18 Marathons and a Quiet Closure

In October 2025—just six months after being diagnosed with terminal Stage IV lung cancer—I crossed the finish line of the Royal Victoria Marathon. It was my 18th marathon—and my last.

Crossing that final finish line was my 18th marathon. In mystical Judaism, numbers and letters are connected through Gematria, where 18 represents Chai—the word for "life." Completing this race was my own quiet way of saying L’Chaim to a community that has sustained me for 15 years.

The Victoria Marathon has always held a special place in my heart; it’s where I ran my first marathon back in 2013, and I’ve always appreciated the warm community support there. This past October, it was about finding a sense of quiet closure. My only goal was to end my marathoning journey exactly where it began. A wave of fatigue hit me around the halfway mark, and I ended up walking the last 10K.  I ended up near the back of the pack, and for the first time in 15 years, I didn't care about the clock. I wasn't even sure I’d make it to the start line, but Sheryl encouraged me to at least start. She reminded me that I’ve always enjoyed being with my “people" more than the run itself. I’m happy I listened to her. I loved the sense of quiet closure that came with it also being my last.

Sheryl took the video below, after waiting patiently for five hours (!) in the rain. That's way longer than any race I was patient enough to watch. She is my biggest fan.

It is hard to reconcile that finish line with where I was just months earlier. In January 2025, I completed the Disney World Dopey Challenge—78 kilometers of racing in four days. I was at the peak of my physical life, completely unaware that my lungs were already failing.

I recorded this video wearing my racing kit and carbon super shoes because I want to use my 18th marathon as a platform for advocacy. I’m not sharing this because I’m an "invincible machine" or because I have an inspiring hero story. I’m sharing it to challenge a myth that is costing lives.

When people hear "lung cancer," the first question they almost always ask is: "Did you smoke?" That question is rooted in a stigma that suggests this disease is a punishment rather than a biological reality. I have never smoked a day in my life. Yet, 1 in 5 Canadians diagnosed with lung cancer are never-smokers.

The truth is simple: If you have lungs, you can get lung cancer. This stigma has deadly consequences. It leads to delayed diagnoses for healthy people who think it couldn't happen to them, and it prevents the kind of research funding a disease of this scale deserves. Lung cancer kills more Canadians than breast, colorectal, and prostate cancers combined, yet the funding doesn't reflect that reality.

Cancer is a disease, not a punishment. I’m asking you to help me change the narrative. Please watch the video and share it—the more people who understand the reality of this disease, the fewer lives will be lost to stigma.