October is breast cancer awareness month, and I want to share a little story with you.
Fourteen years ago, I lost an extraordinary friend to breast cancer. She died one month shy of her fortieth birthday.
Lisa learned of her cancer diagnosis during the pregnancy of her third son. Pregnancy is taxing enough, but imagine going through chemotherapy at the same time. I wanted to support her in a meaningful way. Many women will shave their heads in solidarity, but I felt called to do something more. After a few weeks of serious thought, I decided to run a local 7-mile race to support Lisa’s fight.
If you know me now, but you don’t know my story, you’re probably thinking, “No big deal. Susan runs marathons.”
Guess what?
At that time, I had never run a single step.
About six years earlier, I had a severe accident, and even walking sucked at times. That was the point. I wanted to put my body through something difficult by comparison. I wanted to encourage and inspire Lisa. But, when I ran that race, I did not realize that she would be the one inspiring me one day.
We all know that Breast Cancer Awareness month increases attention and support for awareness, early detection, and treatment.
In my eyes and Lisa’s memory, it’s so much more.
I am aware that life can be cut painfully short.
I am aware that I can persevere through difficult challenges and that they will always make me stronger.
I am aware of treating every day as a gift.
I am aware that I should never pass up the chance to give it my all, whatever “it” may be.
Lisa showed up every single day on a mission to live her life to its fullest.
Because of you, Lisa, I became a runner.
I studied nutrition.
I became a vegan for many years.
I twisted Red Suspenders’ arm, and he happily created Stonedrift Farm.
I became a wellness coach.
I became a mindset coach.
I have helped thousands of people improve their health with nutrition.
And finally, I wrote my book because I could hear your voice asking me, “What’s taking you so long?”
Life is a relay.
I’ve been hard at work teaching people all that you taught me.
Thank you, Lisa, for passing me the baton.
