Susan G. Komen Survivor Story - Betty Jeter, Sarah Jenkins

Susan G. Komen Tri-Cities Race For The Cure
Survivor Story – Betty Jeter and Sarah Jenkins
By Hank Brown

On Sunday, October 25th in Kingsport, TN Betty Jeter will put on her pink survivor shirt and walk proudly in the Susan G. Komen Tri-Cities Race For The Cure. She’s not ashamed to let people know she is a 14-year survivor of breast cancer, but that was not always the case.

“When I had the surgery, I didn’t want people to know I had cancer,” said Betty. “I didn’t want the attention. I remember when we first did the survivor celebration a few years ago, Sarah (her daughter Sarah Jenkins) wanted me to go. It was hard for me to put the survivor shirt on.”

“Women today are more in tune with their bodies,” continued Betty, who spends her days now keeping up with her two grandchildren. “I see articles about women going to the beach and bearing their chest. Oh my gosh, I would love to do that. It would be so liberating, but the way I was raised, we just didn’t do that. We want to keep it quiet.”

Sarah, a 33-year old clinical trials study coordinator at Johnson City Medical Center, agreed with her mother. “A lot of women won’t go to the survivor celebration. There’s a generation where it’s a private thing. They just don’t want people to know.”

Sarah, a self-proclaimed “volunteer queen,” is now the Assistant Race Chair and Director of Race Operations for the Tri-Cities Race For The Cure. She got her start as a Komen volunteer when she was just a freshman at the University of Tennessee.

“When I was pledging sororities I chose Zeta Tau Alpha because their philanthropy is the Susan G. Komen Race in Knoxville,” said Sarah. “At that time, I did it for my grandmother who got breast cancer a couple of years before Mom did.”

“I’m very proud of her,” Betty said looking over at Sarah. “She does this for my mom and for me. She puts in a lot of time as do all the volunteers. I’m always amazed when I show up at the race all the men there wearing pink shirts.”

Betty is a big proponent of self-examination. She had been having trouble with “bumps and lumps” since she was 21 years old, and went to the doctor every few months for regular checkups, sometimes removing suspicious areas. In July, 1995, at age 49, she found another small lump and immediately went for an exam. The doctor found nothing, and told her she should be fine. Betty asked him if he was sure, and he knew she had found something he hadn’t. So, he requested a mammogram and biopsy just to be safe.

“The lump was a little higher and deeper than normal,” said Betty. “That’s why it was hard to detect. When it came back as cancer, I cried uncontrollably in the doctor’s office. They sent me straight to the hospital for pre-op, and I cried there too.”

Sarah was home from school on summer break when her mom got the news, so along with her sister, her aunts and her uncle, they all pitched in to help.

“They took good care of me,” Betty said. “They cooked, they cleaned. They were all very supportive. But I was glad when school started back. They kind of hovered over me,” she said with a laugh.

“We learned it from you!” Sarah countered, smiling.

Betty and Sarah both agreed that “Aunt Lou” (Betty’s sister) stood out among the support crew. “She was right there with me the entire time,” said Betty. “I remember when they took the bandages off after the surgery, I cried and she cried with me. But you know, that was a good thing. She didn’t tell me, ‘oh, you’re just fine.’ I needed someone to cry with me.”

“When it was time for me to leave the hospital, I was afraid. I knew when I walked out of the hospital I was walking out a different woman than when I walked in. But it’s the first step to being a survivor.”

“It’s like putting on that pink survivor shirt for the first time. When I wear that shirt I’m saying I’m here and I’m a survivor.”

Susan G. Komen Survivor Story - Angie Gilmer

Susan G. Komen Tri-Cities Race For The Cure
Survivor Story – Angie Gilmer
By Hank Brown

Angie Gilmer says it takes a small army to get each patient through breast cancer. She remembers when she was first diagnosed with the disease the tremendous outpouring of support, not only from friends, but also from strangers.

“This disease doesn’t just affect the patient,” said Angie. “It’s the entire family, and that includes relatives and friends. Cancer patients have one job, and that’s to get better. We do that much easier when we focus on that. All our other needs were met by other people. They took my children where they needed to be. They fed us. The meals that came. It was truly unbelievable.”

On Sunday, October 25th an army of thousands will descend upon Memorial Park in Kingsport, TN for the Susan G. Komen Race For The Cure. Nearly five years after being diagnosed with cancer, Angie Gilmer will walk the 5 kilometer course, and in so doing, take another step on her journey to fight this disease.

“Komen is the organization who unites us,” said this youth ministry director and mother of three. “We have strength in numbers. Together we will find a cure. My story is a story of hope and I hope it encourages others to fight the battle.”

She admits that her battle did not really start until a friend who was going through chemotherapy herself, told her to wake up and realize she had cancer.

“She said I can either crawl in a ditch and throw water balloons at it, or I can come at it with everything I had. That’s when I understood. That’s when I put on my battle armor and began my fight.”

Angie’s message is a message of self-examination and early detection. Since she was diagnosed, she has lost friends to the disease, and she’s had others who were treated and survived with only minimally invasive surgery. The difference, she preaches, is early detection.

“Some people are afraid of finding out. You cannot wait. You cannot give cancer time.”

In her case, cancer had more time than it should have. She initially became concerned when she discovered a small lump “about the size of a kernel of popcorn” under her arm on her rib cage. The doctors dismissed it because of the location and because of her age. She continued to check it, and over the next few months, it became sore, and continued to grow. 11 months later, it had grown to the size of an almond and was extremely painful.

She went back to the doctor and was diagnosed, just one day prior to her 39th birthday, with ductal carcinoma, the most common form of breast cancer - so named because it can hide in the milk ducts of the breast. Because of the length of time to make the diagnosis, she had to go through two rounds of chemotherapy before surgery. She decided to have a bi-lateral mastectomy… a very difficult decision she admits, but one she felt she needed to do. She reasoned if it could hide in one breast, it could hide in another.

“Self-examination is the key,” Angie emphasized. “Women need to know what a change in their breast feels like. I remember the key chains that were passed out at the race last year which showed tumor sizes. Most tumors are about the size of a half dollar before they are detected, so it can be a very large tumor before you feel it in the breast tissue.”

Despite her difficult journey, Angie remains upbeat and determined to spread her message. Cancer is not a journey she would wish on anyone, but for the things she’s learned and the truth she understands today, she says she would not trade her journey.

“You don’t choose to get cancer, but you do choose how you respond. Cancer is a disease that takes. It will rob you of everything that you will give it. Do NOT let it take anymore than it must have. I will not let it rob me of my spirit.”

“You can get bitter or get better. I choose to get better.”

Susan G. Komen Survivor Story - Gretchen George

Susan G. Komen Tri-Cities Race For The Cure
Survivor Story – Gretchen George
By Hank Brown


Excuse Gretchen George if she has a few more butterflies than normal when she steps to the line for the Susan G. Komen Tri-Cities Race For The Cure on October 25th in Kingsport. It’s certainly not because she is running a 5K race. For someone who runs marathons, completing the 5K distance is not a big deal. The “big deal” is what this race stands for - finding a cure for breast cancer, promoting early detection, and celebrating life.

“Oh yeah, this race means a lot to me,” said Gretchen. “So many people were there for me when I was diagnosed with breast cancer, so now I want to be there for others.”

At just 33 years old, this pretty pre-school teacher looks like she could be a model on the cover of Runner’s World magazine. She certainly does not look the part of a cancer survivor, especially one who was diagnosed less than a year ago. But Gretchen is not one of those people who will let things get her down. Running has always been her outlet, even after a double mastectomy in January, followed up with difficult chemo treatments.

“There were times I was really sick from the chemo, losing my hair and all that, and I would still go out and run. People would ask me how I did it. Staying healthy is the key. If I hadn’t been healthy already, the chemo would have been really hard.”

Gretchen has always been an active person. She ran track in middle school and high school, and kept running in college for fitness. A few years ago, when she was going through a separation and fighting a nasty custody battle, she used running as an outlet.

“I ran a lot of miles,” she admitted. “It was good therapy. I got rid of my anger out on the road.”

Then a friend got her into running half marathons, which eventually led to her first marathon, the Myrtle Beach Marathon in 2006. She also got her twin sister, Gretta, into running marathons, signing her up for the Walt Disney Marathon the next year. She got hooked, and admitted that it turned into an obsession, running a total of 7 marathons over the course of about two years.

About this time last year, while training for the Marine Corps Marathon, she started feeling a pain in the side of her breast. She noticed her running was inconsistent, some good runs, but lots of bad ones. She has always been anemic, so she thought maybe her blood was low. She didn’t think much of it, but her boyfriend, Scott convinced her to go to the doctor.

“Because of my family history, my doctor wanted me to get a mammogram and ultrasound. I went for the tests on December 19th and got the results right after Christmas.”

The tests confirmed her worst nightmare - she had breast cancer. She was only 33 years old, the picture of health, a marathon runner, and she had cancer.

When she was only 2 years old, she had been diagnosed with adrenal gland cancer, so this was her second time with cancer. Her mom convinced her to have a genetic test for the cancer gene, TP-53, and that also came back positive. This gene makes you more likely to get other types of cancer. Her father had died of cancer when she was only 17. Several others on her father’s side of the family had also died of cancer.

“When I found out I had the cancer gene, it made it real. I was only 33 and I had this cancer gene. But I knew I had to get through it. I have a daughter to live for. And I’m so thankful for Scott. I would have never gotten it checked if he had not stayed after me. We were lucky we caught the breast cancer early. It was only in stage 2, but the cancer was a stage 3, aggressive cancer.”

If Gretchen had breast cancer, and she had the genetic cancer gene, it seemed likely that her twin sister could also get cancer. She convinced Gretta to get checked, and the tests came back positive for both breast cancer and the cancer gene.

Luckily, Gretta’s cancer was found very early. She will go for a mastectomy in October, but not until after she runs the Chicago Marathon. Gretchen will be there as a cheerleader.

Gretchen’s doctor has now cleared her to train again, and she already has her sights on her next marathon – the Run For Donna on February 21st in Jacksonville. Why this marathon? The proceeds go to breast cancer research.

But before Jacksonville, Gretchen George has a very important engagement at the Tri-Cities Race For The Cure.

“This race means so much to me and so many other survivors,” said Gretchen. “It shows you can come back. Running to me meant life. It means you can beat cancer.”

The Back Streets December 1997

Published December, 1997

February 18, 1995. You would think my life came to an end on this date. Up through this point in time, I dutifully recorded all of my races into a spreadsheet with the essential personal details and results. But for some reason, 2/18/95 is the last recorded date.

The race was the War Party 10K, a small local race. It was a decent effort, nothing outstanding, nor traumatic. I ran, stayed for the awards ceremony, and I went home. So, why did my personal running documentary come to a terminal point after this event?

Well, I’m not sure. Blame it on aging legs that refused to recover from hard workouts. Blame it on a series of injuries that eventually broke my spirit. Blame it on three kids in less than five years. Blame it on El Nino. I don’t know. For some reason my competitive flame fatigued.

In reality, since 1995 I haven’t fallen off the face of Planet Road Race. I’ve continued to enter races, usually content to finish just in front of the baby joggers and fitness walkers. I’ve continued to direct races and volunteer when needed. I’m still breathing, still sweating, and still punching it out on my laptop.

My first documented road race was May 5, 1976, the Toyota 10K. Back then, running a race in the streets was a novelty, and I was young and athletic… so I tried it. My time was a very unimpressive 42:something, and I remember being sore for a week after the race.

Scrolling through my road race database, I found several more landmarks. I’ve picked out a few for illustration:
- First time I broke 40 minutes - Rainbow Run 10K in Greensboro, NC in 1979.

- First trophy - Arts & Crafts 5K in 1983. I remember feeling guilty because all the “good” runners ran the accompanying 10-mile race.

- First big-time race - Peachtree 10K in 1985. I remember looking back just after the start and thinking, “Oh gosh, what if I fall?”

- First race I ever led - Southwest Virginia 10-miler in 1985. The whole time I was in the lead I thought, “What am I doing right behind the police car?” I ended up finishing 2nd… a trend that would haunt me in many future races.

- First “feel good” race - The Charlotte Observer Marathon in 1987. I jogged through the earlier 10K and then paced a friend through the last seven miles of the marathon… it felt great to watch him cross the finish line in 2:59:40, thus accomplishing his lifelong goal of breaking three hours.

- First overall victory – Old Oak 10K in 1988. Imagine my anxiety as I rounded a curve all alone on one of the back-in-the-country roads and found myself staring at a VERY big and VERY mad dog. I repeatedly told him how nice he was during our 30-second standoff, until some other runners finally came up from behind and diverted his attention.

- Marathons – My first attempt was a DNF at Rocket City in 1989. It took me four years to try again but I finally finished one at Kiawah Island in 1993. I quickly learned that I was not cut out to be a marathoner.

These events, and the 200+ others on the list, brought memory smiles… like looking through a high school yearbook. Then I decided to scroll once again and see if I could chronicle my PR’s. In the mid-80’s I seemed to run a PR about as frequently as I got a haircut. Running faster is, of course, the best motivator a runner can have, and it sure worked for me.

My performance curve eventually flattened out, of course, and the PR’s happened less frequently. 1990, however, was a very good year with PR’s in the 5K, 4-mile, and 10K. In 1991 I lowered my 8K PR. The 10-mile and half marathon came down in 1992. I scrolled through 1993 and ‘94 – some good times but no PR’s. Then… the scroll bar stopped moving. I came to the period at the end of the sentence. I came to the last recorded date – 2/18/95.

And then it hit me. My personal records were behind me, way behind me. We all run and run and run, and eventually we all run to this point in the road, where we are faced with the reality that we will not run any faster. I must have hit that point sometime in early 1995, and I’ve been wandering around on this road ever since.

So, where have I been? I’ve been in a continuous comeback from injuries and layoffs. I’ve been adjusting my lifestyle to accommodate the ever-increasing needs of my family. I’ve been coping with a little bald spot on the top of my head and the gray hairs scattering my beard. I’m not as young as I was seven years ago when I ran a 10K PR. A little voice tells me, “You’ll never run 32:40 again. Quit wandering. Move on.”

See you on the back streets.

The Back Streets Oct, 1997

Published October, 1997

Lunchtime.

It’s a nice day outside so several of my neighbors from across the cubicles decide to give the mouse a break and go out to eat. As we pass through the glass doors into the 3rd floor lobby, we could see the elevator doors starting to close.

It was time for some quick action. They all looked at me. “You’re the runner!” My mind was thinking like Michael Johnson, but my legs were moving like yesterday’s slow-twitch 13-mile run. I “raced” for the elevator button, but lost out to the fast-twitch elevator doors.

So, there we stood for an awkward, eternal moment. We watched the display and tracked our taxi as it moved on to other floors to pick up other lunch-goers. I felt like I had let my co-workers down. Running was my specialty, my physical area of expertise, but I wasn’t able to put five steps together quickly enough to catch a runaway elevator.

So how could I explain to my non-running friends that my legs don’t drag race? My underwear doesn’t say “Turbo” across the elastic band. I can’t just flip a switch and run fast. I have to put my body through a primitive tribal stretching ritual before I can even think about toeing-off in my Nikes.

Our office furniture has more flexibility than I do, but after lots of moaning, and chanting, and coaxing, my toes eventually come into my line of sight. That’s close enough. Next comes the injury checklist… hips are okay, IT band is loose, plantar fascia has been better. Now… I can take those first few, stiff-legged, over-pronated, oxygen-indebted steps. Bill Clinton could keep my pace through the first mile or two. In fact Al Gore, with his crutches, would probably stay on my shoulder until I shuffle and shift through all my gears. Only then do I metamorphose from crawling caterpillar to flying butterfly, from shuffling jogger to striding runner.

That elevator could reach the top of the Sears Tower before I hit full speed.

I’m sure that I’m faster than my 7-year old son and my 5-year old daughter, but they consistently whip me in their 10-yard dashes. “Race you to the car, Daddy.” I lose. “Race you up the stairs.” I’m last again. “Race you to the swings.” Third place for old Dad.

I used to let them beat me, but not anymore. Kids are instantly at full speed, 100% fast-twitch. Their legs work on cue, mine on a 20-yard delayed reaction. They are swinging in the swings chanting “beat you, beat you” before I take my second step.

So, just because I’m a runner doesn’t mean I have 4.3 speed from here to the car, or that I can catch a closing elevator faster than a speeding bullet. It does mean I can run distances most people can only cover in a motorized vehicle, and my heart beats about 30 times less each minute than most human mortals.

It also means that my immortal body stays mortally tired most of the time. So, don’t ask my legs to perform except on their scheduled runs; otherwise they are in a state of recovery from either yesterday’s workout or last week’s race.

Last Sunday morning I ran a 14-mile course around town. It was a little on the warm side, and I ran fairly hard, so after I finished my body let me know that I had overdone it. I found the nearest convenience store and drained them of fruit drinks and All-Sports. By the time I showered, dressed and stumbled into church later that morning, I was a humanoid walking around in a depleted body. The Catholic service was a blur; the priest’s sermon was like a fog rolling in over my inattentive brain. When I was a kid in Catholic school, the nuns used to tell us that God would give us grace just for attending church. On this Sunday, I’m sure that’s about all the grace I earned… the only religious experience I could think about was finding a bed and lying down.

So, maybe I should question my smarts for putting my body through this constant physical torture. Maybe I would be more socially acceptable if my walking gait did not resemble Herman Munster’s. Maybe I would be a more fun person if I could stay awake past 10:00PM. Maybe I wouldn’t be addicted to mega-caffeinated soft drinks if I weren’t so sluggish from running-induced rest deprivation.

Maybe if I backed off of this running obsession I could snap out of this zombie-like stupor and lead a normal life.

Why would I want to do that?

See you on the back streets.

The Back Streets 1995

First published 1995

Last night was not a good night. It was raining when I got home from work, so our babysitter asked me if I was going to run. “Yep, on the treadmill,” as I headed upstairs to change. She’s accustomed to my crazy running habits, so this came as no surprise to her.

I settled into my “5 MPH so I won’t hurt my hip shuffle.” After a few minutes, my hip warmed up and felt okay, so I was satisfied that my rehabilitation was still progressing in the right direction. At about 10 minutes my 3-year old daughter came in and offered me one of her peanut butter crackers. I thanked her but politely refused. Strange aid stations on this course...

Around 19 minutes I heard an awful noise underneath my feet. I looked down expecting some ugly treadmill troll to be grabbing at my feet. No troll, but something was bad wrong. I instinctively jumped off and the belt took off at about 90 MPH, so I quickly cut it off. My 4-year old son came running in to save me and excitedly asked what happened.

“It broke,” was my simple and blunt answer. Of course one simple answer never satisfies my son, who wants to know all the details. “It just broke, okay? It’s broken,” I shot back at him after he had climbed all over it and asked four more rapid-fire questions.

My demeanor carried over to dinner where I fussed at my children for not eating their dinner and I just about lost it when my son accidently knocked his plate off the dinner table. As I was cleaning up the mess I noticed we had ants again, all over the kitchen counter.

Last night was not a good night.

I’ve learned a lot of things during my latest injury period. For one, I know for a fact that injured runners are not pleasant people. All the positive things that running does for you, like stress reduction and mental relaxation, probably work in reverse when you’re sitting on your couch watching others run by the window.

Most runners are somewhat limited in their social skills. We can’t join in the office discussion on the latest John Grisham novel because our idea of good reading is a race report on some obscure race in Georgia. We just smile and listen when the rest of “the guys” in the office talk about the latest technology in golf drivers. An occasional polite question in my direction about running usually results in blank stares and polite nods of the head.

Injured runners are even less aware of their environmental surroundings. We are tunneled into one thing... THE INJURY. I can now tell you all about hip injuries. I know the proper way to stretch it, I can give myself an ultrasound treatment, and I can tell you about itophoresis treatment. The diagnosis from my expert physical therapists is hip bursitis, but I think they’re being kind. I just call it old age.

By sheer coincidence, David Atkinson and I had exactly the same injury at exactly the same time. I was Crip #1 and David was Crip #2. Since we had each other as an audience, we took advantage of the situation and called each other daily to talk about our hips. “I think it’s a little better today,” I lied. But there was alway hope. We kidded each other about our 10-minute mile pace, about my course that extended about two blocks from my house, and about his course which constituted back and forth laps on the Greenbelt. David was a little more diligent in his rehab program so he has recovered more quickly than I. But he cheated. He confessed to sneaking off to the restroom at work for ice treatments.

I learned, through trial and lots of error, that some slow jogging, mixed with walking, was the right workout recipe for me during my rehabilitation period. I hate to walk, especially during the middle of a run, but I swallowed my gazelle pride, and conceded the need for several minutes of walking threaded in with my slow running.

The other day I was on my daily shuffle when I passed one of the neighborhood joggers going the other way. I was actually into my walking segment when we passed and he shouted across the road, “It sure makes me feel good to see you walk, I’ve NEVER seen you walk before.” All these years of running, racing, awards, and I bring inspiration by walking in the middle of a run. Go figure...

Even though the past three injured months have not been fun, I have learned some valuable insights into my running. I finally learned why I run. It’s easy to take an activity that we do everyday for granted, but when you can’t do it; when you can’t run, or when you can’t run at the level that you’re accustomed, you start asking yourself some tough questions.

Over the past several years, my running has evolved from the tough, regimented workouts driven by competition, to a more low-key approach (with an occasional road race here and there), driven by the demands of my growing family. I’ve also stayed involved in the sport administratively through race directing and consulting.

So, when my hip decided to throw me even further into the sidelines of this sport, I had to ask myself if I really wanted to continue running. The answer was never in doubt. I’m running, if you can call it that, and I may never be as competitive as I once was, but I want to recover more than ever. I want to get back out on the roads and gulp down gallons of sports drink as soon as I walk in the back door from my run. I want to wave to neighbors mowing their yards as I glide on past their grassy masterpieces. I want to see impromptu sand-lot baseball games and couples holding hands on the Greenbelt. I want to stay in shape. That’s why I run.

See you on the backstreets.