The Hardest Lesson After Cancer Treatment
My hardest lesson after cancer was accepting my new normal and giving myself grace - my body simply wasn’t the same as it was before.
Progress Isn’t Linear — And That’s Okay
One of the hardest things for me to accept during and after cancer has been this: my body doesn’t feel or perform the way it used to. As a former athlete, I spent most of my life measuring success in numbers — speed, distance, pace, frequency. Improvement was clear, objective, and easy to track.
Rationally, I know those numbers don’t really matter. I know everyone slows down as they age. But sport has been my coping mechanism, my constant, for more than 30 years. Letting go of that black-and-white way of measuring progress has been far harder than I expected.
Cancer forced me to do exactly that.
Changing my mentality to measure progress in feelings and side steps took a lot of adjustment
During treatment, I lost muscle, endurance, and speed — and if I’m honest, that mattered more to me than losing my hair or my breasts. When treatment ended, I assumed recovery would be quick. Instead, I was met with bone pain and tendonitis so severe that I sometimes needed crutches just to walk. At one point, I had to stop running for three months — the longest break of my life outside of pregnancy.
Running “shouldn’t” matter this much. But it does. And pretending otherwise doesn’t help.
What has helped is slowly redefining progress. Instead of chasing numbers, I’ve had to learn to measure success in enjoyment, time outdoors, moments with friends, and how my body feels rather than what it can produce.
Over the last six months, I’ve trusted the process — even when it’s tested my patience. I handed my training over to a coach and allowed myself to stop micromanaging. Some sessions felt painfully slow. Others were repetitive and frustrating. There were long stretches where it seemed like nothing was improving at all.
But progress was happening — just in tiny, almost invisible increments. An extra 2.5kg on the squat rack. 0.2 km/hr on the treadmill. Two seconds faster in the pool. Small enough to dismiss on any given day, but powerful when added together.
There were setbacks too. My body didn’t always tolerate the load. Medical treatments knocked me back weeks at a time. I felt sluggish, heavy, and defeated more than once.
And then, quietly, something shifted.
As summer arrived, I realized how far I’d actually come. I can run again — and it feels amazing. I’m not as fast as I was before cancer, but I’m strong, pain-free, and genuinely proud of where I am. Day to day, it never felt like progress. Looking back, the leap is undeniable.
If you’re a cancer survivor feeling stuck, please hear this: progress is a winding road. It’s measured in months and years, not days or weeks. Tiny steps forward still count.
Stick with it. Keep going. Hope lives in consistency.