You have MS

Ten years ago today.

“You have MS” phone call.

My supervisor’s response was, “when when someone has a mess their life is over”

I took this photo of myself on the train ride home to Brooklyn alone

“I have to remember this moment,” I thought. I got home, laid down in bed, and cried.

I had just been running 22 miles, and suddenly I was too fatigued to walk 2. My right leg was numb. I was tripping on trails. Losing my balance. Being an athlete and runner wasn’t just something I did. It was who I was. Who I was becoming.

Back then I posted:

“I’m not going to let MS beat me.”

“I’m going to run far again.”

“I’m never going to give up — so MS should.”

There was so much defiance in me. And thank God there was. Thank god for her defiance and determination.

Because the last ten years have held hard symptoms, injuries, and fatigue.

And then a traumatic brain injury that forced me to rebuild my brain and body all over again.

I knew how to rebuild because I had already learned how with MS.

After that accident, one thing became crystal clear:

I only get one of these life things.

One brain. One body. One wild and precious life. I’m getting that tattooed on my leg today:

“Tell me, what is it you plan to do with your one wild and precious life?” — Mary Oliver.

Ten years with MS has made my answer clearer, not smaller.

MS didn’t shrink my life. It made it beautiful, urgent, precious.

And I am so grateful to still get to live it.

I’ve run 50Ks. I’ve run close to 50 miles. I’ve ridden my bike far in desolate, beautiful places. And not once, not once, did I believe I would succumb to MS. I don’t believe that will happen.

What MS made clear was this: I have a precious life to live. And I am going to live it with a childlike wildness.

To mark this decade, I’m running for ten hours June 13. Half-mile loops.

Because this is how you rebuild.

One loop at a time.

I’m fundraising for @msruntheus — donate or come out and run or walk a loop with me. Info in bio.

And if you’re in your own subway moment right now, crying, scared, alone, unsure who you’re becoming, just know: it might be the beginning of your wild and precious life, too.

Your life isn’t over. You have this new life.