Back in April 2021, I published a guest blog post titled âRunning With Lymphomaâ, written by Annamarie McCormickHowell. The content is self-explanatory. Ten days ago, I received an email from Jen M, a runner with lymphoma who found the post and asked if I could put her in contact with the author. This made me wonder about Annamarieâs journey since then, so I invited her for an update.
Thank you again for the opportunity! Jen told me how long and hard she searched to find a person, a study, any data on people who run through lymphoma or R-CHOP, and the article you published is the only tangible thing she was able to find. I had no idea there wasn’t a larger body of humans doing precisely what I did, so I appreciate you connecting us!!
Life looks different than it did back on the day of my Chemotherapy Half Marathon, though some things remain the same, primarily, the daily morning run.
After cancer, nothing returns to normal, though I did notice a few weeks after R-CHOP, I had the sensation that I imagine to be akin to blood dopingâhaving the appropriate number of white and red blood cells again made me feel unstoppable, as the chemo drugs slowly exited my system. I was able to run more, sustain paces, and even dabble in a few local races! After a few months, the novelty wore off a bit when I plateaued. I felt disappointment, followed by immediate guilt: I was alive, and my cancer wasnât. How could I possibly be dissatisfied with something as trivial as running when I had managed to survive such an experience?
Winning the womenâs race and 2nd overall at the 18.12 Challenge earlier this summer!
It was then that the universe gave me the greatest gift: a coach who saw not who I was in that moment, but who I could be. The indomitable April approached my training with expertise, confidence, and solidarity. Her lack of doubt in my abilities and body made up for ALL the doubt I was feeling. She literally ran into my life and began to push me in the most loving, challenging, unforeseen ways.
We started focusing on macronutrients, as I had lost a good amount of muscle mass to the chemo, and started training for short distancesâ specifically the 5K, with repeats like I had never performed before in my life. A few months later I felt like a new person, not the person I was before cancer, but someone who had transformed all those brand new âbaby cellsâ after chemo into an athlete I didnât know I could become. I began lifting heavy and loading my muscles and tendons as much as I could handle. I ran every workout April wrote for me, even the ones I looked at and thought âThere is NO wayâŚâ
Since then, I have run a multitude of races and distances, including a marathon PR at Chicago in 2022, surprised and shocked by the amazing community support I received, spearheaded by my incredible coach. Today I am a stronger runner than I have ever been- before or after cancer. It hasnât been easy, linear, or without setbacks, but no oneâs running journey is predictable.
My previous blog post about cancer started with my 32nd birthday run, and this one will close with my 37th birthday run: this year I ran 37 happy, healthy, strong miles in this post-cancer body.
Coach Annamarie McCormick-Howell is an RRCA Certified Running Coach and an ACSM Certified Personal Trainer. She lives in Sackets Harbor, NY. You can follow her on Instagram at @amcchowell or reach her via email at amccormickhowell@yahoo.com.
 Iâve 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: âAnnamarie, do you ever have night sweats?â 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 Iâd 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 achievedâhowever 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 kidsâ 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.
