By Coach Annamarie McCormick-Howell

 I’ve been a distance runner for years, so when lockdown started in 2020, I was still in my element, as running outdoors in Germany was still allowed and encouraged. I found myself kind of tired as the year went on. I attributed it to the pandemic fatigue so many of us were experiencing, as I was unexpectedly homeschooling my 4-year-old twins and confined to our tiny neighborhood. I completed my birthday run in July, starting my 32nd year with 32 miles and a renewed attitude.

Before her last cycle of chemo, Annemarie set out to complete a half marathon.

Shortly after that, I started having some mid-back pain. Within a few weeks, I noticed my toes were numb. I was having ascending weakness when I was exercising, and then I began to fall. I went to see a German physiotherapist, thinking I had a herniated disc.

He did an assessment, and then sat me down and said: “Annamarie, do you ever have night sweats?” I knew then that there was a chance something bigger was going on. He helped me navigate the German hospital system, and I was able to get an MRI in early October. The radiologist came to get me afterwards and broke the news that I had a tumor on my spinal cord. He recommended I have surgery immediately, or risk permanent lower limb nerve damage.

I went to the American hospital at Landstuhl but was told they were not comfortable performing the surgery. I would need to take the next medevac flight to Walter Reed Army Medical Center. In one of the hardest days of my life until that point, I left my husband and children and flew to back to the US for a hemilaminectomy.

The surgery was a wild success. I woke up and was walking with full feeling in my legs and feet within the hour. I was elated and asked my neurosurgeon when I’d be able to run again. He laughed, but was supportive of my enthusiasm and, when I left the hospital a few days later, while I waited for the pathology results, he told me I could walk as much as I wanted and to be as active as I could without putting direct pressure on my scar.

The next week, despite feeling good enough to be walking 8-10 miles per day, my world was turned completely upside down. I was diagnosed with lymphoma. The next few days felt like I was in a wind tunnel of information, learning everything I had never wanted to know about cancer. My oncology team was wonderful, and incredibly supportive, from day one.

Within an hour of her surgery, she asked her neurosurgeon, when would she be able to run again.

I underwent a series of invasive and painful tests and then got a port placed to start chemotherapy. My doctor told me that his patients that manage chemotherapy the best are those able to be the most active throughout.

Feeling beat up, alone, and nearly unrecognizable, I had my first chemotherapy infusion the day before Thanksgiving. I knew that the person I was before cancer was gone, but that I could hang onto the elements that made me feel most like myself, so I got up and walked a Turkey Trot on Thanksgiving morning. I started counting down the days (30 more) until I would be allowed to resume running, rotating among long walks, bodyweight strength training, and indoor cycling.

A few days after Christmas, and in the middle of my second cycle of chemotherapy, I got out and did a 3-mile run/walk. This felt as big as any other running accomplishment I had achieved—however small and inconsequential it seemed to anyone else. I began running every other day, not worrying about my pace, just focusing on how my back and tibia felt. I enjoyed the movement and the normalcy. Within a few weeks, I was running almost daily, free of any post-op discomfort.

I set a secret goal to run a half marathon before my last cycle of chemotherapy, scheduled for the first week of March. I found that, no matter how tired or sore I felt, running gave me relief. I felt normal, I forgot that I was bald and bloated and nauseous and a shell of myself. I felt normal, alive, even powerful.

On March 6, 2021, the Saturday before my final cycle of chemo, I set out to run a Chemotherapy Half Marathon. Just over 2 hours later, I finished in front of our new house, smiling and sweaty (such a familiar, proud feeling), noticing that the light in my kids’ room was on, knowing that I had managed to exceed my own expectations, and that I would get to walk inside, a finisher of my first and only Chemotherapy Half Marathon, and be a mom to my kids. A mom who been carried through chemotherapy on a pair of running shoes and a lot of endorphins.

Coach Annamarie McCormick-Howell is an RRCA Certified Running Coach and an ACSM Certified Personal Trainer . She lives in Fort Meade, Md. You can follow her at @amcchowell on Instagram or reach out to her via email at amccormickhowell@yahoo.com.