Canadian icon and hero Terry Fox has forever been a huge inspiration to me (along with millions of others), but it was only in recent years that I came to view his legacy in an entirely new light.
I was in the darkest part of shopping my debut novel. Up to my eyeballs in rejections and radio silence. Faith rapidly dissolving that this manuscript would ever become a book, that it wasn’t all a colossal waste of tears and time, that I had any business trying to call myself a writer at all.
Scrolling social media one morning as I wallowed, I came across a journal entry Terry wrote on that same day back in 1980, and it left my jaw hanging.
A cancer survivor, Terry’s wildly ambitious journey across Canada began one marathon at a time. He rose around 4:30 a.m. and ran 26 miles per day on average—on a prosthetic leg—with the goal of raising 1 dollar for every Canadian (at the time, around $24 million) for cancer research.
If you’re not familiar with Terry’s story, pause here and check out this short video recap. I’ll bet it stays with you forever.
I grew up seeing similar classic footage: Terry dipping his leg in the Atlantic Ocean on day one, promising to dip it in the Pacific at the end. Terry determinedly completing his daily mileage targets surrounded by thousands lining barricaded streets. Terry wading through a jubilant sea of banners and balloons in Toronto’s Nathan Phillips Square. Terry meeting his idols, shaking hands with dignitaries, flashbulbs discharging like fireworks all around.
But I’d never viewed the journey through Terry’s eyes before, especially the early chapters.
Long before his mission gained national attention, he recounts running alone day after day at the side of the open highway in Atlantic Canada, a solitary companion trailing behind in a beat-up van that doubled as their sleeping quarters. Terry ran through snow, sleet, and gale force winds, terrified the weather might knock him over—if not the transport trucks roaring obliviously past. There was no fanfare. No police escorts. No crowds or sponsored stays at the Four Seasons. No cameras waiting at the finish point.
Not yet.
In other words, what I’d failed to appreciate before coming across these journals was that those parts of Terry’s journey I’d taken for granted were, in fact, only snippets of the later parts of that journey. In the beginning, there was only Terry and his wildly irrational, impossible-seeming dream (plus a whole lot of dizzy spells and excruciating pain).
My own writerly woes now firmly in perspective, I quit sulking and got back to work. I continued retracing Terry’s steps daily via his journal entries, drawing renewed determination to chase down my own impossible-seeming dream, no matter the odds or road conditions or blistering sores.
No matter what.
Because the reality is that when taking any leap of faith, nobody’s going to believe you can do it until you’ve already done it.
For much of the journey, it’s just you out there flailing, coasting on the fumes of your own stubborn-to-the-point-of-irrational persistence. If you’re lucky, those closest to you will ride alongside, genuinely hopeful you’ll pull it off while quietly wondering whether you actually can (or whether you’re off your rocker). Because in the beginning, nobody really knows yet if it’s possible. Not even you.
What sense does it make, then, to put the cart (social proof, validation, accolades) before the horse (you, doing the thing)? To wait for the applause before taking the show on the road?
Right??
After running for 143 days and 5,737 kilometers (3,339 miles), Terry’s cancer returned. Tragically, the Marathon of Hope was forced to an end outside Thunder Bay, Ontario.
At the time of his passing, Terry raised $1.7 million—impressive by any measure, yet well short of the $24 million he was so determined to achieve.
And his legacy was just beginning.
Canadians, then the world, took up the charge. The Marathon of Hope continues on Terry’s behalf to this day, with runs held annually in his honour all over the globe.
To date, over $850 million has been raised for cancer research in his name.
Whatever you’re attempting, let Terry’s story remind you it’s just fine if nobody else believes you at first. It’s normal, actually. (You yourself know the odds you’re up against!)
That’s why it has to start with you alone. Your belief has to be so audaciously big and bold and unflinching it’s enough to carry you along on its own, day after day, for as long as it takes until, eventually, everyone else believes you, too.
“I don’t care, man, there’s no reason that isn’t possible. No reason!” -Terry Fox
To learn more about Terry’s story, or to donate to the Terry Fox Foundation’s NO MATTER WHAT campaign, see here.
Rachel Stone 