Shelley Flones doesn’t remember the moment she met Kelly Morken. But she’s positive that running brought them together.

Flones, 39, is a pharmaceutical sales rep and single mom who lives in Olathe. She finds peace jogging along wooded trails. Morken, 31, lives in Mission and works as an emergency management coordinator at the University of Kansas Medical Center. She’s a marathoner who prefers pavement.

The women became fast friends when their paths crossed in 2009. They bonded over being single, hardworking women who were passionate about health and fitness. They also shared an adventurous streak: In the spring of 2010, Flones, Morken and a few of their closest girlfriends went for a nude nighttime run on a secluded trail in a local park.

Morken was nervous about taking off her clothes. Up to that point, she’d never flashed anybody. Flones was less shy. She whipped off her clothes, strapped on a headlamp and started running. The others followed, lifting one foot after another in a familiar movement that suddenly felt new.

Their hearts raced as cool air breezed past bare skin. They fleeted secretly and silently through the forest for a mile, then two, then three. They stopped only once to switch off their headlamps and admire the stars and the lightning bugs. In those moments, Flones and Morken felt strong, free and united. They felt alive.

Six months after that night, right around Thanksgiving, Flones and Morken each found a lump in her right breast.

After a mammogram, an ultrasound and a biopsy, Morken was diagnosed with breast cancer. Flones’ doctor told her that her pea-sized lump was probably just a harmless cyst and that she should return in six months for a follow-up mammogram.

Morken kept the news to herself at first. She didn’t reveal her diagnosis when Flones mentioned on an evening jog through Mission Hills in December that she’d found a lump.

“You should go get it checked out again,” Morken remembers telling Flones as they jogged past houses strung with twinkling lights.

But Flones didn’t think she needed a second opinion. She was healthy and young — she had nothing to worry about.

A few weeks later, Morken told Flones about her own diagnosis and urged her again to go to another doctor. But Flones was more focused on Morken’s health than her own.

“To me, this was her battle,” Flones says.

Morken spent the first half of 2011 recovering from chemotherapy and a bilateral mastectomy. She was declared cancer-free in May. A month later, in June, Flones went in for that six-month checkup and found out that her lump had grown six times its original size. The next month, she found out that she had a rare and aggressive kind of breast cancer. She faced her own battle. Morken was one of the first people she called.

A little more than one year after first finding their breast cancer, Flones and Morken are at very different stages of the disease. Flones is undergoing chemotherapy and planning for a mastectomy in early 2012. Morken is recovering from surgery to reconstruct her cancer-free breasts. The women say they’re closer now than ever before.

“She’s always there for me, and I’m always there for her,” Morken says. “She could call me in two days or two years, and we’d pick up where we left off. … Breast cancer unites you in some way.”

Because of cancer, 2011 has been a hard year for Flones and Morken. But it hasn’t all been bad. The women have been cocooned with love and support by family and friends. And in between appointments, surgeries and treatments, there were head-shaving parties and road trips and races.

A few weeks ago, Flones ran alongside her daughter Annika, 8, as Annika completed her first 5K. They held hands all 3.1 miles.

And in April, Morken ran the Boston Marathon in three hours and 43 minutes — on chemotherapy. Her pink race shirt read “Hey Cancer: You picked the wrong bitch.”

Flones and Morken write about all their ups and downs on their blogs, Shelley’s Buzz ( shellsbuzz.blogspot.com) and The One In Between ( theoneinbetween.blogspot.com).

We stitched photos and excerpts from those blogs with interviews to form a timeline of 2011, the year these runners showed true strength and endurance.

Jan. 2

Morken announces in her first blog that she has been diagnosed with two types of breast cancer: invasive ductal carcinoma and invasive lobular carcinoma. She jokes that she has one-upped her older sister, who was diagnosed with sarcoma two years ago and is now cancer-free. “I like to tease Kim with the fact that my cancer has a color (pink) and a month (October)!” She also details the awkward side of having breast cancer. After a six-hour-long string of appointments, she writes, “I think I was felt up more that afternoon than I have been my whole life. And I didn’t even get dinner first.”

Jan. 5

Morken blogs about her return to running. Because she’s still recovering from surgery to remove the lump from her breast, she has to wear two sports bras. “Never thought there’d be a day where I would need two bras,” she writes. “One’s usually pushing it!”

Jan. 7

Morken goes to one of her favorite after-work hangouts, Thomas Restaurant, for martinis and wine with friends. The next day, she writes on her blog that she prefers going out to staying in because when she’s at home, it’s too tempting to think negative thoughts or get stuck looking up scary side effects on webmd.com. She also admits to worrying about what her breasts will look like after a second surgery to remove the cancer. “Everyone knows that none of that superficial crap matters anyway,” Morken writes. “One breast, two breast, red breast, blue breast. … Who really gives a damn? And anyone who would judge you based on the social norm as stated by Victoria (and her stupid secret) isn’t worth the breath anyway.”

Jan. 20

Doctors perform a second surgery to locate and remove the cancer in Morken’s right breast. Morken’s father, who goes to all her appointments, stays by her side all day. When she gets home later that day, she finds that Flones has left some homemade granola and a “Stand Up to Cancer” necklace in her mailbox. “This may just be the drugs talking, but I have to wonder where I find these incredible people?”

Jan. 27

Morken meets with a fertility doctor, who tells her that if she wants to have kids, she’ll have to wait at least five years.That’s because tamoxifen, a drug she’ll take to limit the recurrence of her cancer, affects fertility. It’s hard news to take, despite the fact that Morken is pretty sure she doesn’t want to have kids. But she quickly decides that if she ever wants to become a parent, she’ll adopt. That same day, she meets with a surgeon who recommends getting a mastectomy to minimize the chances that the breast cancer returns. But Morken still isn’t sure she wants to do that.

Feb. 11

Morken’s parents accompany her to her first chemotherapy treatment. The drugs make her tired and foggy. Doctors tell her that her hair will begin to fall out in three to five weeks. “I feel like I’m going to look absolutely stunning bald,” Morken writes. “I just really wish my mom wouldn’t have dropped me as much as she did.” The following morning, she feels well enough to go for a nice, easy run.

Feb. 16

Morken’s friend Sam Kevern announces on her blog A Girl Named Sam ( girlnamedsam.blogspot.com ) that she’ll dye her hair pink and then shave her head if she can raise $1,000 for Morken. Flones contributes more than $200 selling her homemade granola, which she calls Local Buzz. Within a few weeks, Kevern gathers more than $2,000 from friends, family and even some strangers.

Feb. 27

Morken’s long brown hair starts falling out rapidly. She wonders if she’ll have any hair left by the “One-Upper” head-shaving party her friends are throwing her in two weeks.

March 1

Kevern follows through on her promise and dyes her blond hair a neon color called Cupcake Pink with help from Morken, Flones and lots of wine. Flones dyes a strip of her hair Cupcake Pink, too.

March 4

Morken undergoes her second chemotherapy treatment and makes a list of good things that come from losing her hair. She jokes that she’ll save tons of money on shampoo and be more aerodynamic when she runs: “I could possibly shave (no pun intended) a whole two seconds off my marathon time.”

March 12

Several of Morken’s friends shave their heads or dye their hair pink for Morken’s “One-Upper Party.” Morken shaves what’s left of her hair into a skullet before taking it all off. And Kevern shaves her pink hair into a mohawk. Flones can’t bear to part with her brunette locks, which fall almost halfway down her back. “I was like, ‘I love my long hair! I’m not cutting it off.’ ” The party raises around $4,000 — Morken puts a third of the money toward expenses, then donates the rest to Missys’, a boutique inside the University of Kansas Cancer Center that sells wigs, hats, makeup and other products that help cancer patients look and feel better.

March 25

At her third round of chemotherapy, Morken convinces her doctor to move the final treatment back a few days so that she can run the Boston Marathon in three weeks (Morken qualified for the world’s oldest annual marathon in 2009, when she ran the Kansas City Marathon in three hours and 32 minutes). Her doctor agrees but tells her it’s OK if she decides to quit in the middle of the race. “We all know I’m a bit more stubborn than that,” Morken writes.

April 1

With the 26.2-mile race three weeks away, Morken heads out for a slow run. But instead of feeling energized, she feels tired and frustrated. “I could’ve eaten better, stretched more, done a few more long runs,” Morken writes on her blog. But at least it’s an improvement from a previous workout that week, when nausea and a gross metallic taste in her mouth (both are side effects from the chemo) left her “dry heaving like a college gal coming home from Power & Light.”

April 3

Flones assists her friend Brooks Williams in the 44-mile Brew to Brew ultramarathon between Boulevard Brewing Co. in Kansas City and Free State Brewery in Lawrence. Despite having cystic fibrosis, a chronic respiratory disease that can make it hard to breathe, Williams wins the race, finishing in five hours and 35 minutes (for more on Williams, check out his blog Run to Live at brookswilliams.blogspot.com).

April 15

On her 31st birthday, Morken postpones her final chemo treatment so she can fly to Boston for the marathon.

April 18

Morken slips on a T-shirt that says “Hey Cancer: You picked the wrong bitch” and mentally prepares to run a slow 5-hour marathon. She starts out strong but slows down at Mile 8. Right as she starts to worry about whether she’ll finish, a runner from Vermont named Shari Bashaw starts encouraging her to keep going. The women stay together for the next 10 miles. They bond over their experiences with cancer — Bashaw tells Morken she lost her husband to cancer — and even stop to pee in the woods. By Mile 24, Morken is pushing through leg cramps and side aches. And thanks to chemotherapy, her toenails hurt like hell. But she still manages to finish in three hours and 43 minutes, just 11 minutes over her personal best marathon time. Several runners come up to her after the race and tell her she was their inspiration. She can’t stop smiling. A few months later, Flones and Morken discover that Bashaw, the runner who helped Morken get from Mile 8 to 18, is a close friend of Flones’ family, who live near Vermont in upstate New York.

April 21

Morken recovers from her last round of chemotherapy by watching movies with her dad, eating Reese’s peanut butter eggs and dozing under a quilt handmade by her aunt.

May 4

With chemotherapy behind her, Morken starts to think more seriously about getting a mastectomy. She meets with a plastic surgeon to discuss the possibility of reconstructing her breasts after the surgery. Morken’s dadsits in on the appointment. “Nothing like feeling implants with your dad and deciding which ones would feel more real,” Morken writes on her blog.

May 15

Morken finally decides to get a bilateral (double) mastectomy and reconstruction to virtually eliminate the chances of the cancer returning.

May 24

Surgeons perform a seven-hour operation to remove Morken’s breast tissue and insert expanders. The expanders will be filled once every few weeks until they create enough space for an implant. After the surgery, the doctors tell Morken she’s officially cancer-free. “Right now it’s just a lot of deformity and scarring,” Morken writes about her post-surgery body, “so I’ll be under construction for a while.” But that’s fine, she adds, “because I am done with this cancer shit. No more mammograms, no worrying, or chemo. Done.”

June 3

New hair blankets Morken’s head like peach fuzz.

June 16

A nurse fills the expanders in Morken’s chest for the first time. Morken freaks out when she sees the needle for the procedure, which she’ll have to repeat several times until the expanders make enough room for silicone implants. But to her surprise, it doesn’t hurt a bit.

June 22

Flones goes in for a follow-up mammogram and finds out that her lump has grown six times its original size. Doctors tell her it needs to be removed.

July 8

As Morken’s expanders enlarge, they stretch out and poke into her skin. She’s uncomfortable, but she can see that her new breasts are taking shape. “I’m at about Mile 22 and haven’t hit the wall yet,” Morken writes. “The finish line is just in sight.”

July 13

Flones’ doctors perform an excisional biopsy to remove the lump in her right breast. They tell her they’ll check the lump for cancer and call her with the results.

July 18

On a business trip to New Jersey, Flones gets a brief but serious-sounding message from her doctor, who tells her they need to talk. When she calls him back from her hotel’s lobby, he tells her she has a rare and aggressive form of cancer called triple negative invasive ductal carcinoma. He compares the cancer to a dandelion: It grows fast, and it can sprout anywhere. Flones immediately books a flight back to Kansas City. In the taxi to the airport, she starts crying and calls her parents, her boss and Morken, who is shocked. “Shelley’s the last person that should ever get sick,” Morken says. “It really makes you wonder why bad things happen to good people.”

July 20

Flones hits a local trail for the first run since her diagnosis. She almost always runs with friends, but this time she wants to be alone. “I really needed to run through the forest and scream “F-U!” at my boobs,” Flones writes in her online running journal. The same day, Flones announces her diagnosis on her new blog, Shelley’s Buzz (shellsbuzz.blogspot.com).

Flones announces her diagnosis on a new blog, Shelley’s Buzz ( shellsbuzz.blogspot.com). “In the words of the awesome T-shirt Kelly wore in the Boston Marathon and passed on to me,” she writes, “ ’Hey Cancer: You picked the wrong bitch!’ ”

July 21

Flones tells her daughter, Annika, 8, and son, Josh, 6, that she has cancer. They have lots of questions: Josh wants to know if she needs more hugs. Annika asks if she’ll get cancer one day, too. Flones tries hard not to cry. “I sure hope not sweetie,” she tells her daughter. Flones believes that everything happens for a reason. That seeing Morken beat breast cancer helped prepare Annika and Josh for her battle with the disease. “They asked tons of questions when Kelly was battling,” Flones writes. “‘Can I catch cancer? Will I lose my hair too if I go to her house?’ And they got to see her beat it and grow her hair back.”

July 23

As Morken’s expanders enlarge, her skin thins and stitches begin to poke through. Doctors worry that her skin isn’t thick enough to fit B-cup implants. But Morken is more worried about Flones. Cancer has touched so many people she knows. It’s beginning to feel like an epidemic.

July 26

Since most of Flones’ family lives in New York, Morken accompanies Flones to her first appointment with an oncologist. She helps Flones ask questions and collect information about her treatment options. “She supported me without making decisions for me,” Flones says. At the end of the appointment, Flones has a game plan: a double mastectomy, then eight weeks of chemo.

July 28

Morken’s final fill expands her breasts enough to accommodate A-cup implants. Doctors tell her that her skin is too thin to go any further. She makes an appointment in two weeks to set the date for what will (hopefully) be her final surgery.

July 29

PET and MRI scans on Flones’ full body come back clear, indicating that the cancer has not spread to vital organs such as her brain. An intense feeling of relief washes over Flones, who says she was convinced by recent headaches that she had a brain tumor (she now thinks those headaches were caused by stress and lack of sleep). Flones celebrates by going for a six-mile nighttime run in 80-degree heat with Morken and friends from the Lawrence Trail Hawks running group. “When you find out that you do not have cancer all over your body,” Flones writes, “it’s amazing how you can celebrate and forget that you actually do still have cancer.”

July 31

Flones vows on her blog to continue living life to the fullest, despite the treatments that lie ahead. She hopes to inspire others to do the same. “I want one more newly diagnosed cancer patient to see the world as I do and dance with me through the ugliness that cancer brings,” she writes.

Aug. 1

Flones learns that she has tested negative for BRCA1 and BRCA2, genes that indicate a higher risk for breast and ovarian cancers. This is great news for her sisters and for Annika.

Aug. 4

After a close friend recommends she get a second opinion on her treatment plan, Flones decides to meet with a doctor at the University of Kansas Hospital who specializes in breast cancer and second opinions. Morken goes with her. At the appointment, the doctor tells Flones that she needs to start chemotherapy next week (instead of in 10 weeks) because her cancer is aggressive, and it has been growing unchecked for almost eight months. It all makes sense to Flones and Morken, who say they thought all along that Flones’ treatments weren’t moving along fast enough.

Aug. 7

Morken and Flones stock up on tomatoes, peaches, berries and cantaloupe at a local farmers market. In recent months, both women have focused on eating nutrient-rich foods such as local and organic fruits and vegetables.

Aug. 10

In one jam-packed Wednesday, Flones undergoes surgery to place a port in her chest that will deliver chemotherapy drugs. Afterward, she goes to Houlihan’s for lunch with her friend Chris, tours the treatment center where she’ll get her chemo, picks up Morken and drives to Headmasters, a salon in Lawrence, to donate her hair to Locks of Love, a nonprofit organization that provides wigs and hairpieces to children. After all that, Morken and Flones kick back with dinner at Zen Zero. “I’m the hungriest cancer patient alive,” Flones says.

Aug. 11

Flones brings a bag full of Trader Joe’s snacks and an iPad to her first day of chemo. After five hours and lots of visits from friends, she changes into a halter top and goes out for a couple of beers. Morken went out and drank beer while she was being treated, too. “You can drink on chemo!” Morken insists. “That’s a rule I made up.”

Aug. 12

Morken writes that she caught herself checking out her new boobs in a mirror at the gym. “I don’t think I’m a vain person,” she writes, “but I spent most of my warm-up on the treadmill staring at my Baywatch breasts.”

Aug 18

Despite her doctor’s orders to rest, Flones sets out on a road trip to Leadville, Colo., to help her friend Brooks Williams get through a 100-mile race (he finished 19th overall in 21 hours and 21 minutes). Morken, still sore from her final fill, comes along too. “It was the most therapeutic trip I’ve ever been on,” Flones says. The women hang out with good friends, drink in beautiful scenery and inhale fresh mountain air. They leave feeling rejuvenated and inspired. “We went there to watch one of our friends who has cystic fibrosis run 100 miles,” Morken says. “Surely we can handle a little bit of breast cancer.”

Aug. 27

Flones’ friends throw her a head-shaving party at Headmasters in Lawrence. Flones’ kids come, and so does her father, who has flown in from New York. Morken is there, too. “Knowing that she was there gave me a ridiculous amount of strength and confidence,” Flones writes. “She has no idea how much she inspires me.”

Sept. 22

The third round of chemo hits Flones pretty hard. She feels foggy, like her head is stuffed with cotton, and she’s tired almost all the time. Still, she manages to work full time. And her mom, a breast cancer survivor, is in town for the month of September to help out.

Sept. 25

Morken and Flones go topless for a rooftop photo shoot in Kansas City for Young Survival Coalition, a support system for women diagnosed with breast cancer before the age of 35. At the last minute, Flones’ mom decides to take her top off for the photos, which show the women from behind, arms clasped and heads held high. Standing shoulder to shoulder with other survivors is an empowering experience for Morken, who says breast cancer has a way of eliminating modesty. “I never flashed anybody in my life until I had breast cancer.” Well, unless you count that nude run.

Oct. 15

Flones goes outside to check on her kids and see that they’ve drawn a giant pink ribbon in sidewalk chalk on the driveway with the message “Mom: You are stronger than this cancer!” “I bawled my head off,” Flones says.

Oct. 19

As Flones celebrates her 39th birthday with family and friends, she looks forward to turning 40: “I will make it there in better shape than when I hit 30,” she vows on her blog. “And I will have a new set of boobs!”

Oct. 28

Morken undergoes surgery to replace her expanders with silicon implants. The surgery goes well, but Morken isn’t brave enough to peek under the bandages yet.

Oct. 30

When Morken finally unwraps her new breasts, she’s shocked to see that they’re uneven and covered with scars and cuts from multiple surgeries. Jon, her boyfriend of about three months, holds her tight as she cries. Her dad tries to cheer her up in his own way. He “told me not to worry, that he had recently watched a movie where the actress’s big boobs had nipples that pointed out to the side,” Morken writes. “Thanks, Dad!”

Oct. 31

To make the most of her newly bald head, Flones dresses as Mr. Clean for Halloween. The costume has an added benefit: She can carry hand sanitizer on her belt to stave off germs. She also dresses up as a doctor — Dr. Shelley Pepper, to be exact — so that she won’t look weird wearing a face mask to her kids’ Halloween party at school. On the same day, Flones goes on short-term disability from her pharmaceutical sales rep job. Her immune system has been weakened by the chemotherapy, so hanging out in doctors’ offices during flu season could be dangerous.

Nov. 2

As swelling from the surgery recedes, Morken begins to feel better about her new breasts.

Nov. 12

Annika, Flones’ daughter, runs her first 5K race. Flones holds her hand the whole way. Later that day, Flones and her daughter cheer on their friend Chris as he runs his first marathon. Flones realizes how important running is in her life and in her battle with cancer. “It’s my therapy,” she says. “Mentally and physically, it has saved me.”

Nov. 19

Flones volunteers at the Lawrence Trail Hawks 10K — a race in which she took first place among womenlast year.

Nov. 24

On Thanksgiving morning, Flones runs another 5K, the Ward Parkway Thanksgiving Day 5K, with her sisters Lauren and Tori, who are visiting from out of town. Later that night, the sisters watch the Country Club Plaza light up at the annual Plaza Lighting Ceremony.

Dec. 2

Morken jets off for a girls’ weekend in Las Vegas. Floneshad planned to go, too, but couldn’t because of her chemotherapy treatments.

Dec. 7

Flones and Morken pose for the cover of Ink at an early afternoon shoot. They celebrate afterwardwith happy hour at La Bodega.