This is part 4 of a multipart blog series about one Team RunRunner’s, Vincent Rossi, cancer-filled ultramarathon. Catch up on part 1, part 2, and part 3.
Beyond Me: Running for the Bladder Cancer Advocacy Network (BCAN)

Throughout my cancer journey, the Bladder Cancer Advocacy Network (BCAN) has been a great resource; in particular, their message boards allowed me to connect with other bladder cancer patients and receive valuable advice. As I learned and gained experience, I tried my best to help others facing a new cancer diagnosis too. I made strong connections with patients through BCAN’s resources, some of whom have become real and meaningful friends. So before the race, I contacted the team at BCAN to set up a “DIY fundraising page”, which I began sharing with friends and family.
While I was thankful to see donations come in before the race, this also made me nervous. I wanted to do my part and finish this race—not just to support BCAN, but to achieve this crazy bucket list goal for myself, and to show my family and children what determination and strength look like. In many ways, the cancer community felt a lot like the ultrarunning community, where friendships and strong bonds formed quickly.
The Final Three Miles: Snakes, Surprises, Strength
With three miles to go, my wife and I reached a stretch of flat, open trail from where we could hear music from the finish area. I could not believe it. “Am I really going to do this?” I thought. I was ecstatic, though also delirious.
It was fully dark now. My wife kept the pace while my eyes stayed fixed on the reflective strips on the back of her running shoes, lit by my headlamp. At one point, my focus glued to her feet moving down the trail, I saw her step on something. “A snake!” I yelled. She looked back, before marching on as if this was normal. Still delirious, I later told her that she had stepped on a venomous copperhead. In hindsight, this felt symbolic—my wife leading me through a dark forest, stepping on threats, driving me to the ER, holding my hand as I woke from a surgery that carried, on average, a 10 percent mortality rate. Together, my wife and I have shared this cancer-filled ultramarathon, and the end wasn’t in sight yet. We kept pushing forward.
Amazingly, we passed at least eight runners in the last three miles, each one a source of energy and motivation to keep going. Many were much younger than me, a 51-year old man holding on tightly; I felt both surprised and proud. The finish line was in sight. This was it, the last part. “Holy shit, we are going to do it!” I thought. As we neared the finish line, despite my delirium and exhaustion, I raised my hand, and my wife high-fived me. It was 9:00 pm and, despite the fact that I was among the final finishers, music was blaring, people were cheering, and the finish line vibes were high!

I Am An Ultramarathoner! (…and my body knows it!)
I crossed the finish line and high-fived the race director. Humorously, a kind volunteer reminded me to stop my watch: the Strava gods rejoiced! I was presented with a Rocky 50 finisher medal and put it around my neck. I just could not believe it: I had finished, I was an ultramarathoner. Then, with all the energy I could muster, I walked to our crew blanket and collapsed.
My wife, a superhero, packed our rental car with coolers, food, and race supplies as I laid on the ground totally exhausted. We picked up our drop bags and drove back to the hotel. Getting out of the car and limping to our hotel room felt like another ultramarathon, this one rewarded with a long, hot bath.
Post Race Reflections
That night, in the bathtub, I thought about the day’s events. I thought about the last four years of this difficult journey. I was filled with gratitude for my wife, the rock of our family, who kept me going. She made sure dinners were ready while I recovered from chemo, surgery, the difficult treatments, and the side effects of cancer.
The phrase “run the mile that you are in” became a deep understanding. Beyond what I had done during the race, it was what I had done through my entire cancer journey. It was what my wife was doing every day, coping with the constant stress of this horrible disease. It was what all my cancer friends were doing. Despite tough and awful situations, each of us was running the mile we were in: that was all any of us can do when facing seemingly impossible challenges. Over time, the miles–literally and metaphorically–carve a path through the dark forest of doubt and hopelessness. Tears ran down my face as I lay in the tub with sore and bleeding legs, this deep understanding washing over me.

Our Cancer-Filled Ultramarathon
On Sunday, waiting for our flight back to D.C., I wrote a race report thanking everyone who donated to my Bladder Cancer Advocacy Network fundraiser. I was incredibly grateful for both their donations to BCAN, and the encouragement and belief they showed me. When the race seemed impossible, I persevered through the heat, pain, and endless miles to reach the finish line, fueled by their support.
I was also very thankful for this new ultrarunning community I found. From the aid station crews who encouraged me and opened my Skratch electrolyte packets when my fingers were too swollen, to Chris’s kindness in traveling to Huntsville to meet a stranger and race with him, and of course, my wife, who paced me. I know I would not have finished if she had not been there.
Final Thoughts and Transferable Takeaways
As I get ready for my next surgery and the continuation of my cancer-filled ultramarathon, I will remember this mantra. I will remember the support from the ultramarathon community and the Bladder Cancer Advocacy Network. And I suggest that when things get hard, when they feel impossible and you cannot take another step, you do your best, put one foot in front of the other, and run the mile you are in.
About Vincent
Vincent Rossi is a father, husband, cancer survivor, and newly minted ultramarathoner! Check out Vincent’s website and Instagram @gnocchi_dinner. He continues to fundraise for the Bladder Cancer Advocacy Network (BCAN). Take a look at Vincent’s BCAN fundraising page here.







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