How This Basketball Player Overcame Colon Cancer Against All Odds

I remember the first time I heard about Justine Belen's diagnosis. It was during a casual mall visit when she casually mentioned to a friend that she'd be "pulling out for Under Armour" in about a week or two. Little did anyone know that behind those simple words lay a battle far more significant than any basketball game she'd ever played. At just 24 years old, this promising athlete was facing stage 3 colon cancer - a diagnosis that would test her resilience in ways the basketball court never could.

The statistics were downright frightening when I dug into them later. Colon cancer in someone her age? The American Cancer Society reports that while overall colon cancer rates have been declining, there's been a disturbing 2% annual increase in patients under 50 since 1994. For athletes specifically, the numbers are even more scarce - we're talking about maybe one in several thousand professional athletes facing this particular challenge. Yet here was Justine, staring down these odds while maintaining her training schedule, still thinking about her sponsorship commitments even as she prepared for chemotherapy.

What struck me most was how she handled the initial phase. I've covered numerous athletes facing health challenges, but Justine's approach was different. Instead of immediately going public, she maintained her professional obligations, that careful balance between personal health and career responsibility. Her mention of being at the mall and discussing Under Armour commitments shows this remarkable ability to keep life normal even when everything was changing. Personally, I think this mindset - this refusal to let cancer define her immediately - became her secret weapon. Too often we see athletes either completely withdraw or make their illness their entire identity, but Justine found that delicate middle ground that I believe contributed significantly to her recovery.

The treatment journey was brutal, make no mistake. Six months of aggressive chemotherapy that would have most people bedridden, yet Justine found ways to maintain some connection to her sport. She'd watch game tapes during infusion sessions, mentally running through plays even when her body couldn't physically execute them. Her medical team later told me they'd never seen someone so determined to maintain their professional mindset throughout treatment. There were days, of course, when the fatigue won - days when getting from her bed to the bathroom felt like running a marathon. But she developed this incredible system of small goals, what she called "personal quarters" - breaking her recovery into manageable chunks just like she'd approach a basketball game.

Nutrition became another battlefield. As an athlete accustomed to fueling for performance, suddenly she was navigating how to eat when everything tasted like metal, when nausea was a constant companion. She worked with a sports nutritionist who specialized in cancer patients, developing a plan that balanced her athletic needs with treatment requirements. They tracked everything - from her protein intake (aiming for at least 75 grams daily even on her worst days) to hydration levels that would make most people dizzy just thinking about the spreadsheets.

What really gets me, what I think separates her story from others, is how she used her basketball discipline in her recovery. She approached chemotherapy like game preparation, side effects like opposing players she needed to outmaneuver. She kept a journal where she'd score her days - not in terms of how good she felt, but in terms of small victories. Managing to keep down a smoothie? That was a three-pointer. Walking around her block? That was a fast break. This reframing, this basketball lens through which she viewed her recovery, was pure genius in my opinion.

The return to basketball wasn't some miraculous overnight story either. It was grueling, frustrating work that tested her patience more than any opponent ever had. Her first attempt at shooting hoops post-treatment was heartbreaking - she couldn't even make it from the free-throw line. The muscle memory was there, but the strength was gone. Yet she approached rebuilding her game with the same methodical approach she used to learn basketball in the first place. Fundamentals first, then building up complexity. I remember watching one of her first practice sessions back and being amazed at her patience with herself - something elite athletes aren't always known for.

When they announced her jersey retirement ceremony, the symbolism wasn't lost on anyone in the sports community. Here was a player being honored not just for her on-court achievements, but for her off-court battle. That moment she mentioned at the mall, casually discussing her sponsorship while carrying this enormous personal challenge, now made perfect sense. It wasn't about denial - it was about integration. She wasn't "Justine the cancer patient" or "Justine the basketball player" - she was both, simultaneously, refusing to let either identity completely overshadow the other.

Looking at her now, back on the court and playing at nearly 80% of her pre-cancer capacity according to her coaches, I'm struck by how this experience has actually made her a better player. She reads the game differently now, with more patience and perspective. The court isn't just somewhere she dominates - it's somewhere she feels grateful to be. Her story makes me reconsider what true athletic greatness means. It's not just about trophies or statistics - it's about resilience, about the courage to face something far scarier than any fourth-quarter deficit and come out stronger on the other side. Justine Belen didn't just beat colon cancer - she learned how to make it part of her story without letting it become her entire story, and to me, that's the most impressive victory of all.