Each step that I take is painful. I can feel the blisters protesting with an angry bite as I put one foot in front of the other, over and over again. The air is so hot and my mouth feels as dry as the desert landscape that I am slowly trudging through. My legs show evidence of the heat rash that is spreading across them like an angry wildfire. Soon, blisters on my legs will emerge as a warning sign to stop so that my body can rest and cool down.
Not yet. I’m not done yet. There’s still about two or three more miles to go. I am so thirsty…. Water. I need water and I’m almost out. Up ahead, I hear ice clanging around inside of a metal water bottle. I call out to the man on my team who is ahead of me and ask if I am hearing it right. Is that ice water?! He so generously offers me the rest of what is in the bottle. It’s not much, but I am so incredibly thankful for the little bit of cool and quenching relief that it brings. I note to myself, how something so small and seemingly insignificant, actually can be an incredibly big and powerful moment in your life. It’s all about perspective. In this moment, it’s the greatest gift someone could give me. On any other day, it would just be some melting ice that is gone within a few gulps. But here, now…. It’s salvation and a precious boost to keep going toward the finish line.
I’m alone in my thoughts as I glance over to a small sign on the side of the trail. It reads, “Your healing is in progress.” Immediately I feel like I got punched in the chest with a wall of emotions. Tears flood my eyes as every heartbreak, every fear, every roadblock and every bit of overwhelm that I’ve experienced in the last two years hits me all at once.
In an instant, the memories all tumble together like a flash flood rushing over my heart. How it felt like my entire life had imploded all at once. The shocking breast cancer diagnosis. The bitter custody court case that felt like an all out war. The drawn out and expensive family evaluation. The impossible attempt to coparent with someone who fought and attacked me every step of the way, even while in the hospital. The life altering double mastectomy surgery to remove both breasts. The painful and heartbreaking healing process from the surgery. The grieving process of losing the parts of my body that once nourished my children and held my femininity. The fear and grief of finding out my mother’s breast cancer is back after a long remission, watching her fight it and the fear of losing her. Watching my father in his last days before he died. The fear of losing my children and the anguish of watching them suffer with mental health issues due to the stress of knowing their parents were battling in court. The fear of losing my home due to debt and lack of finances. Another anxious biopsy to see if the cancer spread. So many scans and blood tests, each one filled with apprehension. The fear of cancer coming back. The fear of dying alone. The loneliness of handling all of this without a partner to hold me on the darkest nights and telling me it will all be ok. The wondering if someone could ever love me with no breasts and the possibility of losing me to cancer at some point. Who would take a chance on that?
The reality of the darkest moments that had plagued me as I wondered if it was worth it. Is life really worth fighting for? What was the point of all this? Because in the middle of all of it I really didn’t see the point. It would be so much easier for me to give up. And for a while, I wanted to. I was completely mentally, emotionally and physically exhausted. I knew that all I had to do was give up and my body would take care of the rest. I felt so utterly broken down, that I got to the point of complete surrender.
At some point, there was the realization that I had been so stressed out and focused on the court case that dragged on for a year and a half, along with everything else, that I never really allowed myself to focus and process on what I had been going through physically or emotionally. How could I, when my children were on the line? How could I, under the stress of racking debt that went towards court, lawyer fees and supplements to try and keep my body healthy enough to fight whatever cancer cells might still be lurking in there? How could I, when I needed to be there for my mom as she lost her husband and is fighting for her own life?
With all of those memories echoing in my heart, I keep walking as tears stream down my face. Yes, my healing is in progress. I did survive all of that. I am alive! I am right here, right now challenging my body in a way that I never had before. I feel the physical pain in my body as I move along the trail. Simultaneously remembering how slow I walked after surgery and how I couldn’t move my arms fully over my head for months. Now I am here, with my arms gliding back and forth with my hiking poles, my legs strong and moving with determination. Tears streaming down my face, I am so incredibly thankful for this opportunity to be on this dusty trail, with my backpack that feels like it’s loaded with rocks, feeling parched, overheated and so damn tired…. And I wouldn’t have it any other way. Because despite how I physically feel while pushing my body to its current limits…. It is nothing like the suffering I have already survived. The “dark night of the soul” that I have already overcome is 1,000% harder than any ultra hiking marathon I am in the middle of. This is the easy part. All I have to do is keep putting one foot in front of the other. I can do that. I have a team of people surrounding me that I can ask for support when I need it. I am so thankful for these beautiful souls who have dedicated themselves to this hike with me.
I can hear one of them talking behind me. I notice that she explains all of the steps required and the team of people it took to receive a big donation to help fund Project Athena Foundation, which is the organization that put this whole trip together. The tears keep streaming down my face, but now it’s for this incredible woman and these awesome people that I will probably never meet, who all banded together so that I could even be on this hike. I am so grateful that they saw the value of investing in someone like me, a survivor who is reclaiming their life and their health by going all in on this hike. I stop and realize, it’s not just “someone like me.” It is me. They did this for me. Each person on this trail has put in the training time, the fundraising efforts, their literal blood, bile, sweat and tears so that I can experience this powerful reclaiming of my life. The tears come down even harder. As someone who has had a hard time receiving anything from people without feeling guilt or shame attached to it, this time I allow myself to receive this love and support, feeling the gratefulness and awe as it washes over me. I remind myself that people do want to help, love and connect. I don’t have to do any of this alone. Even when I feel lonely, I’m not actually alone.
Riding on this wave of gratitude, love and support, I keep moving forward. Each step closer to my destination. I focus on the people around me, the beautiful sky and the amazing breezes that kiss my skin with a whisper. The red soil dusting my shoes as the beautiful red rocks loom up ahead of me. Just a little bit further. I can do this. I didn’t come this far to only get this far. I have more “gas” in my tank. I don’t know where this energy is coming from and I am amazed at how my body just keeps on going even when my brain has all the excuses in the world to stop. My heart sings with the vision and intention of making it to the top. Keep going. I’ve trained for this. I have focused on this moment for months. I am here. Right here, right now and I am moving forward.
We get to the top and to our destination. Fifty one miles conquered in two days! I breathe a sigh of relief. I want to sit down, but I know if I do, I might not get back up. My feet are throbbing and my entire body is sore. I stay standing, listening in connection with each person as they talk about what they are thinking and experiencing in this moment. It is beautiful because I can relate to what they are sharing. It is heartwarming to know we are all in this together. When it’s my turn to talk, the tears well up again and I try to articulate what all of this means to me. How I am so thankful that I never gave up. That life really is worth it. How thankful I am for all of them doing this hike with me. I feel like a blubbering mess that is overcome with gratitude. I’m not sure how coherent it all is to them, but I say it anyway. But my God, how can I adequately share all of this in a few words while we overlook the beautiful vistas of Sedona? I pray that they are able to feel what’s on my heart.
Before we head back to the vans that will take us to the hotel where we can shower, relax, eat and share our stories, I turn back to look at the view. All of our footprints are etched onto the red earth trails and have imprinted into my heart. We left it all on the trail. Our fears. Our limiting beliefs. Our doubts. Our tears. Our sweat. Our laughter. Even some blood and bile. God’s healing earth took it all for us and gave us so much in return. In it, we found our strength. Our courage. Our tenacity. Our perseverance. Our teamwork. Our community. Our life.
Because life is made up of moments. All we really have is right here, right now in this moment. This is what got me through the darkest nights of my soul, as well as on that trail. Knowing that in this moment, I will put my foot forward. Now the next one. I will focus on only what is right in front of me. I will lean on the support system around me, for I am never truly alone. I will allow and receive new opportunities in my life. I will get through this. No matter how much pain I am in, no matter how tired I am, no matter how much I wonder how I can possibly go on…. I know that I can.
That spark deep inside will keep glowing. It will keep shining even in the darkness. I will put it all out on the table. Because I didn’t get this far just to get this far. I know that everything I have been through is happening for me, not to me. Even in this, I will grow and become stronger. Even in this, I get the opportunity to shine how my soul is meant to. And shine, I will. Like a Phoenix rising from the ashes, I am rising up with a fire that clears out all of the pain and fear that has ever held me back. Which allows for new growth, new life, new goals and new horizons to conquer.
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