I'm a runner. At least I was before cancer. I've run many races and a few half-marathons. At the beginning of a long race, you feel great. You are trained and ready and full of adrenaline. You run hard. You run well. The adrenaline and training carry you through many miles. Then, at about mile 10 in a half-marathon, mile 20 in a full marathon, you hit a wall. You bonk. Your body protests. It screams, "No more!" Your muscles go numb, you get chills, your brain completely shuts down. You switch to auto-pilot. One foot in front of the other. Step after step. Just trying to make it to the finish line. It hurts. You want to stop. But you press on, despite the pain, despite the fogginess. Dazed, confused, but determined. Step. Step. Step.
I've bonked. I've hit the wall.
The chemotherapy drugs make my brain fuzzy. I can't think straight. I can't remember things.
The chemo drugs mess with my emotions. They make me depressed. They make me despondent.
The chemo drugs wear me down physically.
I'm on auto-pilot. Pressing through. Headed for the finish line. Determined.