Moving On
4th December 2016
And with that I think I’m 99% done with triathlon.
Let me go back to the beginning of the end. Before Challenge Iskanda Puteri I was motivated beyond words. I was excited to get back to racing some half Ironmans and hit the Challenge races with force through Asia-Pacific. At the same time, I was examining my work life hard. I was also motivated to increase my work hours at the clinic as I was becoming booked a week in advance with little room to squeeze clients in. Something had to give.
After the race in Malaysia, suffering with heatstroke and taking a good month to start to feel normal again the motivation that I had early July had seemed to have dissolved. Initially I would say I put it down to fear. I had planned originally to do the Challenge race in Thailand at the end of October, but given what had happened in Malaysia I was a bit worried about going down again in the heat. I had done my research on heat stroke and although the evidence to support how to tell if you are recovered or will manage heat again is limited and it seems fairly inconclusive, I still had a tinge of anxiety associated with racing in Asia again. I decided instead, to enter Challenge Shepparton in early November to give myself a good two months to prepare and reassess what I wanted to do in the first half of 2017.
Training went well on paper. I was swimming okay, biking okay but once again my horrible chronic sacroiliac joint issue raised it head during my run sessions. This injury stopped me racing for 12 months a few years ago. It’s an annoying ache with intermittent sharp twinges through the right side of the back of my pelvis. That I can deal with, but the sciatic nerve tension through the back of my right thigh is exhausting. It is constant and fluctuates between manageable by wearing a pregnancy belt to hold my pelvis together, massage and making sure I don’t run too long or go above 60km/ week in run volume, to not so manageable where it interrupts my sleep and leads me to run like a weirdo therefore leading to other physical issues like blisters and tendinitis.
And with that I think I’m 99% done with triathlon.
Let me go back to the beginning of the end. Before Challenge Iskanda Puteri I was motivated beyond words. I was excited to get back to racing some half Ironmans and hit the Challenge races with force through Asia-Pacific. At the same time, I was examining my work life hard. I was also motivated to increase my work hours at the clinic as I was becoming booked a week in advance with little room to squeeze clients in. Something had to give.
After the race in Malaysia, suffering with heatstroke and taking a good month to start to feel normal again the motivation that I had early July had seemed to have dissolved. Initially I would say I put it down to fear. I had planned originally to do the Challenge race in Thailand at the end of October, but given what had happened in Malaysia I was a bit worried about going down again in the heat. I had done my research on heat stroke and although the evidence to support how to tell if you are recovered or will manage heat again is limited and it seems fairly inconclusive, I still had a tinge of anxiety associated with racing in Asia again. I decided instead, to enter Challenge Shepparton in early November to give myself a good two months to prepare and reassess what I wanted to do in the first half of 2017.
Training went well on paper. I was swimming okay, biking okay but once again my horrible chronic sacroiliac joint issue raised it head during my run sessions. This injury stopped me racing for 12 months a few years ago. It’s an annoying ache with intermittent sharp twinges through the right side of the back of my pelvis. That I can deal with, but the sciatic nerve tension through the back of my right thigh is exhausting. It is constant and fluctuates between manageable by wearing a pregnancy belt to hold my pelvis together, massage and making sure I don’t run too long or go above 60km/ week in run volume, to not so manageable where it interrupts my sleep and leads me to run like a weirdo therefore leading to other physical issues like blisters and tendinitis.
The main problem though was that I felt like every training session was a chore. Why was I doing this now? The people that I had met when I had first started training and racing had moved on with their lives, pursuing careers, starting families, building houses and no longer did the swim, bike, run routine as priority. I was lonely. Training lonely, solo and long. I would come home to an empty apartment, clean, cook, rest and recover but also still try to muster energy to maintain my friendships and some form of a social life. I have stayed in triathlon so long because of the people and now those people had gone. Sure, we were still friends but we were now catching up over coffees and meals rather than bike rides and runs. I followed fewer races from afar without them motivating me to want to race like they used to. I tracked Kona with absolutely no aspirations to ever want to be there as a competitor.
Another thing, to put it bluntly; I hate swimming. It is the most monotonous sport. Up and down a black line with minimal social interaction over a 6km swim set except for the coach yelling at me to make the times, get my heart rate up (I can’t get it over about 120 in the pool) and to fix my right arm which swings like a helicopter blade. I learnt to swim at 23 and it has never become easy or natural for me. I swim with school aged kids who all kick my arse day in and day out and things were starting to grate on me such as those who leave too early off the wall, less than 10 seconds behind the person in front and those swimmers who would catch you in the first 50m so they could tap on your feet for the remainder of the rep. I was sick of kids complaining about the set and making scene about what was written on the board. There is definitely a different level of maturity between a 15-year-old and a 32-year-old. As much as I resented swimming I was paying money to be there to get better so I never complained about the sessions, no matter how hard it was or how tired I felt.
The more the weeks past, the more I felt like I was dragging myself through the sessions. I was forcing myself out the door to get training done and when I finished was no longer feeling that gratification of having achieved something special. As Shepparton moved closer I found myself with a lack of excitement or eagerness to put my training into action. My heart was empty so my head was the only thing pushing me forwards into the race. I used to pride myself on not being naturally talented but rather hard, headstrong, stubborn and with a heart full of passion for a sport that I loved. But that feeling had well since passed. I looked in the mirror and realised that I didn’t care anymore and that was the point that I realised that Shepparton would be my last race. I had initially intended to see out my pro licence which was up for renewal in July 2017 but there was no way that I could possibly press on in the mental state in which I found myself.
I told my closest friends that the end was nigh and started to think about what next on the other side of November 13th. I applied for a part time position at the new hospital and looked around for professional development courses that I could do in association to Physiotherapy. The World Physio Congress popped up in Capetown, South Africa in July, 2017- perfect. I am already registered to attend.
The week leading up to Shepparton was a nightmare. I went into the week exhausted, sleep deprived and purely looking forward to a five-day weekend and seeing my friends down south rather than racing. I was nervous during that week but not in regards to the race. I had a job interview and it was the first formal interview I was to have since being a new graduate 11 years ago. I got to Thursday morning and was anxious and already tried about that day ahead. I woke at 4:30am got a quick bike, run in with enough time over breakfast to pack my bike. I went out to Nambour for my 40-minute interview before rushing back to the clinic to see patients until 4:30pm. I had a massage at 5pm and went home to pack before crashing into bed at 10:30pm. I woke the next morning at 3:20am and drove to Brisbane to catch my 6am flight to Melbourne, picked up a hire car and headed north. I stopped at Seymour for a quick swim and lunch before arriving at Shepparton around 2:30pm. I built my bike and went straight to bed until Ellie (my roommate) arrived.
I felt a little better the next day but the weather was taking a turn for the worst. I slept in until 8:30am went for a little spin and a little jog in the drizzle before going back to bed. I gave out some of the open water swim prizes, attended pro briefing and went for a quick dip in the lake before the mandatory risotto and ice cream.
Another thing, to put it bluntly; I hate swimming. It is the most monotonous sport. Up and down a black line with minimal social interaction over a 6km swim set except for the coach yelling at me to make the times, get my heart rate up (I can’t get it over about 120 in the pool) and to fix my right arm which swings like a helicopter blade. I learnt to swim at 23 and it has never become easy or natural for me. I swim with school aged kids who all kick my arse day in and day out and things were starting to grate on me such as those who leave too early off the wall, less than 10 seconds behind the person in front and those swimmers who would catch you in the first 50m so they could tap on your feet for the remainder of the rep. I was sick of kids complaining about the set and making scene about what was written on the board. There is definitely a different level of maturity between a 15-year-old and a 32-year-old. As much as I resented swimming I was paying money to be there to get better so I never complained about the sessions, no matter how hard it was or how tired I felt.
The more the weeks past, the more I felt like I was dragging myself through the sessions. I was forcing myself out the door to get training done and when I finished was no longer feeling that gratification of having achieved something special. As Shepparton moved closer I found myself with a lack of excitement or eagerness to put my training into action. My heart was empty so my head was the only thing pushing me forwards into the race. I used to pride myself on not being naturally talented but rather hard, headstrong, stubborn and with a heart full of passion for a sport that I loved. But that feeling had well since passed. I looked in the mirror and realised that I didn’t care anymore and that was the point that I realised that Shepparton would be my last race. I had initially intended to see out my pro licence which was up for renewal in July 2017 but there was no way that I could possibly press on in the mental state in which I found myself.
I told my closest friends that the end was nigh and started to think about what next on the other side of November 13th. I applied for a part time position at the new hospital and looked around for professional development courses that I could do in association to Physiotherapy. The World Physio Congress popped up in Capetown, South Africa in July, 2017- perfect. I am already registered to attend.
The week leading up to Shepparton was a nightmare. I went into the week exhausted, sleep deprived and purely looking forward to a five-day weekend and seeing my friends down south rather than racing. I was nervous during that week but not in regards to the race. I had a job interview and it was the first formal interview I was to have since being a new graduate 11 years ago. I got to Thursday morning and was anxious and already tried about that day ahead. I woke at 4:30am got a quick bike, run in with enough time over breakfast to pack my bike. I went out to Nambour for my 40-minute interview before rushing back to the clinic to see patients until 4:30pm. I had a massage at 5pm and went home to pack before crashing into bed at 10:30pm. I woke the next morning at 3:20am and drove to Brisbane to catch my 6am flight to Melbourne, picked up a hire car and headed north. I stopped at Seymour for a quick swim and lunch before arriving at Shepparton around 2:30pm. I built my bike and went straight to bed until Ellie (my roommate) arrived.
I felt a little better the next day but the weather was taking a turn for the worst. I slept in until 8:30am went for a little spin and a little jog in the drizzle before going back to bed. I gave out some of the open water swim prizes, attended pro briefing and went for a quick dip in the lake before the mandatory risotto and ice cream.
I knew the next morning on the start line that this was it. I wasn’t nervous, I wasn’t excited, I wasn’t worried that it was probably going to be wet, windy and cold. I was a bit disappointed that I let myself get to this point mentally and still expect myself to race at a professional level when I was no longer approaching this sport in that manner. The gun went and I managed to have a half decent swim hanging onto the back of the main pack. I entered transition with most of the other girls in my category. I rode quite well quickly moving up into 4th place. I was passed around 50km by a fast-moving Amanda Wilson (that girl can ride!). When she went past me I didn’t even care. At that point I was still pleasantly surprised that I had could still get myself into the top 5 at all during the race. For a long time, I have been a realist when looking at my performances over the past few years. When people ask me what I do my answer is always that I am a Physio. I never tell people I’m a triathlete, let-alone a pro. I am not pro. I work near full time and train like and age-grouper. Occasionally I will pull out a solid race but those days are few and far between now. There comes a time when you see new competitors come onto the scene and are making the decisions you did 8 years ago, such as giving up work to train and race full time. However, when I can still pass pro men in the swim (they had a minute lead on us) and then have one pass me at 60km and another at 80km on the bike (!!) I can still find justification to be racing in the elite category even if I’m not really a “pro”.
I came off the bike in 5th with about 60-90 second buffer to 6th. I just had to hang on for 21km. I chose to run in my SIJ belt to hold my dicky pelvic together. Such an ugly look over my beautiful new Betty Design tri suit. I ran well for the first 10km running through in 45:30. Then it all went south quickly. I was passed at about 12km and felt like I was running backwards. I just had to finish. After my collapse in Malaysia and the only other half I had raced since being diagnosed with cancer was Challenge Gold Coast which had the ride shortened to 40km due to the conditions, I just wanted to get over that line. I managed to hold onto 6th place and felt shocking as I came over the line. I was shaky and had a horrible familiar sensation that I did during the race in August. I sat down for a while in the rain until I felt that my legs could handle my weight.
There was no emotion attached to the finish line for me. I felt nothing. Not happy, not disappointed, no urge to do it again. Usually during a race I’m already making plans about what I need to do in training, where I will race next and how much I love the pain. There was none of that. I am the type of person that once I have an idea in my head it is near impossible to change my mind or undo a decision that has been made. I was done. I went back to the motel and congratulated Ellie on taking the win. We roomed together over the weekend and it was wonderful getting to know her. She is a genuinely nice person with a tone of talent and she’s still oh so young! This lady has a big future ahead of her on the long course circuit.
Once I was showered and got a few calories back into me I went to meet a friend. Cathy Kelly has been an email pen-pal of mine for some time now. She found my email address on my website after coming across my blog. Her and her husband Chris live in Shepparton with their two kids. This was a big reason why I chose to come to this race as I wanted to meet them. Chris has thyroid cancer. Like mine, but different. Non-aggressive but still resistant to treatment. He’s had multiple surgeries and is still standing in uncertain territory in regards to his health. We had a nice lunch, talked cancer, fatigue, treatment and the future. When you have a cancer that everyone initially tells you ‘it’s a good one’ and then it doesn’t turn out to be a good one. That you become that small percentage where the surgery and treatment doesn’t have the desired effect it’s hard to find research and other people in the same boat. Even our boats are different, same kind of failed recommended treatment approaches to now being a little bit of wait and see what happens and we will deal with it then. They are good people; Cathy even came out in the pouring rain to see me finish. Even with unknowns in both our lives I hope they, like me, seek some comfort in knowing that someone else out there is going through similar struggles and uncertainties. This was probably the most special and memorable part of my weekend.
That afternoon I headed back to Melbourne that night to see my good friends Aimee and Jimmy Johnsen. We drank a large amount of red wine and went to bed at 2am!!!! After a lie in we spent most of Monday morning and early afternoon catching up over coffee and brunch. I hit the shops in the city for a bit before having cocktails and dinner with my friends Susie and Tim that night. The following day I went out to Sunbury to see my long-time friend from Emmanuel College, Natalie, her husband Charles, almost three Max and to meet her 8-week-old Wilbur. Natalie is quite possibly my most mature friend with her life the most together. She is quiet, introverted and I still don’t quite know how we are friends, but she is a bloody good one.
So now I should start planning the next stage in life. I have no doubt that I will continue to cycle and run socially as I do enjoy those activities and they can be quite time efficient. I plan to learn to surf (finally after 10 years!) over summer and get back into the gym for a while to try and strengthen up my pelvis. No current plans to return to the pool. As I look back over the past 10 years and the ups and downs over that time it still baffles me the unexpected direction that life can take. I would never have imagined 12 years ago that I would become a professional athlete of any kind, let-alone in a sport that required swimming when I could barely swim 25m. Never would I have imagined doing my first 4.5hour triathlon event, winning and taking home $5000USD. Nor could I have envisaged doing numerous all expenses paid trips overseas to compete in races and expanded an international network. That throughout my professional athletic career that I would be diagnosed with a malignant cancer that could have ended it all very quickly if I hadn’t of ended up with my amazing medical team. That even after four neck surgeries that I returned to racing at a high level, managed a few wins and finally checked off the ironman box. That during this time my crazy addiction and obsession has rubbed off on some of my non-triathlon friends which spurred them on to do their first events.
But most importantly, from this sport I take with me so many invaluable friendships that fulfil my life more than triathlon or any hobby ever could. People who sat by my bed after each operation, who sent flowers, cards and good wishes. People who invited me to be present at their weddings, life milestones and become part of their lives. People who treated my injuries, patched my body up over and over again to get me onto a start line. I have bonded with people on and off the race course over triathlon and non-triathlon related issues. I still take for granted those who I have inspired as a fighter to achieve those feats thought impossible to them with what I continue to do. At the end of the day I don’t feel special. I feel like an average girl living an average life.
Until the next chapter I am free for food, wine and coffee.
Rachie xox
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A Stroke of Heat
17th September 2016
One more year. Just one more year and I’ll be content and done. Ready to put this chapter behind me and move on to the next. Cancer, can we make that deal? The deal is you try not to kill me or have to have my sternum hacked open by my doctors for just one more year? That would be muchly appreciated, regards Rachael.
I know it doesn’t exactly work like that but that’s what I thought at I completed my 2016/2017 professional athlete registration. So far so good. The mass behind my breast bone and the one that sits to the right side of my trachea seem to be stable. Not changing, not growing, just a dormant unknown within.
The dust has now settled on August. I went into the season guns blazing with back to back weekends racing. I headed north again to Yeppoon Triathlon in early August. It is hard to believe this event is only in its second year with a number of events over the weekend that cater for all abilities and ages. For me it’s also a weekend to spend with my mum as she travels up with me and we stay with our long- time family friend Sharon Kingston. Quite possibly one of the most accommodating, generous, kindhearted people which I am so lucky to have in my life, she does everything above and beyond to make sure we have a comfortable and enjoyable weekend in Yeppoon.
One more year. Just one more year and I’ll be content and done. Ready to put this chapter behind me and move on to the next. Cancer, can we make that deal? The deal is you try not to kill me or have to have my sternum hacked open by my doctors for just one more year? That would be muchly appreciated, regards Rachael.
I know it doesn’t exactly work like that but that’s what I thought at I completed my 2016/2017 professional athlete registration. So far so good. The mass behind my breast bone and the one that sits to the right side of my trachea seem to be stable. Not changing, not growing, just a dormant unknown within.
The dust has now settled on August. I went into the season guns blazing with back to back weekends racing. I headed north again to Yeppoon Triathlon in early August. It is hard to believe this event is only in its second year with a number of events over the weekend that cater for all abilities and ages. For me it’s also a weekend to spend with my mum as she travels up with me and we stay with our long- time family friend Sharon Kingston. Quite possibly one of the most accommodating, generous, kindhearted people which I am so lucky to have in my life, she does everything above and beyond to make sure we have a comfortable and enjoyable weekend in Yeppoon.
I had a bash at the 1500m open water swim on the Saturday morning and spent some time with one of Glenn Skinner’s junior athletes. The carb party was a humbling event. Sitting next to the amazing Katie Kelly, the vision impaired triathlete who has just won Gold at the Rio Olympics. An incredibly intelligent, friendly, positive and talented woman who is progressively losing her sight and hearing, he is really someone people should aspire to.
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The race itself now seems like years ago. Quite an uneventful race for me really. I swam okay in choppy as heck water, entered transition in 3rd, rode up into 2nd with a minute buffer and got caught at 5km into the run.
During the run leg I kept in mind that I had a bigger race in six days’ time and knew that I didn’t have run legs in me to regain 2nd so I was content crossing the line in 3rd. A huge big thanks to Glenn and Belinda for having me back again this year. Glenn, himself, comes with a rocky health history and I fear that the stress of the event gave him another brush with death, however, he was ever present during the weekend giving nothing less than 110%.
With a quick turnaround I flew home that night and was back at work the next morning. By Tuesday evening I was packing my bike again and was back at the airport by Wednesday morning. I flew to Singapore and was transferred across the border to Johor in Malaysia. Challenge Iskandar Puteri was a first time race set in the Puteri Harbour. It was hot and humid, but not as oppressive as I remember Malaysia to be. The hotel was pretty schmick with a 25m pool, gym and transition pretty much outside the front door. I rolled around the couple days leading up to the race feeling well recovered from Yeppoon and very ready to see how I was going to perform over the half ironman distance for the first time in over three years.
With a quick turnaround I flew home that night and was back at work the next morning. By Tuesday evening I was packing my bike again and was back at the airport by Wednesday morning. I flew to Singapore and was transferred across the border to Johor in Malaysia. Challenge Iskandar Puteri was a first time race set in the Puteri Harbour. It was hot and humid, but not as oppressive as I remember Malaysia to be. The hotel was pretty schmick with a 25m pool, gym and transition pretty much outside the front door. I rolled around the couple days leading up to the race feeling well recovered from Yeppoon and very ready to see how I was going to perform over the half ironman distance for the first time in over three years.
Race morning came around quickly and I was soon diving off the pontoon with 7 other pro girls. I had a great swim coming out in 5th place only a minute down on Renee and Kathryn. I knew Amelia and Radka would be out well ahead but I had set a goal of top 5 for myself. I quickly made up my deficit to Renee and Kathryn within the first 10km and was happy to swap legal turns with them. I struggled a bit during the last lap and lost touch with them around the 75km mark but only lost a minute to them going into T2.
I set off on the run, slowly. Very, very slowly. It was hot. We were told in briefing that the aid stations would be 2km apart on the run leg. I thought that was a stretch at best but when I ran through 2km without an aid station in sight I really started to worry. The first aid station came at 3.5km. The second at 6km where I picked up a can of god-knows what which when I tried to open it the ring top came off. Why have closed cans on a run course??? At this point I thought there is absolutely no way I could get through this run, it was really getting tough. I somehow kept ticking off the kilometres and could see at 7/8km that 6th was still over 8 minutes behind me and not putting time in at all. Around 10km Belinda and Justin pulled up beside me on a scooter,
“How you going Rach?” Asked Belinda,
“Not good. I’m really struggling,’
She offered me water and I questioned outside assistance.
“Of course you f&#king can, there’s no water out here,” was her response, so I took a bottle from a guy on a scooter riding besides me.
I plugged on, made it back out onto the final stretch and saw that 6th was now over 9 minutes behind me, even though I was running at 5:15 pace! God it was hot. At aids stations I stopped to have the volunteers pour ice into my bra top, take water, take soda, take whatever I could get it. At 6km to go I told myself it was only just over 30minutes to get to the finish line. I remember staggering past the 18km sign and I asked a competitor heading out onto the run if I could have some of their water to which they generously obliged. I also remember the sensation of stopping myself from falling backwards, tripping sideways and suddenly feeling like I was drunk. And then there was just black.
The next thing I remember is sitting up suddenly to projectile vomit. Then nothing. Slowly I began to open my eyes as I could feel sharp pains in the back of my left hand. I had an oxygen mask on, the room was white and the fluorescent lights were blaring above me. I knew I was in a hospital but had no idea why. I didn’t feel like I was in pain so I was confused but couldn’t formulate words to ask what was happening. I looked around at a number of unfamiliar faces before I saw Belinda standing beside me telling me I was going to be okay. She reassured me that they were trying to stabilise me. I was freezing, covered in cold blankets. Bit by bit I began to process the information given to me. I had collapsed on course due to severe dehydration resulting in exertional heatstroke. Apparently I had made it to 19.5km but I have no recollections about how I got there. I had two IVs in, but they had a lot of trouble finding veins as they had all collapsed which explained the pricking sensation in my hands. My resting heart rate was 150! My normal resting heart rate is less than 40 and I can’t even get my heart rate over 120 in the pool. My body temperature was 40, I was tachypneic (breathing rapidly) and my kidneys were in a lot of trouble. The scariest part for me was the aphasia. I was unable to formulate words, sentences or answer questions. I had the words in my head, understood what was being said but I couldn’t get the message out there. I thought, this is it, I’ve had a left sided CVA (stroke) and I will be permanently impaired just because I wanted to do a silly triathlon in Malaysia. Once I became more alert I managed a few slurred words to Belinda and the doctors and when I could finally construct a sentence the first thing I said to Belinda was, ‘I’m dumb,’ she laughed at me and said that it would pass.
“How you going Rach?” Asked Belinda,
“Not good. I’m really struggling,’
She offered me water and I questioned outside assistance.
“Of course you f&#king can, there’s no water out here,” was her response, so I took a bottle from a guy on a scooter riding besides me.
I plugged on, made it back out onto the final stretch and saw that 6th was now over 9 minutes behind me, even though I was running at 5:15 pace! God it was hot. At aids stations I stopped to have the volunteers pour ice into my bra top, take water, take soda, take whatever I could get it. At 6km to go I told myself it was only just over 30minutes to get to the finish line. I remember staggering past the 18km sign and I asked a competitor heading out onto the run if I could have some of their water to which they generously obliged. I also remember the sensation of stopping myself from falling backwards, tripping sideways and suddenly feeling like I was drunk. And then there was just black.
The next thing I remember is sitting up suddenly to projectile vomit. Then nothing. Slowly I began to open my eyes as I could feel sharp pains in the back of my left hand. I had an oxygen mask on, the room was white and the fluorescent lights were blaring above me. I knew I was in a hospital but had no idea why. I didn’t feel like I was in pain so I was confused but couldn’t formulate words to ask what was happening. I looked around at a number of unfamiliar faces before I saw Belinda standing beside me telling me I was going to be okay. She reassured me that they were trying to stabilise me. I was freezing, covered in cold blankets. Bit by bit I began to process the information given to me. I had collapsed on course due to severe dehydration resulting in exertional heatstroke. Apparently I had made it to 19.5km but I have no recollections about how I got there. I had two IVs in, but they had a lot of trouble finding veins as they had all collapsed which explained the pricking sensation in my hands. My resting heart rate was 150! My normal resting heart rate is less than 40 and I can’t even get my heart rate over 120 in the pool. My body temperature was 40, I was tachypneic (breathing rapidly) and my kidneys were in a lot of trouble. The scariest part for me was the aphasia. I was unable to formulate words, sentences or answer questions. I had the words in my head, understood what was being said but I couldn’t get the message out there. I thought, this is it, I’ve had a left sided CVA (stroke) and I will be permanently impaired just because I wanted to do a silly triathlon in Malaysia. Once I became more alert I managed a few slurred words to Belinda and the doctors and when I could finally construct a sentence the first thing I said to Belinda was, ‘I’m dumb,’ she laughed at me and said that it would pass.
Bit by bit I managed to get my words back, come to grips with what was happening but I was still quite unaware of just how bad things were. I probably didn’t really come to grips with how serious true heatstroke is once I returned home and researched the full extent of the situation. I am lucky I suppose, that I collapsed when I did because if it had of happened out in the far ends of the course I could have been in some serious trouble. I cannot thank Belinda and Justin Granger enough for being there with me. Belinda has since told me that she thought I was going to die. It’s reassuring that I didn’t and I cannot fault the medical treatment that I received at the hospital in Malaysia.
I was moved to a ward to continue aggressive fluid replacement and monitor my kidney function. My creatinine levels were 333 initially!!! (Normal ranges are between 54-88.) Within 22 hours my creatinine levels had lowered to 89 which meant that I could leave hospital and still make my flight home that night. The wonderful Nami Koh picked me up and took me back to the hotel. Justin Granger had packed my bike so meticulously that I think he could seriously do it for a job (Thanks Jusi!). A huge thanks too to my roommate Monica who also packed my bags. I felt horribly weak and still very dizzy due to low blood pressure and dehydration but I was so set on getting on the plane that night. I got back to Brisbane and almost fainted in customs before calling in sick to work (I was supposed to work that afternoon). I made it home and slept for hours. For days all I could stomach was vegemite toast and lemonade. I took a full week off training as directed by the doctors but I honestly didn’t feel like doing anything for 10 days anyway.
My head is still getting back into the game. I am certainly going to do a race or two before the end of the year but no grand plans for next year as this point. My mind is heavily distracted with things outside of doing triathlon. Work is getting busier by the day and is a much easier way for me to earn a living! I am off to Tasmania to visit a friend in December, Adelaide in January for the Tour Down Under with my younger brother and planning a trip to Hawaii for a sports med conference so I’m not quite sure how much racing will fit into my life next year. But that’s okay.
Rachie xo
I was moved to a ward to continue aggressive fluid replacement and monitor my kidney function. My creatinine levels were 333 initially!!! (Normal ranges are between 54-88.) Within 22 hours my creatinine levels had lowered to 89 which meant that I could leave hospital and still make my flight home that night. The wonderful Nami Koh picked me up and took me back to the hotel. Justin Granger had packed my bike so meticulously that I think he could seriously do it for a job (Thanks Jusi!). A huge thanks too to my roommate Monica who also packed my bags. I felt horribly weak and still very dizzy due to low blood pressure and dehydration but I was so set on getting on the plane that night. I got back to Brisbane and almost fainted in customs before calling in sick to work (I was supposed to work that afternoon). I made it home and slept for hours. For days all I could stomach was vegemite toast and lemonade. I took a full week off training as directed by the doctors but I honestly didn’t feel like doing anything for 10 days anyway.
My head is still getting back into the game. I am certainly going to do a race or two before the end of the year but no grand plans for next year as this point. My mind is heavily distracted with things outside of doing triathlon. Work is getting busier by the day and is a much easier way for me to earn a living! I am off to Tasmania to visit a friend in December, Adelaide in January for the Tour Down Under with my younger brother and planning a trip to Hawaii for a sports med conference so I’m not quite sure how much racing will fit into my life next year. But that’s okay.
Rachie xo
Start the year by ticking boxes
26th April 2016
It has now been just over nine weeks since I did my first Ironman. I began to write this immediately after the event as I wanted to get some words down on paper before the pain in my legs subsided.
Two weeks after returning from South America I was badly suffering with the post-holiday comedown and thanks to Virgin’s timely specials email I booked 10 days in New Zealand’s south island. I intentionally booked it for late February over the weekend of Challenge Wanaka, just in case. I have always looked at this race knowing that it was notorious for variable weather conditions, wind but at the same time it is known as one of the world’s most scenic races.
When I got home in November I went through a battery of tests again to see where my cancer was at. It was a huge relief that outside of an elevated TSH level that simply required a medication adjustment, the tumour in my chest and mass in my neck remained relatively stable and unchanged. So I jumped at my chance of competing in an ironman. With minimal fitness after five weeks of eating, drinking, not training and a couple bouts of gastro I entered Challenge Wanaka and started to ramp up my k’s. I was training in fear. Ironman racing has scared the crap out of me for as long as I have known about it. I have been asked numerous times “when will you do an ironman” after I started to race long course triathlons in 2009. I have respected the distance, time, energy and sacrifice that come with training and racing the iron-distance and up until then I really hadn’t been ready to commit to that.
It has now been just over nine weeks since I did my first Ironman. I began to write this immediately after the event as I wanted to get some words down on paper before the pain in my legs subsided.
Two weeks after returning from South America I was badly suffering with the post-holiday comedown and thanks to Virgin’s timely specials email I booked 10 days in New Zealand’s south island. I intentionally booked it for late February over the weekend of Challenge Wanaka, just in case. I have always looked at this race knowing that it was notorious for variable weather conditions, wind but at the same time it is known as one of the world’s most scenic races.
When I got home in November I went through a battery of tests again to see where my cancer was at. It was a huge relief that outside of an elevated TSH level that simply required a medication adjustment, the tumour in my chest and mass in my neck remained relatively stable and unchanged. So I jumped at my chance of competing in an ironman. With minimal fitness after five weeks of eating, drinking, not training and a couple bouts of gastro I entered Challenge Wanaka and started to ramp up my k’s. I was training in fear. Ironman racing has scared the crap out of me for as long as I have known about it. I have been asked numerous times “when will you do an ironman” after I started to race long course triathlons in 2009. I have respected the distance, time, energy and sacrifice that come with training and racing the iron-distance and up until then I really hadn’t been ready to commit to that.
Taper time celebration champagne
Why do people do ironman? Throughout the prep I had to push aside the guilt that was placed upon me for not partaking in certain social events. Thankfully, most of my good friends understood what this meant to me and have had a front seat to the challenges I’ve faced the past two and a half years. I’m still unsure that I will ever do another one again. I’m sure as the memories of the pain, discomfort and shear struggle I went through during the 2nd half of the marathon fade that I will toy with the idea of another. Belinda Granger assures me that I have to do at least one more because the conditions I faced on race day were amongst the hardest she’s ever seen (note that this lady has done over 50 iron-distance races and has won Challenge Wanaka twice!).
My dad always says, ‘you can’t stop time,’ and before I knew it I was tapering for my first iron-distance race. In all honesty I felt underdone. I had suffered 4 weeks of a left hamstring overuse injury which saw me unable to run for a few weeks around the crucial time of my preparation. I decided not to race the Hell of the West at Goondiwindi as I wasn’t fully recovered and didn’t want to jeopardise my race at Wanaka. I now know this was definitely the right decision as the hamstring didn’t bother me in the slightest on race day. The negative was that I had absolutely no idea what shape I was in when I arrived in New Zealand.
Why do people do ironman? Throughout the prep I had to push aside the guilt that was placed upon me for not partaking in certain social events. Thankfully, most of my good friends understood what this meant to me and have had a front seat to the challenges I’ve faced the past two and a half years. I’m still unsure that I will ever do another one again. I’m sure as the memories of the pain, discomfort and shear struggle I went through during the 2nd half of the marathon fade that I will toy with the idea of another. Belinda Granger assures me that I have to do at least one more because the conditions I faced on race day were amongst the hardest she’s ever seen (note that this lady has done over 50 iron-distance races and has won Challenge Wanaka twice!).
My dad always says, ‘you can’t stop time,’ and before I knew it I was tapering for my first iron-distance race. In all honesty I felt underdone. I had suffered 4 weeks of a left hamstring overuse injury which saw me unable to run for a few weeks around the crucial time of my preparation. I decided not to race the Hell of the West at Goondiwindi as I wasn’t fully recovered and didn’t want to jeopardise my race at Wanaka. I now know this was definitely the right decision as the hamstring didn’t bother me in the slightest on race day. The negative was that I had absolutely no idea what shape I was in when I arrived in New Zealand.
I arrived in Queenstown on the Wednesday afternoon and was picked upped by Haley with Belinda and Justin Granger and taken to Wanaka on a rainy, dreary afternoon. My good friend Charlie now lives in Wanaka and offered a place to stay. He reported that the weather has been perfect in the two weeks leading up to the event however things were taking a turn for the worse. I dumped my bag at his place and we headed into town for some dinner and a long overdue catch up. Thursday morning was dark and gloomy again. I donned on my wetty and joined the organised swim familiarisation that morning. The lake was choppy but surprisingly warm, sitting around 17-18 degrees Celsius. I completed a lap and realised that the swim was going to be the least of my worries. Getting out of the water was bloody freezing (for an Aussie!). I made a decision that I would put on arm warmers and a vest for the bike, regards of what everyone else was doing.
I registered and went to pro briefing which I hated. At that moment I felt 100% underdone, unfit and chubby when I looked around at the other lean and fit pro women that I would be racing in two days- time. I got out of there ASAP and spent the rest of the day horizontal apart from a quick cycle between downpours and hitting the Mexican place for dinner. I let myself sleep in the next morning before all the pre-race rigmarole of touch up training, bike racking, special needs and transition bag drop offs and scoffing as many carbs as possible. The weather still looked ordinary.
I registered and went to pro briefing which I hated. At that moment I felt 100% underdone, unfit and chubby when I looked around at the other lean and fit pro women that I would be racing in two days- time. I got out of there ASAP and spent the rest of the day horizontal apart from a quick cycle between downpours and hitting the Mexican place for dinner. I let myself sleep in the next morning before all the pre-race rigmarole of touch up training, bike racking, special needs and transition bag drop offs and scoffing as many carbs as possible. The weather still looked ordinary.
The Race:
I woke up due to the howling winds, checked the weather forecast for the millionth time that week and came to grips with the fact that it was going to be windy. Really, really windy. I had a couple slices of toast and a coffee and panicked when my normal emptying ritual failed. Charlie was so helpful on race morning keeping me relaxed, calm and helping me set up my transition. I managed a couple visits to the port-a-loos before realising I was standing on the beach ready to go with the rest of the pro field.
Swim
We were all in our ‘get set’ stances before Vics announced that the swim start was delayed for 15minutes due to the buoys needing to be re-adjusted as the wind was sweeping them off course. Once we were off I knew that I was probably unable to stay with the front group and staying with Julia Grant was a more realistic goal. I did just that and before the end of the first and very choppy first lap I was leading her and a pro male (who kept tapping my feet for the whole 3.8km!). The second lap was much calmer and I entered T1 in 6th place. I had swum under the hour so I was pretty happy with that. Julia wasn’t far behind me and exited T1 in front of me due to the time I took putting clothes on! Those tough kiwi’s must have thought it warm!
I woke up due to the howling winds, checked the weather forecast for the millionth time that week and came to grips with the fact that it was going to be windy. Really, really windy. I had a couple slices of toast and a coffee and panicked when my normal emptying ritual failed. Charlie was so helpful on race morning keeping me relaxed, calm and helping me set up my transition. I managed a couple visits to the port-a-loos before realising I was standing on the beach ready to go with the rest of the pro field.
Swim
We were all in our ‘get set’ stances before Vics announced that the swim start was delayed for 15minutes due to the buoys needing to be re-adjusted as the wind was sweeping them off course. Once we were off I knew that I was probably unable to stay with the front group and staying with Julia Grant was a more realistic goal. I did just that and before the end of the first and very choppy first lap I was leading her and a pro male (who kept tapping my feet for the whole 3.8km!). The second lap was much calmer and I entered T1 in 6th place. I had swum under the hour so I was pretty happy with that. Julia wasn’t far behind me and exited T1 in front of me due to the time I took putting clothes on! Those tough kiwi’s must have thought it warm!
Nervous laughs with Stef Hanson
Bike
I passed Julia again within the first couple of kilometres and Tamsyn passed me before the turnaround at Treble Cone. The other girls were a ways up the road and I was sitting in 7th with Simone monstering through the bike. She passed on a hill just after 40km making me looking like I was standing still. I knew this girl could ride and run. The Wanaka wind was in full force that day. The headwind out to Lake Hawea was nasty, but not as bad as the crosswind that hit us when we went over the bridge once we finally made it there. I was leaning over so far to the left I thought if this wind stops at any moment I’m going to fall for sure. It wasn’t just windy and hard, it was downright scary. It was nice to then have a long stretch with a well-received tail wind. During that stretch (and only this moment) I was telling myself how awesome this is and how much I loved it…. I also told myself to remember this moment when things went to shit which I was anticipating. We then had an out and back section to Sandstone Point that only the full distance had to complete. Riding out with a nice tail wind made me fully aware of what we faced coming back. Alyssa passed me during that section. I was now in 9th. Aside from Yvonne and Laura, the rest of us were all within about 8minutes of one-another. I was actually pleasantly surprised that I wasn’t totally rubbish. I was riding time into Anna and not losing any time to April. I needed to be patient. Coming back along that section was quite possibly the most frightening cycling experience of my life. The cross wind was unpredictable, sweeping me left and then a huge gust from the opposite direction blowing my bike all over the place. I was too scared to stay on my aero bars and thought it best to stay on top and grip on for dear life. I reached a little crest and could see something in the middle of the road further ahead and knew that someone had come down. As I got closer I realised that it was Alyssa. Cars in each direction had stopped and were flagging down oncoming cars to keep her safe. All I could see was blood. All over her face, her legs and the road. She honestly looked like a horror movie victim and was looking around like she didn’t know where she was or what had happened. I felt guilty in riding past and on but she had plenty of people with her to help. It scared me silly. My thoughts went from aim around 10:30hrs to just finish to don’t get blown off your bike or get hurt.
Bike
I passed Julia again within the first couple of kilometres and Tamsyn passed me before the turnaround at Treble Cone. The other girls were a ways up the road and I was sitting in 7th with Simone monstering through the bike. She passed on a hill just after 40km making me looking like I was standing still. I knew this girl could ride and run. The Wanaka wind was in full force that day. The headwind out to Lake Hawea was nasty, but not as bad as the crosswind that hit us when we went over the bridge once we finally made it there. I was leaning over so far to the left I thought if this wind stops at any moment I’m going to fall for sure. It wasn’t just windy and hard, it was downright scary. It was nice to then have a long stretch with a well-received tail wind. During that stretch (and only this moment) I was telling myself how awesome this is and how much I loved it…. I also told myself to remember this moment when things went to shit which I was anticipating. We then had an out and back section to Sandstone Point that only the full distance had to complete. Riding out with a nice tail wind made me fully aware of what we faced coming back. Alyssa passed me during that section. I was now in 9th. Aside from Yvonne and Laura, the rest of us were all within about 8minutes of one-another. I was actually pleasantly surprised that I wasn’t totally rubbish. I was riding time into Anna and not losing any time to April. I needed to be patient. Coming back along that section was quite possibly the most frightening cycling experience of my life. The cross wind was unpredictable, sweeping me left and then a huge gust from the opposite direction blowing my bike all over the place. I was too scared to stay on my aero bars and thought it best to stay on top and grip on for dear life. I reached a little crest and could see something in the middle of the road further ahead and knew that someone had come down. As I got closer I realised that it was Alyssa. Cars in each direction had stopped and were flagging down oncoming cars to keep her safe. All I could see was blood. All over her face, her legs and the road. She honestly looked like a horror movie victim and was looking around like she didn’t know where she was or what had happened. I felt guilty in riding past and on but she had plenty of people with her to help. It scared me silly. My thoughts went from aim around 10:30hrs to just finish to don’t get blown off your bike or get hurt.
Smile or grimace? I think I was swearing at this point! Photo credit: Stef Hanson (Witsup)
By the end of the first lap I had caught and passed Anna. The second lap was just as eventful. I passed Tamsyn on the side of the road with mechanics and an obvious flat tyre and then at the Sandstone turn around Simone was on the ground, unconscious with people all around her. Gina was no-where to be seen and I later found out she had pulled out. This had catapulted me into 4th position and I entered T2 with Anna.
Run
I ditched my clothes and picked up all my run gear. I headed up over the bridge onto the run course. Charlie was there extremely excited with the update that I was in 4th. ‘Run for a podium position Rach,’ he yelled…. Which I thought was a little optimistic. He told me 3rd was only 2:40mins ahead and that I was running far better.
By the end of the first lap I had caught and passed Anna. The second lap was just as eventful. I passed Tamsyn on the side of the road with mechanics and an obvious flat tyre and then at the Sandstone turn around Simone was on the ground, unconscious with people all around her. Gina was no-where to be seen and I later found out she had pulled out. This had catapulted me into 4th position and I entered T2 with Anna.
Run
I ditched my clothes and picked up all my run gear. I headed up over the bridge onto the run course. Charlie was there extremely excited with the update that I was in 4th. ‘Run for a podium position Rach,’ he yelled…. Which I thought was a little optimistic. He told me 3rd was only 2:40mins ahead and that I was running far better.
My legs actually felt okay and I was running at around 4:50 pace. I ticked off the first 8-9km at that pace before things started to really hurt. Julia ran past me around 8km in chatting, looking comfortable and extremely strong. The rain started falling and the undulating trail became quite slippery. Then I found out about the notorious Gunn Rd. I managed to run up it on the first lap before I felt both my quads cramp up at the 12km mark. I knew the next 30km were going to be tough going. Anna caught me at around the 19km mark. We bonded here. She asked me, ‘how many times have you thought about pulling out today?’ To which my reply even surprised me, ‘I haven’t!’ She said it had crossed her mind at least 20 times. Her tummy was a mess and my legs were failing me. She continued to make toilet stops and I would then run ahead of her, she would catch me up and then stop again for the toilet. It was a lot of cat and mouse. The second lap was so hard. I felt horrid, walking each aid station not believing that my legs would let me run again after each time I walked. Somehow they continued to respond. I made a pact that if I got to Gunn Rd that I would allow myself to walk up it, which I did. The next stretch was the worst. It’s a long section of gravel footpath in the suburbs and it ran straight past where I was staying. My general call at each aid station was ‘coke, water, lollies’ I got to the point where I was picking the green, red and orange lollies out of a bag whilst telling the volunteers that it was quite possibly the silliest thing I’d ever done! At least they were getting a laugh out of me and were so encouraging telling me how fast and how well I was doing. They were amazing. At the 2nd last aid station I knew that the end was only about 4km away. I told myself that I had run 4km off every long bike every weekend for the past few months and this was no different. I really needed to port-a-loo at the final aid station but unfortunately someone beat me to it seconds before I got there. I knew there were toilets at the yacht club carpark and thought I might make it there….. unfortunately it was probably 500m too far away and I made a quick detour into the bush. Sorry Wanaka but I really wanted to cross the finish line with some dignity intact! The final 1500m seemed like another 42km. Running down the main street in Wanaka towards the finish line wasn’t as exhilarating as I expected. The finish line seemed to move further and further away. The red carpet took you on a final ‘U’ shaped run way and when I was on the final straight I slowed to a walk. I was a bit emotional when I finally walked across the finish line in 5th place. I was so happy to see Justin and Belinda there to welcome me home. Belinda cried, I cried, she told me it was a tough and feral day which made me feel a bit better about being around an hour slower than I had hoped for. Anna came across about 3 minutes later. I hit the massage table hoping for some hands on relief for the incredible pain in my quadriceps. I don’t know how I got through the last 10km of the run.
My right big toe had an enormous blister under the nail and feel off a few weeks later. I had a deep cut across my left ankle where the timing chip rubbed into my leg for over 11 hours which is now a permanent scar. There’s a reason why people have those soft timing chip straps! I was unable to stomach even a slice of vegemite toast that night and couldn’t venture too far from a toilet. I could barely sleep that night. Amped up on sugar and caffeine made it really hard to wind down. I had to walk downstairs backwards for the first couple of days and low chairs and toilets scared me due to the inability to trust my quads. I also realised I had incredible DOMS in my arms the next day due to hanging onto my bars so tightly for the 6 hours I spent on the bike.
The next day was the awards brunch. After sitting there for over two hours I thought I might need a crane to get me up from my chair. Charlie, April and I spent a lovely afternoon at Rippon winery before venturing back to town for the after party. I didn’t really last long. We had a couple of drinks and went for dinner and then all I wanted to do was go to bed so we called it a night. I spent the next 5 days in the beautiful town of Queenstown where I licked my wounds, went sky diving, read two books, drank wine, ate a lot of food, saw two movies, went canyoning and just chilled out.
My right big toe had an enormous blister under the nail and feel off a few weeks later. I had a deep cut across my left ankle where the timing chip rubbed into my leg for over 11 hours which is now a permanent scar. There’s a reason why people have those soft timing chip straps! I was unable to stomach even a slice of vegemite toast that night and couldn’t venture too far from a toilet. I could barely sleep that night. Amped up on sugar and caffeine made it really hard to wind down. I had to walk downstairs backwards for the first couple of days and low chairs and toilets scared me due to the inability to trust my quads. I also realised I had incredible DOMS in my arms the next day due to hanging onto my bars so tightly for the 6 hours I spent on the bike.
The next day was the awards brunch. After sitting there for over two hours I thought I might need a crane to get me up from my chair. Charlie, April and I spent a lovely afternoon at Rippon winery before venturing back to town for the after party. I didn’t really last long. We had a couple of drinks and went for dinner and then all I wanted to do was go to bed so we called it a night. I spent the next 5 days in the beautiful town of Queenstown where I licked my wounds, went sky diving, read two books, drank wine, ate a lot of food, saw two movies, went canyoning and just chilled out.
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Just for future references I would recommend waiting at least 5 days post your first ironman before sky diving. One of the important instructions is that you need to lift your legs up with knees extended for landing and never put your feet on the ground. Three days after Wanaka my quads still felt like they were torn to pieces and on landing my feet weren’t far off hitting the ground! I was more panicked about the landing than actually jumping out of the plane! Canyoning should also be held off on for at least a week. I was quickly aware that scrambling up slippery rocks, abseiling and jumping off ledges requires very powerful quads contractions which I think lead to more micro-tearing of my muscles.
Unfortunately a few days after my race I was informed that Challenge Wanaka pays in regards to overall gender position and not where you place in the professional category. Definitely a downer on a great achievement as two age groupers posted faster times than me I therefore received 7th place prize money. I respect that this is Challenge Wanaka’s rule but have a few issues with this rule:
This rule is another realisation that at no point to I regret going back to full time work. These types of rules devalue being a professional triathlete and make it ten times harder for anyone to want to be a ‘full-time pro’. I will be the first to say that I do choose races that are likely to be profitable for me because as much as I still love the sport I also need to pay my rent, bills and costs of living (and training and racing). I chose to race pro as I’m still (kind of) competitive. This was my first real international pro race post cancer diagnosis but I have won and podiumed in a number of races (that have paid me well) since finding out I was unwell.
Once home I had to pull myself together quickly as I had entered Mooloolaba Triathlon about 10 months prior. So on account of poor planning I raced an Olympic distance triathlon 3 weeks after Wanaka. It wasn’t pretty. I felt shocking from the get go, had a terrible swim, felt good on the bike for about 30km and ran one of my slowest 10kms ever. I did the slowest time I have ever posted on that course since I started racing. I took another full week off after that.
I ventured to Melbourne for Easter with a couple of my school friends to celebrate our friend Susie’s wedding. It was a fantastic weekend with three days of wedding celebrations, shopping and I was also able to see my best friend from college.
Unfortunately a few days after my race I was informed that Challenge Wanaka pays in regards to overall gender position and not where you place in the professional category. Definitely a downer on a great achievement as two age groupers posted faster times than me I therefore received 7th place prize money. I respect that this is Challenge Wanaka’s rule but have a few issues with this rule:
- The pro race is completely different to the age group race. I didn’t get pulled along in the swim or the bike by other athletes. I spent the whole bike leg out there on my own. The swim was a lot calmer for our second lap which meant that the age group athletes likely had a much calmer 3.8km than we did.
- Why bother having a professional category if prize money is awarded by overall gender position? It might as well be an open age race so at least the top age groupers can still partake in the prize pool.
- That you may have no idea that an age grouper is actually in front of you time wise when they start 15 minutes behind you. If you knew where each of your gender specific competitors were positioned then it may have changed the way top athletes have raced. Eg. 3rd and 4th were less than 5 minutes apart. 3rd was an age grouper and 4th a pro. The Pro crossed the line in 3rd (with a minimal chance of ever catching 2nd but had done a lot to move up to 3rd when coming off the bike in 6th) but once the times came in she ended up 4th female. Who’s not to say she would have pushed a bit harder having known what the time difference/ overall placing was? This also means that the the 9th placing pro male gets zero as he was pushed outside of the top ten by age group racers.
- There was no mention of this rule at the pro briefing.
- I apologise if I am wrong, but I am not aware of any age groupers being subjected to drug testing at Challenge Wanaka.
This rule is another realisation that at no point to I regret going back to full time work. These types of rules devalue being a professional triathlete and make it ten times harder for anyone to want to be a ‘full-time pro’. I will be the first to say that I do choose races that are likely to be profitable for me because as much as I still love the sport I also need to pay my rent, bills and costs of living (and training and racing). I chose to race pro as I’m still (kind of) competitive. This was my first real international pro race post cancer diagnosis but I have won and podiumed in a number of races (that have paid me well) since finding out I was unwell.
Once home I had to pull myself together quickly as I had entered Mooloolaba Triathlon about 10 months prior. So on account of poor planning I raced an Olympic distance triathlon 3 weeks after Wanaka. It wasn’t pretty. I felt shocking from the get go, had a terrible swim, felt good on the bike for about 30km and ran one of my slowest 10kms ever. I did the slowest time I have ever posted on that course since I started racing. I took another full week off after that.
I ventured to Melbourne for Easter with a couple of my school friends to celebrate our friend Susie’s wedding. It was a fantastic weekend with three days of wedding celebrations, shopping and I was also able to see my best friend from college.
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The following weekend mum and I headed out to my home town of Roma. I became friendly with Wayne Bryant when he was a TO at the Hell of the West after a technical altercation (many of you will know that story). He is very involved in the Maranoa Triathlon and Multi-sports club out there and I was honoured when they decided to name their annual event after me. I grew up in Roma and hadn’t been back for almost three years. It was a lovely weekend with my mum, running park run with her on Saturday morning, catching up with old friends, being able to race and win a triathlon in my home town and raise valuable money for my charity of choice; CanTeen Australia.
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After weeks of very causal exercise and sleeping in it was also the motivation I needed to get back into the swing of things. I will race Byron Bay triathlon next weekend and then spend the next couple of months planning the second half of the year. Who knows what will be on the cards, but right now it’s still unlikely to be an Ironman!
Finally a huge shout out to all my sponsors and supporters. Thanks to Ryders Eyewear Australia and Mizuno Running Australia who continue to back me. To my colleagues Adam and Therese who keep my cervicogenic headaches, neck scarring and running injuries under control. Meg Franklin, the best masseur on the Sunshine Coast. Belinda and Justin Granger for an accelerated 6 week iron-distance program. Jason Cheshire from Infinit Nutrition not only the supply of some great nutrition but also getting me through my long bike sessions. Vanessa for bottles/ cages and Bel for the loan of an aero helmet. Cyclezone Mooloolaba for putting up with my weekly bike issues and Allez Sport Mooloolaba for all those consumables.
Rachie xox
Finally a huge shout out to all my sponsors and supporters. Thanks to Ryders Eyewear Australia and Mizuno Running Australia who continue to back me. To my colleagues Adam and Therese who keep my cervicogenic headaches, neck scarring and running injuries under control. Meg Franklin, the best masseur on the Sunshine Coast. Belinda and Justin Granger for an accelerated 6 week iron-distance program. Jason Cheshire from Infinit Nutrition not only the supply of some great nutrition but also getting me through my long bike sessions. Vanessa for bottles/ cages and Bel for the loan of an aero helmet. Cyclezone Mooloolaba for putting up with my weekly bike issues and Allez Sport Mooloolaba for all those consumables.
Rachie xox
Getting it done
24th January 2016
In one way or another aren’t we all dying? Some are just heading towards their demise at a faster rate of knots than others. Most of us don’t even know. The road you have crossed every day to get to the office holds with it the risk of a driver on a mobile phone not seeing you there tomorrow as you step off the curb. The shock diagnosis of a routine skin check leading to a stage 4 melanoma and three months later you are no more. The unsuspecting traveler who settled into their flight from Amsterdam to Kuala Lumpur in July last year that ended up being a statistic when the plane was shot down from the sky over Ukraine. The teenager who walked through the city late one night and didn’t see the punch coming from behind.
As horribly morbid as it sounds, I have a slight inkling that I may not have as much time as most others. Does this potentially change what I see as priority in my life? Yes I think it does. I seem to go against the grain of what is expected. No husband, no boyfriend, no desire for children. I am not a home owner and I work in a job that suits my needs for flexible hours and leave that is relatively low stress. I have minimal savings and when I do I very quickly blow it on personal travel or a destination race. Do I have plans to change my way of life? Not in the slightest. I am already booked for another trip with another in the back of my mind as soon as I have the funds.
In one way or another aren’t we all dying? Some are just heading towards their demise at a faster rate of knots than others. Most of us don’t even know. The road you have crossed every day to get to the office holds with it the risk of a driver on a mobile phone not seeing you there tomorrow as you step off the curb. The shock diagnosis of a routine skin check leading to a stage 4 melanoma and three months later you are no more. The unsuspecting traveler who settled into their flight from Amsterdam to Kuala Lumpur in July last year that ended up being a statistic when the plane was shot down from the sky over Ukraine. The teenager who walked through the city late one night and didn’t see the punch coming from behind.
As horribly morbid as it sounds, I have a slight inkling that I may not have as much time as most others. Does this potentially change what I see as priority in my life? Yes I think it does. I seem to go against the grain of what is expected. No husband, no boyfriend, no desire for children. I am not a home owner and I work in a job that suits my needs for flexible hours and leave that is relatively low stress. I have minimal savings and when I do I very quickly blow it on personal travel or a destination race. Do I have plans to change my way of life? Not in the slightest. I am already booked for another trip with another in the back of my mind as soon as I have the funds.
Christmas Eve was exactly 12 months since I stepped out of St Andrew’s hospital after my 4th neck resection. Did I think that was the end of it? Actually no I didn’t. I knew of the suspicious mass in my mediastinum that hadn’t been addressed and the ‘thing’ beside my trachea that wasn’t found during my last operation but I was happy living in sweet ignorance that perhaps they weren’t cancer too. Unfortunately in May 2015 it was confirmed that the mediastinal mass was in fact cancer.
But you know what? Living with cancer hasn’t been all that bad. As I reflect on a year that has seen me completely avoid a hospital admission, surgery and any form of treatment I feel that it has been a success. Don’t get me wrong, this has probably been the most mentally draining year since I was diagnosed in mid-2013. The year started with a quick return to training. Then only 3 months after my 4th neck operation I raced Coffs Harbour Triathlon to (slowly!) run away with the win. I then went on to place 3rd at Noumea International Triathlon and then 2nd at Fraser Coast Tri. To then learn that the needle biopsy they took from my chest in May confirmed that I still have cancer. That I threw what strength and drive I had left into training for what I thought might potentially be my last race. I managed to pull out a performance and a victory at the Yeppoon Triathlon that I am so very proud of given what was happening behind the scenes. Under the tough exterior and fairly respectable results there was a fair bit of darkness. The raging anger I had inside me for months after learning that I still had cancer after everything that I had already been through. The foul resentment I had for patients that were healthy coming to see me so I could fix them. The empty feeling of loss for the things that I thought that I would do that I hadn’t yet got around to. How I would come to know a new me after a surgery that would change my lively hood, take away my sport, change my voice and leave me with more scars, insecurities and an even more distorted body image. The lack of direction I felt that my life had. But then came another turn of events. I was given somewhat surprising information from my oncologist that perhaps I should just ‘wait and see’ what the cancer does rather than rush full force into an incredibly invasive, debilitating surgery that would bring with it a number of long term complications. This meant I got to head off on my South American highlight of 2015 with a little weight off my shoulders and had a trip of a life time. From mountain biking down Death Road in Bolivia, exploring the Bolivian jungle and taking some silly snaps on the Salt Flats. Trekking for 4 days on the Inca Trail to finish up at Machu Picchu and flying over the Nazcar Lines in Peru. Going to the Galapagos Islands where I got to scuba dive with hammerheads, sharks and sting rays and then go snorkelling with turtles and sea lions and seeing the incredible giant tortoise. This trip has reignited my love of travel, exploring and doing things out of my comfort zone.
But you know what? Living with cancer hasn’t been all that bad. As I reflect on a year that has seen me completely avoid a hospital admission, surgery and any form of treatment I feel that it has been a success. Don’t get me wrong, this has probably been the most mentally draining year since I was diagnosed in mid-2013. The year started with a quick return to training. Then only 3 months after my 4th neck operation I raced Coffs Harbour Triathlon to (slowly!) run away with the win. I then went on to place 3rd at Noumea International Triathlon and then 2nd at Fraser Coast Tri. To then learn that the needle biopsy they took from my chest in May confirmed that I still have cancer. That I threw what strength and drive I had left into training for what I thought might potentially be my last race. I managed to pull out a performance and a victory at the Yeppoon Triathlon that I am so very proud of given what was happening behind the scenes. Under the tough exterior and fairly respectable results there was a fair bit of darkness. The raging anger I had inside me for months after learning that I still had cancer after everything that I had already been through. The foul resentment I had for patients that were healthy coming to see me so I could fix them. The empty feeling of loss for the things that I thought that I would do that I hadn’t yet got around to. How I would come to know a new me after a surgery that would change my lively hood, take away my sport, change my voice and leave me with more scars, insecurities and an even more distorted body image. The lack of direction I felt that my life had. But then came another turn of events. I was given somewhat surprising information from my oncologist that perhaps I should just ‘wait and see’ what the cancer does rather than rush full force into an incredibly invasive, debilitating surgery that would bring with it a number of long term complications. This meant I got to head off on my South American highlight of 2015 with a little weight off my shoulders and had a trip of a life time. From mountain biking down Death Road in Bolivia, exploring the Bolivian jungle and taking some silly snaps on the Salt Flats. Trekking for 4 days on the Inca Trail to finish up at Machu Picchu and flying over the Nazcar Lines in Peru. Going to the Galapagos Islands where I got to scuba dive with hammerheads, sharks and sting rays and then go snorkelling with turtles and sea lions and seeing the incredible giant tortoise. This trip has reignited my love of travel, exploring and doing things out of my comfort zone.
Dead Road Mountain Bike, Bolivia
Salt Flats, Bolivia
Machu Picchu, Peru
Scuba diving with Hammerhead Sharks, Galapagos Islands
Giant Tortoise, Galapagos Islands
Sea Lion, Galapagos Islands
Me, Kristen and Sarah on a Wine Tour, Chile
Once I had returned home and accidentally 10 months later (whoops! It shouldn’t have been that long between check-ups!) I went back for another round of scans and tests. PET scan: my cancer is still NOT PET avid. This is great news meaning that it is not acting in an aggressive manner. CT scan: no change in the size of the two masses since the last scan in April. Thyroglobulin level: 14 and stable. So the outcome was to continue to wait and see.
“Are you okay with that Rachael?”
I am over the moon. Can live with this? Yes I can live with cancer. I feel fine, pretty bloody good actually. Absolutely elated that I get a second chance to do the things that I was already grieving for and I’m jumping into them ASAP. So the big news is that for the past 8 weeks I have ramped up the training so I can tick that Ironman box in February at Challenge Wanaka. Preparation has been going fairly well, only marred by a mild hamstring niggle which I have decided is not worth the risk of racing my prep race Hell of the West. This is unfortunate but I really want to run across the finish line on the 20th of February.
I am currently working 4 days a week at the clinic which is full on but it means that I was finally able to move into an apartment on my own like a big girl. This has been timely given the Ironman preparation. Seriously, I don’t know how anyone does it with a partner and kids. I have come to realise that unless you have completed an Ironman or are training for one you will never understand the commitment and sacrifice that is involved in doing it. I don't want to go to Wanaka just to roll around and make up the numbers. This will likely be my only Ironman so I want to give it a proper crack this time around. In saying that I also respect that this is the first time I will compete at this distance and that I will learn things about myself I never knew in four weeks time. I have no expectations as to a time or a placing in this event but I want to know that when I'm on the start line that I have done everything possible in preparation given my current situation.
I am training 25 hours/ week, work four days/ week and can barely function outside of these two commitments. The training is long and time consuming. I am constantly fatigued and feel like I’m always in a sleep deficit. I have kept my social schedule vacant as I can’t hold conversation after 7pm. I have only had 4 drinks so far this year and that for me is tough! Still, I absolutely love the fact that I can go out and train even if it is zapping the rest of the life out of me. I don’t think I will be signing up for another one that’s for sure! So with just under four weeks to go I will soon be winding the training back and looking forward to my first trip to the South Island of New Zealand. I plan to go sky diving, canyoning and to the Amisfeild winery in the days following my race.
I have some other plans lined up for the year but it looks likely that this will be my final year in the sport. I now miss my friends, my life and my family too much and have an ever growing list of things I want to do that are unrelated to triathlon. But for now it’s four weeks of lock down, wrapping myself in cotton wool with the big plan to give it to myself 100% on February 20th.
Rachie xox
“Are you okay with that Rachael?”
I am over the moon. Can live with this? Yes I can live with cancer. I feel fine, pretty bloody good actually. Absolutely elated that I get a second chance to do the things that I was already grieving for and I’m jumping into them ASAP. So the big news is that for the past 8 weeks I have ramped up the training so I can tick that Ironman box in February at Challenge Wanaka. Preparation has been going fairly well, only marred by a mild hamstring niggle which I have decided is not worth the risk of racing my prep race Hell of the West. This is unfortunate but I really want to run across the finish line on the 20th of February.
I am currently working 4 days a week at the clinic which is full on but it means that I was finally able to move into an apartment on my own like a big girl. This has been timely given the Ironman preparation. Seriously, I don’t know how anyone does it with a partner and kids. I have come to realise that unless you have completed an Ironman or are training for one you will never understand the commitment and sacrifice that is involved in doing it. I don't want to go to Wanaka just to roll around and make up the numbers. This will likely be my only Ironman so I want to give it a proper crack this time around. In saying that I also respect that this is the first time I will compete at this distance and that I will learn things about myself I never knew in four weeks time. I have no expectations as to a time or a placing in this event but I want to know that when I'm on the start line that I have done everything possible in preparation given my current situation.
I am training 25 hours/ week, work four days/ week and can barely function outside of these two commitments. The training is long and time consuming. I am constantly fatigued and feel like I’m always in a sleep deficit. I have kept my social schedule vacant as I can’t hold conversation after 7pm. I have only had 4 drinks so far this year and that for me is tough! Still, I absolutely love the fact that I can go out and train even if it is zapping the rest of the life out of me. I don’t think I will be signing up for another one that’s for sure! So with just under four weeks to go I will soon be winding the training back and looking forward to my first trip to the South Island of New Zealand. I plan to go sky diving, canyoning and to the Amisfeild winery in the days following my race.
I have some other plans lined up for the year but it looks likely that this will be my final year in the sport. I now miss my friends, my life and my family too much and have an ever growing list of things I want to do that are unrelated to triathlon. But for now it’s four weeks of lock down, wrapping myself in cotton wool with the big plan to give it to myself 100% on February 20th.
Rachie xox
Time: the most precious gift of all
22nd September 2015
The most precious gift of all is the gift of time. I have heard this multiple times before but I’ve only recently come to understand the profound magnitude of this statement. I have been given some time. How much? Maybe 6 months, maybe a few years, I don’t know. This changes everything for me. My future, my plans, my zest for life and living. Up until six weeks ago 2016 to me was a black hole. A hole where I would have to somehow climb out of, reinvent myself, my goals, my life, my body image and my ability to enjoy things that are currently foreign to me. But now there is a flicker of light.
After the drama of May, June and July that turned my entire world and future upside down, I managed to push the impending doom aside and devote my focus to a race. I trained fairly solidly towards the first Yeppoon Triathlon at the beginning of August. My preparation was only mildly interrupted by an unplanned blow out at my friend Natalie’s hen’s party. The following Friday Mum and I flew north to spend the weekend with our long time family friend’s Ron and Sharon.
The most precious gift of all is the gift of time. I have heard this multiple times before but I’ve only recently come to understand the profound magnitude of this statement. I have been given some time. How much? Maybe 6 months, maybe a few years, I don’t know. This changes everything for me. My future, my plans, my zest for life and living. Up until six weeks ago 2016 to me was a black hole. A hole where I would have to somehow climb out of, reinvent myself, my goals, my life, my body image and my ability to enjoy things that are currently foreign to me. But now there is a flicker of light.
After the drama of May, June and July that turned my entire world and future upside down, I managed to push the impending doom aside and devote my focus to a race. I trained fairly solidly towards the first Yeppoon Triathlon at the beginning of August. My preparation was only mildly interrupted by an unplanned blow out at my friend Natalie’s hen’s party. The following Friday Mum and I flew north to spend the weekend with our long time family friend’s Ron and Sharon.
It was a fantastic weekend in Yeppoon. Glenn Skinner (The Yeppoon Triathlon race director) was extremely generous in offering me an entry and asked me to participate in the 5km fun run on the Saturday afternoon. I ran with fellow triathlete Ben Cook and even though we chatted the whole way I finished up running a lot faster than I had planned but was quietly confident that I was feeling pretty good for the race.
Glenn had asked me a few weeks prior to give a motivational ‘road to recovery’ speech at the athlete’s dinner. It’s still difficult for me to tell people what is happening to me when on the outside I still train 20 hours/ week, work 35 hours/ week, socialise and plan a 5 week overseas adventure. That my road is not so much towards recovery but towards a life that is full of uncertainty. Glenn was exceptional in empathising with my situation having traveled a rocky road himself and offering a pardon from the speech. I decided that I was more than happy to share my story with the other athletes. In all honesty, I was far more nervous about giving my speech at the dinner than competing in the race itself. I was fairly composed until my closing where there emotion of the situation hit me pretty hard and the voice wobbles came with the tears.
Glenn had asked me a few weeks prior to give a motivational ‘road to recovery’ speech at the athlete’s dinner. It’s still difficult for me to tell people what is happening to me when on the outside I still train 20 hours/ week, work 35 hours/ week, socialise and plan a 5 week overseas adventure. That my road is not so much towards recovery but towards a life that is full of uncertainty. Glenn was exceptional in empathising with my situation having traveled a rocky road himself and offering a pardon from the speech. I decided that I was more than happy to share my story with the other athletes. In all honesty, I was far more nervous about giving my speech at the dinner than competing in the race itself. I was fairly composed until my closing where there emotion of the situation hit me pretty hard and the voice wobbles came with the tears.
The next morning was race day. A nice civilized start time allowed me plenty of time to set up my transition, go for a warm up jog and stroll down the beach to the start line. Even after all these years of racing I still make last minute calls about my race gear. At briefing I decided that since my body wasn’t as lean as usual (meaning I had a chest) that I would wear a sports bra under my race suit only to take it off again half way down the beach. Before I knew it we were running into the ocean. I still need to work on my beach starts as I’m very slow off the mark. I managed to make that up quickly and settled into a nice rhythm. I kept Chloe close in my sights as I knew that she was a stronger swimmer than me. I exited the water in 2nd only 30-40 seconds down on Chloe.
By the time I left transition I had shaved another 20 seconds off her lead. I felt AMAZING on the bike, rode past Chloe at about 42km/hr and knew that I was putting time into the girls behind me.
The 40km bike felt like it took 10minutes and I was soon out on the run course. 4 laps of 2.5km made it easy to eyeball the competition and know that I was continuing to put more time into 2nd with every lap. My lead bicycle tried to take me down the finish shute at 7.5km but I knew that I still had a lap to go!
I crossed the line in a very quick 2:03. I think it was a little short but I will claim it. I was over the moon because at that moment I thought it would be my last time. I felt as though I had finished on a high and close to a near perfect race.
The high lasted a number of days from both the win and the commendations I received for my speech. I was more proud about the later and so thankful to the entire committee who organised such an amazing first time event. I was soon back into the mundane routine of work, exercise and trying to have a life. With my trip to South America fast approaching I tried to continue to focus on a positive ahead rather than what was lying on the other side.
I had a review with my oncologist in early August which I had postponed for a month given I didn’t think it was very important. My oncologist isn’t offering me any treatment at this time. He is a wonderful man. They type of man you wish was your grandfather (he’s about 75). He’s kind, incredibly intelligent and so well experienced in thyroid cancer. He always starts with ‘how are you?’ and shakes my hand. I still find this question ridiculous. I am fine, but I am not fine. I still have cancer yet I look well.
‘Aside from all of this,’ I said waving my hand over my neck and chest, ‘I am fine! I won a triathlon 10 days ago,’ and then everything changed. When a doctor sits there and says to you that his recommendation would be to do nothing how was I supposed to interpret and react to that? We all knew that I still had cancer lurking in the lymph nodes behind my sternum. We have proven that with a biopsy. There is potentially still cancer in my neck too but we’ve been unable to access it for a sample.
For the first time in my life I was speechless. I didn’t know what to do, what to say, what questions to ask. I thought I should call someone and talk about these new developments in my medical management but I actually needed the hour drive back to the coast to process the new information. The fact of the matter is that the disease itself is quite stable. My blood levels (thyroglobulin) are not really changing at this point and the cancer isn’t growing rapidly on my radiological scans. Additionally, right now, I am fit and healthy with quality of life. People are so quick to say ‘just cut it out,’ without any considerations of the potential repercussions on me and my life. There are dark days where the thought does cross my mind that I’d prefer not to wake up from the next surgery rather than living with the ramifications of how it will leave me. So before you jump to say unhelpful things like ‘just cut it out’, take an extra minute or two to put yourself in my shoes and really consider how you would be feeling if you were facing something so frightening, so life-changing that you can no longer see a future beyond it. Modern medicine is profoundly advanced however surgeons are not miracle workers and there are no guarantees on a good or even a bad outcome. I know one day that this decision will probably be taken out of my hands. One day the thyroglobulin levels will elevate and the mass in my chest will start to grow or even more frightening still, that cancer will show itself in other areas like my lungs and bones.
I have been forced to evaluate so many questions that continually run through my head when I (rarely) get a moment to myself to think about it all;
Can I live with cancer?
Can I sleep knowing that it is still inside me and has potential to spread beyond where it currently is?
Can I manage every 3-6 months the sickening anxiety that plagues me when I have to have investigations and bloods done? Can I handle the waiting time between having the tests and hearing the results?
When you have conflicting information from multiple doctors at the top of their game, who do you listen to?
There is no easy answer here. No-one seems to have the right answer and I suppose it comes down to what I want and what I can or can’t live with. One thing that has resonated with me loud and above all is that; sometimes the cure is worse than the disease.
I had a review with my oncologist in early August which I had postponed for a month given I didn’t think it was very important. My oncologist isn’t offering me any treatment at this time. He is a wonderful man. They type of man you wish was your grandfather (he’s about 75). He’s kind, incredibly intelligent and so well experienced in thyroid cancer. He always starts with ‘how are you?’ and shakes my hand. I still find this question ridiculous. I am fine, but I am not fine. I still have cancer yet I look well.
‘Aside from all of this,’ I said waving my hand over my neck and chest, ‘I am fine! I won a triathlon 10 days ago,’ and then everything changed. When a doctor sits there and says to you that his recommendation would be to do nothing how was I supposed to interpret and react to that? We all knew that I still had cancer lurking in the lymph nodes behind my sternum. We have proven that with a biopsy. There is potentially still cancer in my neck too but we’ve been unable to access it for a sample.
For the first time in my life I was speechless. I didn’t know what to do, what to say, what questions to ask. I thought I should call someone and talk about these new developments in my medical management but I actually needed the hour drive back to the coast to process the new information. The fact of the matter is that the disease itself is quite stable. My blood levels (thyroglobulin) are not really changing at this point and the cancer isn’t growing rapidly on my radiological scans. Additionally, right now, I am fit and healthy with quality of life. People are so quick to say ‘just cut it out,’ without any considerations of the potential repercussions on me and my life. There are dark days where the thought does cross my mind that I’d prefer not to wake up from the next surgery rather than living with the ramifications of how it will leave me. So before you jump to say unhelpful things like ‘just cut it out’, take an extra minute or two to put yourself in my shoes and really consider how you would be feeling if you were facing something so frightening, so life-changing that you can no longer see a future beyond it. Modern medicine is profoundly advanced however surgeons are not miracle workers and there are no guarantees on a good or even a bad outcome. I know one day that this decision will probably be taken out of my hands. One day the thyroglobulin levels will elevate and the mass in my chest will start to grow or even more frightening still, that cancer will show itself in other areas like my lungs and bones.
I have been forced to evaluate so many questions that continually run through my head when I (rarely) get a moment to myself to think about it all;
Can I live with cancer?
Can I sleep knowing that it is still inside me and has potential to spread beyond where it currently is?
Can I manage every 3-6 months the sickening anxiety that plagues me when I have to have investigations and bloods done? Can I handle the waiting time between having the tests and hearing the results?
When you have conflicting information from multiple doctors at the top of their game, who do you listen to?
There is no easy answer here. No-one seems to have the right answer and I suppose it comes down to what I want and what I can or can’t live with. One thing that has resonated with me loud and above all is that; sometimes the cure is worse than the disease.
Rachie xo
Below is my speech from the Yeppoon Triathlon:
First and foremost I wanted to welcome everyone to the first Yeppoon Triathlon. I would also like to thank Glenn & Belinda for inviting me to talk tonight and I appreciate the opportunity to compete in your event tomorrow.
For those of you who don’t know me, a brief history. I have been a professional triathlete since 2009. One morning in June 2013 I got up as normal, went and swam 5km with my swim squad and went for a 10km run. At 9:30am I went to see my GP & was diagnosed with thyroid cancer. I had no signs or symptoms and I was fortunate enough that they accidently found a thyroid nodule during a physical examination by another specialist a month prior. Supposedly it was a good one to have with near 100% 5-year survival rate. I was told I would probably only need one operation, one round of radio-active iodine and it will likely never bother me again. Fast forward two years & unfortunately my papillary carcinoma hasn’t played by the rules. I have had four extensive neck operations, two failed rounds of radio-active iodine and sadly the story hasn’t ended there. 3 months ago I had a large needle inserted between my ribs to take a biopsy of a suspicious mass behind my breastbone. A week later it was confirmed that it is in fact cancer. The fight of my life continues.
But I am not here with a ‘woe me’ story and the ins and outs of my cancer. Glenn asked me to give a motivational ‘road to recovery’ talk tonight which is a little bit difficult given my situation as my road is rocky and the end is far from in sight. So I thought instead I would talk about my ‘road to reckoning’ as I felt it was more appropriate.
Adversity strikes when we least expect it. It reveals to us the true person we are deep down. It challenges us to the core and forces us to re-evaluate all we’ve ever known. When life is smooth sailing those moments fade and blend into one another and are usually the memories first to be forgotten. The times of hardship are those that will be ingrained in our memories forever. We constantly ask why do bad things happen to good people? We’ve asked it so many times it’s become cliché. But bad things do happen to good people all the time. I think I’m a fairly good person. I work in an altruistic job as a Physiotherapist helping other people every day. I lead a healthy life. I exercise regularly, I eat well, don’t smoke or take drugs and I’m nice to my mum. But Cancer doesn’t discriminate.
My memories of the past two years revolve around my surgeries, multiple admissions to hospital and then jump to racing and good times with close friends. I don’t really remember the patients that I have fixed over the past six months. However I do remember sitting on the edge of my hospital bed in December whilst my mother brushed my hair because I could barely lift my arms. I remember what I was wearing and that I was crying out of sheer disbelief. I remember riding an exercise bike for hours on end whilst I was in isolation in October 2013 during treatment. I remember waking up in the high dependency unit in July 2013 feeling as though someone had taken an axe to my neck, how painful my right heel was after resting in the same position for my 7 hour operation and the look of fear on my parents faces. And then I remember racing my first triathlon post cancer diagnosis at Bribie Island in February 2014. How I took the lead early in the bike leg and never looked back. How I had my 2nd operation days later and returned to win the next race there only 3 weeks later. How only days after being told that I had more lymph node cancer in my neck in August 2014, I did my first half marathon and ran 6th over the line. I remember running the last 2km for the win at Coffs Harbour Triathlon in March this year 3 months after my 4th major neck resection thinking “insert explicit here-you cancer”. I remember having an epic weekend in Byron Bay for my 31st birthday in June with 10 of my closest friends and the birthdays, weddings, engagements and celebrations for dear friends over the past 2 years. I remember the numerous home cooked meals made for me from the people in my support network.
To a lesser degree, the same goes for sport, specifically triathlon. We never retell stories of perfect races but rather the ones that went wrong. I don’t really remember much about the 70.3 I won in Malaysia in 2009. I do however remember standing on the side of the road for an hour in 2010 at Japan 70.3 waiting for a mechanic. Rather than pull the pin I decided to finish the race even though the other 4 pro women were an hour up the road. 6km into the run leg, I ran past one of the other pro girls walking. So even after a time consuming mechanical I still didn’t come last! When we race, sometimes things just don’t go right. Tomorrow things will go wrong for some of you. Mechanicals, flats, broken goggles, blisters, the list is endless and more often than not completely out of your control. I say to you embrace those moments. Thrive on the way in which you deal with it, react and recover from the disappointment of things not going to plan. This is training for life. There will be another race down the road where things will be smooth sailing. But those will only be mildly etched in your memories. And in the scheme of life, will it really matter? Your wife, husband and children won’t love you any less. On Monday when you go back to work your clients and colleagues won’t treat you any differently. They probably won’t even know what you did yesterday. The biggest thing you will have to accept is how you react and cope with your disappointment.
So how does one react to being told ‘you have cancer’? I can tell you it was never something that I considered being said to me, even during the week of scans and biopsies I underwent in the lead up to diagnosis. I had lost one of my good friends on her 28th birthday to cervical cancer 2 years prior. But she was really sick and had a lot of pain. I was fit, healthy and planning an international race schedule but all of a sudden I had Cancer. No-one knows how they will react in a situation like that until it happens. You just have to hope that when it’s your turn you’ll know what to do. How to cope. How to persevere. In that moment for me I went into defence mode. I gathered what was left of my composure, went for another scan and then to work to fix other people’s problems when mine were just beginning. There is no manual on how to react in times of despair and tragedy. I am often praised for the strength and courage I portray but my private moments of struggle, weakness and desolation far outweigh those of bravery. These moments are very rarely seen by others. I’ve always been a bit of an over achiever and some would say that has made me somewhat of a control freak. I’m a firm believer of you get out what you put in and at times I have been known to put in 110% at any cost in order to achieve. So I don’t cope so well living everyday with something so out of my control.
So how do I cope? How do I persevere? In the face of something I never thought I would have to go through in my late 20s I’ve learnt to embrace the hard hand dealt to me. I’m not saying that I’ve come to grips or am looking forward to the impending life changing surgery I will have to have later in the year but rather I’ve embraced the person that this hardship has moulded me into. Why should adversity be deemed as negative? Cancer for me has been a huge wake up call. To put things bluntly I’ve learnt to cut the crap and every day I am more aware of the things that matter to me. I have tightened my already close circle of friends and family to include people that offer me more than just friendship and support, they are those that go the extra mile. I have re-evaluated what I actually want from life, everything from my career to travel, from love to life experiences.
I am comfortable in talking about what’s happening, however sometimes I stupidly find it somewhat embarrassing. I don’t look sick. I don’t even feel sick. So how can it be that I have a metastatic cancer? As athletes we are quite forthcoming with telling everyone about our injuries. I’ve had two pelvic stress fractures, broke my collar bone and disrupted my AC joint in my left shoulder, however I can be a little more cagey when declaring my cancer to someone I’ve just met. It makes other people a bit uncomfortable and unsure as to how to respond. But talking about it helps me. Sometimes I don’t know how to put into words the emotions and feelings I’m experiencing. Grief, disbelief, fear and uncertainty is difficult to describe and we each feels these things differently. Writing also helps me. I have a notebook I keep to vent feelings of frustration, sadness and anger. I write a blog to keep people updated, not for a self-indulgent purpose but to help others understand what it’s like from this side and to rethink saying to someone with cancer ‘it will be ok’.
I have rediscovered my love for triathlon since being diagnosed. It was once an all-consuming obsession for me, borderline unhealthy. This will be familiar to some of you I suspect, but I used to reject social offers for training, racing and early nights. I felt like my world was falling down around me when I had a bad race, which now seems profoundly trivial. At the end of the day I was the only person losing sleep over a poor performance. That’s the thing about triathletes, we are pretty self-absorbed and in retrospect I really didn’t like the person it had morphed me into. Now triathlon and training is my main coping mechanism. It is one thing right now that I can control. I can control getting up and going for a ride or a run. I get to choose with triathlon. However, I now do it with far more balance than ever before. This time last week I was at a Hen’s Party and let’s just say no exercise was done the following day. Time with precious people should never be sacrificed in the name of training. I do savour the seconds I’m swimming, riding and running as in months to come it may no longer be possible for me. Most of the time my training isn’t in the pursuit of athletic success, but rather for a therapeutic purpose. It keeps me healthy leading into more surgery and is my opportunity to expel my ‘why me’ anger to make sure I don’t take it out in the work place. It’s my thinking time to plan for my trip to South America in October, for surgery on my return and my life thereafter. That life is filled with new opportunities. I’m already planning to learn how to surf, trading my beloved time trial bike for a roadie and possibly going back to university.
One day I will look back on this stage in my life and say I fought like a trooper. That over a number of years I managed to race triathlon at a high level, I even won some races, the whole time with a massive monkey on my back. For now I will race and enjoy with what time I have left. I have some time to spare as my cancer is growing slowly but I will have another significant and life changing operation later this year. With major thoracic surgery and a likely vocal cord paralysis there is an enormous possibility that triathlon is soon coming to an end for me. Unfortunately the end of my professional triathlon career is not on my terms.
Tomorrow I will try to imprint the moment I cross that finish line, regardless of the result because for me it will be likely to be one of the last times. So cherish the moments you have ability to do something you love. I know I sure do. I wish you all the best mechanical luck for your races tomorrow. Don’t forget to give your support crew a wave and a smile when you are out on course and when the going gets tough embrace it.
Below is my speech from the Yeppoon Triathlon:
First and foremost I wanted to welcome everyone to the first Yeppoon Triathlon. I would also like to thank Glenn & Belinda for inviting me to talk tonight and I appreciate the opportunity to compete in your event tomorrow.
For those of you who don’t know me, a brief history. I have been a professional triathlete since 2009. One morning in June 2013 I got up as normal, went and swam 5km with my swim squad and went for a 10km run. At 9:30am I went to see my GP & was diagnosed with thyroid cancer. I had no signs or symptoms and I was fortunate enough that they accidently found a thyroid nodule during a physical examination by another specialist a month prior. Supposedly it was a good one to have with near 100% 5-year survival rate. I was told I would probably only need one operation, one round of radio-active iodine and it will likely never bother me again. Fast forward two years & unfortunately my papillary carcinoma hasn’t played by the rules. I have had four extensive neck operations, two failed rounds of radio-active iodine and sadly the story hasn’t ended there. 3 months ago I had a large needle inserted between my ribs to take a biopsy of a suspicious mass behind my breastbone. A week later it was confirmed that it is in fact cancer. The fight of my life continues.
But I am not here with a ‘woe me’ story and the ins and outs of my cancer. Glenn asked me to give a motivational ‘road to recovery’ talk tonight which is a little bit difficult given my situation as my road is rocky and the end is far from in sight. So I thought instead I would talk about my ‘road to reckoning’ as I felt it was more appropriate.
Adversity strikes when we least expect it. It reveals to us the true person we are deep down. It challenges us to the core and forces us to re-evaluate all we’ve ever known. When life is smooth sailing those moments fade and blend into one another and are usually the memories first to be forgotten. The times of hardship are those that will be ingrained in our memories forever. We constantly ask why do bad things happen to good people? We’ve asked it so many times it’s become cliché. But bad things do happen to good people all the time. I think I’m a fairly good person. I work in an altruistic job as a Physiotherapist helping other people every day. I lead a healthy life. I exercise regularly, I eat well, don’t smoke or take drugs and I’m nice to my mum. But Cancer doesn’t discriminate.
My memories of the past two years revolve around my surgeries, multiple admissions to hospital and then jump to racing and good times with close friends. I don’t really remember the patients that I have fixed over the past six months. However I do remember sitting on the edge of my hospital bed in December whilst my mother brushed my hair because I could barely lift my arms. I remember what I was wearing and that I was crying out of sheer disbelief. I remember riding an exercise bike for hours on end whilst I was in isolation in October 2013 during treatment. I remember waking up in the high dependency unit in July 2013 feeling as though someone had taken an axe to my neck, how painful my right heel was after resting in the same position for my 7 hour operation and the look of fear on my parents faces. And then I remember racing my first triathlon post cancer diagnosis at Bribie Island in February 2014. How I took the lead early in the bike leg and never looked back. How I had my 2nd operation days later and returned to win the next race there only 3 weeks later. How only days after being told that I had more lymph node cancer in my neck in August 2014, I did my first half marathon and ran 6th over the line. I remember running the last 2km for the win at Coffs Harbour Triathlon in March this year 3 months after my 4th major neck resection thinking “insert explicit here-you cancer”. I remember having an epic weekend in Byron Bay for my 31st birthday in June with 10 of my closest friends and the birthdays, weddings, engagements and celebrations for dear friends over the past 2 years. I remember the numerous home cooked meals made for me from the people in my support network.
To a lesser degree, the same goes for sport, specifically triathlon. We never retell stories of perfect races but rather the ones that went wrong. I don’t really remember much about the 70.3 I won in Malaysia in 2009. I do however remember standing on the side of the road for an hour in 2010 at Japan 70.3 waiting for a mechanic. Rather than pull the pin I decided to finish the race even though the other 4 pro women were an hour up the road. 6km into the run leg, I ran past one of the other pro girls walking. So even after a time consuming mechanical I still didn’t come last! When we race, sometimes things just don’t go right. Tomorrow things will go wrong for some of you. Mechanicals, flats, broken goggles, blisters, the list is endless and more often than not completely out of your control. I say to you embrace those moments. Thrive on the way in which you deal with it, react and recover from the disappointment of things not going to plan. This is training for life. There will be another race down the road where things will be smooth sailing. But those will only be mildly etched in your memories. And in the scheme of life, will it really matter? Your wife, husband and children won’t love you any less. On Monday when you go back to work your clients and colleagues won’t treat you any differently. They probably won’t even know what you did yesterday. The biggest thing you will have to accept is how you react and cope with your disappointment.
So how does one react to being told ‘you have cancer’? I can tell you it was never something that I considered being said to me, even during the week of scans and biopsies I underwent in the lead up to diagnosis. I had lost one of my good friends on her 28th birthday to cervical cancer 2 years prior. But she was really sick and had a lot of pain. I was fit, healthy and planning an international race schedule but all of a sudden I had Cancer. No-one knows how they will react in a situation like that until it happens. You just have to hope that when it’s your turn you’ll know what to do. How to cope. How to persevere. In that moment for me I went into defence mode. I gathered what was left of my composure, went for another scan and then to work to fix other people’s problems when mine were just beginning. There is no manual on how to react in times of despair and tragedy. I am often praised for the strength and courage I portray but my private moments of struggle, weakness and desolation far outweigh those of bravery. These moments are very rarely seen by others. I’ve always been a bit of an over achiever and some would say that has made me somewhat of a control freak. I’m a firm believer of you get out what you put in and at times I have been known to put in 110% at any cost in order to achieve. So I don’t cope so well living everyday with something so out of my control.
So how do I cope? How do I persevere? In the face of something I never thought I would have to go through in my late 20s I’ve learnt to embrace the hard hand dealt to me. I’m not saying that I’ve come to grips or am looking forward to the impending life changing surgery I will have to have later in the year but rather I’ve embraced the person that this hardship has moulded me into. Why should adversity be deemed as negative? Cancer for me has been a huge wake up call. To put things bluntly I’ve learnt to cut the crap and every day I am more aware of the things that matter to me. I have tightened my already close circle of friends and family to include people that offer me more than just friendship and support, they are those that go the extra mile. I have re-evaluated what I actually want from life, everything from my career to travel, from love to life experiences.
I am comfortable in talking about what’s happening, however sometimes I stupidly find it somewhat embarrassing. I don’t look sick. I don’t even feel sick. So how can it be that I have a metastatic cancer? As athletes we are quite forthcoming with telling everyone about our injuries. I’ve had two pelvic stress fractures, broke my collar bone and disrupted my AC joint in my left shoulder, however I can be a little more cagey when declaring my cancer to someone I’ve just met. It makes other people a bit uncomfortable and unsure as to how to respond. But talking about it helps me. Sometimes I don’t know how to put into words the emotions and feelings I’m experiencing. Grief, disbelief, fear and uncertainty is difficult to describe and we each feels these things differently. Writing also helps me. I have a notebook I keep to vent feelings of frustration, sadness and anger. I write a blog to keep people updated, not for a self-indulgent purpose but to help others understand what it’s like from this side and to rethink saying to someone with cancer ‘it will be ok’.
I have rediscovered my love for triathlon since being diagnosed. It was once an all-consuming obsession for me, borderline unhealthy. This will be familiar to some of you I suspect, but I used to reject social offers for training, racing and early nights. I felt like my world was falling down around me when I had a bad race, which now seems profoundly trivial. At the end of the day I was the only person losing sleep over a poor performance. That’s the thing about triathletes, we are pretty self-absorbed and in retrospect I really didn’t like the person it had morphed me into. Now triathlon and training is my main coping mechanism. It is one thing right now that I can control. I can control getting up and going for a ride or a run. I get to choose with triathlon. However, I now do it with far more balance than ever before. This time last week I was at a Hen’s Party and let’s just say no exercise was done the following day. Time with precious people should never be sacrificed in the name of training. I do savour the seconds I’m swimming, riding and running as in months to come it may no longer be possible for me. Most of the time my training isn’t in the pursuit of athletic success, but rather for a therapeutic purpose. It keeps me healthy leading into more surgery and is my opportunity to expel my ‘why me’ anger to make sure I don’t take it out in the work place. It’s my thinking time to plan for my trip to South America in October, for surgery on my return and my life thereafter. That life is filled with new opportunities. I’m already planning to learn how to surf, trading my beloved time trial bike for a roadie and possibly going back to university.
One day I will look back on this stage in my life and say I fought like a trooper. That over a number of years I managed to race triathlon at a high level, I even won some races, the whole time with a massive monkey on my back. For now I will race and enjoy with what time I have left. I have some time to spare as my cancer is growing slowly but I will have another significant and life changing operation later this year. With major thoracic surgery and a likely vocal cord paralysis there is an enormous possibility that triathlon is soon coming to an end for me. Unfortunately the end of my professional triathlon career is not on my terms.
Tomorrow I will try to imprint the moment I cross that finish line, regardless of the result because for me it will be likely to be one of the last times. So cherish the moments you have ability to do something you love. I know I sure do. I wish you all the best mechanical luck for your races tomorrow. Don’t forget to give your support crew a wave and a smile when you are out on course and when the going gets tough embrace it.
White noise, lies, hard truths and planning for a life there after
14th July 2015
I hate liars. I have always valued people on their honesty. So for someone who doesn’t like them, I’ve become a pretty good one of late. Most of my patients ask how I am, to which the socially acceptable reply I usually give them,
‘Good thanks,’
What a horrible, dirty little lie I repeat time and time again, hour after hour, day after day, week after week.
Yeah. I’m fine. No really. Everything is super. The biopsy I had of my suspicious mass in my mediastinum (between my lungs) has proven to be cancer. I’m wonderful. This has been quite possibly one of my biggest fears since learning of this suspicious deposit in October last year. Now it has been confirmed. It is in fact metastatic cancer, cancer that has spread from where it first started. I will now face my biggest, most aggressive and invasive surgery later this year which will bring with it incredible repercussions and mandatory life adjustments. Yeah I am awesome. How would people react to that response? Not very professional is it? But the truth doesn’t take into consideration being professional does it? And cancer, in short, makes most people uncomfortable.
I started a race report blog months ago. An upbeat blog about how I went back and raced Noumea International Triathlon for the 5th time. How a younger athlete ran me down at 7km on the run leg and how years of experience, mentally toughness and sheer determination gave me the upper hand to run away from her and take 3rd place. And how I then raced Fraser Coast Triathlon at Hervey Bay and had a solid day to finish 2nd to an Olympian, even clocking the fastest female run split. All this was quickly overshadowed by what happened in the following weeks.
I hate liars. I have always valued people on their honesty. So for someone who doesn’t like them, I’ve become a pretty good one of late. Most of my patients ask how I am, to which the socially acceptable reply I usually give them,
‘Good thanks,’
What a horrible, dirty little lie I repeat time and time again, hour after hour, day after day, week after week.
Yeah. I’m fine. No really. Everything is super. The biopsy I had of my suspicious mass in my mediastinum (between my lungs) has proven to be cancer. I’m wonderful. This has been quite possibly one of my biggest fears since learning of this suspicious deposit in October last year. Now it has been confirmed. It is in fact metastatic cancer, cancer that has spread from where it first started. I will now face my biggest, most aggressive and invasive surgery later this year which will bring with it incredible repercussions and mandatory life adjustments. Yeah I am awesome. How would people react to that response? Not very professional is it? But the truth doesn’t take into consideration being professional does it? And cancer, in short, makes most people uncomfortable.
I started a race report blog months ago. An upbeat blog about how I went back and raced Noumea International Triathlon for the 5th time. How a younger athlete ran me down at 7km on the run leg and how years of experience, mentally toughness and sheer determination gave me the upper hand to run away from her and take 3rd place. And how I then raced Fraser Coast Triathlon at Hervey Bay and had a solid day to finish 2nd to an Olympian, even clocking the fastest female run split. All this was quickly overshadowed by what happened in the following weeks.
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Breathe in and hold your breath. Don’t breathe or swallow. ‘Injection going in’, Breath in and hold your breath. Don’t breathe or swallow. Every time I have a contrast CT I feel like I wet myself. They actually warn you that this is a normal sensation of the scan. An injection of iodine enters my bloodstream, quickly followed up with the smell in my nose and then the taste of it in my mouth. A few seconds later and there is this warmth between my legs that feels like I have peed myself. The process is actually really fast. A scan, an injection, a scan and repeat. I hate every single moment of this process now. In my past track record these things only lead to bad news. The good news was that my CT in April showed the two questionable deposits had not changed in size since last year however the interventionalist (radiologist) was confident in being able to take a sample of the mass behind my sternum. So a few weeks later I went back to RBWH radiology. Quite scared. They were going to take a biopsy of something behind my breastbone whilst I lay awake on the table. Thankfully after a local anaesthetic I didn’t feel the giant needle the doctor put between my ribs and into the suspicious mass, nor the multiple fine needle aspirations taken via the giant needle.
A week went by and no word on the results. I was told pathology would likely be back within 2-4 days so when 7 days had gone by I thought it probably timely to chase up the verdict. I sent my surgeon a text between patients on Wednesday and soon received the message: “Unfortunately the pathology confirms papillary carcinoma…..” All I heard was white noise and a sickening numbness take hold of me. I was there, but I was not there. I could barely stand. Yet I had a full afternoon of clients booked. That day I repeatedly asked my clients the same question in a span of minutes. I started to put an ankle strapping on in reverse before realising that something I do day in and day out was no longer an easy process for me. I blanked out when people started whinging about their arthritic knees when they continued to live a lifestyle of obesity. The day was not helped by my father’s reaction of ‘well they’ll just have to split your chest open and it should be done as soon as possible’.
For four days all I heard was static. My teeth hurt, from grinding and clenching. My head ached constantly with a full pre-frontal cortex that was overloaded with stress. If I wasn't drinking I certainly wasn't hearing anything being said to me. I am still struggling to listen to or process anything anyone says to me.
That Wednesday night I got drunk for the first time in months. Two days after that I was pretty tipsy and the next night after that completely written off. I was in good company (Sarah I don’t know what I’d do without my number one wing woman) which helped drown out the white noise and the pounding in my head which is still there now. But once the drunken haze had passed nothing could take away the astounding abyss that lay in front of me.
Okay cancer you win. You have struck me down multiple times the past two years and I've defiantly rebuilt myself physically and mentally to give you the angry bird but this time you will have the upper hand. At the end of the year I will have major surgery.
A sternotomy. A cardio thoracic surgeon will split my breastbone open, go into my thorax and remove lymph node cancer from my chest. This will have grave repercussions on my ability to swim and run as I’ll be left with altered thoracic mechanics, movement and range. Work will be out of the question for several months. I am not a big person, yet I treat enormous people from time to time. Having had my sternum split, lifting obese legs will not be ideal rehabilitation as sternal instability is a risk if I do too much too soon.
At the same time I will undergo my fifth neck dissection as there is still a para-tracheal deposit lying on the right side of my neck. Due to its position it is difficult to biopsy but given my history I’m sure the bastard is sinister. To remove this mass it is more than likely I will be left with a permanent right sided recurrent laryngeal nerve injury. This means a paralysed vocal cord and voice changes. The voice I've had for 31 years will be altered forever.
A paralysed vocal cord will also cause permanent coverage of half my airway making exercising at intensity pretty much impossible. My time as a professional triathlete and all those goals and aspirations of returning to a competitive half Ironman athlete having beaten cancer will be quashed with the slice of a knife. The gut- wrenching fact is that it won't be on my terms. I will lose part of my identity. Rachael Paxton triathlete will be laid to rest. And no, I won’t just roll around courses to make up the numbers because that is not me. My ethos is all or nothing. What’s the point of doing something if you can’t do it properly?
And the scars. I can almost pick the moment now when people I meet for the first time register that something has happened to me in order to have a 20cm incision around my neck. Now I will also have a whopper on my chest too. The adhesions in my neck are bad enough now. Another hack at it may leave me quite restricted in movement due to excessive scar tissue. These also come with a horrendously painful, ripping sensation when I move my neck. It would be so much better if my scars were from trauma. An accident seems to make people handle them a little better, because you’re still standing on the other side. When you tell people it’s from cancer they usually say to me; ‘but you’re ok now right?’ Ha, the million dollar question. With a pretty bleak answer.
People say to me 'it will be ok'. This statement completely unravels me. You’ll be okay because it’s not happening to you. It’s happening to me. And it will not be ok. Yes I will make something of my life on the other side but I'm yet to accept that it will be ok. Because right now, it doesn't sound like an 'ok' life to me. Most days I still can't believe that this is happening. It all feels like a sick joke or a bad nightmare. I do ask; what have I done to deserve this? Is a higher power making an example of me? Am I going to be one of those 'what a sad story' you hear about and not be around to tell the tale myself? Fuck, I may die. And to most people this really won't matter. Unlike the friend of mine with an aggressive brain tumour, she has a husband and two beautiful children. I tell you what; it really makes you take a look at your life, those that are in it and begs you to ask the question: who will really miss me if I don't make it through?
So don't tell me it will be okay. Because right now it’s not okay.
Don’t tell me about the retiree you know that’s had a sternotomy. A 70 year old with a heart condition is very different to a 31 year old female who is a physiotherapist and professional triathlete.
Don't tell me how I should feel and not to be angry.
Don’t tell me YOU got anxiety because I got sick.
Don’t give me medical or health advice. If you know more than the best thyroid oncologist, ENT and Cardio-thoracic surgeons in QLD then by all means but if you don’t, shut your mouth and close Dr Google.
Don’t tell me work is a good distraction, it is not. I resent my job for wasting my last normal days of life pre-surgery. If I could I'd chase every race on the circuit until the day of the operation however that is unlikely to pay my bills. This I will most probably regret. I am replaceable at my place of work. Would they miss me if I quit or died? Unlikely. Is the time I'm spending there in my current state replaceable? No it is not. Reading that out loud makes me so incredibly disappointed with myself for living in such a way that I never thought I would. Wasting my time and life with something so unimportant when I could be making the most of my final fully functional months doing things and a sport that are the center of my being. However, being sick is bloody expensive. I will have to pay gaps for my surgery. I will take an extended period of time off work without income because here’s the cracker of the conundrum, because I’ve worked hard over the years I’ve been fighting cancer, I have too much money in the bank and therefore don’t meet criteria for sickness benefits.
So what can you do? What you can do is.... Christ I don't know anymore. Pour my glass full of wine. Feed me good food, chocolate, cake and coffee. Plan mini-breaks, social get-togethers and non-triathlon related adventures to help me plan and fulfill my life there-after. Talk to me as though I don't have cancer. Tell me about relationships, travel, life goals and aspirations and where you see yourself in ten years time. Remind me that maybe you’d like to still have me around in another 10 years.
A week went by and no word on the results. I was told pathology would likely be back within 2-4 days so when 7 days had gone by I thought it probably timely to chase up the verdict. I sent my surgeon a text between patients on Wednesday and soon received the message: “Unfortunately the pathology confirms papillary carcinoma…..” All I heard was white noise and a sickening numbness take hold of me. I was there, but I was not there. I could barely stand. Yet I had a full afternoon of clients booked. That day I repeatedly asked my clients the same question in a span of minutes. I started to put an ankle strapping on in reverse before realising that something I do day in and day out was no longer an easy process for me. I blanked out when people started whinging about their arthritic knees when they continued to live a lifestyle of obesity. The day was not helped by my father’s reaction of ‘well they’ll just have to split your chest open and it should be done as soon as possible’.
For four days all I heard was static. My teeth hurt, from grinding and clenching. My head ached constantly with a full pre-frontal cortex that was overloaded with stress. If I wasn't drinking I certainly wasn't hearing anything being said to me. I am still struggling to listen to or process anything anyone says to me.
That Wednesday night I got drunk for the first time in months. Two days after that I was pretty tipsy and the next night after that completely written off. I was in good company (Sarah I don’t know what I’d do without my number one wing woman) which helped drown out the white noise and the pounding in my head which is still there now. But once the drunken haze had passed nothing could take away the astounding abyss that lay in front of me.
Okay cancer you win. You have struck me down multiple times the past two years and I've defiantly rebuilt myself physically and mentally to give you the angry bird but this time you will have the upper hand. At the end of the year I will have major surgery.
A sternotomy. A cardio thoracic surgeon will split my breastbone open, go into my thorax and remove lymph node cancer from my chest. This will have grave repercussions on my ability to swim and run as I’ll be left with altered thoracic mechanics, movement and range. Work will be out of the question for several months. I am not a big person, yet I treat enormous people from time to time. Having had my sternum split, lifting obese legs will not be ideal rehabilitation as sternal instability is a risk if I do too much too soon.
At the same time I will undergo my fifth neck dissection as there is still a para-tracheal deposit lying on the right side of my neck. Due to its position it is difficult to biopsy but given my history I’m sure the bastard is sinister. To remove this mass it is more than likely I will be left with a permanent right sided recurrent laryngeal nerve injury. This means a paralysed vocal cord and voice changes. The voice I've had for 31 years will be altered forever.
A paralysed vocal cord will also cause permanent coverage of half my airway making exercising at intensity pretty much impossible. My time as a professional triathlete and all those goals and aspirations of returning to a competitive half Ironman athlete having beaten cancer will be quashed with the slice of a knife. The gut- wrenching fact is that it won't be on my terms. I will lose part of my identity. Rachael Paxton triathlete will be laid to rest. And no, I won’t just roll around courses to make up the numbers because that is not me. My ethos is all or nothing. What’s the point of doing something if you can’t do it properly?
And the scars. I can almost pick the moment now when people I meet for the first time register that something has happened to me in order to have a 20cm incision around my neck. Now I will also have a whopper on my chest too. The adhesions in my neck are bad enough now. Another hack at it may leave me quite restricted in movement due to excessive scar tissue. These also come with a horrendously painful, ripping sensation when I move my neck. It would be so much better if my scars were from trauma. An accident seems to make people handle them a little better, because you’re still standing on the other side. When you tell people it’s from cancer they usually say to me; ‘but you’re ok now right?’ Ha, the million dollar question. With a pretty bleak answer.
People say to me 'it will be ok'. This statement completely unravels me. You’ll be okay because it’s not happening to you. It’s happening to me. And it will not be ok. Yes I will make something of my life on the other side but I'm yet to accept that it will be ok. Because right now, it doesn't sound like an 'ok' life to me. Most days I still can't believe that this is happening. It all feels like a sick joke or a bad nightmare. I do ask; what have I done to deserve this? Is a higher power making an example of me? Am I going to be one of those 'what a sad story' you hear about and not be around to tell the tale myself? Fuck, I may die. And to most people this really won't matter. Unlike the friend of mine with an aggressive brain tumour, she has a husband and two beautiful children. I tell you what; it really makes you take a look at your life, those that are in it and begs you to ask the question: who will really miss me if I don't make it through?
So don't tell me it will be okay. Because right now it’s not okay.
Don’t tell me about the retiree you know that’s had a sternotomy. A 70 year old with a heart condition is very different to a 31 year old female who is a physiotherapist and professional triathlete.
Don't tell me how I should feel and not to be angry.
Don’t tell me YOU got anxiety because I got sick.
Don’t give me medical or health advice. If you know more than the best thyroid oncologist, ENT and Cardio-thoracic surgeons in QLD then by all means but if you don’t, shut your mouth and close Dr Google.
Don’t tell me work is a good distraction, it is not. I resent my job for wasting my last normal days of life pre-surgery. If I could I'd chase every race on the circuit until the day of the operation however that is unlikely to pay my bills. This I will most probably regret. I am replaceable at my place of work. Would they miss me if I quit or died? Unlikely. Is the time I'm spending there in my current state replaceable? No it is not. Reading that out loud makes me so incredibly disappointed with myself for living in such a way that I never thought I would. Wasting my time and life with something so unimportant when I could be making the most of my final fully functional months doing things and a sport that are the center of my being. However, being sick is bloody expensive. I will have to pay gaps for my surgery. I will take an extended period of time off work without income because here’s the cracker of the conundrum, because I’ve worked hard over the years I’ve been fighting cancer, I have too much money in the bank and therefore don’t meet criteria for sickness benefits.
So what can you do? What you can do is.... Christ I don't know anymore. Pour my glass full of wine. Feed me good food, chocolate, cake and coffee. Plan mini-breaks, social get-togethers and non-triathlon related adventures to help me plan and fulfill my life there-after. Talk to me as though I don't have cancer. Tell me about relationships, travel, life goals and aspirations and where you see yourself in ten years time. Remind me that maybe you’d like to still have me around in another 10 years.
My little light for this year is that my surgeons have allowed me to still go on my trip to South America in October. I booked this trip from my recovery bed in hospital in December last year. Much to the disappointment to my parent’s, this is my priority for the year. I feel that I will be the one who will be affected by the consequences of waiting a few extra months to have this operation done. We have been aware of the masses in my chest and neck since October last year. They haven’t really changed in size at all and there are no new areas of disease have been identified since. So really it probably doesn’t make too much of a difference if I have the op done now or at the end of the year. So I choose travel. I choose to take five weeks with my incredible friend to go on an adventure because living with regret is quite possibly worse than living with cancer.
I don't regret a thing I've done, only those I didn't do. I wish I had made the jump and done an Ironman. I wish I had accepted my four slots to race as a professional athlete at 70.3 world champs in 2009, 2010, 2011 and 2012 and my slot to Hy-Vee 5150 in 2014. I wish I had taken six months off one year to go and race in Europe. I wish I had been pushy in seeking out the coach I'd always dreamed of having. That dream came all too close after talks with him at the end of 2012 and finding myself working towards it until the day of diagnosis. And now it's all slipping away and there is nothing I can do about it. I am healthy, I am fit, I am strong. I will train for hours tomorrow and am prepping for a race in two weeks. But I am sick. I have a cancer that can kill me. It doesn't make me sick but has potential to make living difficult if I don't undergo the drastic measures to rid myself of this fucker. I don't know how to function. I don't know how to be a normal person because I don't feel normal. I struggle to rejoice in other people’s times of happiness when I feel so cheated, so forgotten and so incredibly broken. I find myself unable to empathize with trivial complaints and have to sometimes physically restrain myself from eye rolling or screaming 'are you f*$king serious?!' Every day I feel my job is on the line because of my mental state. Yet somehow I stay 100% professional in my workplace. I put on a front that everything is ok. I get out of bed, I train, I get dressed, I go to work, I train, catch up with friends and function like I am ok. If you don’t know me then you would think nothing is wrong. But something is wrong. Majorly wrong. Every day there is that moment when I get into bed. That moment where I am then alone to think about what is happening, what will happen and who I will be and how my life will be after this. That moment is the worst moment of them all.
Rachie xo
I don't regret a thing I've done, only those I didn't do. I wish I had made the jump and done an Ironman. I wish I had accepted my four slots to race as a professional athlete at 70.3 world champs in 2009, 2010, 2011 and 2012 and my slot to Hy-Vee 5150 in 2014. I wish I had taken six months off one year to go and race in Europe. I wish I had been pushy in seeking out the coach I'd always dreamed of having. That dream came all too close after talks with him at the end of 2012 and finding myself working towards it until the day of diagnosis. And now it's all slipping away and there is nothing I can do about it. I am healthy, I am fit, I am strong. I will train for hours tomorrow and am prepping for a race in two weeks. But I am sick. I have a cancer that can kill me. It doesn't make me sick but has potential to make living difficult if I don't undergo the drastic measures to rid myself of this fucker. I don't know how to function. I don't know how to be a normal person because I don't feel normal. I struggle to rejoice in other people’s times of happiness when I feel so cheated, so forgotten and so incredibly broken. I find myself unable to empathize with trivial complaints and have to sometimes physically restrain myself from eye rolling or screaming 'are you f*$king serious?!' Every day I feel my job is on the line because of my mental state. Yet somehow I stay 100% professional in my workplace. I put on a front that everything is ok. I get out of bed, I train, I get dressed, I go to work, I train, catch up with friends and function like I am ok. If you don’t know me then you would think nothing is wrong. But something is wrong. Majorly wrong. Every day there is that moment when I get into bed. That moment where I am then alone to think about what is happening, what will happen and who I will be and how my life will be after this. That moment is the worst moment of them all.
Rachie xo
Open your eyes
19th April 2015
Open your eyes.
Take a good look around you.
How’s the view?
Do you like what you see?
Think back again to when you were little.
Are you living the life you pictured for yourself?
Or are you still dreaming of something even bigger?
(Meredith Grey)
I’m not ashamed to say I’m a huge Grey’s Anatomy fan. I have seen every episode released some more than once. What girl doesn’t want to find her own McDreamy or McSteamy? I love the little segments at the beginning and end of each show where one of the characters gives some type of philosophical speech about life. I have written numerous quotes down that resonate with me, the one above being the most recent. I, for one, am still dreaming of something bigger. I am sitting in limbo with a blurred vision of the future. What’s to come? What do I want for myself? I am so far from living the life I imagined, but aren’t we all? No-one can envisage what the future holds. No-one knows where they will be in ten years time, nor do we know who we will be as we are clueless when it comes to foreseeing what will happen to shape our lives and who we become. Even amongst all the hardships I wouldn’t change a thing. I still see myself as lucky. I am lucky to have friends and family who I can lean upon. Lucky to have my voice, the use of my body and be able to exercise, work, socialise and travel. I am lucky to still be able to makes plans for the future.
Yet again it’s been a while between posts and for good reason. I started a post a month ago however at the time I wasn’t in the space to be writing about my return to racing triathlon, life and my ongoing private war. There was a lot happening that didn’t need to be said to the general public so once again I called upon those who are always so ready to be there. Now, a month on, I’m in a better state of mind to be sharing. A weekend in Sydney for a physiotherapy course and some time to think and write.
Open your eyes.
Take a good look around you.
How’s the view?
Do you like what you see?
Think back again to when you were little.
Are you living the life you pictured for yourself?
Or are you still dreaming of something even bigger?
(Meredith Grey)
I’m not ashamed to say I’m a huge Grey’s Anatomy fan. I have seen every episode released some more than once. What girl doesn’t want to find her own McDreamy or McSteamy? I love the little segments at the beginning and end of each show where one of the characters gives some type of philosophical speech about life. I have written numerous quotes down that resonate with me, the one above being the most recent. I, for one, am still dreaming of something bigger. I am sitting in limbo with a blurred vision of the future. What’s to come? What do I want for myself? I am so far from living the life I imagined, but aren’t we all? No-one can envisage what the future holds. No-one knows where they will be in ten years time, nor do we know who we will be as we are clueless when it comes to foreseeing what will happen to shape our lives and who we become. Even amongst all the hardships I wouldn’t change a thing. I still see myself as lucky. I am lucky to have friends and family who I can lean upon. Lucky to have my voice, the use of my body and be able to exercise, work, socialise and travel. I am lucky to still be able to makes plans for the future.
Yet again it’s been a while between posts and for good reason. I started a post a month ago however at the time I wasn’t in the space to be writing about my return to racing triathlon, life and my ongoing private war. There was a lot happening that didn’t need to be said to the general public so once again I called upon those who are always so ready to be there. Now, a month on, I’m in a better state of mind to be sharing. A weekend in Sydney for a physiotherapy course and some time to think and write.
On the 1st of March, on a whim, I decided to enter a race. As soon as I hit confirm payment on the entry I started to get a sore throat, then a blocked nose and then a chesty cough with the race less than a week away. The whole lead up to the event was less than ideal. To add to the pre-race stress I had my feared review with my surgeon the Tuesday before the race. This always elicits a rise in the anxiety levels, shortening of my fuse and lack of empathy at work. I knew that bad news would not be possible due to the fact that I hadn’t had any scans, bloods or tests in the lead up that would reveal anything sinister however I knew the time had come that I couldn’t really avoid further investigation. Being able to put that kind of emotional and mental stress aside to get my head in the race is hard. I feel myself falling into a hole after these types of appointments and rage build inside. This disease has me so confined to being here. I have to be close to CT machines, close to doctors, close to hospitals and am therefore so restricted in being able to make any future plans. I try my hardest to not let it dictate my life, plans and what I want to do over the coming year, however there’s always still that lingering question of what if? What if the ‘deposit’ in my chest has grown? What if more lymph node disease shows up in my neck? What if it has spread to my lungs or bones? What if? But living in the ‘what ifs’ is not really conducive to moving forwards and so I took myself down to Coffs Harbour, telling only a handful of people what I was doing in case it all went wrong or my body decided not to play the game. What was the point anyway? I know I have people judging me for pushing myself too hard in the midst of cancer treatment but if it’s of no detriment then why not? If I don’t train, I don’t cope. If I don’t cope, I fail to participate in life, work and function as a human. I train to exude my anger at the world without taking it out in the workplace and ending up being fired. I vowed to myself that regardless of how I felt come the Sunday morning I would be toeing the start line on the beach. I knew I wasn’t fit and didn’t bank on being overly competitive out there but I also knew that I wouldn’t be ‘taking it easy’ on myself, nor would I expect anything less than my best.
Why do bad things happen to good people?
We’ve asked that question so often it’s become a cliché.
But that’s because bad things do happen to good people. Constantly.
You just have to hope that when it’s your turn you’ll know what to do.
How to cope.
How to persevere.
But the truth is you don’t know how you will react to your worst case scenario.
None of us do.
Not until it happens.
(Meredith Grey)
I stayed with my friends Pip and Justin in Lennox on Friday night, had a lovely meal and hours of catching up before crashing hard. The next day I felt a little under the weather whilst setting up my bike on the turbo & may have even had a couple of little vomits before doing my ride/ run. I had breaky with my old housemate Ben before heading off to Coffs. I stopped off at the MacLean pool for a 30 minute swim and arrived at Coffs Harbour around 2:30pm feeling rather exhausted. I finally put my feet up for an hour before driving over the bike course which was worth more than you know. I picked up some Thai which I enjoyed over the latest Grey’s Anatomy episode followed by my mandatory pre-race ice-cream before crashing out before 9pm, which was actually 8pm QLD time! I couldn’t believe how rested I felt the next morning at 4:45am. My cold was almost gone and I felt excited by the prospect of racing.
Next thing it was 7:45am and I was running into the harbour with the other open men and women. I had a terrible start! I really need to work on my beach starts. I was so far off the mark and think I was quite possibly the last one into the water. I soon found my groove and knew I was swimming in about 3rd place with two girls on my feet. I knew that two of the girls were good swimmers and would be well out in front of me considering I haven’t been to squad in 5 months. I exited in 4th place and was onto the bike in 3rd. At the end of the first lap I managed to get a time check to first which had blown out from 2.5minutes to 5mins over 20km. This shocked me as I felt really strong on the bike. I had, however, ridden significant time into 2nd. I came into T2 in arm’s reach of 2nd place and hit the run with little expectation of running fast. I moved into 2nd place within 500m and set out on the hunt for first. I tried not to focus on how much time I had lost on the bike. Heading out to the far turn around on the first run lap an open male competitor yelled out to me, ‘first place cut the course’ but it didn’t register until I saw Holly running back towards me. She stopped as I drew closer and said ‘I cut the course, you’re actually in first.’ I was motivated even more by this but also encouraged by the fact of her honesty and sportsmanship in the situation. Holly had missed a small out and back section at the end of the first bike lap which explained her huge increase in her lead over the first 20km. I ran hard, but not fast and at the final turnaround 2km from the finish I knew I’d have to break a leg or pass out to lose it. I felt a surge of anger rise in me with a pounding ‘fuck you cancer’ in my head as I ran to cross the finish line. Bloody shoes, aching muscles and pure elation coursed through me with my little win at Coffs Harbour. People ask me all the time, why do you do this? I reply ‘there’s no better feeling than when you cross that finish line.’ To have that feeling again, coupled with taking a win was priceless.
Why do bad things happen to good people?
We’ve asked that question so often it’s become a cliché.
But that’s because bad things do happen to good people. Constantly.
You just have to hope that when it’s your turn you’ll know what to do.
How to cope.
How to persevere.
But the truth is you don’t know how you will react to your worst case scenario.
None of us do.
Not until it happens.
(Meredith Grey)
I stayed with my friends Pip and Justin in Lennox on Friday night, had a lovely meal and hours of catching up before crashing hard. The next day I felt a little under the weather whilst setting up my bike on the turbo & may have even had a couple of little vomits before doing my ride/ run. I had breaky with my old housemate Ben before heading off to Coffs. I stopped off at the MacLean pool for a 30 minute swim and arrived at Coffs Harbour around 2:30pm feeling rather exhausted. I finally put my feet up for an hour before driving over the bike course which was worth more than you know. I picked up some Thai which I enjoyed over the latest Grey’s Anatomy episode followed by my mandatory pre-race ice-cream before crashing out before 9pm, which was actually 8pm QLD time! I couldn’t believe how rested I felt the next morning at 4:45am. My cold was almost gone and I felt excited by the prospect of racing.
Next thing it was 7:45am and I was running into the harbour with the other open men and women. I had a terrible start! I really need to work on my beach starts. I was so far off the mark and think I was quite possibly the last one into the water. I soon found my groove and knew I was swimming in about 3rd place with two girls on my feet. I knew that two of the girls were good swimmers and would be well out in front of me considering I haven’t been to squad in 5 months. I exited in 4th place and was onto the bike in 3rd. At the end of the first lap I managed to get a time check to first which had blown out from 2.5minutes to 5mins over 20km. This shocked me as I felt really strong on the bike. I had, however, ridden significant time into 2nd. I came into T2 in arm’s reach of 2nd place and hit the run with little expectation of running fast. I moved into 2nd place within 500m and set out on the hunt for first. I tried not to focus on how much time I had lost on the bike. Heading out to the far turn around on the first run lap an open male competitor yelled out to me, ‘first place cut the course’ but it didn’t register until I saw Holly running back towards me. She stopped as I drew closer and said ‘I cut the course, you’re actually in first.’ I was motivated even more by this but also encouraged by the fact of her honesty and sportsmanship in the situation. Holly had missed a small out and back section at the end of the first bike lap which explained her huge increase in her lead over the first 20km. I ran hard, but not fast and at the final turnaround 2km from the finish I knew I’d have to break a leg or pass out to lose it. I felt a surge of anger rise in me with a pounding ‘fuck you cancer’ in my head as I ran to cross the finish line. Bloody shoes, aching muscles and pure elation coursed through me with my little win at Coffs Harbour. People ask me all the time, why do you do this? I reply ‘there’s no better feeling than when you cross that finish line.’ To have that feeling again, coupled with taking a win was priceless.
Photo by Darryl Carey
Two weeks later I headed back to Dalby’s sprint triathlon. I have always loved the regional races with unique elements like having the swim in a pool. Mum and I took a road trip out in my new Mazda for a girl’s night away. The whole trip was marred by my laptop deciding to crash which had a huge job application I was writing that was due that week. I worked myself into bit of a state the night before about losing the work I had done on it taking away and excitement and importance of the race for me. I came 2nd the next day to an extremely speedy 16 year old. I’m too old for the short stuff these days! The good news is that I figured a way out to recover my computer, save and finish my application.
Yes, a job application. I slipped that in there intentionally, not as an excuse, but perhaps a little indication of redirecting my future. Don’t get me wrong, I love my job. I love the people I work for and with. Through this entire two year saga the support I have had from my workplace and the people there is so much more than I could ever imagine or feel that I deserve. But unfortunately with a life changing event you do some serious self-assessment and I feel that I have hit a professional plateau and ceiling with what I can do in the position I am in. Unless I work 8-6pm every day I am feeling somewhat limited and that my potential is going to waste. So I have been throwing a few applications in for other jobs which may or may not come to anything. The past couple of months two of my good friends have made some decisions that will see them both move on from the coast. With their lives taking new directions I feel that I am the one being left behind.
I have also decided to have a little social media break. Yes, I’ve come back onto the book of face to post this but I’ve been ‘deactivated’ for a week or so now and will shut it down again in the next couple of days. There were some catalytic moments in the past couple of weeks that really pushed some buttons with me. I am an honest person and sometimes we make excuses for people just because we’ve known them for a long time. But when dirty laundry is repeatedly aired on social media a good person should pull one’s friend up on it. This is something I decided it was time to do. Yes I’ve become quite hard and maybe a little bitter but public forums are a dangerous place and the written word can be so easily misinterpreted if you are unable to express yourself clearly. So my take home message here for me has been; keep your circle small and close. I look back on those who have taken me to appointments, provided numerous home cooked meals, eaten litres of ice-cream with me after each bad doctor’s review, sat with me whilst I have cried my eyes out and been a sounding board for all the deepest fears and concerns I have had. Those friends who have shown up on my doorstep with 5kg of Nutella, just because or the friend in Canada who managed to have a note and treats hand delivered by someone else. I’d like to believe that one friend even bought a puppy just for me to cuddle and that would occasionally keep me entertained. The friends who drove to Gympie just to see me for an hour or two after surgery, or those who’ve flown from interstate just to check in. So I continue to evolve and change throughout this time in my life. I take notice of those I would have previously overlooked and have learned to let go of those who are exhausting, negative and downright ungrateful.
Two weeks later I headed back to Dalby’s sprint triathlon. I have always loved the regional races with unique elements like having the swim in a pool. Mum and I took a road trip out in my new Mazda for a girl’s night away. The whole trip was marred by my laptop deciding to crash which had a huge job application I was writing that was due that week. I worked myself into bit of a state the night before about losing the work I had done on it taking away and excitement and importance of the race for me. I came 2nd the next day to an extremely speedy 16 year old. I’m too old for the short stuff these days! The good news is that I figured a way out to recover my computer, save and finish my application.
Yes, a job application. I slipped that in there intentionally, not as an excuse, but perhaps a little indication of redirecting my future. Don’t get me wrong, I love my job. I love the people I work for and with. Through this entire two year saga the support I have had from my workplace and the people there is so much more than I could ever imagine or feel that I deserve. But unfortunately with a life changing event you do some serious self-assessment and I feel that I have hit a professional plateau and ceiling with what I can do in the position I am in. Unless I work 8-6pm every day I am feeling somewhat limited and that my potential is going to waste. So I have been throwing a few applications in for other jobs which may or may not come to anything. The past couple of months two of my good friends have made some decisions that will see them both move on from the coast. With their lives taking new directions I feel that I am the one being left behind.
I have also decided to have a little social media break. Yes, I’ve come back onto the book of face to post this but I’ve been ‘deactivated’ for a week or so now and will shut it down again in the next couple of days. There were some catalytic moments in the past couple of weeks that really pushed some buttons with me. I am an honest person and sometimes we make excuses for people just because we’ve known them for a long time. But when dirty laundry is repeatedly aired on social media a good person should pull one’s friend up on it. This is something I decided it was time to do. Yes I’ve become quite hard and maybe a little bitter but public forums are a dangerous place and the written word can be so easily misinterpreted if you are unable to express yourself clearly. So my take home message here for me has been; keep your circle small and close. I look back on those who have taken me to appointments, provided numerous home cooked meals, eaten litres of ice-cream with me after each bad doctor’s review, sat with me whilst I have cried my eyes out and been a sounding board for all the deepest fears and concerns I have had. Those friends who have shown up on my doorstep with 5kg of Nutella, just because or the friend in Canada who managed to have a note and treats hand delivered by someone else. I’d like to believe that one friend even bought a puppy just for me to cuddle and that would occasionally keep me entertained. The friends who drove to Gympie just to see me for an hour or two after surgery, or those who’ve flown from interstate just to check in. So I continue to evolve and change throughout this time in my life. I take notice of those I would have previously overlooked and have learned to let go of those who are exhausting, negative and downright ungrateful.
My brother and I talk over his job as a radiologist at Lady Cilento Children’s Hospital and the devastating terminal diseases and diagnosis’ he sees each week amongst innocent children. Perhaps some people need to take a walk through those wards to realise just how good they have it. I know I have never thought of myself as a sick person. I still feel like a fraud when I tell people I have been unwell for the past 22 months. At head and neck clinic I felt completely out of place amongst patients going through illness a thousand times worse than mine. However, I must not forget and was reminded again this week by one of my specialists, that my thyroid cancer is atypical and does make even my health professionals somewhat nervous. Just when I feel I have moved on a little bit more I am pulled back into the reality of the situation.
So on Monday I will finally have my long awaited CT to see what the heck is happening. I will request that the results not be revealed until the following week as next week I am off for a little island break, maybe a little race, definitely a few chocolate croissants & four blissful days of ignorance.
We’re all gonna die.
We don’t get much say over how or when, but we do get to decide how we’re gonna live.
So do it. Decide.
Is this the life you wanna live?
Is this the person you wanna love?
Is this the best you can be?
Can you be stronger? Kinder? More compassionate?
Decide.
Breathe in, breathe out & decide.
(Richard Webber)
So on Monday I will finally have my long awaited CT to see what the heck is happening. I will request that the results not be revealed until the following week as next week I am off for a little island break, maybe a little race, definitely a few chocolate croissants & four blissful days of ignorance.
We’re all gonna die.
We don’t get much say over how or when, but we do get to decide how we’re gonna live.
So do it. Decide.
Is this the life you wanna live?
Is this the person you wanna love?
Is this the best you can be?
Can you be stronger? Kinder? More compassionate?
Decide.
Breathe in, breathe out & decide.
(Richard Webber)
Rachie xo
It was supposed to be easy
4th February 2015
My friends are getting married & having babies & all I’ve got is Cancer. There are days where I fail to remember what I've done, experienced & achieved in life. The thanks I get when I take away someone's pain with the use of my hands & sometimes psychotherapy skills. The fact that I worked my butt off at school for an OP 1 & went from being a binge drinker to a professional triathlete. The thing is I see Cancer as a weakness, as a failure of my body to fight off mutating cells within it. It is my Achilles heel that I just can't seem to shake. It persists in letting me know that no matter how positive, how 'strong' (I appear to be) & how trusting I am in modern medicine that it still has the upper hand over my life. It has bought me undone & made me brutally aware of the vacancies in my life. The things I pretend to not care about but are some of the few things I am dying to have. I want to either laugh in the face of or slap the people that whine and whinge about their bad day at work or how they hate their job yet don't do anything to change their situation. There's always someone having a worse day than them. Like the person who is told 'you have cancer' or 'treatment is ineffective' or 'you may lose your voice or the function of your arm' or worse still ‘what you have is terminal’.
How do you put into words the myriad of emotions experienced the past 19 months? I don't even know how to name some of the gut reaching, sleep steeling, hollowing feelings that have plagued me the past few months. Are they feelings and stages of grief? What have I lost? Time? Missed experiences? I still feel as though my life is rich with people, experience, my career and making sure I do things every day that makes me smile. With that has come the appreciation of all that I have and not the emptiness of what I have lost or don’t have.
For me, it was supposed to be straight forward. Papillary carcinoma: the best cancer to have they said. One surgery, one round of radio-active iodine (RAI) treatment and it would likely be all over with. Then came the first recurrence. Another round of RAI. Then another lymph node recurrence and then another lymph node recurrence. Then being told my cancer was not taking up the radio-active iodine treatment. That we are now hoping for a surgical cure. Clearly my papillary carcinoma is not a good one to have.
I got to the point about 12 months after diagnosis where I thought the worst was behind me that I thought about it less and less. Now, once again, it is at the forefront of my mind with. I had another 4 hour operation in September, only to find out a week later that I still had lymph node disease in my neck. So I had another 4 hour operation in December for more lymph node removal. I am still counting every blessing as I could not be in better hands with the surgeons, oncologist, specialists and medical staff overseeing my care. Aside from an impressive scar, a large area of numbness over my neck, chest and upper arm and some adhesion within my neck I have still come out relatively free of operative complications. I am still reminded daily that there’s something sinister going on every time I move my head, neck and right arm. Sleep remains and intermittent struggle when my pain gets out of control. These are some of the frequent reminders that it is not over, that I’m not in the clear and perhaps never will be.
My friends are getting married & having babies & all I’ve got is Cancer. There are days where I fail to remember what I've done, experienced & achieved in life. The thanks I get when I take away someone's pain with the use of my hands & sometimes psychotherapy skills. The fact that I worked my butt off at school for an OP 1 & went from being a binge drinker to a professional triathlete. The thing is I see Cancer as a weakness, as a failure of my body to fight off mutating cells within it. It is my Achilles heel that I just can't seem to shake. It persists in letting me know that no matter how positive, how 'strong' (I appear to be) & how trusting I am in modern medicine that it still has the upper hand over my life. It has bought me undone & made me brutally aware of the vacancies in my life. The things I pretend to not care about but are some of the few things I am dying to have. I want to either laugh in the face of or slap the people that whine and whinge about their bad day at work or how they hate their job yet don't do anything to change their situation. There's always someone having a worse day than them. Like the person who is told 'you have cancer' or 'treatment is ineffective' or 'you may lose your voice or the function of your arm' or worse still ‘what you have is terminal’.
How do you put into words the myriad of emotions experienced the past 19 months? I don't even know how to name some of the gut reaching, sleep steeling, hollowing feelings that have plagued me the past few months. Are they feelings and stages of grief? What have I lost? Time? Missed experiences? I still feel as though my life is rich with people, experience, my career and making sure I do things every day that makes me smile. With that has come the appreciation of all that I have and not the emptiness of what I have lost or don’t have.
For me, it was supposed to be straight forward. Papillary carcinoma: the best cancer to have they said. One surgery, one round of radio-active iodine (RAI) treatment and it would likely be all over with. Then came the first recurrence. Another round of RAI. Then another lymph node recurrence and then another lymph node recurrence. Then being told my cancer was not taking up the radio-active iodine treatment. That we are now hoping for a surgical cure. Clearly my papillary carcinoma is not a good one to have.
I got to the point about 12 months after diagnosis where I thought the worst was behind me that I thought about it less and less. Now, once again, it is at the forefront of my mind with. I had another 4 hour operation in September, only to find out a week later that I still had lymph node disease in my neck. So I had another 4 hour operation in December for more lymph node removal. I am still counting every blessing as I could not be in better hands with the surgeons, oncologist, specialists and medical staff overseeing my care. Aside from an impressive scar, a large area of numbness over my neck, chest and upper arm and some adhesion within my neck I have still come out relatively free of operative complications. I am still reminded daily that there’s something sinister going on every time I move my head, neck and right arm. Sleep remains and intermittent struggle when my pain gets out of control. These are some of the frequent reminders that it is not over, that I’m not in the clear and perhaps never will be.
No matter where you run to in the world there is no way to escape the reality of your life. I ran off to Thailand in November thinking it was exactly what I needed before facing my 4th operation. All it did was highlight that; I was unable to compete in a sport that I love and has become a huge part of my life, that my body was struggling to stay healthy as I came down with a chest infection quite quickly and that at the end of the day I was so violently lonely on so many levels. I am that 30 year old loser that only has their parents to send them off the potential life changing surgery. I suppose I should just be thankful to have someone cares enough to be waiting on the other side of it. Additionally the other side of major neck surgery isn’t pretty and I’m not sure who else I would want to see me that way anyway.
Now is not the time to be actively looking for someone. I had a friend ask me about the dating scene a few weeks ago and it’s quite possibly the last thing on my current to do list. How do you meet someone during this time in my life? I have only just returned to work & have started some light exercise. I have put on weight, feel self-conscious and am running low on self-esteem. Not to mention a very obvious 20cm neck incision which is quite hard to conceal unless I wear a turtle neck jumper or scarf & in summer and that’s just weird. So how do you sit there and tell someone you’ve just met ‘I am currently going through cancer’. That’s just plain fucked. And scary. Most people don’t know what to say or how to then talk to me at all after I tell them. You can see the shock on their face but for me it is now a daily component to my life. Then come the pity statements that I am just about done with;
‘Be strong.’ What other choice do I have?
‘You’ll get through this.’ How do you know? Cancer kills people every day, what makes me any different?
‘Have you thought about…….’ Insert some load of rubbish people read on the internet or hear about with absolutely no idea what cancer I have, where it is in my body, what is the evidence based treatment of choice is and how it will interact with my current treatment and medications? I used to smile politely and nod when people tried to offer me ‘alternative therapies’, now however I pull them up on their uneducated advice. If they have the 'miracle cure' to my Cancer why don't they think that my specialists who have been in the field for 20 years & longer wouldn't be suggesting some exotic fruit or cannabis oil as the answer to all my problems? Failed treatment of their patients only reflects badly on them. I am a scientist by heart. It is why I have gone down & will continue on the conservative modern medicine track.
Now is not the time to be actively looking for someone. I had a friend ask me about the dating scene a few weeks ago and it’s quite possibly the last thing on my current to do list. How do you meet someone during this time in my life? I have only just returned to work & have started some light exercise. I have put on weight, feel self-conscious and am running low on self-esteem. Not to mention a very obvious 20cm neck incision which is quite hard to conceal unless I wear a turtle neck jumper or scarf & in summer and that’s just weird. So how do you sit there and tell someone you’ve just met ‘I am currently going through cancer’. That’s just plain fucked. And scary. Most people don’t know what to say or how to then talk to me at all after I tell them. You can see the shock on their face but for me it is now a daily component to my life. Then come the pity statements that I am just about done with;
‘Be strong.’ What other choice do I have?
‘You’ll get through this.’ How do you know? Cancer kills people every day, what makes me any different?
‘Have you thought about…….’ Insert some load of rubbish people read on the internet or hear about with absolutely no idea what cancer I have, where it is in my body, what is the evidence based treatment of choice is and how it will interact with my current treatment and medications? I used to smile politely and nod when people tried to offer me ‘alternative therapies’, now however I pull them up on their uneducated advice. If they have the 'miracle cure' to my Cancer why don't they think that my specialists who have been in the field for 20 years & longer wouldn't be suggesting some exotic fruit or cannabis oil as the answer to all my problems? Failed treatment of their patients only reflects badly on them. I am a scientist by heart. It is why I have gone down & will continue on the conservative modern medicine track.
Sometimes I think I should write a manual of ‘what not to say to someone with cancer’. People who are ignorant and inexperienced in what it's like to have and go through Cancer are the first it seems, to offer their 2 cents worth. To me, this has only lead to more anger, frustration, anxiety & tears.
On a positive note it has also lead me to effectively narrow down those who I actually keep close and confine in. There is the heartbreaking element of the realisation that certain people I thought were close friends are in fact just mere acquaintances. Overwhelming is the discovery of some people in my life I may have previously overlooked as true treasures and are the first to offer me lifts to appointments, home cooked meals and checked in with me daily to see how I am coping.
Crying and tears are a waste of energy. It is however a normal process in relation to going through cancer. It can still hit me at the most inappropriate of times where the weight of the matter is crushing and emotions will stream from my eyes uncontrollably. I have slowly begun to crack. I’ve slipped in and out of the desire to fight this. I have moments of feeling like I am giving up on myself and giving up on the fight, some days it’s just all too hard. I have been so incredibly strong and flippant in the face of cancer, but think it has just taken me a long time for the emotional backlash to really hit me hard. I have cried a lot. Sometimes so much that I didn’t think it would ever stop. The 45 minutes before my surgery in December, I thought I was going to drown in my tears in the horrible little waiting bay prior to going into theatre.
I grieve for the normality of getting up to training for a couple of hours before a full day of work at the clinic followed by another hour of exercise at the end of the day. I miss feeling strong, fit and healthy which I managed to regain after my 2013 battle. I am sad for the realisation that some friendships obviously meant more to me than it did to the other person. .
I am accepting now that it is also perfectly fine to admit that I am bloody pissed off that this has happened to me. I’m pissed off that my health has regressed multiple times over the past 18 months. I am fuming when I see groups of young adults smoking outside of offices. It makes me so angry that people really take for granted just how lucky they are to have their health. I am angry at my inability to ask for help when I desperately need it. I am raging at the fact that I look healthy when this bloody cancer continues to internally sabotage my body in ways that I don’t understand. That my appearance of health, makes some ignorant people think that I’m over it when I feel more in limbo than ever before. I am frustrated that there isn’t some miracle cure that will get on top of my stubborn malignancy.
But at the end of the day I’m downright scared and have been for the past year and a half. Scared of everything that is now past history. I was terrified by the surgeries and potential complications that I was facing each time they cut my neck open. Would my voice change? Would I lose it? Would I have lymhoedema? Would I have breathing and swallowing difficulties? Would returning to sport & work be an option? Would this cancer potentially kill me? I am still scared about what the future holds. Scared about the suspicious deposit that sits behind my sternum that hasn’t been addressed, the potential of it coming back again and spreading beyond the point of medical control. I’m scared I that I may die.
I am also a little bit frightened of the person I have become. Mainly because I have never been as blunt and as honest as I am now. For that I know I may lose some so-called friends. Life really is too short to be hiding emotions & being tolerant of those who are draining, pull you down and waste your energy.
So I will live. I have booked a month in South America for later this year with a friend. I will work towards lights at the end of my current tunnel. Whether that be; travel, adventures with friends or returning to triathlon in some capacity. I realised the past couple of weeks that in regards to triathlon, I’m not done yet. So I will work towards competing again in the coming months, regardless of what still may lurk in my body. I cannot live in the ‘what ifs’. But if I don’t, so be it. People do move on from past life times, even if this throws you into a feeling of disorientation. As long as it sees me healthy and surrounded by those I love then that’s not really so bad at all.
Rachie xo
On a positive note it has also lead me to effectively narrow down those who I actually keep close and confine in. There is the heartbreaking element of the realisation that certain people I thought were close friends are in fact just mere acquaintances. Overwhelming is the discovery of some people in my life I may have previously overlooked as true treasures and are the first to offer me lifts to appointments, home cooked meals and checked in with me daily to see how I am coping.
Crying and tears are a waste of energy. It is however a normal process in relation to going through cancer. It can still hit me at the most inappropriate of times where the weight of the matter is crushing and emotions will stream from my eyes uncontrollably. I have slowly begun to crack. I’ve slipped in and out of the desire to fight this. I have moments of feeling like I am giving up on myself and giving up on the fight, some days it’s just all too hard. I have been so incredibly strong and flippant in the face of cancer, but think it has just taken me a long time for the emotional backlash to really hit me hard. I have cried a lot. Sometimes so much that I didn’t think it would ever stop. The 45 minutes before my surgery in December, I thought I was going to drown in my tears in the horrible little waiting bay prior to going into theatre.
I grieve for the normality of getting up to training for a couple of hours before a full day of work at the clinic followed by another hour of exercise at the end of the day. I miss feeling strong, fit and healthy which I managed to regain after my 2013 battle. I am sad for the realisation that some friendships obviously meant more to me than it did to the other person. .
I am accepting now that it is also perfectly fine to admit that I am bloody pissed off that this has happened to me. I’m pissed off that my health has regressed multiple times over the past 18 months. I am fuming when I see groups of young adults smoking outside of offices. It makes me so angry that people really take for granted just how lucky they are to have their health. I am angry at my inability to ask for help when I desperately need it. I am raging at the fact that I look healthy when this bloody cancer continues to internally sabotage my body in ways that I don’t understand. That my appearance of health, makes some ignorant people think that I’m over it when I feel more in limbo than ever before. I am frustrated that there isn’t some miracle cure that will get on top of my stubborn malignancy.
But at the end of the day I’m downright scared and have been for the past year and a half. Scared of everything that is now past history. I was terrified by the surgeries and potential complications that I was facing each time they cut my neck open. Would my voice change? Would I lose it? Would I have lymhoedema? Would I have breathing and swallowing difficulties? Would returning to sport & work be an option? Would this cancer potentially kill me? I am still scared about what the future holds. Scared about the suspicious deposit that sits behind my sternum that hasn’t been addressed, the potential of it coming back again and spreading beyond the point of medical control. I’m scared I that I may die.
I am also a little bit frightened of the person I have become. Mainly because I have never been as blunt and as honest as I am now. For that I know I may lose some so-called friends. Life really is too short to be hiding emotions & being tolerant of those who are draining, pull you down and waste your energy.
So I will live. I have booked a month in South America for later this year with a friend. I will work towards lights at the end of my current tunnel. Whether that be; travel, adventures with friends or returning to triathlon in some capacity. I realised the past couple of weeks that in regards to triathlon, I’m not done yet. So I will work towards competing again in the coming months, regardless of what still may lurk in my body. I cannot live in the ‘what ifs’. But if I don’t, so be it. People do move on from past life times, even if this throws you into a feeling of disorientation. As long as it sees me healthy and surrounded by those I love then that’s not really so bad at all.
Rachie xo
Challenge Report: in racing & in life
2nd September 2014
This will somehow sound very similar to another blog I wrote at some stage over the past 12 months. So many events have blurred together and this week I’ve struggled to think straight. I began this blog about 6 days ago as my Challenge Gold Coast report. At the time I was still experiencing disappointment with how I’d ridden the shortened bike course, however within about 20 seconds on Thursday morning I completely forgot that I compete in triathlon all together.
So in regards to Challenge Gold Coast I will keep this short as its importance is minute. Two weeks out I rode the course as it was already becoming notorious. Having done the course on a dry day, the torrential rain that set in a few days before the race bought with it panic about the dangerous decent. About 30km into the ride is a 150-200m climb of 20%. The cause for concern was actually coming back down the climb as there were a couple sharp corners at the bottom of the steep hill, made worse by a relatively narrow road. With athletes likely to be travelling in both directions at the time the pro men and women would be descending there was the potential for it to become a giant slip’n’slide with head-on collisions.
I headed to the Gold Coast in the pouring rain on the Friday afternoon to stay with my wonderful home-stay family from Singapore 70.3 2011. Even though David and Susan are still living overseas, their lovely daughter Lauren is living in their home at Runaway Bay. Saturday morning saw more rain and it looked as though it wasn’t going to give. I did a little spin on Lauren’s windtrainer, a short jog in the rain and a quick swim at Nerang pool before heading to pro briefing. The questions on everyone’s lips was would we be riding ‘the beast’ and when would the call be made about a contingency plan. 5pm that afternoon the decision was made to cut the bike course to the out and back section of Currumbin valley making it only 40km. The swim was to remain 1.9km and the run 21km. I had my pre-race meal and tried to sleep…. Which failed miserably. I heard the hour bell at 9pm, 10pm, 11pm, 12am and 3am. My alarm went off at 4am and I felt like I hadn’t slept at all. More food, coffee and more rain. Driving from Miami to Palm Beach the rain got harder and harder. I decided to ditch my warm up run and half put my wetty on before leaving my car! Thankfully the rain seemed to ease once I made it to transition.
This will somehow sound very similar to another blog I wrote at some stage over the past 12 months. So many events have blurred together and this week I’ve struggled to think straight. I began this blog about 6 days ago as my Challenge Gold Coast report. At the time I was still experiencing disappointment with how I’d ridden the shortened bike course, however within about 20 seconds on Thursday morning I completely forgot that I compete in triathlon all together.
So in regards to Challenge Gold Coast I will keep this short as its importance is minute. Two weeks out I rode the course as it was already becoming notorious. Having done the course on a dry day, the torrential rain that set in a few days before the race bought with it panic about the dangerous decent. About 30km into the ride is a 150-200m climb of 20%. The cause for concern was actually coming back down the climb as there were a couple sharp corners at the bottom of the steep hill, made worse by a relatively narrow road. With athletes likely to be travelling in both directions at the time the pro men and women would be descending there was the potential for it to become a giant slip’n’slide with head-on collisions.
I headed to the Gold Coast in the pouring rain on the Friday afternoon to stay with my wonderful home-stay family from Singapore 70.3 2011. Even though David and Susan are still living overseas, their lovely daughter Lauren is living in their home at Runaway Bay. Saturday morning saw more rain and it looked as though it wasn’t going to give. I did a little spin on Lauren’s windtrainer, a short jog in the rain and a quick swim at Nerang pool before heading to pro briefing. The questions on everyone’s lips was would we be riding ‘the beast’ and when would the call be made about a contingency plan. 5pm that afternoon the decision was made to cut the bike course to the out and back section of Currumbin valley making it only 40km. The swim was to remain 1.9km and the run 21km. I had my pre-race meal and tried to sleep…. Which failed miserably. I heard the hour bell at 9pm, 10pm, 11pm, 12am and 3am. My alarm went off at 4am and I felt like I hadn’t slept at all. More food, coffee and more rain. Driving from Miami to Palm Beach the rain got harder and harder. I decided to ditch my warm up run and half put my wetty on before leaving my car! Thankfully the rain seemed to ease once I made it to transition.
Renee Baker & I setting up in a damp transition
The water was a fair temperature and the swim course was fairly straight forward. The pro women started 1 minute after the pro men. I knew I had been swimming well (especially in the open water) and was over the moon to still be in the main group when we swam under the bridge (well over the half-way point). Just before we turned right at the southern buoy a large pack of age group men came over us like a tidal wave. This was not only frightening as they didn’t even try to swim around us but no doubt this would have an effect on the bike course and the overall outcome of the pro women’s race. It’s the first time I’ve ever panicked in the swim leg, I honestly thought I was going to drown. Next to me Matilda Raynold’s no longer had her goggles on and our little swim pack was blown apart. I exited just behind Renee Baker and left transition just behind her and Maddy.
The water was a fair temperature and the swim course was fairly straight forward. The pro women started 1 minute after the pro men. I knew I had been swimming well (especially in the open water) and was over the moon to still be in the main group when we swam under the bridge (well over the half-way point). Just before we turned right at the southern buoy a large pack of age group men came over us like a tidal wave. This was not only frightening as they didn’t even try to swim around us but no doubt this would have an effect on the bike course and the overall outcome of the pro women’s race. It’s the first time I’ve ever panicked in the swim leg, I honestly thought I was going to drown. Next to me Matilda Raynold’s no longer had her goggles on and our little swim pack was blown apart. I exited just behind Renee Baker and left transition just behind her and Maddy.
The bike leg was somewhat disappointing for me. Renee and Maddy disappeared up the road, Matilda and Belinda soon passed me and then Christie Sym caught me and we continued to yo-yo a little until she dropped the hammer around the 35km mark. I just wasn’t feeling it on the bike, which is unusual for me as it had previously been my strength. I came into T2 just behind Christie. I was really hoping to break the 1hr 30min off the bike half marathon and set off on pace at 4:05-4:10pace. The run was quite uneventful. Christie and I ran together until the first turn around where I managed to move away from her a little securing myself in 10th place.
The run is an interesting two laps with some technical sections and a little up and over hill on the out and back section. I finished up in 10th place which was okay given it was my first race back, a very strong pro field and then in retrospect after the events of the week following. I was especially happy to finish smack on 1:30 for the half marathon which was a PB for me in a 70.3 run.
In regards to the race, I must make special mention of Miss Motivate aka Michelle. She kitted me out with the most striking Smashfest Queen tri kit for my return to long course.
Michelle has been incredibly generous in fitting me out with appropriate swimwear, training gear, socks and race kits. She is passionate about women in sport, making them both feel and look good as well as being an incredible support person to me throughout this year. I am also grateful for her honesty when I was beating myself up after the race in making me realise some home truths. http://www.missmotivate.com.au/
Finish shoot- pic courtesy of Natalie Dellow
On Tuesday I was kindly offered an entry to compete in the Sunshine Coast Half Marathon by Jason Crowther which was exactly what I needed after Challenge Gold Coast. On Thursday I went out for a 2.5hour ride before doing a quick interview with 7 Sunshine Coast for the half marathon:
https://m.facebook.com/story.php?story_fbid=758436687547101&id=100453416678768
I then headed off Nambour to see my surgeon for a three month review. This was my first appointment since my radio-active iodine treatment in May and I was eager for some good news and hopeful for a step closer to remission. I had a neck ultrasound the week prior and bloods done on Monday. My surgeon asked me ‘has anyone spoken to you about what these ultrasounds show?’ They hadn’t.
A lymph node they had been watching was now a concern. My cancer was acting aggressively. The radio-active iodine doesn’t appear to be working & the thyroglobulin level is rising.More scans & more surgery.
That’s about all I heard. Then; numbness, shock, an elephant siting on my chest & disbelief that my fight continues. I needed a conscious reminder to breathe.
The worst day of the week though was facing 13 patients back to back on Friday. I don’t really remember the day at all. There were waves of devastation intermittently hitting me. I used to think that work was a great distraction but it was the last place I wanted to be. I just wanted to be screaming and breaking anything I could get my hands on….. not so great when touching people all day. Work is no longer a great distraction.
I can still barely put into words exactly how I’m feeling. The Half Marathon was a good focus to have and I quickly organised as much socialisation as I could. Thai and a shared litre of ice-cream with Vanessa Friday night, ride and coffee with Mick Saturday morning followed by a catch up with an old college friend. Then straight to the pool for 3km with Ben, baking and cooking and crashing early. Broken sleep is a horrible side effect from bad medical news. Somehow the subconscious knows that something is up even when you are asleep.
Sunday morning I got up early to have a proper breakfast before jogging down to Alex Headlands where the half marathon started. Good mate Adam was a pacer for a 1:24. I told him my plan was to run out like I was doing a 10km, hold on as long as possible before a spectacular explosion. I pretty much executed my race plan perfectly!!!! I ran out pretty solid, through the 10km mark in 39:38, held off Adam until about 12km and then stuck with him for about another 1.5-2km when the wall hit. I finished off in 6th with an official time of 1:26:02 for what my garmin said was 21.2km (4:04/km). I was over the moon with my effort after a horrible week of adversity.
On Tuesday I was kindly offered an entry to compete in the Sunshine Coast Half Marathon by Jason Crowther which was exactly what I needed after Challenge Gold Coast. On Thursday I went out for a 2.5hour ride before doing a quick interview with 7 Sunshine Coast for the half marathon:
https://m.facebook.com/story.php?story_fbid=758436687547101&id=100453416678768
I then headed off Nambour to see my surgeon for a three month review. This was my first appointment since my radio-active iodine treatment in May and I was eager for some good news and hopeful for a step closer to remission. I had a neck ultrasound the week prior and bloods done on Monday. My surgeon asked me ‘has anyone spoken to you about what these ultrasounds show?’ They hadn’t.
A lymph node they had been watching was now a concern. My cancer was acting aggressively. The radio-active iodine doesn’t appear to be working & the thyroglobulin level is rising.More scans & more surgery.
That’s about all I heard. Then; numbness, shock, an elephant siting on my chest & disbelief that my fight continues. I needed a conscious reminder to breathe.
The worst day of the week though was facing 13 patients back to back on Friday. I don’t really remember the day at all. There were waves of devastation intermittently hitting me. I used to think that work was a great distraction but it was the last place I wanted to be. I just wanted to be screaming and breaking anything I could get my hands on….. not so great when touching people all day. Work is no longer a great distraction.
I can still barely put into words exactly how I’m feeling. The Half Marathon was a good focus to have and I quickly organised as much socialisation as I could. Thai and a shared litre of ice-cream with Vanessa Friday night, ride and coffee with Mick Saturday morning followed by a catch up with an old college friend. Then straight to the pool for 3km with Ben, baking and cooking and crashing early. Broken sleep is a horrible side effect from bad medical news. Somehow the subconscious knows that something is up even when you are asleep.
Sunday morning I got up early to have a proper breakfast before jogging down to Alex Headlands where the half marathon started. Good mate Adam was a pacer for a 1:24. I told him my plan was to run out like I was doing a 10km, hold on as long as possible before a spectacular explosion. I pretty much executed my race plan perfectly!!!! I ran out pretty solid, through the 10km mark in 39:38, held off Adam until about 12km and then stuck with him for about another 1.5-2km when the wall hit. I finished off in 6th with an official time of 1:26:02 for what my garmin said was 21.2km (4:04/km). I was over the moon with my effort after a horrible week of adversity.
I painfully jogged home, met Sarah for breaky before heading out for an easy 90 minute ride then realised just how exhausted I was. After a little lie down then I met with some friends for a well-deserved wine.
I have been overwhelmed with messages of love, support and encouragement from around the world. I have an incredible support network that are so generously offering support from all angles; trips to appointments, coffee, wine and ice-cream binges, ears to vent to, shoulders to cry on, home cooked meals and simple messages of thoughts and love. The treatment plan at present is still unclear. My CT yesterday doesn't show any bulky metastasis in my lungs but I now need to go for a PET scan for further investigation. I will revisit my surgeon next week and at this stage surgery is booked for the end of next week. Follow-up treatment is still also an unknown as now the standard treatment is no-longer effective. It is hard to put into words just what I am feeling at present. I'm still numb with shock and outside of my doctors most things people say don't make me feel any better or worse about the situation. I move through days just existing at present and not really living. One foot in front of the other and one day at a time is about all I can do at present.
I have been overwhelmed with messages of love, support and encouragement from around the world. I have an incredible support network that are so generously offering support from all angles; trips to appointments, coffee, wine and ice-cream binges, ears to vent to, shoulders to cry on, home cooked meals and simple messages of thoughts and love. The treatment plan at present is still unclear. My CT yesterday doesn't show any bulky metastasis in my lungs but I now need to go for a PET scan for further investigation. I will revisit my surgeon next week and at this stage surgery is booked for the end of next week. Follow-up treatment is still also an unknown as now the standard treatment is no-longer effective. It is hard to put into words just what I am feeling at present. I'm still numb with shock and outside of my doctors most things people say don't make me feel any better or worse about the situation. I move through days just existing at present and not really living. One foot in front of the other and one day at a time is about all I can do at present.
Rachie xox
Coral Coast 5150 Race Report
2nd June 2014
I couldn’t believe it. I ran along the sand at what felt like snail’s pace at the end of the four toughest 2.5km laps on the beach at Port Douglas. Jo, Matt, Bonnie and Will from the Sunshine Coast were yelling my name as I doubled checked that I was in fact about to finish in 2nd….It was confirmed as the commentator called me over the finish line. I anticipated the wooden spoon at this race as it had be a looooonnnnnggggg time since racing a proper professional race in Australia…. Or anywhere for that matter. My long-time rival Sarah Crowley was racing and some faces that I didn’t even recognise as new pros are appearing each week on the Aussie circuit. The field was small; 5 pro women. My lead up had not been ideal. On the 16th of May I was re-admitted to Royal Brisbane and Women’s Hospital for another round of radio-active iodine. This time I was given 6x the dose I had in October and with that came a week of nausea. I did everything in my power (drugs!) to avoid vomiting as any of my bodily fluid is radioactive and dangerous to others. I felt pretty awful and when I went off coffee knew I wasn’t doing ok. With admission, treatment and spending another morning in a CT/ nuclear scan machine reignites all those awful emotions associated with Cancer and the fact that it seems like it will never be over. Obviously locked in a hospital room for 4 days in isolation and feeling pretty dreadful meant that training was the last thing I was able to do, nor wanted to. I started back training the day after discharge even though I was still feeling pretty ordinary. When an impending race is quickly approaching the pressure to tick sessions off is there. By the weekend I was feeling a lot better but decided to err on the side of caution and cut back on the volume as last time I had this treatment I spent the next month battling sickness. I made sure I was recovering well and getting in the nutrition I need to keep my immune system supported.
Then it was time to pack up the bike and head to beautiful Port Douglas. The weather was warm and a little more humid that home but I don’t mind those types of conditions. Race morning greeted us with near perfect conditions. The swim started 1.5km down the beach and walking down to the start it seemed a lot longer! They relax the wetsuit rules up north as extra protection against the jelly fish….. not much they can do about the crocs though! The ocean was a little choppy but I was more daunted by the distance that seemed far longer than 1.5km! At 7:41am we were off! I had a horrible start and was last into the water and then falling flat on my face when the first wave hit me. Not a great start to the day….. I managed to recover and catch up and pass 4th by the first buoy and then latch onto the feet of Renee Baker. One girl had made a huge gap on the rest of us very quickly and Sarah was slightly ahead but out wide. The swim is fairly straight forward with a line of buoys parallel to the beach. Nearing the end of the swim I was still sitting on Renee’s feet and I could see one more white ironman buoy and the next was the yellow turning buoy. Sarah turned in for the beach at the white buoy and Renee swam on to the yellow. I popped my head up and asked a young boy on a paddle board ‘which one?!’ and he pointed to the yellow so I swam on with Renee, he did however let Sarah swim on in the wrong direction. I could see another water official paddle over to Sarah and send her back, by this time she was now 100m or so behind us. Renee moved into T1 faster than me but we exited together. Renee passed me pretty quickly and I then waited for Sarah…. And waited.
I couldn’t believe it. I ran along the sand at what felt like snail’s pace at the end of the four toughest 2.5km laps on the beach at Port Douglas. Jo, Matt, Bonnie and Will from the Sunshine Coast were yelling my name as I doubled checked that I was in fact about to finish in 2nd….It was confirmed as the commentator called me over the finish line. I anticipated the wooden spoon at this race as it had be a looooonnnnnggggg time since racing a proper professional race in Australia…. Or anywhere for that matter. My long-time rival Sarah Crowley was racing and some faces that I didn’t even recognise as new pros are appearing each week on the Aussie circuit. The field was small; 5 pro women. My lead up had not been ideal. On the 16th of May I was re-admitted to Royal Brisbane and Women’s Hospital for another round of radio-active iodine. This time I was given 6x the dose I had in October and with that came a week of nausea. I did everything in my power (drugs!) to avoid vomiting as any of my bodily fluid is radioactive and dangerous to others. I felt pretty awful and when I went off coffee knew I wasn’t doing ok. With admission, treatment and spending another morning in a CT/ nuclear scan machine reignites all those awful emotions associated with Cancer and the fact that it seems like it will never be over. Obviously locked in a hospital room for 4 days in isolation and feeling pretty dreadful meant that training was the last thing I was able to do, nor wanted to. I started back training the day after discharge even though I was still feeling pretty ordinary. When an impending race is quickly approaching the pressure to tick sessions off is there. By the weekend I was feeling a lot better but decided to err on the side of caution and cut back on the volume as last time I had this treatment I spent the next month battling sickness. I made sure I was recovering well and getting in the nutrition I need to keep my immune system supported.
Then it was time to pack up the bike and head to beautiful Port Douglas. The weather was warm and a little more humid that home but I don’t mind those types of conditions. Race morning greeted us with near perfect conditions. The swim started 1.5km down the beach and walking down to the start it seemed a lot longer! They relax the wetsuit rules up north as extra protection against the jelly fish….. not much they can do about the crocs though! The ocean was a little choppy but I was more daunted by the distance that seemed far longer than 1.5km! At 7:41am we were off! I had a horrible start and was last into the water and then falling flat on my face when the first wave hit me. Not a great start to the day….. I managed to recover and catch up and pass 4th by the first buoy and then latch onto the feet of Renee Baker. One girl had made a huge gap on the rest of us very quickly and Sarah was slightly ahead but out wide. The swim is fairly straight forward with a line of buoys parallel to the beach. Nearing the end of the swim I was still sitting on Renee’s feet and I could see one more white ironman buoy and the next was the yellow turning buoy. Sarah turned in for the beach at the white buoy and Renee swam on to the yellow. I popped my head up and asked a young boy on a paddle board ‘which one?!’ and he pointed to the yellow so I swam on with Renee, he did however let Sarah swim on in the wrong direction. I could see another water official paddle over to Sarah and send her back, by this time she was now 100m or so behind us. Renee moved into T1 faster than me but we exited together. Renee passed me pretty quickly and I then waited for Sarah…. And waited.
At the first turn around point, Sarah was still 40seconds or so down. I was about 2mins down on first place, sitting in 3rd. By the 20km mark Sarah still hadn’t passed me, but it wasn’t long after she passed me yelling some profanities about the swim mishap! I let her go and continued on at my pace trying to keep as much distance between myself and 5th place. At the end of the bike I came into T2 in 4th, pulled on my Mizuno Hitogami’s and set off for the beach. The 4 lap beach run is an easy course to see those ahead and behind you. It’s also tough seeing 1.25km like that! Man I was running slow…. 4:15-4:20pace…. This isn’t going so well. At the end of the first lap I realised that the lead girl wasn’t on the run course which instantly moved me into 3rd place. At this point Sarah and Renee were running together a minute down the road and Ange about a minute behind me. I found myself focused on trying not to let Ange catch me when I realised I should be thinking about trying to catch the two in front. That changed everything. The second 5km I felt the best I had in the whole race. The wind was getting stronger on the run out and I could see Sarah was struggling having tried to repair the damage down in the swim. She was paying for an epic effort on the bike. I passed her around 6.5km and told her to ‘think about next weekend and just finish for some money’. Oh my gosh- I am in 2nd! Unfortunately it was too short and too late for me to do anything more and Renee had a cracker of a race taking the win just over a minute in front of me. I was ecstatic with 2nd! I felt really bad for Sarah, but she is one tough cookie and soldiered on to finish. She gave me two really encouraging things to think about from this weekend: 1) that I stuck to my race plan and it worked and 2) that I can still do this with everything I’m going through and to what extent I can go once this is all over with? Up until her saying that I hadn’t even thought about it.
For now though, there’s not much on the triathlon scene for a couple of months. I’ve been roped into running the Gold Coast Marathon with my little brother in about 4 weeks which will be interesting! Aside from that I’m playing the waiting game for 3months to see if the radio-active iodine was successful in the treatment of what Cancer remains. Until then, nothing more I can do but get on with it!!!!
Rachie xo
Rachie xo
Noumea, Byron Bay and Royal Brisbane and Women's Hospital
16th May 2014
So I have just been admitted to Royal Brisbane & Women’s Hospital for my second round of radio-active iodine treatment. Later this afternoon I will be given a capsule of this to hopefully knock my cancer on the head once and for all! Thankfully the only real side-effects of this treatment is some nausea and dryness of the mouth. The only problem is once I have the pill they close the door and I then spend the next four days in isolation as my body is radio-active and quite dangerous to others. They kindly look after my exercise addiction by putting the ward exercise bike in my room. I have also bought a skipping rope with me and have planned a ‘brick session’ of bike/ skipping. I’m actually looking forward to a few days down time as things have been busy in life, training, racing and getting on with things.
So I have just been admitted to Royal Brisbane & Women’s Hospital for my second round of radio-active iodine treatment. Later this afternoon I will be given a capsule of this to hopefully knock my cancer on the head once and for all! Thankfully the only real side-effects of this treatment is some nausea and dryness of the mouth. The only problem is once I have the pill they close the door and I then spend the next four days in isolation as my body is radio-active and quite dangerous to others. They kindly look after my exercise addiction by putting the ward exercise bike in my room. I have also bought a skipping rope with me and have planned a ‘brick session’ of bike/ skipping. I’m actually looking forward to a few days down time as things have been busy in life, training, racing and getting on with things.
My ride for the next 4 days
This time three weeks ago I was waking up in Noumea (New Caledonia), riding through the cycling park there, eating numerous French pastries, enjoying some warm sunshine and getting ready to race! This was my 5th visit to Noumea and 4th time there racing Noumea International Triathlon. It’s a fantastic race in its 29thyear and was the last international race I did before I was diagnosed with thyroid cancer. I was happy to be invited back and looked forward to seeing how things were progressing with my training and health since racing Dalby in late March.
This time three weeks ago I was waking up in Noumea (New Caledonia), riding through the cycling park there, eating numerous French pastries, enjoying some warm sunshine and getting ready to race! This was my 5th visit to Noumea and 4th time there racing Noumea International Triathlon. It’s a fantastic race in its 29thyear and was the last international race I did before I was diagnosed with thyroid cancer. I was happy to be invited back and looked forward to seeing how things were progressing with my training and health since racing Dalby in late March.
The field was small and I suddenly realised how old I am getting (30 in 5weeks!) with my main competition from two young kiwi girls (20 and 21!!!). Knowing full aware of how fast Reubyn could run and Deborah could swim I knew I had my work cut out for me and a ripping bike leg would be key to success. Race morning is a civil start of 8am and as our accommodation was across the road from transition it was a pleasant start to the day. A little after 8am we were off in a manic mass start! The ocean is clear and flat in Noumea and the two lap swim can differ significantly in distance year to year….. last year I swam 18mins and this year 24, even though I know I’m swimming well! I I came out in 2nd. The bike course is 3 laps and a mix of flat and fast and a couple of notable hills! The first two laps I was putting time into 1st and distancing myself from third. I will admit however, that I lost a bit of focus on the third lap and caught myself day dreaming a couple of times and didn’t make any headway here, although I doubt it would have affected the overall result. I came off the bike in 2nd and felt dreadful heading out on to the flat four lap course. By the end of the first lap a blazing Reubyn came past me and I said to ‘you can win this’ knowing that 1st was only about a minute up the road. I knew the other pro girls were a long, long way behind me so unless I passed out or broke a leg as long as I kept running at my (slow) pace I was going to stay on the podium. I finished about 3minutes behind 1st and was happy with my overall effort but also humbled by knowing I still have a long way to go in regaining fitness, speed and endurance. The nice thing about doing this Sunday morning race is not heading home until Tuesday morning and having a day to enjoy the beach, relax and hang out with my wingman Shane for a day and a half post-race.
Men and Women's podium Noumea Triathlon
Off the plane and straight back into work and training the next day as it was only just over a week until my next race, Byron Bay Triathlon. Unfortunately the lead up wasn’t as pleasant as hoped. I felt pretty awful until about a day before the race. Fatigued, dizzy, headaches and a huge lack of energy made me feel as though I was regressing in health. A year or two ago I wouldn’t have worried as sometimes we athletes expect that to be the norm. Now, however, after what I’ve been through I can’t but help think of the worst. I packed up my stuff, took Friday off work and headed down to Byron. I felt okay and was being rigid with hydrating (Nuun’s are my lifesaver!) and good nutrition. I was staying with good friends Prue and Chris from the Sunshine Coast in the heart of Byron Bay. Having those friends outside of the sport is exactly what I need in order to keep relaxed pre-race. With the civil start of 12:11pm on Saturday afternoon I didn’t have to set an alarm clock in order to get up before dawn. I had breaky, casually strolled down to register, racked my bike and re-ate breakfast two hours before race start! That’s the only problem with racing at a different time is knowing when/ how much to eat! I stick with a repeat of my normal pre-race breaky two hours before race start!
Off the plane and straight back into work and training the next day as it was only just over a week until my next race, Byron Bay Triathlon. Unfortunately the lead up wasn’t as pleasant as hoped. I felt pretty awful until about a day before the race. Fatigued, dizzy, headaches and a huge lack of energy made me feel as though I was regressing in health. A year or two ago I wouldn’t have worried as sometimes we athletes expect that to be the norm. Now, however, after what I’ve been through I can’t but help think of the worst. I packed up my stuff, took Friday off work and headed down to Byron. I felt okay and was being rigid with hydrating (Nuun’s are my lifesaver!) and good nutrition. I was staying with good friends Prue and Chris from the Sunshine Coast in the heart of Byron Bay. Having those friends outside of the sport is exactly what I need in order to keep relaxed pre-race. With the civil start of 12:11pm on Saturday afternoon I didn’t have to set an alarm clock in order to get up before dawn. I had breaky, casually strolled down to register, racked my bike and re-ate breakfast two hours before race start! That’s the only problem with racing at a different time is knowing when/ how much to eat! I stick with a repeat of my normal pre-race breaky two hours before race start!
Just before race start, chatting with mate Pip Taylor
Down on the beach I went for a quick dip to test out the extremely obvious current! Thankfully the push was from east to west!!! The issue though was where to enter the water in order to not miss the first three buoys which were pretty much straight out to sea from the race start. All the open women took their cue from the boys who left before us, running east up the beach before hitting the surf. It actually wasn’t as bad as I anticipated and once again ended up just behind Sarah Crowley for the entire 1.5km swim (which felt much longer!!). We’ve been racing each other for a number of years now and we can pretty much count on coming out within arm’s reach of each other, this time Sarah just in front of me. I knew Pip and Sarah Deuble would be up the road at this point and was hoping that I’d be able to do enough to move into podium contention over the course of the bike/run. Sarah Crowley is a far stronger cyclist than me, navigated her way around the cars on the open road to move into 2nd by the turn around and put a solid minute (or more!) into me by that point.
Down on the beach I went for a quick dip to test out the extremely obvious current! Thankfully the push was from east to west!!! The issue though was where to enter the water in order to not miss the first three buoys which were pretty much straight out to sea from the race start. All the open women took their cue from the boys who left before us, running east up the beach before hitting the surf. It actually wasn’t as bad as I anticipated and once again ended up just behind Sarah Crowley for the entire 1.5km swim (which felt much longer!!). We’ve been racing each other for a number of years now and we can pretty much count on coming out within arm’s reach of each other, this time Sarah just in front of me. I knew Pip and Sarah Deuble would be up the road at this point and was hoping that I’d be able to do enough to move into podium contention over the course of the bike/run. Sarah Crowley is a far stronger cyclist than me, navigated her way around the cars on the open road to move into 2nd by the turn around and put a solid minute (or more!) into me by that point.
Coming back into T2 I was just happy to survive the bike course as it’s one of the most dangerous I have ever done, just in negotiating the vehicles on the road. Sarah Deuble was in T2 putting her shoes on as I racked my bike and I exited just behind her. She’s a fantastic runner and soon disappeared up the road. I was instantly annoyed as I thought my run training had been going forward…… however I was pleasantly surprised see my Garmin telling me 3:50 pace, Sarah D was just running faster! I felt quite good and was on the hunt for Pip as I knew her run training had been marred by a recent leg injury. I was thoroughly disappointed as I finished my first run lap to realise that the run course had been altered and each lap was 400m too short….. meaning I only had 8.4km to catch third and not 10km. I find it difficult to understand why they would alter a course, knowing that in previous years the distance was correct. My old coach, Grant Giles, gave me words of encouragement at the end of each lap that I was closing in on 3rd. By the last lap I had her in my sights and was really pushing myself to make the pass before my real estate ran out. Around the final bend and I could see her cross the line about 12seconds in front of me. I would be lying if I said I wasn’t disappointed because I was gutted to come in just off the podium in 4th. You can never be certain that another 1.6km would have guaranteed me moving up into 3rd but having a full 10km there to try would have been nice. The positive is that my run has definitely improved and is coming back to what I was previously capable of, averaging below 3:54 pace for the run. Full credit to my great mate Pip for hanging in there for 3rd with what she was carrying into the race, and of course to Sarah for the win.
I enjoyed dinner that night with good friends Marc and Ilana and a few cheeky drinks at the Beach Hotel before hitting the bakery on the way home. The next day I had the most amazing swim across the bay with Chris, which unlike the day before, it was calm, clear and absolutely stunning. I had a lovely lunch with very good friends Luke and Lisa before heading home to cram 4.5 days of training and work in before my hospital admission.
I still haven’t been feeling great but have managed to still get a few solid days of training in as I am planning on racing Coral Coast 5150 in 2 weeks time. Perhaps the enforced rest the next few days will be exactly what the doctor prescribes (pardon the pun!)!!! As far as the cancer goes, after the next few days I will go for nuclear scans and ultrasounds to see where I stand. The downer is the effectiveness of this treatment won’t be known until three months down the track at my oncology review. That’s it with cancer though, just one day to the next and live each one like it’s your last.
Rachie xox
The Mad Month of March
24th March 2014
Wow…. 6 weeks ago I had surgery but to me it might as well be 6 months. I had no expectations as to how my recovery should go as I learnt the hard way last year that nothing goes as expected when it comes to cancer.
Surgery was booked for the 12th of February. My surgeon assured me that what was going to happen was a drop in the ocean compared to the operation I had in July last year and that I would go home shortly after the minor procedure. The night before my surgery I didn’t sleep at all. I got up at 5am to have a feeding frenzy before fasting from 6am. I felt sick from the lack of sleep and potentially overeating. I went to work to occupy myself from hunger and thinking about going back under the knife. I left work and went straight to Selangor private hospital where I met my parents. In the back of my Festiva was my bike and windtrainer to go home to the parental’s place…. Just in case!
The surgery was extremely straight forward. I was that tired that as soon as I had my pre-med, being equivalent to about 10 glasses of wine at once I was out of it… don’t even remember being taken into the operating theatre. I woke up in recovery about 60 mins later and was grateful to feel a million times better than when I woke up in July. No drain, a small incision over my right clavicle and a single cancerous lymph node had been removed. I was starving and after some food and fluids I went home to my parent’s place which is now come to be known as my recovery retreat. The first day I slept and spent on the couch. The next day I decided to jump on the trainer for an hour…. Couldn’t help myself and pushed myself over my limit and spent the rest of the day horizontal!!! 3 days after my op I headed back to Mooloolaba & went for a run (after another windtrainer session) and a day after that I got in the pool…. And then it was on….
Bribie kindly gave me a free entry for their final sprint race in the 2013/2014 season. 2.5 weeks after my surgery I lined up on the beach at Bribie for a 750/20/5 sprint race! Wow- did that hurt!!!!!! I had a great swim, took the lead before the first round about and finally had a race there without a bike mechanical or crash!! I had a fantastic 5km run off the bike going just under 18:50 & was really happy to win there again. Thanks Vanessa for being my caddy for the day ;) Post-race I got talking to Mel and Matt Hopper and we started talking Mooloolaba tri. At that point I had no intentions of racing but at the back of my mind Bribie was a test to see how I’d recovered and I must admit, each day I’d been checking to see if entries had closed. Matt raised a good point that if I was standing on the sidelines I’d be kicking myself having not entered…. He was right…. So with no pro licence at present and no road bike I put an entry into the open age group category. Well that is after some difficulty scrapping together 3 Olympic distance times to comply with the organisers regardless of them being fully informed of my current situation. Then I went into extreme panic that I wasn’t ready. So the cram training started. I had 10 days to find some Olympic distance form! Oh dear.
Wow…. 6 weeks ago I had surgery but to me it might as well be 6 months. I had no expectations as to how my recovery should go as I learnt the hard way last year that nothing goes as expected when it comes to cancer.
Surgery was booked for the 12th of February. My surgeon assured me that what was going to happen was a drop in the ocean compared to the operation I had in July last year and that I would go home shortly after the minor procedure. The night before my surgery I didn’t sleep at all. I got up at 5am to have a feeding frenzy before fasting from 6am. I felt sick from the lack of sleep and potentially overeating. I went to work to occupy myself from hunger and thinking about going back under the knife. I left work and went straight to Selangor private hospital where I met my parents. In the back of my Festiva was my bike and windtrainer to go home to the parental’s place…. Just in case!
The surgery was extremely straight forward. I was that tired that as soon as I had my pre-med, being equivalent to about 10 glasses of wine at once I was out of it… don’t even remember being taken into the operating theatre. I woke up in recovery about 60 mins later and was grateful to feel a million times better than when I woke up in July. No drain, a small incision over my right clavicle and a single cancerous lymph node had been removed. I was starving and after some food and fluids I went home to my parent’s place which is now come to be known as my recovery retreat. The first day I slept and spent on the couch. The next day I decided to jump on the trainer for an hour…. Couldn’t help myself and pushed myself over my limit and spent the rest of the day horizontal!!! 3 days after my op I headed back to Mooloolaba & went for a run (after another windtrainer session) and a day after that I got in the pool…. And then it was on….
Bribie kindly gave me a free entry for their final sprint race in the 2013/2014 season. 2.5 weeks after my surgery I lined up on the beach at Bribie for a 750/20/5 sprint race! Wow- did that hurt!!!!!! I had a great swim, took the lead before the first round about and finally had a race there without a bike mechanical or crash!! I had a fantastic 5km run off the bike going just under 18:50 & was really happy to win there again. Thanks Vanessa for being my caddy for the day ;) Post-race I got talking to Mel and Matt Hopper and we started talking Mooloolaba tri. At that point I had no intentions of racing but at the back of my mind Bribie was a test to see how I’d recovered and I must admit, each day I’d been checking to see if entries had closed. Matt raised a good point that if I was standing on the sidelines I’d be kicking myself having not entered…. He was right…. So with no pro licence at present and no road bike I put an entry into the open age group category. Well that is after some difficulty scrapping together 3 Olympic distance times to comply with the organisers regardless of them being fully informed of my current situation. Then I went into extreme panic that I wasn’t ready. So the cram training started. I had 10 days to find some Olympic distance form! Oh dear.
Bribie Triathlon race 4
I’d had some old SIJ issues raise their ugly head the week leading up to Bribie. Unfortunately they got worse before they got better. Each run session was quite ginger and seemed to flare up latent pain. Standing up and walking around all day at work doesn’t help those chronic problems but thankfully some rocktape, my belt and a little treatment from my Physio (Adam McKenzie) and massage therapist (Christie Bassett) by race weekend things were relatively under control. The day before Mooloolaba I did my pre-race training, ate, racked my bike, put my legs up the wall, ate, hydrated and watched copious amounts of trashy TV. I woke up before my alarm clock at 4am- race day was here! I always have a quick shower before breaky on race day (I don’t know why!), coffee and food before walking the 400m over to transition. Oh how I love racing at home. I set up and got out. Mum and dad were at my place by 6:10am, I went for a 10min jog and then we walked to the start line. Earlier in the week the swim had been moved to the canal due to impending swells coming through. This didn’t bother me much as I outside of Bribie I hadn’t done much open water swimming and this made the race start about 200m from my front door. At 6:48 I was off along with about 10 other open age group women. The swim was tough: currents, swimming into the sun, some people reported it to be long and when I saw my time of 23:40 I was disappointed, even though I exited in 3rd. After the race this proved to be an ok swim as everyone else seemed to be slower than usual.
I’d had some old SIJ issues raise their ugly head the week leading up to Bribie. Unfortunately they got worse before they got better. Each run session was quite ginger and seemed to flare up latent pain. Standing up and walking around all day at work doesn’t help those chronic problems but thankfully some rocktape, my belt and a little treatment from my Physio (Adam McKenzie) and massage therapist (Christie Bassett) by race weekend things were relatively under control. The day before Mooloolaba I did my pre-race training, ate, racked my bike, put my legs up the wall, ate, hydrated and watched copious amounts of trashy TV. I woke up before my alarm clock at 4am- race day was here! I always have a quick shower before breaky on race day (I don’t know why!), coffee and food before walking the 400m over to transition. Oh how I love racing at home. I set up and got out. Mum and dad were at my place by 6:10am, I went for a 10min jog and then we walked to the start line. Earlier in the week the swim had been moved to the canal due to impending swells coming through. This didn’t bother me much as I outside of Bribie I hadn’t done much open water swimming and this made the race start about 200m from my front door. At 6:48 I was off along with about 10 other open age group women. The swim was tough: currents, swimming into the sun, some people reported it to be long and when I saw my time of 23:40 I was disappointed, even though I exited in 3rd. After the race this proved to be an ok swim as everyone else seemed to be slower than usual.
The long run to transition was up and over a ramp with 3 right angle corners… later on, once wet, would have cause some carnage. I had a quick T1 and was on the hunt, but also riding scared from Sarah Crowley and her monster biking! Didn’t take long for Sarah to catch me and make her move up the road putting me into 4th. I moved back into 3rd place before the turn around. We had perfect conditions on the bike, minimal head wind out and the tail wind started to pick up heading back into town. I caught 2nd at about the 25km mark and proceeded to put time into her quickly.
By T2 Sarah had put about a minute into me. Running out I didn’t feel so great. Heading out towards Alex the wind was getting stronger and hotter by the minute. Man, I had forgotten how horrid that Alex hill is during a race. At the final turn around I still had about 2minutes on third and thought that I just needed to maintain the same pace to stay in 2nd. I was absolutely wrecked when I crossed the finish line. Sarah had put another 2minutes into me on the run and I learnt that an Olympic distance is where my limitations are at. My feet were the biggest concern to me! My brand new, white (UNREAL) Mizuno Hitogami’s (thanks a lot to Trent & Allez Sport) had blood stains all over them. The tops of my feet were shredded and I had blisters under my arches and toes. Mum and dad were at the finish line (mum jumping up and down!) which makes me so happy to have them sharing in my comeback. For many years they’ve been absent from my races and it meant the world to me to have them there.
Above all I was over the moon! Not anywhere near my best performance at Mooloolaba and my run time has a lot to be desired but it was enough on the day. I have never beaten Sarah and I wasn’t expecting to. We’ve been racing one another for some years now and she too has had her own challenges the past year so if anyone was to beat me I’m happy for it to be her.
What I loved has been people’s reaction to me racing and managing to finish up at the pointy end of the field. You’re not doing it right if you’re not shocking people! Yes the past 9months have been the most tumultuous roller coaster ride but this was another small win in the battle.
After the horrible anti-climax of doing Mooloolaba and a few other dramas earlier in the week, I decided getting out of town for the weekend was exactly what I needed and put a late entry into the Dalby triathlon. Dalby is a country town about 250km from Mooloolaba south east. Needless to say they’re facing a horrible drought out there and water is scarce. I booked myself into the caravan park which is conveniently located next to the aquatic center where the swim leg was to be. I raced Dalby tri back in 2008 as my comeback race following a bike crash and clavicle fracture. I really love heading back out west and racing these types of regional races. The community support is amazing and they make do with the facilities that they have. Race start was scheduled early (5:45am) so I’m happy I stayed next door. It was pitch-black riding my bike down the street!!!! The start time ended up being pushed back to around 6am and it was surprisingly cool. They started the open men and women together- all up I think there was only 7 of us. Even at Dalby I still can’t lead a swim out!!!!! Alice (a girl I know from Brissy) towelled me up in the pool but with her taking time in T1 to put socks on I was first out on the bike. This was a race I went to have nothing but fun in. Each time I passed my good mate Mick I called out something ridiculous even though he was seriously focused. The ride is two loops on a rough but flat piece of road heading east from town. I made the joke that it’s actually technical as you are dodging mounds of bitumen, pot holes, corrugations and lose gravel. It’s hard to get a good pace up as it’s a dead piece of road. Coming back in from my first loop I almost collected an elderly lady walking her wheelie bin across the road?! I came off the bike with a very comfortable lead on Alice and took the extra time to put my socks on after destroying my feet at Mooloolaba. The run is (dangerously) on the road that the bike course is so I ran along hoping the cyclists are watching where they’re going. I held 4min pace for the 5km (or the 4.5km really) and took an easy win with only three men finishing in front of me. It was a tone of fun, paid training session and an excuse to get away. The Dalby tri sports and local sponsors should be very proud of the event that they run and I’m sure I’ll be heading back.
After the horrible anti-climax of doing Mooloolaba and a few other dramas earlier in the week, I decided getting out of town for the weekend was exactly what I needed and put a late entry into the Dalby triathlon. Dalby is a country town about 250km from Mooloolaba south east. Needless to say they’re facing a horrible drought out there and water is scarce. I booked myself into the caravan park which is conveniently located next to the aquatic center where the swim leg was to be. I raced Dalby tri back in 2008 as my comeback race following a bike crash and clavicle fracture. I really love heading back out west and racing these types of regional races. The community support is amazing and they make do with the facilities that they have. Race start was scheduled early (5:45am) so I’m happy I stayed next door. It was pitch-black riding my bike down the street!!!! The start time ended up being pushed back to around 6am and it was surprisingly cool. They started the open men and women together- all up I think there was only 7 of us. Even at Dalby I still can’t lead a swim out!!!!! Alice (a girl I know from Brissy) towelled me up in the pool but with her taking time in T1 to put socks on I was first out on the bike. This was a race I went to have nothing but fun in. Each time I passed my good mate Mick I called out something ridiculous even though he was seriously focused. The ride is two loops on a rough but flat piece of road heading east from town. I made the joke that it’s actually technical as you are dodging mounds of bitumen, pot holes, corrugations and lose gravel. It’s hard to get a good pace up as it’s a dead piece of road. Coming back in from my first loop I almost collected an elderly lady walking her wheelie bin across the road?! I came off the bike with a very comfortable lead on Alice and took the extra time to put my socks on after destroying my feet at Mooloolaba. The run is (dangerously) on the road that the bike course is so I ran along hoping the cyclists are watching where they’re going. I held 4min pace for the 5km (or the 4.5km really) and took an easy win with only three men finishing in front of me. It was a tone of fun, paid training session and an excuse to get away. The Dalby tri sports and local sponsors should be very proud of the event that they run and I’m sure I’ll be heading back.
Mick and I after winning the Dalby Triathlon
For now it’s time to do some proper training. I am looking to do a race at the end of April and one early May so for the next 5 weeks it’s head down.
As for my health: I saw Dr Allison, my oncologist, at the end of February. I will head back to hospital in Brisbane in May for some further treatment. This will be a high dosage of the radio-active iodine and a 4 day stint in isolation. I may feel a little unwell from it over those days but aside from not being allowed to have babies in the next 12 months, the side effects really are negligent. The other bad news I have had is that my re-implanted parathyroid looks to have not taken. This means indefinite calcium supplementation to maintain (close to) normal levels. A pain in the neck; but a small price to pay to be cancer free. I will then have to wait another 3months before my review to see if THEN my cancer markers are down to 0. At the end of the day so much of this is mental. I’m not sick if I don’t think of myself as unwell. I do however, now see it important to put myself first rather than keep others happy or sustain toxic relationships just because. For the next year at least, what makes me happy will come first.
Rachie xox
For now it’s time to do some proper training. I am looking to do a race at the end of April and one early May so for the next 5 weeks it’s head down.
As for my health: I saw Dr Allison, my oncologist, at the end of February. I will head back to hospital in Brisbane in May for some further treatment. This will be a high dosage of the radio-active iodine and a 4 day stint in isolation. I may feel a little unwell from it over those days but aside from not being allowed to have babies in the next 12 months, the side effects really are negligent. The other bad news I have had is that my re-implanted parathyroid looks to have not taken. This means indefinite calcium supplementation to maintain (close to) normal levels. A pain in the neck; but a small price to pay to be cancer free. I will then have to wait another 3months before my review to see if THEN my cancer markers are down to 0. At the end of the day so much of this is mental. I’m not sick if I don’t think of myself as unwell. I do however, now see it important to put myself first rather than keep others happy or sustain toxic relationships just because. For the next year at least, what makes me happy will come first.
Rachie xox
Dad being support crew at Mooloolaba Triathlon
Win some, lose some
11th February 2014
What an emotional roller-coaster the last few weeks have been. A massive high and a dreadful low.
The bad news first is that I am lining up for surgery again tomorrow. A few weeks ago I noted a known nodule on the right side of my neck had significantly increased in size to the point of being visually obvious. Long story short, a biopsy of it revealed more papillary carcinoma (cancer). I couldn’t believe that only 6 months on from my surgery in July and I was facing another round. My surgeon said she’s only seen this happen once before. The most frustrating part of it all is the fact that I feel fantastic. I have been training both hard and consistently and have seen some huge improvements over the past couple of months. I have even drafted a rough race schedule.
A notable mention here to Tanya King my dietician. I first went to see Tanya after a couple of weeks of being really unwell. I think a combination of compromised immunity and overdoing it was really taking its toll. She has given me some of the most invaluable advice, guidance, support and helped me drop just over 8kg in the past 8weeks whilst staying fit and healthy. I don’t know why I didn’t see her sooner!!!! She was also the one who pushed me to have the nodule investigated- I owe you Tan!
So enough bad news…… After knowing that I’d be facing surgery I threw caution to the wind and entered Bribie Island triathlon at the last minute. Why not? I was feeling the best I had in over two years, not to mention the lightest in about 3! There was nothing stopping me from signing up. I decided to aim high and race Opens in the long course; 1/30/8 even though knowing I wasn’t anywhere near bike or run fit. My swimming had actually been going ok!? My mum couldn’t help herself and came to be my caddy. It was so great to have her there. She kept me relaxed and was so excited about me competing. It’s been 3 years since I’ve raced at Bribie, but a few familiar faces were still getting around. Bribie has always suited me with a current assisted swim. There was about 7 women racing in the opens and I felt that a top 3 would be a more than respectable effort given what I had been through and was in the midst of. I had a fantastic swim coming out just behind Courtney Dutton who is someone I usually don’t compare to in the water. Onto the bike and I found my rhythm quickly taking the lead before the first round about. I was rapidly putting time into the others and felt I had a lot more to give to the race and myself. Bribie is a really technical bike course with multiple round abouts and u-turns within the three loops. Coming out of a u-turn on the second lap my chain came off…. I was seething as my gears had been slipping each time I tried to get out of the saddle. I tried to keep calm and put the chain back on (manually!!) as quickly as possible, regroup and restart. I probably only lost about 20seconds but still maintained a minute lead. I came off the bike over a minute in front of Courtney and was reunited with that jelly legged feeling running into T2…. The 8km ahead looked like it may be ugly! My mum was at the run exit all smiles and cheers. As I ran out my old friend (and run coach) Brian ‘Chapo’ Chapman leant over the barrier and yelled at me ‘she’s back!!!!’ ‘Not quite yet…. Still 8km to go!’ I said.
What an emotional roller-coaster the last few weeks have been. A massive high and a dreadful low.
The bad news first is that I am lining up for surgery again tomorrow. A few weeks ago I noted a known nodule on the right side of my neck had significantly increased in size to the point of being visually obvious. Long story short, a biopsy of it revealed more papillary carcinoma (cancer). I couldn’t believe that only 6 months on from my surgery in July and I was facing another round. My surgeon said she’s only seen this happen once before. The most frustrating part of it all is the fact that I feel fantastic. I have been training both hard and consistently and have seen some huge improvements over the past couple of months. I have even drafted a rough race schedule.
A notable mention here to Tanya King my dietician. I first went to see Tanya after a couple of weeks of being really unwell. I think a combination of compromised immunity and overdoing it was really taking its toll. She has given me some of the most invaluable advice, guidance, support and helped me drop just over 8kg in the past 8weeks whilst staying fit and healthy. I don’t know why I didn’t see her sooner!!!! She was also the one who pushed me to have the nodule investigated- I owe you Tan!
So enough bad news…… After knowing that I’d be facing surgery I threw caution to the wind and entered Bribie Island triathlon at the last minute. Why not? I was feeling the best I had in over two years, not to mention the lightest in about 3! There was nothing stopping me from signing up. I decided to aim high and race Opens in the long course; 1/30/8 even though knowing I wasn’t anywhere near bike or run fit. My swimming had actually been going ok!? My mum couldn’t help herself and came to be my caddy. It was so great to have her there. She kept me relaxed and was so excited about me competing. It’s been 3 years since I’ve raced at Bribie, but a few familiar faces were still getting around. Bribie has always suited me with a current assisted swim. There was about 7 women racing in the opens and I felt that a top 3 would be a more than respectable effort given what I had been through and was in the midst of. I had a fantastic swim coming out just behind Courtney Dutton who is someone I usually don’t compare to in the water. Onto the bike and I found my rhythm quickly taking the lead before the first round about. I was rapidly putting time into the others and felt I had a lot more to give to the race and myself. Bribie is a really technical bike course with multiple round abouts and u-turns within the three loops. Coming out of a u-turn on the second lap my chain came off…. I was seething as my gears had been slipping each time I tried to get out of the saddle. I tried to keep calm and put the chain back on (manually!!) as quickly as possible, regroup and restart. I probably only lost about 20seconds but still maintained a minute lead. I came off the bike over a minute in front of Courtney and was reunited with that jelly legged feeling running into T2…. The 8km ahead looked like it may be ugly! My mum was at the run exit all smiles and cheers. As I ran out my old friend (and run coach) Brian ‘Chapo’ Chapman leant over the barrier and yelled at me ‘she’s back!!!!’ ‘Not quite yet…. Still 8km to go!’ I said.
Good mate Vanessa and I at the swim start
I couldn’t believe how quickly I felt my legs kick into hard running- my Garmin was reading 3:45 pace…. I couldn’t remember the last time I saw sub 4:15 pace! By the end of the first lap my lead was out to over 90 seconds. The second lap hurt a little more and I felt the uncomfortable pangs of a stitch as I headed out on the final lap…. This is when I really started to hurt. My stitch, my legs, my blisters on my feet and yet masochistically I was loving every second of it. I knew I had it but I was still trying to push as hard as I could to the line. It was such a personal achievement to cross that line regardless of the time and place; another enormous win over cancer. To make it even better, mum was there and over the moon for me. I was absolutely spent & realised that this distance was probably my current limit in fitness, strength and endurance but it didn’t matter. The wonderful thing is that I realised how much I miss racing and how much I do love triathlon, the people and what your mind can make your body go through even when it’s screaming for you to give up.
I couldn’t believe how quickly I felt my legs kick into hard running- my Garmin was reading 3:45 pace…. I couldn’t remember the last time I saw sub 4:15 pace! By the end of the first lap my lead was out to over 90 seconds. The second lap hurt a little more and I felt the uncomfortable pangs of a stitch as I headed out on the final lap…. This is when I really started to hurt. My stitch, my legs, my blisters on my feet and yet masochistically I was loving every second of it. I knew I had it but I was still trying to push as hard as I could to the line. It was such a personal achievement to cross that line regardless of the time and place; another enormous win over cancer. To make it even better, mum was there and over the moon for me. I was absolutely spent & realised that this distance was probably my current limit in fitness, strength and endurance but it didn’t matter. The wonderful thing is that I realised how much I miss racing and how much I do love triathlon, the people and what your mind can make your body go through even when it’s screaming for you to give up.
It wasn’t a world championship, it wasn’t a 70.3 and it wasn’t a race that bears a lot of accolade but for me to race and win three days out from surgery to remove a malignant cancer is one of my greatest achievements to date. In addition; the messages of support, congratulations and best wishes post-race and in the lead up to tomorrow is the most important part of all. There are too many names to name but everything else aside, this is what spurs me on to kick this in the butt and come out the other side as a better person both physically, mentally and emotionally.
Me and my number 1 fan, Mum
So that’s the last two weeks in a nut shell. Tomorrow I will face head on (hopefully) one of the final steps towards full recovery. I still have my race schedule draft and a have entered a couple races already as I am determined to recovery quickly and be back on a start line ASAP.
Rachie xo
So that’s the last two weeks in a nut shell. Tomorrow I will face head on (hopefully) one of the final steps towards full recovery. I still have my race schedule draft and a have entered a couple races already as I am determined to recovery quickly and be back on a start line ASAP.
Rachie xo
Come what may
14th January 2014
As one year ends and another begins, it’s a time to reflect on what has come to pass. Rather than gauge 2013’s success with race placings, podiums and money made it has been gauged by discovering the worth of health, people and the pricelessness of being able to get out of bed, use my arms, speak with my normal voice, being able to have the choice to swim, bike and run and to be able do my work as a Physio.
This is not going to be an ‘I’m so thankful’ blog because I’d be lying if I said 2013 hasn't been the worst year of my life. Honestly it’s been horrible. It took me 4.5 months to realise that I was sick. Even now I have days where the emotional backlash hits me like a tonne of bricks and I’m a blubbering mess. There are days where I’m so angry and irritable that I feel like I will scream at anyone that speaks to me….not so good when talking to people is imperative in my job. This is where I really struggle, listening to people talk about their problems- fine at work, I’m paid to do it, but outside that I really don’t need to hear about people’s coughs, colds and self-inflicted vitamin deficiencies. I had this unrealistic idea that I’d have to slow up a bit for a couple of month and then be back to training and life as per normal by Christmas. Oh how wrong I was.
The past few months have been a blur of working, appointments, blood tests & treatment balanced out with trying to forget everything by having a social life and doing some small capacity of training. For the first couple of months every blood test, scan, doctor’s appointment or memory of what had happened would trigger the elephant to sit on my chest: anxiety. Honestly, I used to think anxiety was a myth until I thought I was developing a heart condition and woke up to realise exactly what it was. Once again, I think that time heals, as does the physical release of exercise and thankfully my poor friends who've been so supportive and patient with me venting my angst with this process.
I spent a few days in Royal Brisbane Hospital at the end of October for my radio-active iodine treatment. Post-surgery my blood tests were still showing a high level of thyroglobulin which means there are still thyroid cells left…. potentially cancer cells. The thyroid absorbs iodine, so to kill off the remaining cells a small capsule of radio-active iodine is administered. This however, left me radio-active for a few days and dangerous to the general public, so they kept me in isolation for 48 hours. It was quite an anti-climax. There was no development of super powers and I didn't pee green. I got to catch up on my trashy English reality TV show ‘Made in Chelsea’ (don’t judge me!) and the ward was kind enough to supply an exercise bike for me to do a few spins on to pass the hours. More scans after the 2 days which showed some areas still lightening up in the neck region which is expected, as even if it’s not cancer, the surgeon can’t remove all thyroid tissue during the operation.
After my stay I had a week off work as they suggested not to spend prolonged periods of time in close proximity of others. I watched Noosa triathlon and for the first time felt pangs of jealously not to be out there. I started to bump up what training I had been doing to 20 hours a week but soon realised that at that point it was so much more than I was capable of coping with. I got sick. Sick for weeks.
I am still having ongoing Calcium issues as my re-implanted parathyroid glad hasn't’t kicked in yet. This means supplementation twice a day. Every time I try to wean off my calcium medications the levels drop quite significantly but thankfully I am still yet to experience any major symptoms. I’m off to see my specialist that deals with this in a couple of days as he assures me he has a plan.
The radio-active iodine can have ongoing effect for the next few months at killing off what’s left in my body, then hopefully when I go back for review in February my thyroglobulin level (cancer marker) will be down to zero…. Which means I will have kicked cancer’s arse. I try to think that this is exactly what will happen but everything around this has been so unpredictable I am preparing myself for the alternative. In saying that, it might just mean a few more days in isolation and another pill- that I can handle.
I can’t see much point in committing to a full load of training until I have a ticket of remission or even better am cured. I have managed to ramp up some training again after being quite ill during November/ early December. Thankfully this time my immune system seems to be holding up. So there are no immediate plans to return to racing; at the earliest, middle of the year. It’s getting harder and harder to stand on the sidelines which I think is a great sign that I still have the drive and desire to get back out there myself.
I think not really accepting how bad things were has helped me get on with my life. Ignorance is bliss. My surgeon shared with me some photos from my surgery at my 6 weeks review. Seeing one of the tumours she removed (the 10cm mass)was potentially the first time I realised just how bad it was. I refuse to become a victim as I can’t see myself in that category. Once again, my incredible support system of friends and family keep me distracted and grounded as everyone is fighting their own battles.
Fingers crossed 2014 will be a huge improvement on 2013.
Rachie xox
As one year ends and another begins, it’s a time to reflect on what has come to pass. Rather than gauge 2013’s success with race placings, podiums and money made it has been gauged by discovering the worth of health, people and the pricelessness of being able to get out of bed, use my arms, speak with my normal voice, being able to have the choice to swim, bike and run and to be able do my work as a Physio.
This is not going to be an ‘I’m so thankful’ blog because I’d be lying if I said 2013 hasn't been the worst year of my life. Honestly it’s been horrible. It took me 4.5 months to realise that I was sick. Even now I have days where the emotional backlash hits me like a tonne of bricks and I’m a blubbering mess. There are days where I’m so angry and irritable that I feel like I will scream at anyone that speaks to me….not so good when talking to people is imperative in my job. This is where I really struggle, listening to people talk about their problems- fine at work, I’m paid to do it, but outside that I really don’t need to hear about people’s coughs, colds and self-inflicted vitamin deficiencies. I had this unrealistic idea that I’d have to slow up a bit for a couple of month and then be back to training and life as per normal by Christmas. Oh how wrong I was.
The past few months have been a blur of working, appointments, blood tests & treatment balanced out with trying to forget everything by having a social life and doing some small capacity of training. For the first couple of months every blood test, scan, doctor’s appointment or memory of what had happened would trigger the elephant to sit on my chest: anxiety. Honestly, I used to think anxiety was a myth until I thought I was developing a heart condition and woke up to realise exactly what it was. Once again, I think that time heals, as does the physical release of exercise and thankfully my poor friends who've been so supportive and patient with me venting my angst with this process.
I spent a few days in Royal Brisbane Hospital at the end of October for my radio-active iodine treatment. Post-surgery my blood tests were still showing a high level of thyroglobulin which means there are still thyroid cells left…. potentially cancer cells. The thyroid absorbs iodine, so to kill off the remaining cells a small capsule of radio-active iodine is administered. This however, left me radio-active for a few days and dangerous to the general public, so they kept me in isolation for 48 hours. It was quite an anti-climax. There was no development of super powers and I didn't pee green. I got to catch up on my trashy English reality TV show ‘Made in Chelsea’ (don’t judge me!) and the ward was kind enough to supply an exercise bike for me to do a few spins on to pass the hours. More scans after the 2 days which showed some areas still lightening up in the neck region which is expected, as even if it’s not cancer, the surgeon can’t remove all thyroid tissue during the operation.
After my stay I had a week off work as they suggested not to spend prolonged periods of time in close proximity of others. I watched Noosa triathlon and for the first time felt pangs of jealously not to be out there. I started to bump up what training I had been doing to 20 hours a week but soon realised that at that point it was so much more than I was capable of coping with. I got sick. Sick for weeks.
I am still having ongoing Calcium issues as my re-implanted parathyroid glad hasn't’t kicked in yet. This means supplementation twice a day. Every time I try to wean off my calcium medications the levels drop quite significantly but thankfully I am still yet to experience any major symptoms. I’m off to see my specialist that deals with this in a couple of days as he assures me he has a plan.
The radio-active iodine can have ongoing effect for the next few months at killing off what’s left in my body, then hopefully when I go back for review in February my thyroglobulin level (cancer marker) will be down to zero…. Which means I will have kicked cancer’s arse. I try to think that this is exactly what will happen but everything around this has been so unpredictable I am preparing myself for the alternative. In saying that, it might just mean a few more days in isolation and another pill- that I can handle.
I can’t see much point in committing to a full load of training until I have a ticket of remission or even better am cured. I have managed to ramp up some training again after being quite ill during November/ early December. Thankfully this time my immune system seems to be holding up. So there are no immediate plans to return to racing; at the earliest, middle of the year. It’s getting harder and harder to stand on the sidelines which I think is a great sign that I still have the drive and desire to get back out there myself.
I think not really accepting how bad things were has helped me get on with my life. Ignorance is bliss. My surgeon shared with me some photos from my surgery at my 6 weeks review. Seeing one of the tumours she removed (the 10cm mass)was potentially the first time I realised just how bad it was. I refuse to become a victim as I can’t see myself in that category. Once again, my incredible support system of friends and family keep me distracted and grounded as everyone is fighting their own battles.
Fingers crossed 2014 will be a huge improvement on 2013.
Rachie xox
This too shall pass
9th August 2013
I've been known to be a bit of a drama queen. Everything comes falling down and I know I like to have a whinge. Yet when something quite significant happened to me to really alter my perspective, I really found out who I am & how I deal with things.
So the bottom line is that I was diagnosed with malignant papillary thyroid carcinoma (cancer) at the end of June. The big C.
I've been known to be a bit of a drama queen. Everything comes falling down and I know I like to have a whinge. Yet when something quite significant happened to me to really alter my perspective, I really found out who I am & how I deal with things.
So the bottom line is that I was diagnosed with malignant papillary thyroid carcinoma (cancer) at the end of June. The big C.
I have copped the brunt of (negative) public opinion on triathlon forums this year. I have spent the past 2 years questioning a decline in performance in both training and racing. I have had constant injuries that never fully healed. I have been told by a coach that all my problems were psychological and in my head & battled with my weight when being extremely rigid with my diet. Papillary thyroid cancer is a slow growing cancer. At diagnosis I had a 2cm primary tumour in my thyroid, a second 2cm mass in my neck on the opposite side, extensive lymph node involvement, parathyroid involvement, multiple cystic masses- two being 6cm in size. My doctors tell me that this cancer has been in my body for years. For the past few years my body has not only been under constant stress of training, an international race schedule and balancing part to full time work as a physiotherapist, but also battling cancer.
I am not writing this to evoke a pity party. These are the cards I had been dealt and I get to choose how to play them. I have no doubt that this will change who I am and how I see the world but that doesn't have to be in a negative way. I am so bloody lucky this was found when it was. I’ve had hormonal imbalances for 7 years- amenorrhea thought to be due to the high volume/ intensity of training I do to compete in my beloved sport of triathlon. In March I mentioned to my GP that my amenorrhea continued. She was concerned that it had been an issue for far too long- ran bloods to check both my hormone and thyroid levels. The hormones were low and the thyroid was normal. With a lot of persuasion required my GP referred me to see another endocrinologist locally. Unfortunately they work publically which meant I had to wait until the end of May before an appointment came up. On the physical examination the doctor noted a thyroid nodule in the right lower lobe & I was referred to have this investigated by ultrasound.
95% of thyroid nodules turn out to be nothing so I stuffed around a little. Booked the ultrasound about 2 weeks after my appointment and went in for it on the 18th of June thinking it was overkill. The sonographer took an extensive scan of my neck and finished up by telling me; “There’s a lot going on in your neck. You can’t tell exactly what on ultrasound but more investigation might be needed.” Thankfully I got in to see my GP the next day. When I got there we read the report together: The nodule requires further investigation with contrast CT & fine needle aspiration (FNA) as it is suggestive of neoplasm….. Cancer….F**k…. Which is exactly what my doc said.
Over the following days I had a nuclear scan (which showed a cold nodule- still not good), then a contrast CT which coincidentally fell on my 29th birthday. On Tuesday I went back to QDI (Queensland diagnostic imaging) for the FNA. When I got there they had found a second mass on the CT on the left side of my neck extrinsic to the thyroid which was suspicious so they biopsied both. On the 27th of June I went back to my GP to get the results. That morning I had been up at 5am to swim 5km with my squad, then went for an hour run/ walk (as I was recovering from a pelvic/leg injury), all this before my 9am appointment. I heard the pathologist on the other end of the phone give my GP the results from the biopsy, “papillary carcinoma”….. I had done my extensive research on all possible outcomes…. This was not the outcome I was expecting or the one I wanted… Cancer… I had cancer….Me…. But it’s the good one to have…. >95% five year survival rate… and surely not being sick means we've caught it early….. didn't we???? Surgery is a certainty…. This was everything that ran through my mind in the first 5 seconds. I went back for a chest CT to check for secondaries (which eventually came back clear) and then I took myself off to work. I told only a few people that day as I felt as though it wasn't really happening to me. It took me a really long time to come to grips with the phrase ‘I have cancer’.
Of course there was the ever so fresh memory of my wonderful friend Katie who passed away on her 28th birthday in 2011 after a short battle with cervical cancer. I remember when and where I was when she told me she had been diagnosed and when I found out she had passed. She had not won her battle but for me this was a war I would win.
I am not writing this to evoke a pity party. These are the cards I had been dealt and I get to choose how to play them. I have no doubt that this will change who I am and how I see the world but that doesn't have to be in a negative way. I am so bloody lucky this was found when it was. I’ve had hormonal imbalances for 7 years- amenorrhea thought to be due to the high volume/ intensity of training I do to compete in my beloved sport of triathlon. In March I mentioned to my GP that my amenorrhea continued. She was concerned that it had been an issue for far too long- ran bloods to check both my hormone and thyroid levels. The hormones were low and the thyroid was normal. With a lot of persuasion required my GP referred me to see another endocrinologist locally. Unfortunately they work publically which meant I had to wait until the end of May before an appointment came up. On the physical examination the doctor noted a thyroid nodule in the right lower lobe & I was referred to have this investigated by ultrasound.
95% of thyroid nodules turn out to be nothing so I stuffed around a little. Booked the ultrasound about 2 weeks after my appointment and went in for it on the 18th of June thinking it was overkill. The sonographer took an extensive scan of my neck and finished up by telling me; “There’s a lot going on in your neck. You can’t tell exactly what on ultrasound but more investigation might be needed.” Thankfully I got in to see my GP the next day. When I got there we read the report together: The nodule requires further investigation with contrast CT & fine needle aspiration (FNA) as it is suggestive of neoplasm….. Cancer….F**k…. Which is exactly what my doc said.
Over the following days I had a nuclear scan (which showed a cold nodule- still not good), then a contrast CT which coincidentally fell on my 29th birthday. On Tuesday I went back to QDI (Queensland diagnostic imaging) for the FNA. When I got there they had found a second mass on the CT on the left side of my neck extrinsic to the thyroid which was suspicious so they biopsied both. On the 27th of June I went back to my GP to get the results. That morning I had been up at 5am to swim 5km with my squad, then went for an hour run/ walk (as I was recovering from a pelvic/leg injury), all this before my 9am appointment. I heard the pathologist on the other end of the phone give my GP the results from the biopsy, “papillary carcinoma”….. I had done my extensive research on all possible outcomes…. This was not the outcome I was expecting or the one I wanted… Cancer… I had cancer….Me…. But it’s the good one to have…. >95% five year survival rate… and surely not being sick means we've caught it early….. didn't we???? Surgery is a certainty…. This was everything that ran through my mind in the first 5 seconds. I went back for a chest CT to check for secondaries (which eventually came back clear) and then I took myself off to work. I told only a few people that day as I felt as though it wasn't really happening to me. It took me a really long time to come to grips with the phrase ‘I have cancer’.
Of course there was the ever so fresh memory of my wonderful friend Katie who passed away on her 28th birthday in 2011 after a short battle with cervical cancer. I remember when and where I was when she told me she had been diagnosed and when I found out she had passed. She had not won her battle but for me this was a war I would win.
Me & Katie on my 25th birthday
Of course I went on overdrive on researching treatment, surgery, risks, complications, mortality and from this developed a long list of questions for my surgeon. I shied away from those that were over the top with pity and emotion and wanted to offer me advice on a thing they hadn't been through themselves. Special mention here to Paige for being an awesome source of information and encouragement through the initial stages of diagnosis and lead up to surgery. I became intolerant of other people's reactions- why are they crying when was holding my shit together. I didn't need those types of people around me to assist me to beat it. Why did people say sorry- I kept telling them they didn't cause this so what's there to be sorry about? I needed to surround myself with people that showed support and strength, treated me no differently to how they normally did and resisted the urge to smother me.
When the first thing the surgeon said to me was ‘your tumours are quite large and one is occluding your internal jugular vein’ the reality of it all started to set in. We talked about the possibility of multiple incisions as a lot of lymph node clearance would be required, parathyroid involvement, removal and re-implantation if she was able to salvage any, which would probably require some calcium supplementation until it started to work again. We talked of the extent to which the cancer had spread- into multiple levels of lymph nodes in my neck, throat and into my chest & then the possibility of it having invaded other structures such as nerve or blood vessels. This was possibly the point at which the enormity of the situation crashed down on me like a brick wall. And then came the post-op complications; permanent voice changes or possible loss, potential for bilateral laryngeal nerve damage resulting in a permanent tracheostomy (breathing tube in the neck) or brachial plexus damage (nerves that supply your upper limb). Triathlon wasn't even on the mind, but brachial plexus damage was a huge concern for me as I need my arms and hands to work to be a physio. Of course with any surgery is also the mention of death. This was serious. Cancer is cancer and even when it’s the good one there is always the risk with surgery or cancer that something can go wrong. Dad’s only question was ‘when?’ “Tuesday” said the surgeon. To me that wasn't soon enough- another entire week- I wasn't quite sure I could mentally wait that long. The sooner the better as it would have less chance to grow and spread.
But life went on and I needed some normality. The next morning swam with Bec (my training partner). For a blissful hour I forgot all that I was facing. I went to work where I had to pull myself together for a busy day of work whilst trying to process all that had happened and all that was going to. I gradually got around to telling friends as it was something that would soon be public knowledge on the small Sunshine Coast and triathlon world.
And then it was surgery day. I was admitted at 11am, showered and waited and waited. A quick visit from the anaesthetist and surgeon and around 2pm I was taken to the operating theatre. At this stage I was now packing shit. I was no longer nervous, just plain scared. I was wheeled into the theatre and transferred onto the operating table and the last thing I remember is my surgeon walking over. Then I was awake asking if they had started yet- “it’s over” said the nurse in recovery. Great I can talk!!!! No trachey. Do I sound normal?? YES!! Can I move my hands- YES!!!! Brachial plexus intact. The surgery had extended to 7 hours- not 4 as first expected and I was feeling every second of it. I spent the first sleepless night in intensive care. All I could think about was the nausea and the impending threats of vomiting with a neck wound. Drainage tubes were hanging out of both sides of my neck and it hurt to move my head, so I didn't The first night, as expected, was horrendous. There was pain everywhere- the front of my neck at the incision, the back of my neck from having my head in full extension for 7 hours, my throat was raw, my gut was nauseous and my right heel had a pressure area. And to think 24 hours beforehand I felt fine. I knew that this had to be done but when you feel ok sometimes the logic doesn't add up.
The next day I was moved to the ward and my surgeon visited to give a quick rundown on the surgery: It had been a lot more extensive than first thought. The nodule disease was right down into the chest cavity to the nodes just above my heart. The surgeon managed to salvage one parathyroid gland and reimplanted it into my sternocleidomastoid muscle (in my neck) but it probably won’t work for a while (until it regains blood supply) so I'd have to take calcium supplements until that happened. The surgeon was confident, however, that she had got it all. I was supposed to stay 2 nights but a combination of uncontrollable nausea and a declining calcium level saw me stay for 5.
Another scare a week later after a high thyroglobulin level came back that there was still macroscopic (large) cancer remaining meant a full body scan which thankfully came back clear. I met with my oncologist in Brisbane to organise radio-active iodine treatment for October. This should be a one (or two) off treatment where I ingest a capsule that should kill off any remaining microscopic cancer cells. And then essentially I should be CURED!
I am slowly returning to my normal life. I have of course rushed this process. Having the first 10 days out of hospital at my parent place 90km north of the sunny coast kept me under some control. Since coming back home to Mooloolaba I have worked myself up to a bit of swimming and biking but the fatigue levels are high and I get breathless very quickly so my physical limits are low. I am still having dramas with calcium levels and the thyroxine levels will take time to get right. I will go back to part time work next week. The emotional side of it is the biggest roller coaster. Some days I feel fantastic as though nothing has happened and the next the cracks appear. One of my biggest personal faults is my inability to ask for help. I have been inundated with messages, calls, visits, flowers, cards, emails and texts from all around the world which continues to pull on my heart strings. I am not yet ‘in the clear’ but will be making that fact well known when I get that call.
Of course I went on overdrive on researching treatment, surgery, risks, complications, mortality and from this developed a long list of questions for my surgeon. I shied away from those that were over the top with pity and emotion and wanted to offer me advice on a thing they hadn't been through themselves. Special mention here to Paige for being an awesome source of information and encouragement through the initial stages of diagnosis and lead up to surgery. I became intolerant of other people's reactions- why are they crying when was holding my shit together. I didn't need those types of people around me to assist me to beat it. Why did people say sorry- I kept telling them they didn't cause this so what's there to be sorry about? I needed to surround myself with people that showed support and strength, treated me no differently to how they normally did and resisted the urge to smother me.
When the first thing the surgeon said to me was ‘your tumours are quite large and one is occluding your internal jugular vein’ the reality of it all started to set in. We talked about the possibility of multiple incisions as a lot of lymph node clearance would be required, parathyroid involvement, removal and re-implantation if she was able to salvage any, which would probably require some calcium supplementation until it started to work again. We talked of the extent to which the cancer had spread- into multiple levels of lymph nodes in my neck, throat and into my chest & then the possibility of it having invaded other structures such as nerve or blood vessels. This was possibly the point at which the enormity of the situation crashed down on me like a brick wall. And then came the post-op complications; permanent voice changes or possible loss, potential for bilateral laryngeal nerve damage resulting in a permanent tracheostomy (breathing tube in the neck) or brachial plexus damage (nerves that supply your upper limb). Triathlon wasn't even on the mind, but brachial plexus damage was a huge concern for me as I need my arms and hands to work to be a physio. Of course with any surgery is also the mention of death. This was serious. Cancer is cancer and even when it’s the good one there is always the risk with surgery or cancer that something can go wrong. Dad’s only question was ‘when?’ “Tuesday” said the surgeon. To me that wasn't soon enough- another entire week- I wasn't quite sure I could mentally wait that long. The sooner the better as it would have less chance to grow and spread.
But life went on and I needed some normality. The next morning swam with Bec (my training partner). For a blissful hour I forgot all that I was facing. I went to work where I had to pull myself together for a busy day of work whilst trying to process all that had happened and all that was going to. I gradually got around to telling friends as it was something that would soon be public knowledge on the small Sunshine Coast and triathlon world.
And then it was surgery day. I was admitted at 11am, showered and waited and waited. A quick visit from the anaesthetist and surgeon and around 2pm I was taken to the operating theatre. At this stage I was now packing shit. I was no longer nervous, just plain scared. I was wheeled into the theatre and transferred onto the operating table and the last thing I remember is my surgeon walking over. Then I was awake asking if they had started yet- “it’s over” said the nurse in recovery. Great I can talk!!!! No trachey. Do I sound normal?? YES!! Can I move my hands- YES!!!! Brachial plexus intact. The surgery had extended to 7 hours- not 4 as first expected and I was feeling every second of it. I spent the first sleepless night in intensive care. All I could think about was the nausea and the impending threats of vomiting with a neck wound. Drainage tubes were hanging out of both sides of my neck and it hurt to move my head, so I didn't The first night, as expected, was horrendous. There was pain everywhere- the front of my neck at the incision, the back of my neck from having my head in full extension for 7 hours, my throat was raw, my gut was nauseous and my right heel had a pressure area. And to think 24 hours beforehand I felt fine. I knew that this had to be done but when you feel ok sometimes the logic doesn't add up.
The next day I was moved to the ward and my surgeon visited to give a quick rundown on the surgery: It had been a lot more extensive than first thought. The nodule disease was right down into the chest cavity to the nodes just above my heart. The surgeon managed to salvage one parathyroid gland and reimplanted it into my sternocleidomastoid muscle (in my neck) but it probably won’t work for a while (until it regains blood supply) so I'd have to take calcium supplements until that happened. The surgeon was confident, however, that she had got it all. I was supposed to stay 2 nights but a combination of uncontrollable nausea and a declining calcium level saw me stay for 5.
Another scare a week later after a high thyroglobulin level came back that there was still macroscopic (large) cancer remaining meant a full body scan which thankfully came back clear. I met with my oncologist in Brisbane to organise radio-active iodine treatment for October. This should be a one (or two) off treatment where I ingest a capsule that should kill off any remaining microscopic cancer cells. And then essentially I should be CURED!
I am slowly returning to my normal life. I have of course rushed this process. Having the first 10 days out of hospital at my parent place 90km north of the sunny coast kept me under some control. Since coming back home to Mooloolaba I have worked myself up to a bit of swimming and biking but the fatigue levels are high and I get breathless very quickly so my physical limits are low. I am still having dramas with calcium levels and the thyroxine levels will take time to get right. I will go back to part time work next week. The emotional side of it is the biggest roller coaster. Some days I feel fantastic as though nothing has happened and the next the cracks appear. One of my biggest personal faults is my inability to ask for help. I have been inundated with messages, calls, visits, flowers, cards, emails and texts from all around the world which continues to pull on my heart strings. I am not yet ‘in the clear’ but will be making that fact well known when I get that call.
Jodie, Me & Meg 2010 (I was a red-head!)
To my parents; this wouldn't have even happened without you- I owe you my life twice over now! My mother has been beyond incredible. Words cannot express what she has done for me. She’s my best friend and I don’t know if I would have been as stoic throughout this ordeal if she wasn’t by me taking the majority of the stress of the situation.
To my parents; this wouldn't have even happened without you- I owe you my life twice over now! My mother has been beyond incredible. Words cannot express what she has done for me. She’s my best friend and I don’t know if I would have been as stoic throughout this ordeal if she wasn’t by me taking the majority of the stress of the situation.
Me & Mum at a wedding in April
To my brother Mark, he is a doctor in Townsville and although a long way away, was the one person that managed to ease my nerves and anxiety in the lead up to the operation. We haven’t been close the past few years but something like this is what you need to put the past behind you and realise that family is the most important thing in life and it is imperative to repair these relationships. A huge apology to my folks to them for having to cancel their overseas holiday as my timing couldn’t have been worse.
To my brother Mark, he is a doctor in Townsville and although a long way away, was the one person that managed to ease my nerves and anxiety in the lead up to the operation. We haven’t been close the past few years but something like this is what you need to put the past behind you and realise that family is the most important thing in life and it is imperative to repair these relationships. A huge apology to my folks to them for having to cancel their overseas holiday as my timing couldn’t have been worse.
Me & Mark (2009)
Meg, Jodie, Ilana, Vanessa, Lisa, Adam & Sophie, Ben & Nat, Mick, Bec, Kirsten, Nat & Ray, Bel, Matt, Steve, Col & Pieter- thank-you for treating me no different to how you normally do yet giving me the strength, confidence, support, friendship and love that I have needed the past 5 weeks.
Meg, Jodie, Ilana, Vanessa, Lisa, Adam & Sophie, Ben & Nat, Mick, Bec, Kirsten, Nat & Ray, Bel, Matt, Steve, Col & Pieter- thank-you for treating me no different to how you normally do yet giving me the strength, confidence, support, friendship and love that I have needed the past 5 weeks.
Kirsten's wedding- 12 days before diagnosis
And so triathlon? We will see. Health is currently the number one priority. Things are all on hold at present: my coach (who’s been an incredible friend though this), my pro licence, my goals and dreams. Now knowing something quite significant has potentially been holding me back I am very keen to see what I can do again. My fantastic sponsors; Mizuno, Cannondale, Enervit, Orca, OSHE and Ryders eyewear have all been very understanding and supportive during these circumstances and I look forward to giving you all a superb comeback story.
And so triathlon? We will see. Health is currently the number one priority. Things are all on hold at present: my coach (who’s been an incredible friend though this), my pro licence, my goals and dreams. Now knowing something quite significant has potentially been holding me back I am very keen to see what I can do again. My fantastic sponsors; Mizuno, Cannondale, Enervit, Orca, OSHE and Ryders eyewear have all been very understanding and supportive during these circumstances and I look forward to giving you all a superb comeback story.
3 weeks post-op- back to drinking coffee at Mooloolaba with Ilana
And with the most simple and eloquent mantra (thanks Brett!) said to me 5 weeks ago; “This too shall pass” I sign off.
Rachie xo
And with the most simple and eloquent mantra (thanks Brett!) said to me 5 weeks ago; “This too shall pass” I sign off.
Rachie xo
Link to my blog: http://rachpaxton.blogspot.com.au/
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