Well, That Took Longer Than Expected: A Return to Blogging

You know that feeling when you tell yourself, "I'll get to that tomorrow," and then somehow tomorrow turns into a year? Yeah, me too.

I could say that I got caught up in life, that work was busy, or that my dog started demanding elaborate home-cooked meals and a structured bedtime routine, except I don’t own a dog or even a cat. But the truth is, I stopped blogging because I got cancer. Stage 3 Colorectal Cancer in fact.  And—spoiler alert—this is really taking up a lot of my time, and is incredibly inconvenient.

Now, before you click away thinking this is about to become an overly sentimental deep dive into the trials and tribulations of a cancer journey, don’t worry. If I’ve learned anything from this experience (besides a disturbingly in-depth knowledge of hospital waiting room magazines from 2011), it’s that humor is the best medicine. Well, technically, chemotherapy is the best medicine, but humor is a solid second.

When I first got diagnosed, I had every intention of being one of those inspiring, resilient people who would document their journey with grace and profound wisdom. Instead, I mostly napped and perfected the art of binge-watching mediocre television. Seriously, I’ve become exceptionally proficient at signing up for 7-Day trials and binge-watching everything from Ted Lasso, SILO, Landman etc., and canceling right as the trials end, and will continue to do so. Got any binge suggestions? Do let me know.

Anyway, somewhere along the way, blogging fell to the bottom of my to-do list, somewhere between "learning the guitar" and "finally organize my race day water bottle collection." But now that I’m here, still standing (well, sitting comfortably with a cup of tea), I figured it was time to dust off the keyboard and get back to writing.

At this moment in time, with several more months of chemotherapy treatment ahead, I realize that endurance—real endurance—isn’t just about race day performance. It’s about showing up, even when it’s messy as whatever happens, happens, as it really isn’t up to me, and I'm OK with that. It’s about keeping faith in forward progress, even when forward is measured in small, unsteady steps.

So, what’s next? While I have stepped back from 1:1 Coaching, I am able to provide email coach support for those who purchase our training plans both on Training Peaks and Final Surge. Got a question about training, or have questions about cancer treatments cause your asking for a friend? Ask away! I'm here to help.

So, moving forward, there will be some reflections, some bad jokes, and an attempt to figure out what on earth I was writing about before life so rudely interrupted. If you’ve stuck around this long, thanks. If you’re new here—well, I can’t promise consistency, but I can promise honesty, a little self-deprecation, and the occasional unexpected deep thought sandwiched between sarcasm, insights on training, as well as new training methods we’ll be bringing online throughout the year.

Here’s to the next chapter—whatever that may look like. And maybe, just maybe, a finish line I get to choose.

Let’s see where this goes.

Thanks for Reading.