A Fresh Perspective on Cancer

You guys know me. Pretty much everything I do is done in mostly melodramatic fashion. Inopportune moments and scene-making snippets.
So it almost wasn't even a surprise last Saturday morning when I was stretching my sore hamstrings after racing (which might be an overstatement) for a cure for cancer, and, reaching down to pull my nose closer to my knee, felt a lump on the back of my leg.
Argh.
Of all the 5Ks in all the world.
I swallowed down the panic, along with the urge to don something pink and re-run the last 50 yards in the special coned-off lane for survivors.*
Obviously, I was going to beat this. It would be a struggle, but it was born, or at least discovered, here amongst these strong, capable fighting women who were fighting the good fight. My fight.
I looked over at my friends, still happy, laughing and smiling and cheering, innocent of how my life change was about to change their lives. Every race they ran after this point would have new meaning. They'd probably shave their heads because God above knows I am not walking around like that by myself. I wasn't ready to rock their worlds quite yet. I wanted them to enjoy these last few moments of blissful peace, happily unaware of how close trauma was about to strike. As my eyes swelled and my vision blurred, I leaned down to stretch again, using my pant leg as a Kleenex.
Hmm.
Hold up.
On second touch, that didn't feel like what I would expect a gigantic, citrus fruit-sized tumor to feel like. It was... sort of soft. One might even say mushy.
And it smelled... fresh.
Okay, back up. Take it back. Not a tumor. Actually a wadded up dryer sheet stuck to the inside of my pants.
Phew. Dodged that bullet.
Two actually; at first second touch, I thought it was underwear. 



*I always want to think of myself as a real, live grown-up funny girl. The kind who can make really inappropriate jokes about the most sensitive of topics, and do so unapologetically. I'm getting there. But I'm not quite there yet. So I feel compelled to say that, duh, I don't think cancer is any laughing matter. And I would never, never, want to belittle the fight. So to all the exceptional people at Saturday's Race for the Cure, and all the magnificent women who will benefit, I honor you. I applaud you. I'll run till there's a cure, and probably keep right on making bad jokes and telling ridiculous stories long after.

Monday('s) Observation(s)*

It's not possible to wipe down the handles of an elliptical machine at the end of a good hard workout without invoking suggestive images of ... you know... good hard workouts. 

*I'm not sure yet if this'll be Monday's Observation, or Monday Observations. I suppose it'll depend on the Monday. And let's be honest. Consistency isn't really my thing. It could just end up on a Wednesday next time.

Stretch before you blog.

So, apparently, the problem with taking a fourish month hiatus from writing a modest, humble little blog of rants and raves about not much at all is that, when it comes time to start doing it again, there's pressure. It's self-imposed pressure, for sure - it's really not like any (okay, many) of you have been wailing and gnashing teeth to get me to pick up the pen. But it's like going to the gym. Or Flossing. Or a rock star's sophomore slump. You think it's no big deal to take a break, to rest up, to get unsore. But then, probably without even noticing, you get lazy. It's a vicious cycle. Inactivity breeds laziness, and round and round you go. I go. Blogless.
But it's a lovely, sunny Sunday, and I don't feel like exercising. Interesting conundrum, when one element of laziness trumps another.
Maybe if I get rid of all my floss, I'll finally finish my book.
That's all for now, kids. It really is sunny out there, and I really do like the sun. And I really don't want to overexert my creativity all at once, and risk a blog-ending injury.
Oh, and I (clearly) have nothing to write about, even by my standards. But I'm open for suggestions.