Life Before Radiation

 Tomorrow afternoon is the first radiation session for my wife. The lump in her breast has been removed. There will be no chemotherapy per her doctors. Twenty sessions, one every day for the next twenty business days, should do it.

The initial shock has worn off to an extent. Yes, there's a real desire to return to normal life. Normal life that is more intensely experienced for having had this brush with mortality. The knowledge that cancer has invaded, that it could still return, that from now on, even after five years of confirmed victory, there is no ultimate victory. You always knew that death will come, as it always has to everyone, but you're shaken when it first extends its exploratory tentacles. You circle the wagons and defy it to even slow you down.

So we plan much more deliberately now.
We take some satisfaction in the fact that we've balanced life thus far reasonably well, having saved for retirement while travelling and doing a lot of the little things that give life colour. Going to the theatre, for example. Staying at hotels that are just a bit more expensive and a bit nicer. Taking off to the beach for the weekend even though you ought to rake the lawn and finish up odd jobs, even though this is the third weekend in a row that you've done so.

You can't do everything, but you can at least work yourself into a job that you actually like. A job that you actually look forward to returning to after the radiation treatments are done and the doctors give you the green light. You can live a life with no reasonable regrets.

You can live a life that you don't put on hold for a minute longer than necessary. You can be very deliberate in planning for those things that weren't so urgent before but are now far more important to ensure take place. Things like finding a beach front place for retirement.

Make it count. Stop planning and plotting only long enough to relax and enjoy the scenery.

Third Time Around the Bay - 2012

This race was all business for me this year. I ran Around the Bay for the first time in 2010 and posted a 3:05 time, which was acceptable to me. Last year I ran it roughly a month after having my appendix removed, against my doctor's emphatic advice, and posted a 3:42 time. Last year's result was heartbreaking, because no matter how you approach it or what you expect out of it, it is, after all, a race. So I try to put that stupid exercise behind me, try to forget the soul destroying experience of puttering along knowing that this proves nothing apart from the fact that I'm every bit as pigheaded as my doctor knows me to be, that the registration money I "didn't waste" would have been better wasted.

This year the weather was perfect, more perfect than it should be on March 25th in Hamilton, Ontario. The runners were all psyched; the energy that coursed through the 9000 plus runners was incredible. I started out strong and fast, disposing of my garbage bag jacket almost immediately. The crowd was energetic; the runners were all focused and pushing hard. This was more like it; this was what it's all about.

The first 20 kilometres flew by at a pace around 5:00. I was well under my 3 hour goal; wasn't even breathing hard, barely breaking a sweat. There was very little chit-chat in this crowd of runners because it was clear that most of us were having a surprisingly fast race and didn't want to jinx it or lose focus.

Proof that I was focused, that I could not be distracted from my laserlike quest: I did not partake at the bacon station. Which reminds me: there was no beer station the whole way. Suggestion for the organizers: get the Grim Reapers to dole out beer shots next time, work that barley harvesting metaphor!

Right before you hit the 20 km mark there is a series of rolling hills, nothing too serious but significant enough to notice. Right after the 20 km mark is a long, very long, and reasonably steep hill. On this hill, just after Mike S. flew past me on the way to his own personal victory, I started to feel a little dizziness, just enough to make me scale it back just a bit. I kept the pace under 5:20, so still pushing.

Self awareness, objective monitoring of your status, becomes important at this point. And you don't simply learn it as you go through the race; you have to have developed this sense in your training. You have to know where that redline is, because although you don't want to become one of those unfortunates being loaded into ambulances along the way if you can help it (and you can't always help it, of course), you don't want to scale back so far that you haven't given it everything you've got. You want to cross the finish line on an empty tank, but you want to stay upright through the food lines.

A collective gasp ran through the group that I was running in as we approached the ravine that was part drastic downhill and part drastic climb. Part of that gasp was fear, but there was an undeniable sense of appreciation of the beauty of the rock formation we were about to tackle. I high fived the little guy on the approach to the hill and began the ascent.

The great thing about this hill is that it climbs quite steeply to a point after which you round a corner and see that the hill continues for another few hundred feet at an even more acute angle. I love to hear the utter depair voiced by first-timers at this point. And I confess that I actually walked the last 50 feet or so this time. I consoled the guy beside me who was also walking, saying that we'd survive to do it again next year. "I hate being passed. I just hate it," he said.

So I loped in the last 3 or 4 kilometres from the top of the hill, knowing that I could push it a bit again, never going slower than a 6 minute km. Sprinted into the entrance of Copps, arms straight up and smiling across the finish line,chip time 2:47:57, 17 minutes faster than 2010. Anyone watching me would have thought I was staggering, limping, hobbling toward the exit after that, but in my mind I was swaggering. The thrill just never gets stale, not when you've given it 110%.

Courage

She's sitting on the floor in front of the TV. Wrapping paper, ribbons, bows, and tape are spread all about as she prepares Christmas presents. She's an excellent wrapper, by the way; everyone always remarks on the artistic merit of the package they receive from her. Corners are always perfect, seams are seamless, fancy pleats draw gasps of admiration if she deigned to create them.

She looks back at me to share a laugh from the antics on TV. I summon a wide smile, quite convincing I think. Her act is far better, although she is in all likelihood totally involved in her task. 

Her biopsy was on December 5th, the 3rd anniversary of her mother's death at the hands of cancer. Today, December 12th, we went to the family doctor to hear the verdict officially, even though we already knew. She cried softly; I kept a frozen, foolish expression, trying to encourage the doctor who was also having a rough time of it. He's been our doctor for a long time; believe it or not, he does house calls, sees patients on Saturdays, even gives out his home phone number in instances like this one. 

It's fairly easy to bluster, rant and rail at this relentless disease, but initially, inside, when you realize with cold certainty that it has a beach head, that although you will almost certainly obliterate its first tentative foray into your body, your wife's body, you also realize that it isn't going to be over, not really. Something is going to take you someday, and now you can put a name to it.

So we deal with it the same way we dealt with it before the mammogram. We enjoy what we do, we make plans and tell jokes. We go out for dinner, chat with friends and family, follow what our kids do. We do the same things because it could all end an hour from now for all we know.

It's going to defeat us all someday, death is, but that day isn't today. Today we laugh in its face, spit in its eye, and prepare to strike out at it with everything we've got whenever it draws near.

Stress

Work on speed. Know that every day might not be your fastest. But every day will bring unexpected surprises that will leave you awe-stricken. When you're halfway through an hour run and you feel like lengthening your stride, giving it just a bit too much effort, do it. Feel the slight twinge of doubt in your ability to make it at that pace. You can always slow down; this is just a training run. But you don't. You persist, you focus, you feel the doubt fade away.

Be tough with yourself. Don't let yourself slacken pace. Fight into the wind and rain. Lift your head and approach sprint level when the bemused commuter glances at you. Wink. Feel the blood pumping through your veins, feel the tension and fatigue in your muscles, enjoy every bit of it.

Because it won't last forever. Channel the stress into physical exertion. Work it to the limit. There is no tomorrow, there was no yesterday. Until the end of the run, when you can forget the whole thing. There is no stress.

Carpe Diem.

Pre Des Moines Marathon Post

Six days until the Des Moines Marathon. This one will be unique, as they have all been. I've gone through phases in the half decade that I've devoted my vacation time and weekends to running. I started by paying almost no attention to time, pace, and all that stuff. Then I got a half-ass tracking watch, the Nike thing that has a pod in your shoe and is totally inaccurate. Now I have my Garmin satellite toaster oven armband, which I enjoy immensely.

I like to run faster, really I do. But I care about my time from the perspective that a bad time may mean I'm tired, injured, dehydrated, etc. It's the "why" that matters; the time is merely an indicator of strength and health to me at this point.

It's like I'm really feeling synchronized with the whole World of Running thing, the whole club or extended family that evolves out of this activity. Giving support to others who are going through phases I've gone through; getting support from others who have something to contribute to my growth as a runner (because I don't know everything... sshh). You just have to relax, exercise your sense of humour, roll with the incessant punches that are injury, weather, distractions...

So I hope to run a decent race in Des Moines, obviously. I'll enjoy the scenery if there is any (I've been assured that Iowa is much more than cornfields and panhandling politicians), I'll take the time to meet and greet along the route if the opportunity arises. I'll prioritize the family aspect of the trip because if I lose an hour's sleep and a couple of minutes on my results, for example... I don't mind in the least.

And I'll let you know how it went.

Running Charities

Non-runners usually assume you are running races in order to raise money for some cause. In many cases they are right, of course. After all, runners raise enormous amounts of cash for endless numbers of causes. It's a fantastic relationship, total synchronicity. There are no imaginative boundaries to the creative approaches that runners employ to help charities; many of the success stories I see are the result of both luck and planning, and this aspect of running is endlessly fascinating.

I have determined that I will commit to Terry Fox Run every year, for one thing. I have also started getting involved with Run for Life as a member of the board, and that has been a real fun ride so far with endless potential. I see all sorts of opportunities to turn my running habit into a means to contribute to charitable ventures, and I am cautiously venturing into that realm.

Why cautiously, you ask? First of all, I don't want to scare people away when they see me coming, and I don't want to create any kind of negative attitude about charities as a result of my approach. Secondly, I don't have time to really get into it more than I already have at this point. And thirdly, perhaps most importantly for me, is the fact that I simply 'give at the office' and expect that most other people do as well. Running is a health/fun thing for me first and foremost. I hope, and believe, that I make an impact by my example for many people.

Like a lot of things in life, charitable organizations and functions have rules and structures for what should be obvious reasons. There needs to be 100% clarity and transparency about what the money goes for, what the charity's goals and objectives are, and that all regulatory rules are being obeyed.

So by all means, go and speak to your kid's class. Get a little informal group going. Advise a friend, 'coach' him or her along. Give advice online or in person. Make a difference. But always be clear when you're asking people for money: tell them whether they're going to get a tax receipt or not. It's that simple.

That's what I have to say about that.

Running Jam

Running with other people is neither as complicated nor as simple as you might think. It's like absolutely anything else you do with other people. I wouldn't play chess with Bobby Fischer, for example, even if he were still alive, because it would be an utter waste of time for both of us. Nor would there be a whole lot of Kenyans out there who would run with me for obvious reasons if you've seen my Dailymile log.

Finding someone whose pace, endurance, current health, etc. matches yours is no mean feat. Consider the distance between two runners of similar (but not identical) pace times; a couple of minutes over 30 kilometres translates into hundreds of metres. Therefore running with someone who is roughly the same speed and endurance level as yourself will always involve some give-and-take. It's almost as much about personality as it is about skill level. Both parties have to be quite willing to take it as it comes or change things up along the way. Doing training runs with other people is like jazz.

Which is why I've been really lucky to have had such great running partners in the past couple of months. The Run For Life gang are faster and younger than I am. However, we have had some great long runs, great conversation, great exchanges of advice and motivation. The great thing is that, when there are three of us running together, we have become totally cool with each other's specific styles after only a handful of runs. And it's great to have the company to make the miles melt away behind us.

I ran 32 kilometres with Runnrgrl last Saturday, and that was incredible because neither of us had done a training run of that length with another person before. That's 3 plus hours, quite a long time to pass in a trying physical endeavour with someone whom you really barely knew previously. It went amazingly well; conversation never flagged, and we made it in a quite commendable time. The real test came near the end when I started to seriously fall apart from the heat and from what I think can be attributed to aging shoes. Runnrgrl was incredibly patient, allowing me to walk for a couple of minutes while masterfully dragging me along. In fact, I would go so far as to say that she demonstrated coaching skills that I have never encountered personally before. Her diplomatic manner was truly impeccable, because I know I was starting to get a bit whiny. At least I felt whiny; really I was dizzy and staggering, but I know that I had something left in the tank and she refused to let me finish on a less than heroic note. On top of that, it was actually her who had had physical challenges recently so we fully expected that she would be the one limping to the finish. Her pace actually increased as we went, and she seemed to get stronger. Always surprises when you run with other people.

I still like running alone since that's what I'm most accustomed to doing. And it's highly unlikely that I'll find anyone to run with me at 4 am in the near future. But running with other people unquestionably adds a dimension to the exercise that is crucial, because in the end life is infinitely more interesting when you do things with other people, and running is no different.