desire to just pull away. To just leave the very platform that has given me support, kindness, and love in my own toughest time.

But, my heart gets heavy. My heart gets heavy when people who “like” my status updates about how my children have been bullied or called unkind names, and then they use those same unkind words to describe the protesters and those involved in social movements.

Or, when I write about how I love the city I live in because of it’s unique socioeconomic, racial, ethnic, and political diversity  — those status updates get “liked” by people who then judge others for having a Coach wallet and a card that assists them with buying groceries.

My heart is heavy.

When we write status updates about an act of dissent that blocks traffic, and yes, causes dangerous situations, and how unique this is. Yet, our status updates from just a few weeks ago was also about traffic and how it was a stand-still, and how nothing was moving. Even without the protests of last week, I have plenty of archived status updates from friends who write about how they are stuck on the highway and how they are “glad they peed before they left work because they’ve been on the on-ramp for over an hour”. Even my own husband calls me from his commute home from work — every day — because he is in stand-still traffic.

What would it mean if it were true?

I can’t solve the world’s problems. On most days, I can’t even get out of my own way to solve my daily problems. But, I know that I commit myself to asking “What would it mean if it were true?”. Essentially, I do the best I can to put myself in the place of another, even if it means I have a false understanding, of what it must mean to be that person in that moment. It doesn’t always work, and I don’t always succeed. But, I practice it every day. 

When someone cuts me off on the road, I’m pissed. I’m angry. And, I likely utter a few choice words. And, then I tell myself to come up with 1 reason why that person did it — one reason beyond, “‘Cause he’s an ass.” What would it mean if that person just heard his Mom passed away? What would it mean if that person just heard “If you don’t get here in 2 minutes, you’re fired.” What would it mean if that were true? Now, likely, the person just cut me off ’cause he’s an ass. Okay, fine. But, what’s going to have me move past that moment — I have to assume that there was some reason.

There are situations where this is harder — nay, impossible, for me. For example, I simply find this exercise too impossible when I try to figure out why a group of people would kidnap girls and strap bombs to them and send them into villages. I just can’t do it. I’ve tried. I’ve tried. I’ve tried to find compassion and humanity in this. Maybe individually, those men have been told something terrible will happen if they do not. Maybe they have been systematically brainwashed. Maybe,… I don’t know… this one is too hard for me.

But, what would it mean if it were true that you could take a minute to do this to? What would it mean for you to develop compassion in this way? What would it mean if, after you’ve initially judged someone’s view, someone’s behavior, and someone’s life, that you took 60 seconds to ask yourself, “What would it mean if it were true?”

What would it mean if it were true that the woman with the Coach wallet was now relying on public assistance for food? Maybe it would mean that she, like thousands of Americans, was in a good working job where she could readily provide for her family, and then she was called into the office and was told  she was let go. That all of her health insurance was cut off, and that she had to navigate signing up for public health care. That her child, who had an appointment at a hospital, suddenly had to cancel the appointment or pay out of pocket. That she usually goes to the grocery store when it’s not as crowded, but that, today, she had to help out a neighbor. So, now she was in line at the busiest time of the day.

Would would it mean if it where true that an individual just found out she was diagnosed with cancer, and that she felt she hadn’t done much with her life. And, with the year she had left, she was going to make a difference. So, she showed up to a meeting about protesting, participated in a protest that made people angry, but that for the first time in her 40 years, she felt alive. Really alive.

These could be made up. But, what would it mean if it was true?

If it was true, then we’re all a little bit human.

If it was true, then we are all a little bit faulty.

If it were true, then we are all a little bit imperfect.

If it were true, then we are all just trying to do what we can to be who we can.

What would it mean if it were true that you could be any one of those people tomorrow? What would it mean if you were the one who cut me off while driving?

What would it mean if I believed that you were just trying to be who you needed to be?

What would it mean, if we all believed this could be true?

Peace, love, and believing in humanity,


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Throughout the years, my childhood bedroom changed with the seasons. As soon as the spring weather grew warmer, my mom would predictably hand me a large plastic bin so that I could carefully fold all of my sweaters, sweatshirts and thick pants into storage. The empty space was then filled with t-shirts, cotton clothes, shorts and skirts that were desperate to be unfolded from the bin. I used the outside of my closet — the two brown sliding doors — to express whatever new interest I was in. I admit, at one point it was covered with New Kids on the Block posters that I had carefully clipped out of Teen Beat magazine. Other times, I had inspirational posters of famous runners. Another time, I had created my own music touring company and made marketing posters with shiny, white posterboard and Crayola markers for myself as an artist. My life as a pre-teen was filled with adventure and imagination! It’s amazing to look back on who I was nearly 25 years ago and see how those early messages shaped me today.

While the inside and outside of the closet changed, I had one part of my room that always stayed the same: a rectangular cork-board displayed just to the left of my bedroom window that was covered with cards, notes, and photos of me and my friends.

Tucked away, barely dangling, on the bottom right hand side of this cork-board was my list of “New Years Resolutions.” Years had gone by, but those resolutions had stayed up there through most of my teenage years.

While some of them have been long forgotten, there are ones that I vividly remember writing when I was 14 years old:

  • do not weigh more than 110 lbs
  • exercise every day
  • kiss a boy
  • get good grades
  • be nicer to my siblings

Yes, I did finally kiss a boy. Yes, I did manage to get good grades. Pretty sure my siblings are cracking up about the “being nicer to them” one. Exercise every day? I did achieve for a while. Do not weigh more than 110 lbs? This didn’t stick.

For most of my life, I have placed such a huge emphasis on how I look and how much I have weighed. So much that it caused me some serious problems in college and for a few years afterwards. But, as I reflect back on the quarter of a century (good heavens….) since that first list of New Year’s Resolutions, I shifted my “resolutions” to  “intentions.”

I truly can’t remember the last time I made a New Year’s Resolutions list –  maybe it was just after I had kissed a boy (check!) 

This year, I will turn 40 years old. And, so I’ve made a list of my intentions for the year. I’m writing them down here to not only hold myself accountable but to also draw on your encouragement, strength and incredible cheerleading abilities! Readers and friends, you’ve gotten me through a ridiculous amount of challenges — and these intentions are about as challenging as they come for me!

As you read through these, I’m asking you to think of your own intentions. And, if any of them line up with mine (or have in the past), please let me know! I need your help to keep going! For years, you have all been my support system through a mastectomy, oophorectomy, training for a 1/2 marathon, and reframing my thinking. And, I need you again! Let me know what you’re doing and share YOUR intentions!

Liza’s Intentions for 2015 (aka the Year of 40)

Intention #1: Run at least 40 miles a month. I know. Some of you run 40 miles a week. I get it. For me, this is a huge challenge. For the past six months, I have been building up my mileage and training faithfully for a half-marathon. I recently registered for a half-marathon that I was VERY excited about. But, a few months ago, my body decided to work against this goal, and I’m afraid I’ve been sidelined. I went through a bit of a depressive period after this, and I know that exercise will help me deal with my feelings of failure. So, yes, 40 miles a month (or 10 miles a week) is a big deal.

Intention #2: Write 40 more pages of the dissertation. For the past 4 years, I have been actively pursuing my doctorate full time (while also working full time). This year, I’m in full dissertatin’ mode. I want to finish. I will finish! So, these 40+ pages represent the results, finding and discussion sections. Graduation 2016 — I’m coming for you!

Intention #3: Take 40 weeks of photos with the kids. When my youngest child was born, I took photos of my children every single week for a year. I love those photos. But, over the years, I’ve let that time slide. I was also so embarrassed by how I looked (post-baby) that I didn’t get in those photos. I want my children to remember me in their photos, and so this intention is really allowing myself to be remembered.

Intention #4: Write 40 new posts on the blog this year. I love writing and connecting with all of you. Yet, my medical problems consumed so much of my energy these past few months and I fell into a slump. Now, I’m back and realizing my support system is so strong here (where would I be without you all???). So, 40 new posts are coming!

Intention #5: Be freed from 40 lbs. This one is a hard one for me to write down. Because of my very troubling history with weight and body image, I’m always uncomfortable stating that I want to lose weight or need to lose weight. So, I’m choosing to call it “be freed” from it. In 2014, surgical menopause and stress resulted in me packing on weight that feels unhealthy for my body. So, freeing me from the weight means I can breathe easier, move my body more fluidly, and have more energy. Here, I’ll really need your support and encouragement to keep going!

PLEASE know that I don’t want to can’t do these alone. I need your stories, your struggles, your experiences to keep me going! Feel free to leave a comment or message me about your own intentions or progress! What are your intentions for the new year?

Peace, love, and rebuilding the road paved with good intentions,


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The Gift

On the first day of Christmas, the doctors gave to me …. Another freakin’ surgery.

Oh, BRCA. The gift that keeps on messing with my life.

Tomorrow I head back to the hospital for a surgical procedure to stop the 77 day stretch of bleeding I’ve been having. It’s been an emotional — and physical — toll on my body which has impacted my daily life and, not to mention, my half-marathon training. Sometime in mid-October, after my 10 mile run, I was told to stop exercising and see if the rigor was influencing my symptoms. Now, I just live vicariously through the people on the pages of my running magazine, curled up on the couch, in my pajamas, as my running-partner audiobooks lay unplayed on my iPhone.

Did I ever tell you about the time I was 12-years old and stumbled upon a video of a doctor performing cataract surgery?

Back when there were VCRs, I had put in an exercise video tape into the player and completed half the workout. When I got home from school, I wanted to finish the rest of it. So, I took off my school clothes, changed into my black/hot pink spandex, and took my position in front of the television. I pressed play, waited for the delay of the VCR to register my directions and spin the tape wheels, and closed my eyes. I inhaled deeply. I opened my eyes expecting to see Jane Fonda in her unitard and headband doing a reach-and-pull. Instead, I saw a close up of an eyeball with a small metal tool carving out the upper layer of the eye.

“Dad!” I screamed to my Dad who I knew was still in his office two towns away from our house.

At some point between my workout yesterday and this moment in time, my father had inserted one of his medical procedure tapes, likely just passing the time while eating breakfast or waiting for my Mom to get ready for work.

Now, call it exercise-laziness, or maybe just fascination, but I sat down on the floor and continued to watch the rest of the surgery. I was amazed by how the ophthalmologist precisely lifted the outer layer of the eye in order to clear up the cloudiness of the cataract. I pressed pause, and just like my dad, grabbed a snack, and hit play again. It was beautiful.

Last night, as I try to fall asleep, I pulled out my iPhone and searched for videos about hysteroscopy polypectomy — the procedure that I’ll have tomorrow. The description walked me through, step-by-step, the exact process of what will happen when I get to the hospital. Then, I watched what my gynecological oncologist will be doing — from the inside.

When the video was over, I closed my eyes. I inhaled deeply. And, I fell asleep.

While tomorrow’s procedure brings me comfort knowing that my marathon-medical-issues session will end, I would be lying if I wrote that I wasn’t nervous. My last surgery left me with, essentially, what felt like a betrayed body; so, there is certainly some residual trauma from that. But, I know that all will be fine. All will work as planned. And, as I constantly remember, I am very fortunate to know what I know; to have access to medical care; and to have support from friends and family. It is especially during this time when I think of the many who do not have access to what I take for granted each day.

For me, I have the privilege of re-framing my struggles. Knowing about my BRCA status has been, minimally, a burden, but largely a gift.  But, I know that is not always available to others. May we continue to all live in solidarity with one another. As we enter into a holiday season when we cherish miracles, faith, family, and love, I ask that you not only remember those who cannot, but that, together, we demonstrate acts of kindness and humanity towards one another.

Peace and one love,


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After 56 straight days of bleeding, I finally got some answers. I’ll be heading back into surgery in a few weeks to hopefully solve the problem, but until then, it all just continues.

Thankfully, Jorge has stepped up his game during Thanksgiving and has taken over the kitchen completely. And, by completely, I mean the Man has cooked AND cleaned all at the same time. The kitchen looks spotless and simply smells of awesomeness.

How do I know? Because I’ve been on the couch since I crawled out of bed this morning.

I’m not tired. But I am fatigued. It’s a physical exhaustion – not a mental one. I’m completely awake and here, but my body is just doesn’t have the energy to move.

At this point, the physical impact of the past 8 weeks has finally caught up to me. While surgery is still a few weeks away, I’m feeling a deep sense of relief at having some answers.

A few weeks ago, the doctor did two biopsies on my uterus and the tissue came back negative for cancer (cheers!), however this latest round of tests suggest a growth on my uterine wall. That’s likely causing all of the bleeding.

Will keep you all posted.

In the meantime, on this Thanksgiving day, I’m thankful for the privilege of health care, of proximity to good doctors, and for the ability to have a job that gives me some medical leave time. I am thankful that I have a washing machine and clothing (figure that one out yourself). Thankful that I have running water, sanitary conditions that keep me from harmful germs when I am at my most vulnerable. Thankful for reliable transportation to get me from place to place, especially the hospital. Thankful for the ability to buy foods that help to boost my nutritional needs.

I realize that even in our country, there are so many who do not have access to what I consider these basic needs to live in healthy life.

So on this day when many of us look forward to abundance, stuffing our bellies, and that lovely “food coma” feeling, I ask that you both remember our own privileges and seek to make those equal for others.

Be well, be healthy, be in peace,


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Hi friends,

So, I’m taking a risk by writing this post while still at a conference with people who read this blog. But, I’m going for it (mostly because I need people to tell me if I’m out of sorts!).

Many people here have asked me if I’m “doing okay” – to which, I always have to think, “wait, are you asking because you know about my health issues” or “are you asking because we haven’t seen each other in a while and you’re saying ‘What’s up, Liza?'”

I haven’t lied to you. I’ve been good.

Until this morning.

I actually had to excuse myself from a session — and nearly miss another that I helped to organize — because I bleeding. Again. But this was one of those bleeds where I was like, “Good Lord, I hope no one can see me.” The kind of high school bleed where you end up tying your sweatshirt around your waist and make a run for the nurse’s office. C’mon gals, I couldn’t have been the only one who did the sweatshirt around the waist trick, right? (right??) Regardless, that time I pulled that -ish was 22 years ago.

Right after it happened, I immediately emailed my medical team.

They immediately responded.

“Let’s try a new medication, Liza. This time, let’s try a patch while you’ll have to take concurrently with progesterone pills.” Sigh. Another round of wait-and-see.

I am hating life post-oophorectomy. 

I am loving life without cancer; but hating it post-oophorectomy.

I hate carrying a laptop bag full of maxi-pads instead of actually carrying a laptop.

I hate carrying an extra pair of underwear tucked strategically in a pencil case in case my bag tips over in the middle of a conference session and exposes my brand new Hanes brand, pastel colored briefs.

I hate focusing on what’s going on with my body instead of letting my mind get filled with discussions about higher education, equality, access, equity and the lives of people I seek to serve.

I’m not fully here because my body isn’t fully whole.

In the meantime, there is nothing to do but make sure my cute outfit stays clean (ahem, this is where you all have permission to hook me up if you are at this conference and let me know if I’m a hot mess!!). I kid you not. 

I get off the plane late Sunday night and head into Mass General Hospital early Monday morning for a battery of tests and a new round of medication to try.

Please keep me — and my outfits — in your prayers.

Peace, love, and staying fly,


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My boobs are officially pre-schoolers.

Four years ago, I had a bilateral prophylactic mastectomy. And while my recent posts have been about the absolute roller coaster ride I have been on related to my bilateral salpingo oophorectomy, my mastectomy was the inspiration for this blog and for my Marathon before the mastectomy.

Many women who are BRCA positive have asked me which surgery was the “easier” of the two. For me, it was the mastectomy. But, very little points to that being the easier of the two. The mastectomy surgery took about 8 hours (plus reconstruction); the oophorectomy took about 15 minutes. The recovery period for the mastectomy was about 6 weeks; the oophorectomy SHOULD have been about 1 week (I had some serious complications). With the mastectomy, I was on pain medicine for at least 2 weeks straight; the oophorectomy, I was off pain medicine after a few days.

But, for me, what made my mastectomy a positive experience was the time I took to prepare myself and to steady the ship. My mastectomy anniversary reminds me of love. When I think about that time in my life, I’m overwhelmed by a feeling of love, community, support, pride and care. It took a village to keep me lifted; it took a village to make me whole.

Though I had lost parts of my body — parts that not only helped me identify as a woman, but parts that also fed my infants and sustained their lives — I had gained immeasurable self-confidence and faith in the goodness of people.

On a cold January day in 2010, I strapped on my running shoes — shoes that had mostly just taken up space in the hallway closet — and took my first steps outside. It was freezing and rain was beginning to fall. On that afternoon, I had taken my first steps towards training for a  marathon before my mastectomy. I still remember sitting on the couch at my mom’s house, figuring out how to build a WordPress site. I had felt a small lump on my breast, and I was terrified. And that’s when Marathon B4 Mastectomy was born. I was tired of being afraid. I was tired of being scared. I was going to begin a journey of health to prepare for my mastectomy.

On that cold January day, my friend Eric had joined me. We talked about the surgery and what I was thinking about doing. I was going to run two 1/2 marathons before my mastectomy. But I didn’t want it to be about me — I wanted it to be about empowering others to pursue their goals and to follow their dreams.

The following week, two more co-workers had joined me in the stinging cold air: Christina and Alice. They, too, strapped on their shoes and began walking.

The next week, two students joined me. Two students who had been trying to get in shape and who wanted to take control of their lives.

The next week, I asked for people to join me virtually. And more people joined.

And more. 

Throughout those months, the winter cold became the spring breeze and rain. And, soon, the summer heat kicked in as we were all getting in our last training runs before the 1/2 Marathon. For me, and many who had joined me during those months, this 1/2 Marathon symbolized strength, endurance, commitment, and confidence. I am forever grateful for the people who ran with me that day, and for the people who posted photos online who had run their own 1/2 marathons in their own towns.


Team Marathon B4 Mastectomy, June 2010 

And, I’ll never forget that feeling — of being the very last one to cross the finish line at the Worcester 1/2 Marathon. I crossed nearly 2 hours after everyone else had finished. And, there they were. There was my village, waiting along the course, cheering me on. They were friends, parents of friends, friends who just had babies and who had driven out to cheer me on the course, co-workers, neighbors, friends of neighbors. They all could have left, soaked their legs in ice baths, and gone on their way. But, they waited.

After that race, people ran more races. They trained for their first 5Ks; 10k; 1/2 marathons; and even triathalons. They felt stronger, more alive, and more confident.

Emily running her own 1/2 marathon

Emily running her own 1/2 marathon

“Ohana. Ohana means family. And family means no one is left behind … or forgotten.”

And just as that village came together to run with me, another village came together to send me on my way.

The week prior to my surgery, friends from work organized and participated in a huge event. While the event was to celebrate my achievements and my surgery, it had a much more profound effect. It brought together a community. It created a new village. It created a shared sense of meaning, of belonging, and of responsibility towards each other.

my friend Anne who organized the community event

my friend Anne who organized the community event

After surgery, a new village came together to help me heal. They brought food every single night, helped with my children, and listened to me as I cried.

And, the village stayed with me, read my posts, and sent me messages of encouragement when I needed it.

While I could not have done this without the support of my many villages, I am deeply moved by how much Marathon B4 Mastectomy has been able to support others in this journey. I have always believed that my calling in life has been to leave this world better than I found it; but the truth is that the world has left me better.

I am thankful for all of you who have read my words on your screens for the past four years. You have built me up when I was feeling small; picked me up when I have fallen; and walked with me when running labored my breath.

Post-surgery with drains still in place

Post-surgery with drains still in place

Together, we have created something special. 

May peace, peace, and peace be always unto you.

Love, joy, and health,


Thanks to all those who have run virtually, and especially thanks to the original Mb4M team who ran with me in June 2010: Jim, Donna, Liz, Tina, Jon, Beth, Heather, Julie, Aleta, Chuck, and Christina (and a few other friends of friends). Thanks for sticking with me on those hills!!! 

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