The Races We Can't Run (And Why That's Okay)

The Race That Changed Everything

The next time I ran it, everything was different.

My mom had just finished her fight with breast cancer. And I ran the entire thing—but this time it was hard. And I was ugly crying—for more than half those 3.1 miles.

My logic was simple: If she could go through chemo and everything that came with her battle, then I could run.

The following year, she came with me. She walked the survivor walk in her pink sweatshirt, collected goodies at all the booths, and we took a picture on the bridge—me with my red face from running, her smiling beside me (see above).

We had brunch with my brother and a small group of friends (some of whom also ran, one of whom was also a survivor). She spent the whole weekend with me, and 2 of the photos we took were shared at her funeral. It was one of those perfect weekends you tuck away in your heart.

The Walk I Couldn't Take

This past weekend, there was a run in my town called “Heaven Can Wait”.

I didn't go.

It’s fundraising for Breast Cancer so women from my support group were walking it. I had encouragement. I also had plenty of "good reasons" not to go—we're in the middle of a move (yes, that's happening, and yes, you'll need my new address for Christmas cards). Boxes everywhere. Exhaustion from packing, repetitive motions, and lifting that my body isn't ready for yet.

But here's the truth: I just wasn't up for it.

I wasn't ready to process the weight of a walk called "Heaven Can Wait" when heaven couldn't wait for my mom. When mortality feels too close some days. When it still feels like I’m in the middle of this fight myself.

The Year That Won't End

Yesterday was a day of appointments. Plural.

I found out my second surgery won't happen this year—which means it comes with a fresh deductible, a new out-of-pocket maximum, $1,500 plus 30% of costs, plane flights, consultations that need to happen in person instead of via telehealth.

More time. More money. More trips. More focus on this when I desperately wanted 2025 to be the year I could wrap this part of it up and finally put this down.

I'd hoped the surgeries would be done, so that next year my body could stabilize. I wanted 2026 to be the year I could focus on rehab instead of more surgeries. But the timeline just shifted out of my control and contrary to the info I’d been provided previously.

The Tests That Don't Stop

A few weeks ago, I went in for what I knew had to be checked out, but convinced myself was nothing. It was a lump, it needed an ultrasound, but it was just a result of surgery and this was just a confirmation.

I also knew it was likely they’d also want a biopsy. For some reason, the radiologist wanted to convince me the biopsy was necessary. He countered every argument I had for why I didn’t need to worry. (Me - “It’s the size of my fingertip, it’s more likely to be necrosis than to have grown that fast. Him - “Or it’s extremely agressive and important we get it biopsied soon.”) For the first time in this entire journey, I called my husband and asked him to leave work to calm me down.

That's never happened before. Not once. And it tells you how much more vulnerable I am now than I used to be.

(Spoiler: It was nothing. Thank God.)

Then yesterday. An appointment with my primary care for a different symptom. And to put it bluntly: "The standard is we treat this as endometrial cancer until we can rule it out."

So, we started the tests to try and see if it’s something else. They came back negative. Which means we're still trying to prove it's something else. Next up is an ultrasound. I’m confident it’s nothing.

At this point 95% of the time it isn’t cancer (and I’ve had it be cancer), but it is exhausting.

Seriously—if I had $100 each for the scans, biopsies, ultrasounds, and tests this year, I could probably cover the $6,000 in expenses not covered by insurance (genetic testing & hospital stuff for my insurance - for a friend they didn’t cover the mammoprint - which my insurance did…).

The Month I Thought I'd Show Up For

October is Breast Cancer Awareness Month.

You probably expected to hear more from me. I know I expected to write more.

This was supposed to be my month to show up, to share, to connect around this thing that's consumed so much of my life. But honestly? I haven't had it in me.

I'm not ready to process that it's THE month. The month with the pink ribbons everywhere. The month of awareness when I'm still just trying to get through each day without another test, another scan, another wait for results.

Maybe that's part of why I couldn't do the walk. It's all just too close right now. Too much. Too heavy.

But hey—the month isn't over yet. We'll see what happens.

What I'm Learning

You reach a point where you just have to believe you can handle whatever comes next.

I guarantee there are people in your life—people you interact with every day—who are getting these same pieces of news. Waiting on biopsy results. Scheduling another scan. Holding their breath between appointments.

You learn to roll with it. To keep breathing. To keep connecting. To keep walking forward.

And sometimes, you learn that it's okay to not walk a race called Heaven Can Wait because the weight of it is just too much right now.

The Choice Ahead

So here I am, deciding: Do I pick up the fight again in January? Continue hunting for the right surgeon, the right place for my next surgery?

Or do I give myself permission to walk away for a year or two? To let my finances stabilize. To focus on my business. To pay off this debt and save up for that epic trip to Greece in June and the wonderful trip back east next fall. To put my energy toward the things that fill me up instead of the things that drain me.

I think I might choose the latter.

What I Want You to Know

Moving took everything out of me. It was a stark reminder of how much further I have to go in rehab. How much my body still isn't what it used to be.

But you know what? That's okay.

2025 has been quite a year, y'all. And I really was looking forward to setting this burden down at the end of it.

But maybe the lesson isn't about finishing the race. Maybe it's about giving yourself permission to rest between miles. To choose what you're ready for. To say "not yet" to the walks that feel too heavy.

And to trust that heaven can, indeed, wait.

Tell me: What race are you giving yourself permission not to run right now?

Leave a note below. Sometimes we all need permission to rest—and to know we're not alone in that decision.

With gratitude for your grace,

Shawna