Dina Bair Trumps Cancer with Triathlons

A WGN anchor turns to the ultimate physical challenge to help her emotional recovery after beating melanoma

What’s your personal motivation when it comes to competition? Some enter triathlons for the shear adrenaline rush. Others swim to remind them of their glory days on the student team. Whatever your motivation, everyone’s is different. For me, the only reason to tri was to feel whole again.

I competed in my first triathlon five years ago, right after being diagnosed with melanoma skin cancer. My doctor made a statement I’ll never forget: “If the disease spreads to a place we cannot surgically remove, survival rates are low. There’s no effective treatment for your cancer.” I recall thinking, No treatment. No mother for four unbelievable children. That’s not an option.

The spirit of fight was there from the beginning. But I also had fear – the kind of monkey on your back you can’t shake. For the next several years, surgeries, scans, treatments and a roller coaster of emotions sped me through fighting a deadly disease.

Then finally, this past March, a clean scan. The doctors and my family were happy. I was still afraid. Had I really survived all of this unscathed? Was I really as strong as I was before this disease ate away at my body and mind? The only way to know for sure was to put it to the test. So I signed up for the triathlon again, the biggest physical and psychological challenge I knew.

The thing about training for a triathlon is that it’s time consuming. With four children and a full-time job, time is always a challenge. I knew if I succeeded, everyone benefited. If I felt better, my kids would sense it and it would be less scary for them. If I shed the fear, my husband would stop looking at me like he was afraid to lose me and be left to raise the children alone.

The first order of business was to call my swim coach. Slowly and steadily this summer, I built my swim distance and bike time. Gradually, I increased my running distance, all the while nursing a sore knee. I wouldn’t give up.

In my first triathlon, I finished with a dreadfully slow time but made it through. But for the next time, the LifeTime Chicago Triathlon in August, I wanted to really swim, improve my time and conquer Lake Michigan.

The day before the race, I woke early to get my gear together. I’d put so much stock into the race that I was even more scared. This was it. The last long walk away from cancer, except that I wouldn’t be walking, but swimming, biking and running. I couldn’t fail.

The beginning of a triathlon is an open water start, always nerve-wracking. Competitors unintentionally kick each other – it’s frightening. I took a foot to the face right away. I saw stars. I kept trying to find my rhythm. Swim. Just string together strokes. Breathe. After completing a quarter of the distance, you turn around. The water had been choppy heading south; now, as I made the turn north, I gulped a mouthful of water. Waves rolled my body from side to side. There’d be no rhythm in this swim.

Soon, I saw my family. My eldest son Max, who worries about everything, was looking at me with concern. “Stay away from the boats, Mom, they might hit you with an oar! Don’t get too close to the wall, the waves will knock you against it.” I had to show him I was fine.

My husband, who so patiently picked up the slack as I trained, yelled, “I didn’t baby-sit for six months while you worked out to have you quit now! Get moving!” I could hear the people on the sidelines, other competitors’ spouses cheering. From that moment, my movements were precise. I was swimming.

I exited the water with a giant grin, ran to transition, quickly peeled off my wetsuit, strapped on my helmet and fastened my shoes. I was off on the bike. I thought this would be the easiest part – until the wind whipped me in the face. Gusts that made the lake so challenging were now like a wall trying to hold me back on the ride north on Lake Shore Drive. You are strong, I said to myself.

My speedometer fluctuated from 12 to 15 miles an hour. I was getting frustrated since my training time was about 18-20 miles an hour. After much exertion, I reached the turnaround and realized the wind was now at my back. I reached 20, 22, 24, 26 miles an hour. With every pedal stroke I felt more mighty, like the revolutions were creating energy. Of course, I had to go north again. But this time, I knew the tailwind was coming. I rode faster the second lap, warmth building inside my body.

By the time I finished the bike ride, I wasn’t tired, but invigorated. I hooked my bike and donned my running shorts and shoes. As my feet hit the pavement, it seemed I was moving in slow motion. Within the first hundred steps, I saw smiles – my kids and my husband, like a beacon. I high-fived them and confidently said, “I’ll see you at the finish.”

I knew they’d see a different woman cross that finish line. A woman whole again. A woman who rebuilt her confidence on the water’s surface and bike’s seat. I didn’t even realize I was smiling until a spectator called, “I love the way you look so happy!” That was one mile from the finish.

My stomach, which typically cramps up at the end of a race, got butterflies. Excitement swelling inside me, I emerged from the tunnel toward Columbus Drive and crossed the finish line with the biggest smile. Then, the tears. Just a few. As I wiped away the salty drops, I realized I was washing away the last hold cancer had on my life. In 3 hours and 28 minutes, I erased five years of fear. My time doesn’t make me a winner in the race. But it was the greatest victory I’ll ever achieve.

Tagged as: cancer, cancer survivor, triathlon and Dina Bair