Jen Hodson

I want to inspire, yes, but I’m also so much more than my disease.

You will feel like you’re wandering aimlessly in the desert, that no one out there will get you, or want to get you.

I thought of all the people I had lost that I was running for. I thought of the people going through treatment I was running for.

I don’t really know if I’m OK. Sometimes I think I am, sometimes I think I’m falling into a pit of despair I can’t get out of.

I’m grateful for the peace I find within these walls. The daily upkeep and attention it requires seem a small price to pay for my sanctuary.

Fatigue is a black hole, and it can suck us in.

Cancer doesn’t discriminate and it’s completely and utterly unpredictable. It isolates you and then it takes your friends.

This fear isn’t related to cancer alone. It’s a realization that part of being human is to know that we will someday pass on.

A lot of people ask me when my breaking point was, but I never hit one. I openly communicated with my oncologist every step of the way.

They say cancer is a full-time job. They also say that about marathon training.

My tattoo is a symbol of my triple-positive cancer. It also breaks down the changes I’ve gone through: mind, body, soul.

I’ll never forget that first run after my double mastectomy. That was one of the most beautiful days I’ve ever known.

I’ll miss the ignorance I used to have with my spaghetti and meatballs. That I used to wash down fervently with my favorite Cab Sav.

People will show up when you need them to. They will support the decisions you need to make. If they don’t, talk to the HR department—STAT...