I've lost the most important race of my life. The morning of June 28th hit me like a freight train. My phone rang. It was my doctor. "The biopsy shows you have cancer." 10 days earlier, I'd had a strange bump on my hip checked out. The doc removed it, thinking it was just a cyst. No big deal, right? Wrong. It wasn't just cancer. It was a pilomatrix carcinoma. Rare as hell. Aggressive as a rabid dog. I was the 121st recorded case. Ever. My doctor was shipping me off to MD Anderson. She'd only heard of this once before, during her residency. I felt numb. Disbelieving. How could this happen to me? I do everything right. I eat healthy, run 40 miles a week, watch my weight. Then I thought of my wife. Her dad died of skin cancer when she was young. Rage took over. "No way in hell skin cancer's taking me out." It all started in spring 2023. I was training for the Boston Marathon while coaching track. My days were packed from 5:30 AM to 5 PM. I started running at 3:30 AM to fit it all in. My wife made me take my phone, so I bought a FlipBelt. By mid-February, I noticed a red spot on my hip. Thought it was just friction. I ran Boston. Killed it. Even BQ'd for 2024. Fast forward to January 2024. The "cyst" was growing. Looking weird. I was running Boston again, but something was off. No pop in my stride. Fatiguing early on long runs. The marathon sucked. Felt like crap the whole time. Ran 30 minutes slower than last year. Never connected the dots. Then came the MD Anderson appointment. They needed to remove a chunk of my hip. Maybe take out a lymph node. The PA kept using the word "aggressive." Talking about how fast the cancer could spread. Now I was scared out of my mind. What if I couldn't run anymore? Running is my life. I coach runners, I'm a competitive marathoner, I push my step-daughter in the Houston Marathon. I felt sick to my stomach. August 23rd. Surgery day. They cut a 20cm x4cm chunk of hip. Down to the muscle fascia. My surgeon was a badass. Let me pick the music. We jammed to Metallica and AC/DC while she cut me open. The whole ordeal? It's a massive wake-up call. I used to be a control freak. Overprepped for everything. Stressed out about little crap. Cancer changed all that. Now I know what's really important: - My wife, my best friend - Helping my runners build strong foundations - Enjoying my friends, family, co-workers, and fellow coaches The other stuff? Championships, being seen as a great coach? That's all meaningless now. Fun. But meaningless. I'm not done with this battle. Still got radiation to look forward to. And that mystery spot they found. But I'll keep living my best life every damn day. Cancer's a hell of a teacher. It taught me life's a gift. Running's a gift. The people in my life are gifts. One day, it'll all end. But while I'm here, I'm soaking up every moment. My advice? Stop stressing over your team's performance. Stop comparing yourself to others. Stop wishing your life would change. Enjoy where you are now. Who you are now. The people around you. That's the secret ingredient to a life worth living. Fuck cancer. Live now.
