My diagnosis came after an epic day in the hills. It was a shock to everyone, especially me. Too young, too healthy, too active would become my mantra in denial. It took me weeks to actually utter the words audibly. Breast cancer. This must be a joke. My friends were of course horrified, as much for themselves as for me. If it could happen to me, it could happen to them. I would grow tired of the sympathetic head tilt coupled with, "You look so healthy!" The thing was, I was healthy, aside, I guess, from having cancer. It was decided that I would undergo a bilateral mastectomy-removal of the cancerous breast and the prophylactic removal of the healthy one. I chose the most radical surgery possible because it would give me the best chance for recovery and the least chance for recurrence. I wanted it out of my body and would have done it myself if I could have. The weeks that followed my surgery were coated with a filmy haze. I had to come to terms with the fact that my body would never be the same and begin to face the next round of choices.

I did the only thing I knew how to do-be an athlete. I spent most of my adult life learning and even excelling in a variety of sports. I raced mountain bikes and competed on a snowboard. I raced motorcycles and rode motocross. I lived for adrenaline rushes and speed. Just two weeks after my surgery, I climbed on my mountain bike, turned my Ipod on as loud as it would go and I rode. I rode until my feet bled and my body cried out, "Enough!"

Within a few weeks, just as my scars were healing, chemotherapy would begin. I would think, "Yea, all this AND I get to lose my hair!" (At least my helmet would fit better!) I
faced chemo the way I had faced everything thus far. I stayed on my bike, trying in some way, to out run cancer.

Three years later, my cancer is gone from my body but it is a part of me. I know it will always be a part of me. But, life goes. There is always a new trail to ride or a hill to conquer. It is a life I would not change. I could be righteous and say, "Cancer is a gift." It is not. It is a vicious, torturous illness that never leaves your heart or your mind ... even long after it has left your body. But it made me a fighter and it made me strong. I cram as much as I can into my busy life and I love it that way. I would like to say that I do all the right things. I try to eat right. I don't. I try to get enough sleep. I don't. I do however, try to live every moment like it is my first and not my last. Everyday is new
and each different from the next. Riding is about looking where you want to go. That's just what I keep doing, looking forward around the next tree, the next uphill. Cancer taught me that just when you can't go on, you do. Riding my bike taught me how.

Surgery and chemotherapy saved my life, mountain biking saved my soul!

Thank you for your consideration.

Jennifer K. Yanazoo