Hometown Weekly Feature

Thanks to our local paper, The Hometown Weekly. for featuring me this week!

Click HERE to check out their article

Guest Post: Two Years Forward...One Looks Back

In continuing with my goal of  sharing some of the incredible people and stories that inspire and motivate me to run for the DFMC team, today I share one of the most moving guest posts yet (and if you haven't checked out my previous guest posts, be sure to read Paige's story HERE and Amanda's story HERE).

Today's post is from my good friend Mary, and I was first inspired to run for Dana-Farber two years ago in honor, and then memory, of her beautiful mother Stephanie. When Mary surprised me at the finish line of the Falmouth Road Race with a banner displaying her Mom's name as well as the other people I was running in honor of, it hit me that running for a place like Dana-Farber is so much bigger than any one race, mile, or person. Soon after when I was debating whether I should apply for my first Dana-Farber Marathon Challenge, Mary didn't hesitate in encouraging me to apply. And from the moment I received that first acceptance email Mary became my unofficial "campaign manager" - always ready to tell a nearby coworker, friend, or stranger that I was running the marathon for Dana-Farber and encouraging them to support me on my journey. As I finally approached Mile 26 last year (where our office is located) I could see Mary beaming from a block away and her hug was one of the best moments of last year's race.

Mary is without a doubt one of the toughest and bravest people I know, as you will see from her beautifully honest post below. When I first asked Mary if she might consider sharing her story with all of you, I purposely told her she could think it over and let me know on her terms/timetable. I didn't want to push her to share something so personal if she wasn't yet ready to do so. Yesterday, as I bounced around work as if I had consumed 100 cups of coffee and attempted to calm my one week countdown nerves, Mary wrapped up for the day and headed out the door. Moments later an email appeared bearing this post. As I read it and wiped tears from me eyes, my nerves melted away and I was so deeply reminded of why I am running for DFMC. It doesn't matter if it takes me longer to finish the marathon than last year, it doesn't matter if I am fast or slow, and it doesn't matter how I do in the race at all this Monday -  because that race isn't the one we need to win.

Mary likes to tease me because she wanted to sponsor Mile 26 but my Uncle Arthur (who heads up Team Collins Texas Division) beat her to it, so she "settled" for some other miles. But Mary, what you don't know is that every single mile is yours. YOU are why I run, why our team runs. So that posts like this will never have to be shared. So that pain like yours never has to be felt. And so that one day there can be a cure.  

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There is truly no loss like the loss of a parent, but especially a mother. I mean, at one point, you were actually connected to her body, so it’s only natural that watching the woman who gave you life die feels like one of the cruelest things out there. But what is worse is when losing your mother means that you now have lost both your parents.

About two years ago, my mom passed away, twenty one years after my father.  Both of my parents had cancer, and it took both of their lives. My father struggled for about four years, where my mom only 10 months. Never at thirty two years old did I think that I would be parentless, let alone have had to watch both of the people I love the most die from such a horrible disease.

So here, two years later or twenty three years later (depending how you look at it), with a clear(er) head and a grateful heart, I would like to tell you my story. It isn’t happy or sad, it just is. It is life, and sometimes it is hard, unfair, and tragic… but it goes on and that is a blessing.

When I was in the second grade my father was diagnosed with colon cancer. I didn’t really get it. All I knew was that my dad had to have surgery, and we went to the hospital to visit him. He had a large scar down his stomach which I remember that it looked like it must have hurt. This process of surgeries and hospitalization went on for the next few years. I can’t tell you how many surgeries that my dad had, I now can say that he had chemotherapy, but at the time I didn’t know what that was let alone that my dad was having it. He never lost his hair, his laughter, or his spirit. He was usually happy, or was from what I could see. I can’t talk about what kind of treatments that he had or what kind of pain he may have experienced, hell till I was in high school I thought that he had stomach cancer, he had a HUGE scar down his belly, why would I think anything different. What I can tell you is that if he had gotten sick today, there is a chance he might still be with us. Technology has grown and changed and become something that possibly was unimaginable then. But on the other side of the coin, I could have still lost him today. All I know is that my father died of cancer, it was awful and sad. I was eleven when we buried him, but now at thirty three my life is just as affected as it was then, if not even more so.

Fast forward to 2013. I have taken a new job in a city that I love (Boston), I have just moved back to said city, I have made new friends, my sister is just engaged, my brother is about to enter his junior year of college, life is good. Well, then the other shoe dropped. It is August, my mother (who taught abroad for the year) has only been back home for about two months and has been complaining that she has pain in her arm. Her doctor thinks that she has torn her rotator cuff. After a month of trial and errors her doctors finally x-ray her arm, there it is a mass about the size of a softball in her lung. A SOFTBALL! Within a month or so we find out that my mother (who hasn’t had any major health problems till now) has stage IV metastasized inoperable lung cancer. And here is the real kicker, she doesn’t just have adenocarcinoma (the most common form of lung cancer) but she also has squamous cell carcinoma (which accounts for 25 percent of all lung cancers). And just so you all know stage IV cancer is defined as"the most advanced stage of lung cancer" and is also described as "advanced disease." This is when the cancer has spread to both lungs, to fluid in the area around the lungs, or to another part of the body, such as the liver or other organs. They gave my mom six months to a year.

I won’t bore you with all of the details, I will just say it wasn’t pretty. It was hard to let the past go and not be angry about anything that she had done to hurt me and just love her and take care of her the best we (my siblings, step-father, and rest of my family) could. This included taking her to many doctors’ appointments, both in New Hampshire (where I grew up and she lived) and in Boston, deciding that she should have a shoulder replacement to try to help control her pain, sleeping on a hospital cot for a week while she was recovering from surgery, sleeping on the couch for many weekends, and eventually caring for her while she was in hospice. Just when I thought that I could finally live my life in the city that I loved and do the things I wanted, I was pulled back to drive to New Hampshire every weekend or every other weekend to be with my mom, to eventually put my belongings in storage and move back to New Hampshire for the summer to help my family, and to pick up the pieces. I don’t regret this at all, I don’t begrudge it or anyone. Was I the one that my mom relied on? Yes I was, and at the end of the day I am happy it was me and not anyone else in my family. It was hard and awful and there are many days that I barely held it together, there are still days I barely hold it together. I am thankful for all of the support that I received from friends, and mainly my family. I am blessed to have the BEST sister, brother, and (now) brother-in-law a girl could ask for. Losing my mother was shocking, and horrible but it is life.

What I fail to mention above is that my parents were given great care. I know much more about my mother’s cancer treatments than my fathers, go figure that I apparently could handle it better almost twenty one years later. My mother wanted to receive treatment at “home”, but we insisted that she at least be seen by Dana Farber Cancer Institute. She was, and thankfully they were willing to accommodate her to work with her oncologists at home and come up with the best plan of attack to try to give her the best care possible. Because of her army of doctors (both near and far) we were given a wonderful Christmas, another birthday for both her and me, and 10 months of mostly joy. Sure there were times we didn’t see eye to eye, sure caring for her that last month was the hardest thing I have ever done. But in the end I know that it was the only thing we could do.

There are many things that I don’t know about life, about cancer, about struggling. But here is what I do know. Life is hard, it can be unfair, and it can hit you when you are down. It can also be amazing and joyous. Cancer is awful, and painful, and debilitating to many (not just the people who are diagnosed with the disease), but it is the people who are working towards solving this “problem” that make it livable. My friend, Erin Collins, is one of those people. She runs (like actually runs) and works hard to raise funds for the Barr Program at Dana-Farber Cancer Institute. Because of her we are closer to a cure, to something that could have saved my parents. But also because of her my mother was able to get treated at a place that was comfortable for her. The Dana Farber Marathon Challenge team is amazing in my eyes. These people not only bust their butts to raise thousands (possibly millions) of dollars to fund cancer research, they also then run a marathon (I can’t even talk about the miles of training that they put in), 26.2 miles. These people are amazing!

Grief comes at you in a million different forms. Some days you’re flying high and just like that, a bittersweet memory comes fleeting into your mind and a sorrowful “why them? why me?” wave crashes over you before you can yell "help!" The death of a parent is truly a wound that will never quite heal no matter how many years go by. It’s okay. Embrace that you still long for them so deeply. It’s a beautiful reminder of the unconditional love we have for our parents. For me, knowing that this program is continuing to help others, others that hopefully will never have to experience what I have experienced till they are old and gray, gives me hope and allows me to see the light in the darkness that cancer can cause. Thank you all!

Click HERE to learn more about lung cancer treatments and clinical trials at DFCI

Click HERE to learn more about colon cancer treatments and clincial trials at DFCI

Monday Motivation: One Week and All The Feelings

You would think that because I ran the marathon last year I would be heading into this weekend with nerves of steel, right?  Wrong. With one week to go I woke up this morning with butterflies in my tummy and ALL the feelings. There is just something about it being one week away that makes it all very, very real.

So I headed into Boston for work. And the marathon themed New Balance posters are up in Kenmore Square. The newly unveiled "Boston Strong" painting is gracing the Charlesbridge overpass spanning Commonwealth. And the scaffolding has gone up for the finish line on Boylston. Even the yogurt commercial on the radio this morning was geared towards people running the marathon! 

Surprisingly, seeing all of these things did nothing to calm my nerves. Shocking, right? 

Then my coworkers surprised me by matching the amount raised from today's Red Sox home opener "Jeans for Generosity" day to benefit my DFMC fundraising, and my heart and mind are exploding from love and gratitude (plus all the other aforementioned feelings). I can't even compose a logical thought right now because I am so overcome by everyone's generosity throughout this journey.

So I am taking deep breaths, working to compose my thoughts, and focusing on why and for who I will be running a week from today. And of course I am also daydreaming about the delicious BBQ I will eat tonight in support of DFMC. I'll be back with some more posts to get us geared up for the big day but in the meantime, here two of my favorite marathon motivations to get you through the rest of your Monday and kick start the week. 

My prayer for the next week

It's NOT a sprint. It's a Marathon.
Overlooking Boylston Street and Mile 26. 

Yankees Fan  + Red Sox themed  "Jeans for Generosity" day at work =
DFMC baseball cap and shirt!!!

Mon. 4/11/16: Dine for DFMC at Blue Ribbon BBQ

Boston area friends, make sure to stop into Blue Ribbon BBQ in Newton or Arlington this coming Monday, April 11th between 11am and 9pm. Simply mention Dana-Farber or DFMC while placing your order to dine in or take out, and Blue Ribbon will generously donate 20% of your order towards my fundraising for vital cancer research at Dana-Farber!

Blue Ribbon has been providing real pit smoked BBQ to the greater Boston area for over 20 years and if you haven't tried their food before, you're in for a real treat. And with their generous offer to donate a portion of Monday's sales, they are making it so easy to support an amazing cause while enjoying delicious food. The hardest part will be deciding what to order (just get one of everything)!

Have an event coming up (graduation, shower, marathon party)? Mention Dana-Farber or DFMC while placing your catering order with Blue Ribbon and they will donate 10% from your order towards my fundraising - regardless of your event date! Our family have used Blue Ribbon for several events and not only will your guests rave about the food, but they make the entire process so simple from start to finish.

Celebrate the one week countdown to the 2016 Boston Marathon and Dine for DFMC this Monday!

Frank Underwood would definitely approve of this fundraiser! 

Monday Motivation: 2 Weeks and Counting!

Last year we trained through one of the worst winters on record, so it would not have surprised me in the least if it had snowed in early April or even on Marathon Monday itself. But this year has been a completely different story (in many ways) and in contrast to last year, we barely got any snow. Apparently Mother Nature has decided to make up for that and it has been snowing since the weekend.

Thus is the first thing you learn when training for and running a marathon: anything can and will happen. The second thing? You have very little control over it. So, when I came out to my car this morning and it was encased within 3 inches of ice with another 3 inches of snow on top of it, well, all I could do was laugh (okay fine - I may have let a few expletives slip out before I started laughing). It is what it is and, as they say, if you don't like the weather in New England, wait a minute.  And with two weeks to go, even some unexpected snow can't dampen the marathon excitement that is continuing to build each day. I had to stop myself from dancing around with glee when I went to snap this photo to show ya'll the view of snowy Boylston street and saw that New Balance had unveiled a new "Nobody Runs Like Boston" sign at the 26 mile mark.

This past Saturday I wrapped up my major training with a rainy 11 miler in NYC. While I had planned to do an 18 miler, I had to cut my run short for good reason - my parents were making record time on their drive to NYC, and the entire point of my visit was to surprise my Dad with tickets to the Rangers game for his 60th birthday. My planned route had me starting down in Union Square and running across 14th Street, then cutting down to 10th before cutting over to pick up the East River greenway. From there I planned on wrapping around the bottom of Manhattan, past the Battery, and straight on up the Hudson greenway to the very top of Manhattan which is my old neighborhood. Riding the A train downtown bright and early, I thought back to years ago when I was new to the city and trying to find my way to the multitude of studios and theatres. I would find comfort in spotting fellow performers with a day's worth of music, dance gear, and headshots shoved into a bag with one script or another in hand, and then I would follow them as they expertly weaved their way through the stations and streets towards yet another audition line. Upon arriving you would share a quick nod of solidarity that you were both there for the same reason, with the same hopes. "These are my people" I used to think. It was a bittersweet memory as I reflected on how different my life is now - and not at all different in a bad way, just so different than what my 22 year old self used to daydream about on that very same train.

As the train finally lurched to a halt at 14th street, I shook away the nostalgia and focused on the run at hand. As the doors opened and the crowd surged onto the platform, I noticed a group of 5 runners come out of the neighboring car. With their loaded fuel belts, GPS watches, and rain layers akin to my own, I couldn't hold back my smile as I thought "THESE are my people now!" I practically skipped up the steps as we exited the station and as we spilled out onto the sidewalk we were greeted by a torrential downpour. There was just enough time for quick nod of solidarity at the dismal conditions before we each went our separate way. "Maybe things haven't changed all that much after all" I thought as I set out on my run.

Despite the rain, there were many runners out and about on the greenway. I tried not to worry about pace and just let myself get out of my head and enjoy the run. I snapped a few photos along the way (mainly for Dave who was keeping Grandpa company at breakfast and sharing my GPS link so they could track me), and then just as I rounded the Battery the rain slowly tapered off and it warmed up a bit. I continued northbound and started to get excited about my favorite stretches of the Hudson greenway past the 72nd street boat basin, etc. but that is when I learned my parents were likely going to arrive much sooner than planned and once you get onto that stretch of the greenway, it's a little bit more difficult to dash back over towards the trains/cabs. I was feeling great but definitely didn't want to risk being late so I decided to adjust my route and run back towards Columbus Circle where I knew I could use restrooms, grab a recovery drink, and hop back on the train uptown.  It must have been fate because my watch clicked to 11 miles even just as I came to the entrance to the shops. Despite cutting it short, I felt good about the run and had no pain or other issues - so mentally and physically, I count it as a win!

It is really hard to believe we are at the two week mark, made even harder by looking at the snow which continues to swirl outside my office window. The focus now will continue to be on staying healthy, hydrated, rested, and focused on why and for who I am running. More to come this week as we head into the final weeks!