On Gratitude and the NYC Marathon

I'm not a runner by any means, but I do like catching the

NYC Marathon

in person to cheer the participants on. It's inspiring to witness the culmination of years of training and motivation. Qualifying for this marathon is feat of its own, but then watching them tackle the race itself is just humbling (FYI, this year's winners blazed through the five boroughs in just two hours!). They worked so hard and here we were celebrating this incredible milestone in their lives. The 26-mile course passes right by my new apartment in Harlem and so yesterday I took some time to join the other spectators and make some noise. My heart kept swelling up as I watched thousands upon thousands cross back into Manhattan for the final stretch down Fifth Avenue towards Central Park. Some were still going strong at the 21-mile mark and others were struggling, cramping up, pushing to keep on and we did the best we could to give them life with our claps and whistles. It almost made you want to run out there with them and feel that exhilaration of being thisclose to accomplishing what I can imagine for most has been a lifelong dream.

Now I say I'm not a runner, but the few times I've jogged I've thought, "Man, if I had ever chosen a sport when I was younger no doubt it would have been track and field." Granted, the most I've accomplished is a three-mile run, but I know that if the motivation were in place, I could go for longer. Back in May, I thought that signing up for upcoming races would be just the push I needed to hit the pavement again. Running a 5K was a goal I'd toyed with for a few years, but it hadn't been a big enough one for me to seriously pursue. In comes the Wanderlust 108 Festival in Brooklyn, NY and it sounds like a fantastic experience. The September event was pegged as "mindful triathlon" in which participants run a 5k, do yoga in the wide open lawn of Prospect Park, and then meditate under the sun.

Okay, somehow four months came and went and did I run a single mile in preparation for this thing? Nope! In fact, had I run a single mile in the last couple of years so that maybe I had a fighting chance of doing well at this thing? Nope again! And still I showed up fully prepared to kill it or have it kill me. I did my little "let me look like I totally know what I'm doing here" stretch and joined the sea of neon sports bras and tights at the start line. I didn't know how well I'd do, but at the very least I had shown up and I was going to give it my best shot.

Needless to say I wasn't able to run the

entire

three miles without stopping a couple times, but I definitely ran a good majority of it and that alone was enough to make me almost shed tears when I high-fived the MC in mid-air at the finish line. I also wanted to shed tears for the week following because I'd shredded my legs in the process, but in that moment I felt so damn elated and hyped that I could have very well kept on running for another mile (and promptly died, but that's neither here nor there). Instead, I grabbed my yoga mat from baggage check and hurried along to grab a spot for the next activities. The guided meditation was alright (I'm partial to the STFU school of meditation), but my reaction to doing yoga took me by surprise. I'm a very sensitive person, I know this, and emotional through and through, but I was still taken off guard by my wanting to cry throughout the whole routine. I kept wondering what the hell was wrong with me, but eventually I just leaned into the sensations; there was no sense in fighting back something that felt that good. My heart kept wanting to explode with each upward facing dog, basking under the warm sun with hundreds upon hundreds of others around me. I was overflowing with gratitude for sharing this incredible moment with all of these beautiful strangers.

It's been two months since that joyful experience and yesterday, while I was cheering those amazing souls on towards their finish line, I felt that boundless gratitude once again.

Image:

facebook.com/wanderlust

One Year Later...

I’ve spent the last year wanting to blog again (as I always say whenever a chunk of time quietly passes by around here), but, you know, life…

Whenever someone mentioned my blog or introduced me to their friend as a writer/blogger, I’d sheepishly mumble something about how I used to blog, how I used to write all the time, how I missed it, or how I just haven’t found time to get back into it. Weeks turned into months and months into a whole year and all the while my mind kept filling up with writing topics only to be emptied just as quickly by the mere thought of crafting a coherent sentence. After spending all day at the computer creating stories for other people, the last thing I wanted to do was write down my own. Still, I constantly wondered how the blogger community was doing these days. What happened to all those lives I used to follow? Was anybody even blogging anymore?

Last night I happened to pop on over to see if I had made the one year mark yet. I remembered my last post,

a video interview for Breast Cancer Awareness Month

, was published around the end of October and sure enough today was that day. And so I figured exactly one year later is as good a time as any to revive this old space. I’ve just published

a new essay on my experience with breast cancer

so at least I’d have that to share and slowly ease into this routine I once loved so much, I told myself.

But just like in 2008, when I first revived the blog because my life was a twisted mess and I had so much to say, I’d been craving this space for much of the same reasons. I initially thought I could saunter on in, dust the desk off, and whip up a few paragraphs about returning to the blogosphere (by the way, please tell me people don’t use that term anymore). Silly me. I should have known it wouldn’t come with its own emotional churning.

Dry As Toast was born out of my wish to write when no magazines were hiring me after I’d graduated journalism school in 2007. I told no one about it (aside from my sister) because it still seemed silly to keep an online journal as an adult. I tried to keep it going under wraps, but when there’s no community or feedback surrounding your words, the enthusiasm can die out fairly quickly. And so mine did.

A year later

, I found myself jumping right in, writing every single day, telling my friends about it, and eventually settling into a place that served as my virtual therapy. I poured so much of myself into this space - good, bad, confusing, inspiring, and devastating - that I’m sure you can imagine what it feels like to be back. It’s like opening an old diary and realizing that the feelings you had a decade ago have not changed much at all. Even worse is seeing how happy and hopeful the last several blog posts were and how different this year has felt.

In the past, reviving this blog has symbolized the beginning of a new chapter, and right now I don’t know that I even want to get over this mountain just yet. Even writing this is making my heart race because I know what will come if I start sifting through the things on my mind. I almost have to be in here with blinders on because I know that if I start digging, reading, remembering, longing, it will cause this knot in my throat to grow thicker.

So for now, I’ll just say…hello and that I missed this.

Image:

vivala.com

On Camera: My Breast Cancer Story for BET.com

Earlier this month, my editor at BET.com asked if I'd be interested in talking about my breast cancer story for the site and on camera. I jumped at the opportunity to experience something new, but then as the date approached I grew nervous. My story isn't that exciting, I thought. What if I'm not that interesting to listen to and I come off totally lame? Still, I went for it because I wasn't going to let fear keep me from trying. If they wanted my story then all I could do was just give them me. At the very least I could be good at that, right?

My breast cancer story doesn't contain much frills. It's not some epic drama about a girl who was diagnosed at a late stage, sold all her worldly possessions, and became one with the universe. It's a bit more...I don't even know what word would describe it. Normal? Everyday? Practical? I was thrown this wild card against my will and what was I going to do? Stop living over it? No, thanks. I still have a few things on my to do list.

So even though I don't think my story is at all remarkable (

1 in 8 U.S. women

will develop invasive breast cancer in her lifetime), I wanted to share it anyway and show how I decided to face this. Simply put, this is me and what you see is what you get.

To listen to me recount my story, click

here

.