In 2021, I received news that would forever change my life: I was diagnosed with inflammatory stage three breast cancer. As someone who has spent years carving my way down snow-covered mountains, I never imagined that I’d find myself facing such a daunting uphill battle. But, as with every challenge life has thrown at me, I approached it with determination, grit, and the belief that I could reclaim my body and my life.
Hearing the words “you have cancer” was surreal, like the ground beneath me had suddenly shifted. Inflammatory breast cancer is a rare and aggressive form, and by the time mine was detected, it had already progressed to stage three because of the skin and lymph node involvement. There was no time to waste, and I was thrown into the whirlwind of chemotherapy, a double mastectomy, and radiation. The physical toll was immense, but what weighed on me even more heavily was the emotional and psychological impact of the diagnosis.
Throughout my treatment, I kept thinking about how much of my life had been spent in control of my body, mastering it to perform in the most extreme conditions on the slopes. Suddenly, that control was taken from me, and I had to find a way to take it back.
After my mastectomy, I faced a deeply personal choice: whether or not to undergo reconstructive surgery. For me, the decision to stay flat was about reclaiming my body on my own terms. I didn’t want to conform to society’s expectations of what a woman should look like after breast cancer. My body had been through so much, and the idea of adding more surgeries to the mix felt like something I couldn’t reconcile with my desire to move forward. In addition, my doctor had highly suggested waiting at least 5 years before considering any type of reconstruction, and with the complexities of the damaged skin from radiation… So I made the brave choice to remain flat.
Staying flat was my way of saying, “This is me. This is my body, and I’m proud of it.” It wasn’t an easy decision, but it was the right one for me. I’ve always believed in authenticity, both in my snowboarding and in my life, and this was another way for me to live that truth.
By sharing my choice publicly, I hoped to empower other women facing similar decisions. I wanted them to know that it’s okay to define beauty and femininity in their own way. Our bodies are ours, and we should have the freedom to choose what feels right for us, without judgment.
As I navigated my cancer journey, there was one constant that kept me grounded: my love for snowboarding. Even during the toughest days of treatment, I dreamed of getting back on my board. Snowboarding has always been my sanctuary, a place where I feel alive and in control. So, after my treatment, I set my sights on returning to the mountains and the community that has meant so much to me.
In 2022, I did just that by competing in the Natural Selection Tour. The tour is known for its grueling backcountry courses, but after facing cancer, I felt ready to take on anything. Competing again wasn’t just about proving that I could still snowboard; it was about reclaiming my identity and the agency over my body after cancer.
The experience was incredibly empowering. Each turn down the mountain was a reminder that I am not defined by my illness, but by my strength, my passion, and my determination. Snowboarding has always been about pushing boundaries, and this was just another boundary I was determined to break through.
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