On This Team, We Fight for That Inch

Kara Byrne
Jul 21, 2012
4 min read

In 49 days, I will complete a 12km bike tour for the MS Society of Canada. Then I’ll be in China, climbing the Great Wall for Juvenile Diabetes. Next is skydiving in London for Cystic Fibrosis. Following that I will pop over to Africa to trek the Sahara Desert for the Simon Keith Foundation. Two weeks after that I’ll be in New York City, running a marathon on the Michael J. Fox Foundation’s team for Parkinson’s research, and two more weeks after that I’ll make my way through the rain forest for eight days in Costa Rica for LIVESTRONG. After the last challenge (TBD), I’ll be home just in time for Christmas.

I don’t know how to ride a bike (yet). Skydiving makes me hyperventilate a little. I’ve never run farther than 12km… and that was before I had Multiple Sclerosis. But as detrimental to my success as all that sounds, it just doesn’t matter. What matters is hope. Perseverance. Laughter. Change. A chance to inspire. A life I am proud of. A year I’ll never regret, no matter the outcome. A four-month journey dedicated to everything I believe in. Weeks spent meeting all those survivors out there. Days devoting my own fight to them. Hours running right alongside people living with Parkinson’s. Moments in which I will scare myself, challenge myself, surprise myself, realize the human capacity for greatness… What matters is the young girl of 18 just diagnosed with MS who feels like her world is over. Maybe, if I do this right, she’ll watch The Finity Project and learn that in fact, the world is waiting for her. What matters is the money we raise that allows for developments in research, extending the life expectancy of those with Cystic Fibrosis, so they can continue to live as beautifully as they do. What matters is Simon Keith, and his fight to not just live, but to survive a heart transplant and go on to become a professional athlete; to tell his story and to help others find that kind of strength. What matters is every person who has someone they couldn’t save, a friend they watch suffer, a soul mate they fear losing or a life they feel changing forever; the parents who once experienced the thrill of their daughter’s first step, now afraid of ever having to witness her last. What matters to me, is that you matter.

The most important thing you can do in life is trust yourself. Trust your own strength, your own ability, and understand how powerful your mind is. Life will throw a million things your way; some you’ll handle with ease and others you’ll struggle to face. I left my house yesterday morning to complete my scheduled 9.5km run with no idea of how hard it would be. I don’t talk a lot about what my body feels like every day (never mind write about it), but if I’m going to do this project honestly and have it do everything I hope, then I must not leave out the struggle that leads to the victory. I must ensure the world knows what it is Lee-Anne and I are about to face, so that not only can they truly be a part of the triumph, but understand the possibilities for themselves.

I’ve lived ½ a decade with this disease. I ran ½ a mile yesterday and started to wonder if I could go much further. I’m only ½ way to fifty. It almost made for a glass ½ empty kind of day. Almost.

I run differently than I used to, it might even be safe to call it quite ugly, actually. It’s certainly not graceful, or athletic like it used to be. It’s very… stompy, but I do it anyway. It just doesn’t matter what it looks like, or how fast I can go, it matters that I can run, and so I do. It takes about 40 minutes before I get my rhythm and my legs stop feeling so heavy (seriously, imagine running with cement blocks tied to your shins and then imagine trying to make it look pretty. Not. Possible.). I’ve also had to conquer the fear of pedestrians wondering if I’ve been hydrating with vodka instead of water. Let’s just say ‘stagger’ is a kind description of my one-minute walk breaks. My right leg and I don’t really get along, we’re both stubborn and unwilling to compromise, and you’ll often find evidence of our arguments on me. It took me down in the MS Kick for the Cure Soccer Tournament during an overly ambitious sprint. I couldn’t even pretend to blame it on someone else either; not a player within fifteen feet of me… darnit.

Yesterday’s battle wound was on my right knee. At about 30 minutes in, I succumbed to a bump in the sidewalk and face-planted… and then watched an ant crawl over it as I lay there and thought, “show-off.” It would be really easy to get upset and accept defeat, but for some reason, a rather fierce resilience usually comes first. Up I got and on I went. And I decided that just for tripping me, that right leg earned itself some extra time on the pavement. I always win.

I uglied my way along the ocean and through Oak Bay, all the while pretending I looked like Usain Bolt and making jokes to myself. I passed a 40km speed sign and thought, “Well, guess I better slow down then.” I survive on my sarcasm most days, but near the ends of my runs I usually have to put up a pretty good fight. It comes down to a mental battle, a harsh inner-dialogue fuelled by the desperation to succeed. It becomes a short-sighted obsession with my mark in the distance and adrenaline-producing visions of this project’s potential as I fight to gain every inch on the road. I listen to speeches like the one below because, "On this team, we fight for that inch."

I didn’t meet my 9.5km goal yesterday, I smiled as I ran passed it to 14.5.