When I saw the Runner's World magazine Cover Contest go live, I didn't even plan to enter. I didn't like the idea of "selling myself" to get votes, pestering friends with daily Facebook reminders, or even thinking my personal cancer story was something that needed to be out in the world. Sometimes, however, it's hard to ignore those unique moments of creative inspiration that hit you so hard you just KNOW you have to carry through.

I was out running on the trails of Brown County, what I thought might be my last before surgery, when the turning gears in my mind churned out a catch phrase I couldn't ignore, "Cancer is trying to kill me, but it's going to have to catch me first." I knew instantly that was a strong line for the contest, primarily because of its honesty, and then everything else fell in place. Thinking of the one word that described my running, I conjured up, "Unkillable", because it's truly how I want to feel, though I wasn't even sure it was a legitimate word. Turns out, it is. Then, as if placed there intentionally, a feather lay in the middle of the packed trail just as I hit my turnaround point. I bent down, gently picked it up between two fingers and ran with it like that all the way back to the trail head. Using that feather, I knew how I wanted the photo to look. My submission was ready in my head.

Upon returning home I crafted the entry, filled in the rest of the questions with a bit about my story and uploaded it all to the site, expecting nothing and only wanting to see what the response would be to a unique entry presentation, that was, admittedly, unlike most of the others. I pushed the entry out to Facebook and some of the running groups I engage with and suddenly the votes started coming in. A lot of them. Enough to put me in the top 10 of the 20 position leaderboard, as more runners uploaded their entries and solicited for votes. This continued on for days as I stayed on the leaderboard, but began slipping lower and lower as I lost interest in bugging friends with my solicitations for votes. The voting contest lasted a full month and I had other things to concern myself with, such as organizing for my benefit run and preparing for my second surgery. I soon gave up pushing the contest at all, not even checking back to see where I lay in the standings after falling out of the Top 20.

It should be noted, however, the total votes only counted for 10% of the finalist selection criteria, so being off the leaderboard didn't mean being out of the contest. Still, occupied with surgery and recovery, I stopped paying attention. I was laying in the hospital bed and realized the contest was over, yet my voting banner was still on my blog page. I took it down and checked the final tallies, you know, just for fun, and found I was somewhere in the 70s, I believe. Not too bad for not pushing the contest for weeks. I thought little else of the whole endeavor. . . until I checked my email the next day. Runner's World had sent me a message, telling me I was a finalist and asking for a phone interview.

They called me a day later, a conference call with the editor and "Chief Running Officer", Bart Yasso, an icon in the running world. We talked for about 20 minutes, giving details about what led to my diagnosis, the past year of surgery, chemo, recovery, and then the surgery I just completed. I was still lying in the hospital bed, 50 staples running up my abdomen and just hours after having a few tubes pulled from deep within my body where the chemo was administered. I told them about how I managed to keep running despite the debilitating effects of chemotherapy, how the doctors didn't expect me to be alive today, how I was told to "keep doing what you're doing, because something is working", and how I planned to get back to running as soon as I was recovered from the most recent surgery. Ultimately, I conveyed that my running might be a crucial element to my current status as a "survivor", despite the more dire projections of my doctors.

They relayed to me I was one of 10 finalists and we would all be showcased in the magazine in some way, but only two winners, 1 male and 1 female, would grace the cover. Considering the depth of each runner's story, they confessed being torn in choosing only two runners for the cover, but that each winner would be contacted in a few weeks after the decision was made. I couldn't believe I was even chosen as a finalist, so making the cover wasn't even a point of potential dejection for me. I was truly flattered and humbled they chose my story out of the thousands of entries submitted to the contest, especially when I was nowhere near the leaderboard with points.

I told my girlfriend, Laura, about the interview and she, with a sense of overconfidence, guaranteed my spot on the cover. I knew not to be so sure, and just held to the appreciation I had for being recognized and my experience being considered worthy and valuable to share with others. Then three weeks later, another email arrived, asking for a follow up call. Without hesitation they informed me. . .

"You won our cover contest."

I instantly called Laura, "Hey, I need a haircut." From there it was a great deal of activity, from a photo shoot two weeks later, in which I began running only a week prior in preparation, to keeping entirely quiet about the whole ordeal due to a disclosure agreement, to wondering what sort of opportunities might arise from exposure on a national level, to being told I was going to be skyped in to Huff Post Live for the final reveal. To say it was exciting is an extreme understatement, but I also just wanted to enjoy the ride and expect nothing more.

More, however, has come from this national exposure, from media requests, to a local story being picked up by Italian newspapers (we joke, "I'm huge in Italy!"), to the more important connections. . . with cancer patients. The type of cancer I have is so rare, just 1 to 2 per million, that the exposure I have been given has brought the disease and other patients more into the spotlight. Our experiences are so unique that it has been comforting to now be in contact with others who face the same circumstances, the same surgeries, the same confusion about how to proceed in order to best combat the cancering in our bodies. It is, odd to say, comforting. I don't feel as alone as I used to, or just another voice drowning in the sea of cancer patients, but now able to connect with others going through the same ordeals, and offer both experience and encouragement. That has made the contest more valuable than any benefit received from being in every bookstore and grocery across the country.

I didn't enter the contest for wholly egotistical reasons, but when creative lightning struck, I couldn't let the opportunity go. I told myself, however, if for some reason I did end up winning, that I would use the opportunity to speak for others in my situation, to give exposure to those who have helped me along the way, to highlight the organizations doing great work for cancer patients and other issues dear to my heart, and to simply do the most good with this unique opportunity. I'm still coming to terms with this situation, knowing that RIGHT NOW my face (and exposed, scarred, scabbed body) is in every airport, grocery store, and bookstore across the country. It is quite surreal and the importance of this moment may not be felt until much later down the line, but I look forward to capitalizing on this exposure to really do the most good, to give voice to cancer patients, to encourage the value of healthy and active living, to acknowledge those in the medical trenches, and to, of course, keep running away from cancer. . . as fast as I can.