Return of an Old Friend

I'm starting to feel like myself more and more each day. This past weekend, we went to the World Cup in Squaw Valley where I got to see many old friends from my Ski Racing past. The weather was beautiful and our very own Mikaela Shiffrin won two days in a row. What could be better than a World Cup on home soil with a U.S. champion to command it.

During my treatment, I often wondered if I would be able to ski again. The unknown of this disease can send you into some dizzying possibilities. I had whole brain radiation and 18 (WTH? 18!!!) chemo treatments EVERY week for the past 6 months. That's gotta leave a mark somewhere right? Would it be the radiation that messes with my balance that makes skiing anomalous? Or would it be the effects of treatment  that would cause some sort of synapse collapse and would change the way I ski?

The exhaustion that chemo induces is pretty significant. Sometimes I had to rest just walking to the kitchen and no, I do not live in a large house. That exhaustion tends to lend itself to a very poor exercise program. On the first round of my breast cancer treatment, back in 2011, I was able to train and prepare myself for my black belt test. This time was different, perhaps due to the widespread proliferation throughout my body and brain, and some of the complications that occurred along the way. I did a lot of resting and avoided extensive activity because my cells just couldn't keep up. With that sedentary life, the muscles I spent a lifetime building and training have atrophied. I lost 18 pounds of hard-earned muscle which has affected my balance and my stamina. It's hard not to be that 20-something with endless collagen, elastin and spring and yes, I am aware that my age is directly correlated. However, the loss is not gradual but in sharp relief. The difference between last summer's 49 year old body and this year's chemo-destroyed, atrophied,  50 year old body, is a big jump. Without the muscle and balance I once had, I am uncertain of my capabilities. What sort of forces can I tolerate? How gung-ho should I be getting back to my regular activities?

Well, I started by attempting to ski at Squaw Valley this past weekend. I admit, I was nervous. Not because I would get hurt, or be unable to get down the mountain, but nervous that my brain may have forgotten how to tell my legs what to do. What if my nervous system, which just got bombarded with cytotoxin, didn't know how to tell my legs how to perform the tasks to ski? Skiing is a complicated combination of ankles, knees, and hips and feeling the snow under your feet.  It was an interesting exercise in humility as I stood on top of Squaw Valley with my skis on, wondering if I could still ski without losing my place on the mountain or crashing into an unsuspecting tourist.

As it turned out, my first ten turns were...divine. It was just like an old friend. it came back almost immediately, and I got to experience that really cool feeling of linking giant slalom turns together and feeling the energy in my skis. It was great. I looked to my right and there was one of my former teammates, Adele, smiling at me. I had a witness! She's a coach in Sun Valley, so she knows a hacker when she sees one, but both of us knew that besides being a couple of old farts, we could still turn a ski at speed. It was a proud moment.

Then, there was no wind in the sail.

The muscles in my legs were aching, and I started to cramp. I was out of mitochondria. Immediate Bonk! Anybody got a banana? We took two more runs (because I was determined to overcome a little tired leg issue)  and in the middle of my last one, I had to lay down. I had nothin'. My brain said, "Hey, let's go whip out a few gates and let these babies run!" and my legs said, "MEDIC!" The lack of stamina and strength was unbelievable. As much as I tried to deny that feeling of weakness and fatigue, there was no mind over matter. My legs just stopped working. It was crazy hard to ski one run to the bottom, and I was hoping I would make it before dark (hyperbole).

As I ruminate on this experience, I realize that I must be gentle with myself. I've been through an ordeal and apparently, you don't just pop back up, and ski like a rockstar from first chair to apres-ski. Nevertheless, I got those ten turns. I got to feel like my old self again for ten beautiful, energy-laden, linked ski turns which tells me that I didn't forget. My brain actually works and my muscles, despite telling my brain to screw off, can perform the movements needed to spark an arc. Shiffy may have taken the weekend, but victory was mine for one brief moment.

My husband took it upon himself to celebrate his first win. Yes, he beat me to the bottom (this time), but skiercross is a different sport. I still make better turns than he does.

I see a lot of air squats, hill climbs and deadlifts in my future. As I dig myself out of this fitness hole, I am comforted by the fact that there is a life for me on the other end of this. It's a new life that I have to adapt to, but it's a life. After the best doctors in the country tell you have invasive metastasis of breast cancer throughout your body and brain, you stop thinking you have a life before you. Each new day, I stop thinking that way. There's still so much life to be lived.