The Road to Manchester Marathon

I stared at the clock on the wall above the door to the operating theatre and watched the second hand tick round. “Breath deeply and count backwards from 10.””10, 9, 8, 7….” I was gone. The anaesthetist that had just put me to sleep had earlier answered my questions. Will I feel anything? Will it make me feel sick after? When can I run again?

No, maybe and probably after 48 hours. The surgeon was in agreement that the day after the day after my operation I should be fine to start running again. What I didn’t tell them was that the run I wanted to do was 18 miles long and was in preparation for a marathon.

I’ve had a few setbacks in the past few marathons I’ve done. Hands down this is so far the biggest.

Back in December I’d found a lump in my breast. I wasn’t worried. This is my area, I work writing and editing information on breast cancer so when it comes to this particular field I’m as clued up on the possible outcomes of a breast lump as it’s possible for someone who hasn’t been to medical school to be.

I went to the hospital, had the tests, had a biopsy and went back for the results. What I hadn’t expected was for them to tell me that I needed an operation. The doctors were unsure what my lump was and while it was ‘probably ok’ they wanted to take it out ‘just in case’.

So one Friday in March I found myself dressed in the wrong sort of compression socks waiting for the off. As well as the brightly coloured compression wear, having an operation is a lot like running a marathon: you wait around nervously for it to get underway, then it goes a bit blurry until you cross the finish line hungry and a bit disorientated.

Waiting isn’t fun, having the operation certainly wasn’t fun, and waiting again for the results definitely wasn’t fun. Two days after my operation I put on three sports bras, took some hospital grade pain killers and went for my scheduled long run. All 18 miles of it. It was possibly reckless but it was what I had to do that day. Manchester marathon was getting closer and I was determined to be at the start line no matter what.

Post three-sports-bra run

As I ran I thought about the people that I’ve come in contact with through my work. Those that had run the morning of their chemotherapy sessions as a way of sticking two fingers up to their cancer. The woman that was diagnosed two weeks after running the London Marathon and who returned to the race two years later to run it again and put some ghosts to rest.

Two and a half weeks after my operation, and with every run on my training plan ticked off, I went back for my results. It was a rare but benign lump – nothing to worry about. I expected to be happy and to walk out the room overjoyed, but walking out of the doctors office I passed through a waiting room full of other women – some of whom wouldn’t be getting the same news as me.

While I was waiting for my operation and results I was lucky to work where I do. My colleagues are some of the best minds on breast cancer in the country. They reassured me, answered my questions and gave me the information that I needed. But they’re not just there for people like me that work with them, they’ll be there for anyone concerned about what’s going on with their breasts.

When I finally made it to the start line in Manchester the race meant more to me than than any of the other five marathons I’ve done, regardless of my finish time I was happy to take part. As I ran round the course, the clock I pictured in my mind wasn’t the finishing clock but the one I’d stared at above my head as I lay waiting to be wheeled into theatre. When I crossed the finish line in 3:38 it was a very happy and emotional moment.