I used to run marathons. Triathlons, too.
I knew what it meant to push—to choose suffering on purpose. To train when everything ached. To wake before sunrise and run in the dark because that’s what the plan called for.

Marathoners learn to hurt. To manage pain instead of avoid it. To stay steady in the chaos.

What I didn’t know then was that I was training for something much harder.

Cancer.
Stage IV. Metastatic.
The kind of diagnosis that changes everything—even the way you breathe.

And if cancer is a marathon, mine isn’t over. I’m still on the course.

But this race is different. There’s no finish line in sight. No medal after each treatment. No cheering crowds at mile 20. Just moment after moment of choosing to keep going, even when I don’t know what’s next.

Some days, I feel strong. Like maybe I can carry this.
Other days, I hit the wall—fatigue that sinks into my bones, the fog of side effects, the fear that shows up in the middle of the night.

Marathon training taught me how to suffer with purpose.
How to breathe through the worst parts.
How to keep moving anyway.

That’s what cancer demands, too.

It demands pacing. If I burn out on fear too early, I won’t have anything left.
It demands nourishment—even when nothing sounds good. You learn to stay ahead of depletion, even on the good days.
It demands focus, faith, and more grit than I ever thought I had.

Because there are no shortcuts. No handoffs.
Just me. My body. My will. My hope.

And while this race hasn’t ended, I know I’ve crossed invisible finish lines along the way.
I’ve become someone who can hold both grief and gratitude in the same breath.
Someone who knows that health isn’t about perfection—it’s about presence.

That’s the heart behind MŪZ.
This brand isn’t just about tea. It’s about choosing small rituals that remind you you’re still here. That you still get to care for yourself. That you’re still worth slowing down for.

Every blend was created with that intention in mind.

When I’m in treatment, even a single cup is an act of rebellion.
A quiet way of saying: I’m still here.
I still get to sip. To breathe. To feel comfort in my body.

MŪZ is for anyone running their own marathon—whether it’s measured in miles, in months of healing, or just the stretch between one hard moment and the next.

You don’t finish as the same person who started.
But if you let it, the journey will shape you into someone stronger, steadier, and more awake to beauty than you ever imagined.

And even though I’m still running, I know this much for sure:
I’m proud of who I’ve become.
And I’m not giving up.

— Raquel