By Mary A. Jacobs

Puzzling over her recent diagnosis of breast cancer‚ a friend told me‚ “I just don’t know what I could have done wrong.”

“Maybe you didn’t do anything wrong‚” I consoled her. “Maybe it just happened.”
But deep inside‚ I knew how she felt. I’d had Hodgkin’s lymphoma‚ a cancer with no known cause. When I underwent treatment‚ I felt divorced from my body—and utterly betrayed.

My first bout with cancer in 1994 wasn’t so bad; I weathered the chemotherapy and radiation sporting big hats and fun wigs. And I was confident because Hodgkin’s is the “good” cancer‚ a highly curable kind.

But in 1997‚ when the Hodgkin’s recurred‚ I entered that no–man’s land of gut–gnawing uncertainty. “Body‚” I said‚ “you’ve really blown it this time.”
Even though we weren’t on speaking terms‚ my body performed with stoic grace‚ “sailed” through treatment‚ as my doctor put it. But after 23 days in the hospital for a stem cell transplant‚ I was so weak I could barely walk the few feet from the car to my front door.

Having exercised regularly before‚ I knew I’d have more energy if I exercised a bit. But I viewed my body as gimpy and flawed. I slept instead.

As fate would have it‚ in early 1998‚ my crafty editor assigned me to interview cyclist Lance Armstrong‚ a testicular cancer survivor who returned to competitive cycling after his battle with cancer. I asked him‚ “Do you ever worry that by pushing yourself so hard physically you might bring back the cancer?”
“If my doctors told me to get off the bike‚ I’d get off the bike‚” he told me. “But as long as they tell me it’s OK‚ I’m going to compete.”

His words went right to my heart. I couldn’t get another body. Lance had cancer but that didn’t mean his body was gimpy or flawed. (In fact‚ the guy is borderline superhuman.) It was time for me to get back on the bike.

I went back to the health club. I took it very‚ very gradually‚ but I kept on.
Meanwhile‚ Lance won the Tour de France‚ then another‚ and then a third. I still shake my head in amazement. If Lance can overcome cancer and win the Tour de France‚ I thought‚ at least I can get in shape.

At the beginning of 2001‚ I came across an article about the Danskin Women’s Triathlon in Austin‚ Texas. Even before cancer‚ this would have been a daunting challenge. I checked with my oncologist first. “Go for it‚” he told me. An avid bicyclist‚ he even offered me a few training tips.

The next day I told a group of girlfriends I was going to run a triathlon.
“You’re nuts‚” they said. But a week later‚ they all signed up.

So we began training together. We spent mornings biking around a local lake‚ sweating and puffing. We swam lap after lap and ran mile after mile. Since we all had children in the same school‚ we nicknamed ourselves “The Significant Mothers” (slogan: “Somebody’s gonna get hurt”).

At times I got discouraged. I was slower than everybody. I worked hard‚ and I improved‚ but I never caught up. One day‚ biking along at the back of the pack‚ I passed a man sitting in his car smoking a cigarette. “I’m ahead of him‚” I thought. “Way ahead!”

In June‚ we traveled to Austin for the triathlon. The first “wave” of participants‚ the expert class competitors‚ dived in the lake and took off like a swarm of angry bees. Next was my wave‚ a group of about 25 cancer survivors. We looked more like a flotilla. We paddled along‚ chatting. We were‚ literally‚ just glad to be there.

After the half-mile swim‚ there was a 13–mile bike ride—full of hills—followed by a three–mile run.

I wasn’t fast‚ but I finished. At the finish line‚ someone handed me a medal inscribed with these words: “The woman who starts the race is not the same woman who finishes the race.”

I know I wasn’t. My oncologists had given me back my health; but the triathlon gave me back my body.

I realized I owed my body a big apology. Yes‚ I had taken care of myself: eating‚ training‚ resting. But my body‚ with its awesome‚ invisible wisdom‚ did all the work. It handled an onslaught of disease and chemo and put itself back together again—then ran its first triathlon at 41.

“Body‚” I said‚ “you’re all right.”

Mary Jacobs is a Dallas freelance writer who still attends spin class twice a week with “The Significant Mothers.”

The Danskin Women’s Triathlon Series is held in numerous cities around the country. To find out more go to www.danskin.com

Send your 700–word essays to kathyl@curetoday.com. Published submissions will receive $100.