There was a lump; it was cancer I’d found.
My world no longer had solid ground.
I looked mortality in the eyes,
and it mattered not — the state of my thighs.

What I needed now was just to live.
I wore comfy clothes with plenty of give.
My body spent lots of its time in bed
though the real exhaustion was up in my head.

It took a long time, but the cancer has gone.
I believe now my life can go on, and on.
I try to do things to take care of myself
but my workout clothes remain on the shelf.

Still, a thought was nagging at me
to remember something that used to be:
On that exercise bike I’d been using each day
better feeling, some peace, was coming my way.

It wasn’t just getting thinner and strong,
my times of depression weren’t lasting as long.
I was sleeping better, and waking up clear
my dreams were less muddled, not so full of fear.

Sure my life wasn’t perfect, some days were just hell
but new coping skills were serving me well.
I found myself calmer, less likely to rage
when the world and myself weren’t on the same page.

So I sit with this thought going round in my brain:
should I get up and get moving again?
If I don’t like it, if it’s too big a pain,
I can simply stop and lie down again.

It’s time to regain control of my fate
and while this may be a shock —
I’m ending this poem and getting my shoes
for a walk around the block.