Listen, if there were a way to prepare for surgery that involved lying on the couch, binge-watching Netflix, and eating snacks, I’d be a gold-medal contender. But nooo, apparently, the best way to get ready for my upcoming breast reconstruction surgery is to be healthy. Ugh.

So here I am, lacing up my running shoes, hitting the pavement, and reminding my body that, yes, it is still capable of movement—despite months of stress, exhaustion, and medical chaos.

Running Toward Healing (Literally)

March 18th is the big day, and while I can’t control how that surgery goes, I can control how I show up for it. That means taking care of my body now so I recover faster later. Doctors say being in good shape before surgery makes healing easier, and since I’d rather spend less time feeling like I got hit by a truck, running is my best bet.

And let’s be real: it’s not just about physical health. Running keeps my brain from spiraling into the deep, dark rabbit hole of What Ifs that come with cancer, surgeries, and medical everything. Every mile I log is a middle finger to the fear, a reminder that I’m still strong, and a way to reclaim my body after everything it’s been through.

A Proud Slow Runner

Let’s get one thing straight: I am not fast. At all. If speed were required, I would have quit this sport before I even started. But I am consistent, and honestly, that counts for a lot more than being the human version of a speeding bullet.

I started running last year, and despite the initial why did I do this to myself moments, I stuck with it. Not because I’m chasing PRs (personal records, for the non-running folks), but because running has given me something I didn’t even realize I needed—proof that I can do hard things, over and over again.

I don’t care if I’m slow. I don’t care if I take walk breaks. I just care that I keep showing up. And I do.

Tattooed Gen X’ers Trying to Get Healthy

One unexpected perk of all this? My friend Jay—who I’ve known since we were 14—has decided to join in on this madness. We’re both tattooed Gen X’ers who spent our younger years doing anything but prioritizing our health, and now here we are, two middle-aged, slightly broken humans trying to run our way to better shape.

We meet up on Sundays when it’s not, you know, the longest January in human history. Having Jay as a running buddy is wildly helpful because:

1. Accountability: It’s a lot harder to skip a run when another person—also covered in bad decisions from the 90s—is waiting for you.
2. Distraction from the Suffering: Instead of focusing on how my legs feel like cement, we get to talk about actual things, like how we somehow survived our youth or why adulting is just an endless cycle of paying bills and wondering if our backs will ever stop hurting.
3. Shared Struggle: There’s a certain kind of bond that forms when you’re both out of breath, cursing the idea of exercise, but somehow still moving forward together.

Jay is still figuring out this whole running thing, and watching him go through the early “WHY AM I DOING THIS?!” stage is highly relatable. It’s also a good reminder that we all start somewhere—usually in a place of pain and regret. But hey, at least we’re in it together.

The Reality of Running (Spoiler: It’s Not Pretty)

Let’s not romanticize this. I am not out here gracefully floating through the streets like some kind of serene, effortlessly fit gazelle. No, my runs are a full-on struggle bus, complete with questionable breathing patterns, aggressive internal monologues, and a face that turns a shade of red usually reserved for stop signs.

A typical run looks like this:

• Mile 0.1: Wow, look at me go! Maybe I am an athlete. Maybe I was born for this.
• Mile 0.5: Oh no. Mistakes were made. Why do my legs feel like concrete?
• Mile 1: Okay, but seriously, is running supposed to feel like my soul is trying to escape my body?
• Mile 2: Accepting my fate. Contemplating my life choices. Who even invented running? Probably someone I would not get along with.
• Mile 3: Somehow still alive, but looking like I fought a bear and lost.

If you ever see me out there, just know that I’m not okay—but I am still moving, which is honestly a miracle.

My form? Questionable. My pace? Slow enough that a motivated squirrel could probably outrun me. My determination? Stubborn as hell.

And honestly, that’s all that matters.

The Goal: Show Up Ready

Surgery is happening whether I’m ready or not, but I want to be ready. I want to walk into that operating room knowing I did everything I could to set myself up for success. And if that means forcing myself out the door for a run when I’d rather be wrapped in a blanket burrito, then so be it.

So, here’s to running, healing, and making it to March 18th as strong as possible. And after that? Well, you better fucking believe I’m taking a well-earned break—preferably with snacks.