Kate Beland does not believe that cancer defines her. She is an athlete, a marathoner, a mother, a wife and a writer. When she is not conducting her three-ring circus act, she is busy kicking late stage melanoma's butt and keeping herself sane through her writing and running: https://www.facebook.com/runningandcancer/ or www.runliftbreathe.blogspot.com

Kate Beland

I finally took the leap, both figuratively and literally. On Labor Day, I stepped over the guardrail and jumped the bridge with all the other teenagers in town. It was about a 30-foot drop into ice cold salt water. It was terrifying and exhilarating, and I can check it off my list and check this summer off as the summer I finally jumped Sagamore.

For me, this was more significant than you can imagine. It goes back to my 39th birthday when I was going to jump this rite of passage for the last of my 30s. It turned out that day there was a thunderstorm, so it being a metal bridge, it was an easy excuse out. The following summer, the bridge was closed down for repairs, so nobody was jumping that summer. I was in good company.

Then, the following summer in 2015, I spent the entire summer on shore because I was not allowed to swim in any lake or ocean water until I was cleared by my oncologist and surgical oncologist. Based on the height of this bridge, the impact and the surgical wounds I had still healing and fighting infection, there was no way I could have safely jumped. Even knowing this, I felt like cancer had forced me to do other "uncomfortable" things instead of the bucket list I had chosen. I wanted to be brave and a bad ass for the things other than a disease that was going to try to kill me.

Two more summers passed after the dreaded summer of the C and I became a little softer in my usual desire to push the limits. I mean I had faced down a stage 3 cancer diagnosis — I had nothing more to prove, right?

Last weekend, on my actual birthday, I stood on the rail of that bridge for 45 minutes with all kinds of support from my family, a group of teenagers there and the cutest and bravest little 10-year-old boy. They all were offering me encouragement and promising to jump with me, hold my hand, or count it down for me. I could not budge, and because it is tidal water, soon it was too late, and I had to make the chicken exit. I have nothing to prove, I told myself. I have faced far worse fears than jumping a silly bridge.

But, thank God, that didn't sit well with me. I kind of had a feeling that I was letting myself off the hook, when really, I should be holding myself accountable. After all, I had just written about how I have been in a funk, and I needed to do something to reset myself. I know it sounds silly, but in my mind, I had decided that finally jumping that bridge would shake me out of the dark place I have been stuck in recently.

And so, on Labor Day, I declared to my family that it was the day. We drove back to the bridge and I even listened to my jam through my earbuds so that I could pump myself up. I could do this. I had faced scarier things.

Lined up on the bridge in true end-of-the-summer fashion were dozens of teenagers taking their turns to jump while their parents and friends took pictures. The sun was blazing, the tide was plenty high and calm. It was the perfect setting for saying goodbye to summer. As I dropped down to the water in what felt like the longest drop ever, I thought I have done it. I came flying back up for air, water in my nose and all, and I said goodbye to the summer I jumped the bridge and goodbye to being anything less than a person who lives life out loud with no excuses. #heycancernotthisgirl

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I felt like cancer had forced me to do other "uncomfortable" things instead of the bucket list I had chosen.

A Leap of Faith: When It's Time to Reset Your Frame of Mind

I've been in a weird kind of funk the past couple of weeks, and it seems to be coming to an all-time high right now. It is beginning to feel like each week I have been hit with another piece of bad news in the world of cancer. I've been living my life to the best that I can every 89 days until the next blood work and scans, and I really don't even think about cancer — like ever – until this past month.

I have been watching people lose their loved ones to this beast. I have watched more people like me, healthy and fit, get diagnosed with various types of cancer. I have friends still under treatment that is like a slave to the worst of all masters. And I have friends who are fighting the good fight, but keep receiving bad outcome after bad outcome.

It has started to wear me down. It is making it increasingly difficult to fake it until I make it, or my new mantra, fake it until I become it. I thought I had become it — that strong warrior who shut the door. But lately, I feel like I've been held hostage, had all my defenses stripped. It's trying to break down the door.

Thinking of all these people, my heart breaks a little more. I want to find all the right things to do for them. But having been there, I know that there is no right. I want to send the words of love and encouragement, but I know that is different for each person. I feel paralyzed, wanting to scoop them all up and save them somehow. It leaves me feeling helpless even though I have lived this, and I probably understand and can empathize better than any non-cancer fighter out there.

And so, I am stuck in this place I cannot quite describe. Normally, I would pile on the miles running and that would give me some reprieve. But with a pretty bad overuse injury, I have to limit my miles. This leaves me stuck in my own head with no place to escape.

It makes me wonder if this ever goes away completely. Will I always have these ups and downs? I know once a cancer survivor, always a cancer survivor because of the lifetime of check-ups most of us will have to make sure it doesn't rear its head again. But, will that sinking feeling of no control ever go away?

I don't believe in New Year's resolutions or the big cleanse that starts after Labor Day or these other ways that people try to improve themselves and hold themselves accountable. But I do believe in self-improvement, and I think I have to find a way to claw my way out of this dark place. Normally, I would just sign up for another long race, but I am going to have to find something else for the time being. I need a reset to snap myself out of it. I'm not quite sure yet what it's going to be, but I think it may coincide with Labor Day weekend because it is also my birthday that weekend.

Maybe with another year of wisdom coming up, I can pick myself back up and be that positive model of strength with a little reset. For today, I will have to fake it until I make it and with time, I hope to become it again.

I know that once you are a cancer survivor, you're always a cancer survivor, but will that sinking feeling of no control ever go away?

The Ups and Downs of Cancer Survivorship

During a cancer diagnosis and treatment, there are so many things to think of and keep track of: the many doctor appointments, surgeries, treatments and, of course, dealing with insurance companies and medical bills. It is a full-time job when you are going through it, and that does not even include all hurdles emotionally that will challenge you daily.

All of these things can just further create stress and make the person feel even more like everything is out of his/her control. For me, control was one of the hardest things to give up because cancer really takes it all away. I always felt like the world was spinning, and I was just getting sucked up by a whirlpool of cancer crap that was not going to let me go. I felt like I was going to drown, and some days, I probably came pretty close.

Prior to my diagnosis, I had already been writing on my own personal blog as a runner and mother. During the process of a cancer diagnosis (it literally took four weeks to get the full staging), I started to veer off and write about what I was going through. It was a tremendous relief to put all these thoughts that I could not say out loud into words. It became my outlet.

There are a few things I did during my treatment and recovery that I would recommend to anyone on this "journey.” By the way, I still hate that word “journey” because cancer is not something anyone would choose purposefully like the word implies.

A few of these tips, and of course, your own version of them, may help.

 Start a blog or keep a journal. You don't have to do this online and make this public, and you certainly don't have to be a great writer. But having an outlet to share all your feelings, fears, concerns, good days, bad days and everything in between may help give you the control you seek. It will give you a place to document all that you are going through, and someday, eventually, you may want to go back and reflect on all that you have gone through. It won't be pretty, and it won't be easy, but it is a great way to see how far you have come.

If you are not a writer but maybe more musically inclined, compose some music and document what is going on when you created it. Maybe you are an artist and can paint or sculpt. Create something that will represent what you are going through.

Perhaps you are handy around the house or good with design, start a house project and get your family involved. I know my husband embarked on a huge renovation of our house while I was recovering from my surgeries. Starting a major house project gave him the same sense of control I was also seeking through my writing.

Get involved in raising funds for a cure.

 I know this seems like an impossible thing to embark on, so you may want to wait until you are through with all your treatment and recovery. But I highly recommend doing something. About six or seven months after my treatment, when I was back at work and physically feeling a lot better, I decided I would make my return out on the road racing, and I would do it to raise money for my oncologist who also works in research towards finding a cure. This was quite possibly the best thing I could have done for myself in my emotional and physical recovery.

Physically, I had to put in a lot of work to be able to start running the miles I was used to running. It took me six months of just learning to run again and building a base up before I even started training for the race. It was so hard because frankly, running at any speed was uncomfortable for quite a while due to scar tissue, tissue disruption and overall mobility changes. Committing to running the race to raise donations meant I would have to commit to a training program. No more excuses, and no more letting cancer call the shots.

Psychologically, I got a lot out of training because — like my husband’s home renovations – it gave me a sense of control. Here I was raising money even though I was very much not "out of the woods" so to speak. It gave me purpose. I felt like I was giving cancer the big "F*** you!" I also could not believe the tremendous amount of support I received from family and friends all over the country. It gave them an opportunity to show their love and support. It gave us all hope and gave us something to focus on that we could control.

Do something you have always wanted to do, but thought you never had the time.

 It's amazing how busy we all think we are, and then, when we are faced with adding in endless doctor appointments, surgeries and treatment on top of all our normal duties. We all think we don't have time until that moment a cancer diagnosis starts to dictate our time. We realize what fools we were, and we are desperate for every minute to be owned.

If you wrote down all the things you have always wanted to do in your life, what is on that list that you can do while dealing with your treatment and recovery? Have you always wanted to learn how to knit or speak another language? Have you always wanted to drive the three hours north just to see where the coast meets the mountains, or the lake meets the sunset? Maybe you have a pile of novels next to your bed that you have never finished?

Take something from your list that you always feel like is going to take too much time or that you don't have time to do in between the jam-packed days of "busy" work. See how many you can attempt and check off your list.

There is no easy way to gain a sense of control when dealing with cancer. And we all definitely deal with it differently. Finding some outlets to help you gain a sense of control will also inevitably relieve some of the stress of the unknown. Just know, that many of us have been there too, and there is no perfect way to do cancer but if you can feel like you have a little control over something, you may feel stronger to embark on this so-called journey.

There is no easy way to gain a sense of control when dealing with cancer. And we all definitely deal with it differently.

Three Tips for Gaining Control After a Cancer Diagnosis

There are so many reasons in my life for me to be grateful, particularly regarding my health. I am coming up on a three-year no evidence of disease anniversary, which is a big deal, especially since recurrence is high in metastatic disease the first three years after treatment.

I am still working on some emotional stuff, though it does not have to do with my mortality. The silver lining is that I don't constantly think about the cancer coming back. I know it is a possibility, but it no longer occupies my thoughts. Instead, what is really annoying is that lately, I am stuck in the superficial stuff.

When I look in the mirror, I see that I am the byproduct of what I’m are left with after multiple surgeries — I’m left to live, but I feel like shark bait. Trust me, most days I know this is ridiculous. I mean, when I look at myself figuratively, I am amazed that I am cancer free. I looked the beast in the eye, gave it the finger and am moving on. But there are still some tough days.

These summer months are my nemesis because I am reminded of cancer every time I am out in shorts or a bathing suit. When it's hot and humid, by the end of the day my ankle looks like an elephant's leg. It’s small price to pay for my life, I know. But some days, I just wish I could go back, for so many reasons.

I was the girl with major body dysmorphia during college. It took me a long time to get over those years and to look at myself and appreciate my body for what it was: a source of physical strength that let me accomplish many athletic goals. I feel like cancer undid all that work.

When I was going through all my surgeries and treatment, I didn't worry about how I would end up looking. All I wanted was to live and to be able to run after. What cancer had stolen from me at the time was my security with my place here in life (nobody is really guaranteed this, but when you are diagnosed with cancer, whether it was caught early or advanced like in my case, you still feel as if you've had something stolen from you).

What I am beginning to uncover as I write this is that I still have some unfinished business to work on. I don't want to feel like the girl with all the scars on the outside. I don't want to explain why my ankle is all taped up during the summer months and why I have to wear a compression sleeve during the cooler months. I don't like having to sit down and put my leg up to drain the fluid that accumulates in my ankle when I'm on my feet too long. I hate wearing the same bathing suit bottoms I have had since before cancer because they are the only ones I feel will cover most of the scars. I hate that on some days, I can feel the stiffness in my hip, and on other days, I can barely feel the top of my thigh at all.

I know there are survivors out there who feel the same way as I do, and I know it is OK to feel this way. I must not be the only one who feels guilty for feeling this way. It does mean that I obviously still have some work to be done on the inside, so that when I look in the mirror I don't see a girl who was left like shark bait on the outside.

It is my hope that by taking this step towards talking (or writing) about these feelings, I will stop seeing all that cancer left behind and will instead see what it has given me: the chance to be that survivor who has not only walked out of the fire alive, but is also passing buckets of water to help the others still consumed by it.

When I look in the mirror, I see that I am the byproduct of multiple surgeries. Sometimes, I feel as if I look like shark bait.

Kate Beland

A Leap of Faith: When It's Time to Reset Your Frame of Mind

The Ups and Downs of Cancer Survivorship

Three Tips for Gaining Control After a Cancer Diagnosis

Feeling Like Shark Bait After Cancer Surgery

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