As a testicular cancer survivor, I was lucky, and that luck came from awareness and action. A diagnosis like that forces you to confront your own vulnerability fast, but it also shows you how powerful early detection and real support can be. Before being diagnosed, I was 20 years old and in the best shape of my life. I never thought I needed to worry about cancer. Like many young men, I assumed awareness was optional, something I only needed to think about much later in my life.

It all started on a summer Friday night when I was showering and felt that one of my testicles was much firmer than the other. I immediately knew something was wrong. I was fortunate that throughout my health classes in middle and high school, my teachers always mentioned the possibility of testicular cancer and the severity of it. I drove myself to the emergency room, got an ultrasound, and the doctors came back looking as if they had just seen a ghost. They told me I needed to see a urologist immediately.

That next Monday, I had an appointment with my urologist, and he confirmed the news that would change my life forever: I had testicular cancer. We immediately rushed scans, blood work, and scheduled an orchiectomy (where they would remove my testicle) later that same week. During all of this, I was still processing what had just happened, and none of it was registering. Everything was moving so fast. It wasn’t until after some of the dust had settled and a follow-up with my urologist that things really began to hit hard. They found my tumor was mostly made up of embryonal carcinoma, a rare, aggressive, malignant non-seminomatous germ cell tumor. They also found that it had spread to multiple lymph nodes throughout my abdomen. I would need chemotherapy.

Being only a couple of weeks away from starting my junior semester in college, my doctors advised me to take some time off from school. I didn’t understand why that was necessary until a few weeks of chemotherapy had gone by. I lost my hair, my energy, and had never felt more ill in my entire life. I went from being in the gym five times a week and on top of my schoolwork to barely having the energy to get to my infusions. Every day for three months, I arrived at the hospital at 8 a.m. to have my blood drawn and vitals checked to see if my body could handle the next seven hours of chemotherapy infusions. While I may have lost my hair during all of this, I never lost hope.

After finishing three brutal rounds of chemotherapy, I was excited to get back on track and try to return to “normal.” That’s when my doctors revealed the news I had been worried about for the past three months. While the chemotherapy had been effective, there were still tumors and lymph nodes remaining in my retroperitoneum. I would need surgery. By that point, I had read all about the RPLND (retroperitoneal lymph node dissection) and how difficult the recovery could be. I had no choice but to move forward, and we scheduled the surgery for February 14th, 2023 - Happy Valentine’s Day!

The surgery left me broken. I couldn’t walk. I couldn’t eat fat for months. I was in constant pain. I’ll never forget lying in bed, wishing for the simple opportunity to walk, work out, eat well, and take care of the life I once had. After several months of recovery, I decided to try going on a short run to start getting back into shape. I set a goal to run one mile. I made it only a block before I had to stop and turn back. I felt discouraged knowing that just a year earlier I could run and move freely, and now I couldn’t make it past a block. I was determined to make a comeback.

Three years later, that same determination and appreciation for life and health have never left me. I’ve been training ever since, slowing down, staying present, and feeling deeply grateful for every day I’m here. Running is how I celebrate recovery, resilience, and the body that carried me through treatment.

This October, I’ll be running the Chicago Marathon alongside Movember to spread awareness and support their mission to reduce deaths from testicular cancer. If it weren’t for my middle school teachers warning me about the dangers of testicular cancer, I’m not sure I would have recognized the urgency to seek help and be here today. I hope that by sharing my story, I can help create that same urgency for someone else.