"The Crickets Have Arthritis"
Shane Koyczan
It doesn't matter why I was there, where the air is sterile and the sheets sting. It doesn't matter that I was hooked up to this thing that buzzed and beeped every time my heart leaped like a man who's faith tells him God's hands are big enough to catch an airplane, or a world. It doesn't matter that I was curled up like a fist protesting death, or that every breath was either hard labour or hard time, or that I'm either always too hot or too cold. Doesn't matter because my hospital roommate wears star wars pajamas, and he's 9 years old. His name is Louis, and I don't have to ask what he's got. The bald head with the skin and bones frame speaks volumes. The gameboy and the feather pillow booms like they're trying to make him feel at home because he's going to be here awhile.
I manage a smile the first time I see him and it feels like the biggest lie I have ever told, so I hold my breath cos I'm thinking any minute now he's going to call me on it. I hold my breath because I'm scared of a 57 pound boy hooked up to a machine because he's been watching me and maybe I've got him pegged all wrong, like maybe he's bionic or some shit. So I look away like just I made eye contact with a gang member who's got a rap sheet the length of a lecture on dumb mistakes politicians have made. I look away like he's going to give me my life back the moment I've got something to trade. I damn near pull out my pack and say, "Cigarette?"
But my fear subsides in the moment I realize Louis is all show and tell. He's got everything from a shotgun shell to a crow's foot and he can put them all in context. Like, "See, this is from a shooting range", and "See, this is from a weird girl". I watch his hands curl around a cuff-link and a tie-tack and realize that every nick-nack is a treasure and every treasure has a story, and every time I think I can't handle more he hits me with another story. He says, "See, this is from my father" "See, this is from my brother" "See, this is from that weird girl" "See, this is from my mother". Took me about two days to figure out that weird girl is his sister, it took him about two hours today after she left for him to figure out he missed her. And they visit every day, and stay well past visiting hours because for them that term doesn't apply. But when they do leave, Louis and I are left alone. And he says, "The worst part about being sick is that you get all the free ice cream you ask for." And he says, "The worst part about that is realizing there is nothing more they can do for you." He says, "Ice cream can't make everything okay."
And there is no easy way of asking, and I know what he's going to say but maybe he just needs to say it, so I ask him anyway. "Are you scared?" Louis doesn't even lower his voice when he says, "Fuck yeah." I listen to a 9 year old boy say the word fuck like he was a 30 year old man with a nose-bleed being lowered into a shark tank, he's got a right to it. And if it takes this kid a curse word to help him get through it, then I want to teach him to swear like the devil's sitting there taking notes with a pen and a pad. But before I can forget that Louis is 9 years old he says, "Please don't tell my dad."
He asks me if I believe in angels. And before I realize I don't have the heart to tell him, I tell him, "Not lately." and I just lay there waiting for him to hate me. But he doesn't know how to, so he never does. Louis loves like a man who lived in a time before God gave religion to men and left it to them to figure out what hate was. He never greets me with silence, only smiles and a patience I've never seen in someone who knows they're dying. And I'm trying so hard not to remind him I'll be out of here in a couple days, smoking cigarettes and taking my life for granted. And he'll still be planted in this bed like a flower that refuses to grow. I've been with him for 5 days and all I really know is that Louis loves to pull feathers out of his pillow, and watch them float to the ground. Almost as if he's the philosopher inside of the scientist ready to say, "It's gravity that's been getting us down."
The truth is: there's not enough miracles to go around, kid. And there's too many people petitioning God for the winning lotto ticket. And for every answered prayer, there's a cricket with arthritis. And the only reason we can't find answers is because the search party didn't invite us, and Louis, right now the crickets have arthritis. So there is no music, no symphony of nature swelling to crescendos, as if ripping halos into melodies that can keep a rhythm with the way our hearts beat. So we must meet silence with the same level of noise that the parents of dying 9 year old boys make when they take liberties in talking with heaven. We must shout until we shatter in our own vibrations, then let our lives echo and grow, echo and grow, grow distant. Grow distant enough to know that as far as our efforts go, we don't always get a reply.
But I swear to whatever God I can find in the time I have left, I'm going to remember you kid. I'm going to tell your story as often as every story you told me. And every time I tell it I'll say, "See, there's bravery in this world. There's 6.5 billion people curled up like fists protesting death, but every breath we breathe has to be given back. A 9 year old boy taught me that." So hold your breath, the same way you'd hold a pen when writing Thank You letters on your skin to every tree that gave you that breath to hold. And then let it go, as if you understand something about getting old and having to give back. Let it go like a laugh attack in the middle of really good sex, the black eye will be worth it. Because what is your night worth without a story to tell? And why wield a word like worth if you've got nothing to sell?
People drop pennies down a wishing well, so the cost of a desire is equal to that of a thought. But if you've got expectations, expect others have bought your exact same dream for the price of a 'hard work, hang in, hold on' mentality. Like, I accept any challenge so challenge me. Like, I brought a knife to this gun fight, but the other night I mugged a mountain so bring that shit, I've had practise. Louis and I cracked this world wide open and found that the prize inside is we never lied to ourselves. Never told ourselves that we'd be easy or undemanding. So we sing in our own vibration, and dare angels to eavesdrop and stop midflight to pluck feathers from their wings and write demands that God's hands take the time to catch you. So, even if God doesn't, it wasn't because we didn't try.
I don't often believe in angels, but on the day I left Louis pulled a feather from his pillow and said, "This is for you." I half expected him to say, "See, this is the first one I grew."
Monday, November 25, 2013
Thursday, October 31, 2013
For Lisa
Tuesday evening, I found out a friend of mine died. It was rather unexpected. It was very upsetting.
It’s not like we were very close. I had really only known her for a short while. Lisa is a part of my Team In Training (TNT) friends and teammates. She died Tuesday morning, October 29, 2013, and it is assumed it was her cancer that killed her. We all knew she had cancer. That was how she and I became friends. We emailed support, motivation, and questions about running while going through chemo. I promise you, it is one of the most physically difficult things I have ever done. The fatigue is too often literally overwhelming, making you trail off the instant you sit down.
Some days, standing in the living room and feeling the weight of fatigue coming on, knowing there is nothing I can do to fight it, I just gave in. I would lie down right there on the floor and be out for an hour before I could pull myself back to reality. I could have walked upstairs to my bed. I could have walked over to the couch. I didn't care. That kind of exhaustion makes it really difficult to go run. Difficult to feel like you are alive instead of in a half reality, stuck between worlds. Between the living and the dead. Neither completely taking you, neither giving in to the other. Maybe the exhaustion is what finally got Lisa. I don’t know or need to know the actual cause of death. I don’t care. It was cancer.
In the last two weeks of her life, amidst her normal motherly obligations and life, Lisa continued to fight cancer. In her own battle she had visits to the doctor or hospital. In a more public facing effort, she continued with Team In Training. She had been raising money for the Leukemia and Lymphoma Society by preparing to run the San Francisco Nike Women [Half] Marathon with at least one of her daughters.
As she flew to California for the race weekend fun, she doubted herself. Not sure if she could perform well. I reminded her that a finish time was not important. The amount of time she spent in training, the efforts she made to raise money to fight cancer, that she can cross the finish line, these were the victories. She only had 13.1 miles to run or walk until someone gave her a medal to celebrate her accomplishments over such insurmountable obstacles. I told her of all the many people I knew there, some have become my favorite people, I was cheering her on more than any of them. I told her I was thinking about her. I cheered her on because I know what it is like to finish a race while going through chemo. And she did it. She is a hero. That is not diminished by her passing.
How many people can say with their last two weeks of mortality, emotionally wiped and struggling through incredulous physical pain, they ran a half marathon and raised money to fight cancer? To fight the very thing killing her? When I ran the Vancouver BC BMO Marathon earlier this year, in a room or 300+ people, there were four of us that stood when they asked for those currently fighting cancer to stand. Four that were enduring chemo and still going to run the next day. Lisa was that kind of person.
With her sudden passing, many of us were and are grief struck. She seemed to be doing well. She smiled her fantastic, enveloping smile and those around could not help but do the same. As TNT folks, the thing we know best in dealing with frustration and confusion towards cancer is running together. It is, after all, how we all came together to begin with. We gather unshowered in the early morning, share an emotional message, I try to make people laugh because I think that's the best way, we get in real close to each other, put one hand in for a team cheer of "goooOOO TEAM!!" and we run.
Tuesday night, after the kids were down and I was lost in emotion, I put on my purple TEAM shirts. I kept choking back tears as I put on my shoes. I kissed my wife. And I ran. It's the only thing I think we know to do. It's the only tribute that means anything to us.
The purple shirts are our race shirts. On which we write or screen or pin the names of those for whom we run. Some in honor of, some in memory of. They are the uniform of our efforts, motivation, drive, and loved ones.
Lisa, before you ran the Nike Women's, I shared with you a most appropriate quote. “A hero is an ordinary individual who finds the strength to persevere and endure in spite of overwhelming obstacles.” (Christopher Reeves). I echo that again with the sorrow of your passing. Maybe unintentionally, you have held your light high for all to see and follow. You have endured so much, with pain, with agony, and to those of us that knew your struggles, you did so with such admirable strength. You are and always will be a hero.
Tuesday night, I put on my purple shirt. I cried while running. I ran for Lisa.
It’s not like we were very close. I had really only known her for a short while. Lisa is a part of my Team In Training (TNT) friends and teammates. She died Tuesday morning, October 29, 2013, and it is assumed it was her cancer that killed her. We all knew she had cancer. That was how she and I became friends. We emailed support, motivation, and questions about running while going through chemo. I promise you, it is one of the most physically difficult things I have ever done. The fatigue is too often literally overwhelming, making you trail off the instant you sit down.
Some days, standing in the living room and feeling the weight of fatigue coming on, knowing there is nothing I can do to fight it, I just gave in. I would lie down right there on the floor and be out for an hour before I could pull myself back to reality. I could have walked upstairs to my bed. I could have walked over to the couch. I didn't care. That kind of exhaustion makes it really difficult to go run. Difficult to feel like you are alive instead of in a half reality, stuck between worlds. Between the living and the dead. Neither completely taking you, neither giving in to the other. Maybe the exhaustion is what finally got Lisa. I don’t know or need to know the actual cause of death. I don’t care. It was cancer.
In the last two weeks of her life, amidst her normal motherly obligations and life, Lisa continued to fight cancer. In her own battle she had visits to the doctor or hospital. In a more public facing effort, she continued with Team In Training. She had been raising money for the Leukemia and Lymphoma Society by preparing to run the San Francisco Nike Women [Half] Marathon with at least one of her daughters.
As she flew to California for the race weekend fun, she doubted herself. Not sure if she could perform well. I reminded her that a finish time was not important. The amount of time she spent in training, the efforts she made to raise money to fight cancer, that she can cross the finish line, these were the victories. She only had 13.1 miles to run or walk until someone gave her a medal to celebrate her accomplishments over such insurmountable obstacles. I told her of all the many people I knew there, some have become my favorite people, I was cheering her on more than any of them. I told her I was thinking about her. I cheered her on because I know what it is like to finish a race while going through chemo. And she did it. She is a hero. That is not diminished by her passing.
How many people can say with their last two weeks of mortality, emotionally wiped and struggling through incredulous physical pain, they ran a half marathon and raised money to fight cancer? To fight the very thing killing her? When I ran the Vancouver BC BMO Marathon earlier this year, in a room or 300+ people, there were four of us that stood when they asked for those currently fighting cancer to stand. Four that were enduring chemo and still going to run the next day. Lisa was that kind of person.
With her sudden passing, many of us were and are grief struck. She seemed to be doing well. She smiled her fantastic, enveloping smile and those around could not help but do the same. As TNT folks, the thing we know best in dealing with frustration and confusion towards cancer is running together. It is, after all, how we all came together to begin with. We gather unshowered in the early morning, share an emotional message, I try to make people laugh because I think that's the best way, we get in real close to each other, put one hand in for a team cheer of "goooOOO TEAM!!" and we run.
Tuesday night, after the kids were down and I was lost in emotion, I put on my purple TEAM shirts. I kept choking back tears as I put on my shoes. I kissed my wife. And I ran. It's the only thing I think we know to do. It's the only tribute that means anything to us.
The purple shirts are our race shirts. On which we write or screen or pin the names of those for whom we run. Some in honor of, some in memory of. They are the uniform of our efforts, motivation, drive, and loved ones.
Lisa, before you ran the Nike Women's, I shared with you a most appropriate quote. “A hero is an ordinary individual who finds the strength to persevere and endure in spite of overwhelming obstacles.” (Christopher Reeves). I echo that again with the sorrow of your passing. Maybe unintentionally, you have held your light high for all to see and follow. You have endured so much, with pain, with agony, and to those of us that knew your struggles, you did so with such admirable strength. You are and always will be a hero.
Tuesday night, I put on my purple shirt. I cried while running. I ran for Lisa.
Wednesday, October 2, 2013
Brooks and Team In Training?
Well I certainly HOPE so. Brooks has a number of charity organizations with who they have worked in the past, donating either a percentage of sales or products and things. I have reached out to them in an effort to strike up a similar partnership for the Leukemia and Lymphoma Society.
The real nitty gritty of the proposal is that they make a limited edition purple shoe of one of their lines of shoes, and donate a portion of the sales to Team In Training. What would be the coolest ever is if they did one whole month of purple products, shoes, shirts, hats and jacket, and donate from that month's sales. That way customers could buy whatever model shoe they run in (the Ghost for me), or a jacket or something if they prefer a different shoe for running. Everyone can show their TEAM spirit that way.
Well the idea has been officially proposed and I should hear back by mid January. I will post an update about it then.
...Fingers crossed!
The real nitty gritty of the proposal is that they make a limited edition purple shoe of one of their lines of shoes, and donate a portion of the sales to Team In Training. What would be the coolest ever is if they did one whole month of purple products, shoes, shirts, hats and jacket, and donate from that month's sales. That way customers could buy whatever model shoe they run in (the Ghost for me), or a jacket or something if they prefer a different shoe for running. Everyone can show their TEAM spirit that way.
Well the idea has been officially proposed and I should hear back by mid January. I will post an update about it then.
...Fingers crossed!
Thursday, September 26, 2013
Am I Done???
I didn't say anything about this after my last dose of chemo. I didn't say anything because I didn't want to get my hopes up by saying it out loud, or even typing it. Where I thought I had one more dose of chemo before I could hope to be done, I was informed that this last one was in fact, my LAST one. ...no way.
Pending test results of the CT which I had this morning, and the result came back the same as the last one, "Shows no signs of lymphoma," I am done. I am done.
I can't say it enough for it to sink in. I am done.
It's been three and a half years of chemo. It has become the way life is. I have no choice but to take another hit and let the fog roll in. Am I really done? In six months are they going to say they made a mistake? Am I going to get my port taken out of my chest only to need it put back in?
AM I REALLY DONE???
...oh please let it be so. Please just let me be done.
The doctor said I am done. We can take the port out.
I am done.
If you know this picture, you know exactly how I feel. I make no apologies for the language. I feel like I "crawled through a river of shit and came out clean on the other side."
Pending test results of the CT which I had this morning, and the result came back the same as the last one, "Shows no signs of lymphoma," I am done. I am done.
I can't say it enough for it to sink in. I am done.
It's been three and a half years of chemo. It has become the way life is. I have no choice but to take another hit and let the fog roll in. Am I really done? In six months are they going to say they made a mistake? Am I going to get my port taken out of my chest only to need it put back in?
AM I REALLY DONE???
...oh please let it be so. Please just let me be done.
The doctor said I am done. We can take the port out.
I am done.
If you know this picture, you know exactly how I feel. I make no apologies for the language. I feel like I "crawled through a river of shit and came out clean on the other side."
Wednesday, September 18, 2013
Last Chemo Round???
A week ago tomorrow, I sat down for what I thought would be the second to last dose of chemo ...ever! Well, not forever. I know that there is no complete cure for Lymphoma yet so at best I could hope for a maintenance drug like Gleevec to come out before the eventual return of my cancer. But Dr. Oncologist told me this was my last dose!! HOW COOL IS THAT?!?! I thought I had one more dose coming in November. The blood work showed all signs were "normal," which is as normal as my blood gets for now. I am still a bit anemic and have low white blood counts though not low enough to worry about neutropenia or anything. Instead of coming back in for another dose of poison in two months, I will go in for a blood test is all. Yes, there will be a complete CT scan between now and then to measure and analyze everything. Pending those results and if everything is still good, I am done!
To be brutally honest, that scares the bejeebers out of me. It means another wait-and-see period. This one is supposed to be final and last for at least a few years. But so far, all wait-and-see periods have ended with going into heavier rounds of chemo, more nausea, hair loss, unbelievable fatigue, and all the emotional distress. While I have been on this maintenance dose of chemo for the last who knows how many months (10? 11?), I was not quite as worried because I knew I was at least getting something to keep cancer at bay. Now...? I am left to the strengths of my own immune system to fight it's epic saga.
I don't know. Which is to say, I do not know what to do, say or think, so I shrug my shoulders and sluff off the burden of unquieted anxieties. ...I don't know.
I ran last night. It was the first time since that dose a week ago. It usually takes a week to a week and a half to start feeling the fatigue subside. I wanted to start the week off strong. Running or doing Insanity on Monday but knew I was not yet up to it. If I held still, I felt well enough. If I moved around, like walking to the bathroom at work, I felt all sorts of weird. My head was dizzy, my legs unsure. Walking home from the train after work I did not trust my legs for a run unless it was at home on the treadmill because if needed, I could stop and just walk inside. If I were out running, I would have had to cover the distance to get back home. I have done that once before and do not want to repeat it. I decided to wait at least another day. Yesterday, the mental anguish was too much. I needed to run to clear my head more than anything but knew my legs would benefit as well. I ran six miles and felt really good. My head was not too dizzy. My legs kept me going. My lungs burned enough but not too much. I was not trying for any speed records, just go.
That is the beauty of running for me. I can do hard workouts, speed workouts like Yazzos or Fartleks, hills, whatever, pushing myself to make me stronger and faster. But I find the best workouts are when I let go of time and pace as much as I can and just go run. I think of the mileage I want to hit and a route that roughly gets the distance. Then I go. By the time I am back, all the intellectual backwash is cleared. Concerns are lessened, patience restored and I feel better. That is what I needed last night. I intended to run five miles last night to be a little easier on my body for the first post chemo run. I usually try to take it a little easier after a dose. I didn't realize I turned for the extra mile until I was halfway through that extra loop. Too late to turn back and have it make any difference, my legs held up and my mind was grateful for the extra mile.
Now we wait. We wait for the scheduling at Imaging to call and set up the CT. Maybe next week I will get results. Maybe another week. It depends on when I can get in for the scan. ...Wait and see. My least favorite time.
That sucks.
I don't know. I'll go run again tomorrow, building up more miles again.
To be brutally honest, that scares the bejeebers out of me. It means another wait-and-see period. This one is supposed to be final and last for at least a few years. But so far, all wait-and-see periods have ended with going into heavier rounds of chemo, more nausea, hair loss, unbelievable fatigue, and all the emotional distress. While I have been on this maintenance dose of chemo for the last who knows how many months (10? 11?), I was not quite as worried because I knew I was at least getting something to keep cancer at bay. Now...? I am left to the strengths of my own immune system to fight it's epic saga.
I don't know. Which is to say, I do not know what to do, say or think, so I shrug my shoulders and sluff off the burden of unquieted anxieties. ...I don't know.
I ran last night. It was the first time since that dose a week ago. It usually takes a week to a week and a half to start feeling the fatigue subside. I wanted to start the week off strong. Running or doing Insanity on Monday but knew I was not yet up to it. If I held still, I felt well enough. If I moved around, like walking to the bathroom at work, I felt all sorts of weird. My head was dizzy, my legs unsure. Walking home from the train after work I did not trust my legs for a run unless it was at home on the treadmill because if needed, I could stop and just walk inside. If I were out running, I would have had to cover the distance to get back home. I have done that once before and do not want to repeat it. I decided to wait at least another day. Yesterday, the mental anguish was too much. I needed to run to clear my head more than anything but knew my legs would benefit as well. I ran six miles and felt really good. My head was not too dizzy. My legs kept me going. My lungs burned enough but not too much. I was not trying for any speed records, just go.
That is the beauty of running for me. I can do hard workouts, speed workouts like Yazzos or Fartleks, hills, whatever, pushing myself to make me stronger and faster. But I find the best workouts are when I let go of time and pace as much as I can and just go run. I think of the mileage I want to hit and a route that roughly gets the distance. Then I go. By the time I am back, all the intellectual backwash is cleared. Concerns are lessened, patience restored and I feel better. That is what I needed last night. I intended to run five miles last night to be a little easier on my body for the first post chemo run. I usually try to take it a little easier after a dose. I didn't realize I turned for the extra mile until I was halfway through that extra loop. Too late to turn back and have it make any difference, my legs held up and my mind was grateful for the extra mile.
Now we wait. We wait for the scheduling at Imaging to call and set up the CT. Maybe next week I will get results. Maybe another week. It depends on when I can get in for the scan. ...Wait and see. My least favorite time.
That sucks.
I don't know. I'll go run again tomorrow, building up more miles again.
Monday, August 26, 2013
The Hurt and Worries
Today is one of those days that hurts to get out of bed in the morning. I set my alarm for early enough to go run before work. That did not happen. I almost cried getting out of bed in time to make it to work.
Truth be told, I have been so tired for a while now. It is not just tired like I need a nap during the day, but it is the kind of tired that comes with chemo and fatigue. Chemo tired is not pacified by taking a nap. You wake just as tired as before. It is heavy. My arms feel like they are pulling me down.
Yesterday after making dinner for my family, a cheese and chicken ravioli (store bought) in a pesto olive oil sauce I made with garlic bread and sweet potatoes with caramelized onion and crumbled bacon, I just had to sit down. I did not know I was asleep until all of a sudden I realized my wife was finishing up reading to our children and I had no idea how long they had read. Sure, I mention the food because I think the meal itself had a little to do with it as a card/starch filled meal could have had a little help towards a food coma, but the heavy tired has been going on for a while. ...And because I wanted to brag a little about how the food was good. That is was fatigue does. It makes staying awake, especially if you sit down, a near impossibility.
In addition to the heavy tired that has plagued me for too long, I ache. Both in the bones and joints, as well as in the muscles. The aches and pains that commonly come with running and keeping up with replacing your shoes when mileage dictates the need, those aches I accept. Those aches I earn. Ankles and shins and hips, they voice their dislike for my pushing myself. Aside from those which are the acceptable payment for the emotional sanctity of physical exertion, when your bones hurt, when your muscles feel bruised, the hypochondriac in me raises his ugly mottled head.
Am I relapsing? Is it spreading? Is it mutating? Why does my bicep hurt like I curled too much weight? Why do my radius and ulna ache?
...Grumble, grumble. My next appointment is in a couple weeks. I don't know if I am just being paranoid or if these are legitimate issues.
I have been thinking about that appointment for a few days. The nurses always ask if I am in any pain. Usually I have earned any pain by running or something. But not this time. I do not understand it. I do not know how to answer their next question, either. "On a scale of 1-10, how bad is it?" Well that's just stupid. Pain is relative. Is this pain more painful than... a root canal with not enough novocain? No. Is this pain more painful than stubbing your toe? Yes. Is this pain painful enough to take pain blockers? Everyday, and it still hurts. Then I ask myself if this pain is worse for me than the cause of the anguished look on the old lady's face in the chair next to me in the infusion room. With a sigh comes my answer, I would be the biggest sissy if that were the case. I ache. I am very tired of the ache. But I should be able to endure this pain far more than those around me. So what do I tell the nurses? I would really like the pain to go away, but if there is not much more advice than can be given than take some Tylenol, then "Thank you, Sir. May I have another?" And I will be on my way.
"Tell me where is Fancy bred,
Or in the heart or in the head?"
The Merchant of Venice, Act III, Scene 2
I don't know.
...Who is John Gault?
Truth be told, I have been so tired for a while now. It is not just tired like I need a nap during the day, but it is the kind of tired that comes with chemo and fatigue. Chemo tired is not pacified by taking a nap. You wake just as tired as before. It is heavy. My arms feel like they are pulling me down.
Yesterday after making dinner for my family, a cheese and chicken ravioli (store bought) in a pesto olive oil sauce I made with garlic bread and sweet potatoes with caramelized onion and crumbled bacon, I just had to sit down. I did not know I was asleep until all of a sudden I realized my wife was finishing up reading to our children and I had no idea how long they had read. Sure, I mention the food because I think the meal itself had a little to do with it as a card/starch filled meal could have had a little help towards a food coma, but the heavy tired has been going on for a while. ...And because I wanted to brag a little about how the food was good. That is was fatigue does. It makes staying awake, especially if you sit down, a near impossibility.
In addition to the heavy tired that has plagued me for too long, I ache. Both in the bones and joints, as well as in the muscles. The aches and pains that commonly come with running and keeping up with replacing your shoes when mileage dictates the need, those aches I accept. Those aches I earn. Ankles and shins and hips, they voice their dislike for my pushing myself. Aside from those which are the acceptable payment for the emotional sanctity of physical exertion, when your bones hurt, when your muscles feel bruised, the hypochondriac in me raises his ugly mottled head.
Am I relapsing? Is it spreading? Is it mutating? Why does my bicep hurt like I curled too much weight? Why do my radius and ulna ache?
...Grumble, grumble. My next appointment is in a couple weeks. I don't know if I am just being paranoid or if these are legitimate issues.
I have been thinking about that appointment for a few days. The nurses always ask if I am in any pain. Usually I have earned any pain by running or something. But not this time. I do not understand it. I do not know how to answer their next question, either. "On a scale of 1-10, how bad is it?" Well that's just stupid. Pain is relative. Is this pain more painful than... a root canal with not enough novocain? No. Is this pain more painful than stubbing your toe? Yes. Is this pain painful enough to take pain blockers? Everyday, and it still hurts. Then I ask myself if this pain is worse for me than the cause of the anguished look on the old lady's face in the chair next to me in the infusion room. With a sigh comes my answer, I would be the biggest sissy if that were the case. I ache. I am very tired of the ache. But I should be able to endure this pain far more than those around me. So what do I tell the nurses? I would really like the pain to go away, but if there is not much more advice than can be given than take some Tylenol, then "Thank you, Sir. May I have another?" And I will be on my way.
"Tell me where is Fancy bred,
Or in the heart or in the head?"
The Merchant of Venice, Act III, Scene 2
I don't know.
...Who is John Gault?
Monday, July 22, 2013
Another One Gone, Another One Gone...
Maybe two weeks ago, I had another dose of chemo. This was another maintenance dose and a checked off round, edging ever closer to the end of it all. ...I hope.
In my head I keep singing Another One Bites the Dust. But I am a bit concerned. I ran a couple times this last week, not as many runs as I would have liked but all things considered, I did pretty well. One of my runs was just over six miles and I kept an average 10:23 pace per mile. Not my best but not bad for an old man. The problem is, and why I have been concerned is that I do not feel like I am recovering. Recovery has many parts to it. The first part is energy level, how quickly you regain a "normal" level of energy after your run. On longer runs, sometimes a nap after you shower and stuff is needed. After the energy level comes the muscle soreness. That's what more people think of when thinking about recovery. Are you sore the next day? Can you walk? Can you go back out and run again? I can go out and run up to ten miles without having to really even think about soreness. But this time, I cannot recover the energy level.
This goes beyond the immediate need for a nap. For me, it has been maybe four days and I am still exhausted. It goes beyond that too. I have been super tired for a few weeks now. The last time I felt like this was a year ago when I was training for Hood To Coast, a relay race running in legs from Mt Hood to Seaside in Oregon. In training for that, I had one run where I did 13.1 miles and thought I was going to die. Not as in a whiny sort of way where you are just not fit enough to complete a run without really sucking wind, but I was afraid I might not make it home. I was literally hallucinating on that run. When I could not recover, I called my oncologist who ran some blood test to find out that I was almost two liters low on red blood. Understandably, that was my worst run ever.
Feeling the same or similar now, I called oncology today. When I went in a couple weeks ago, I mentioned how tired I have been lately. The CBC (Complete Blood Count) showed everything as fairly normal for my levels, though. So I went ahead with the chemo dose as that gets me one step closer to being done with everything. Doctor Oncologist told me to keep an eye on it though and see if we need to look at something else as to the cause of the fatigue. So I called. Usually, it takes me about a week to overcome the normal fatigue from a round of treatment. The last round was unusually difficult on me, and this round is not seeming to be any easier.
I do not know what it could be, but it has me a bit worried. What if- You know?
With the call to oncology, I am waiting for the call back to see what the doctor wants to do. I want to run tests and try to rule everything out or find something so it can be addressed and fixed. Maybe that is part of the problem. Insurance got cancelled, and we cannot pay for more tests or treatment. It worries me.
I keep saying I am just old. Is that it? Is this what being old is like? Because this sucks.
In my head I keep singing Another One Bites the Dust. But I am a bit concerned. I ran a couple times this last week, not as many runs as I would have liked but all things considered, I did pretty well. One of my runs was just over six miles and I kept an average 10:23 pace per mile. Not my best but not bad for an old man. The problem is, and why I have been concerned is that I do not feel like I am recovering. Recovery has many parts to it. The first part is energy level, how quickly you regain a "normal" level of energy after your run. On longer runs, sometimes a nap after you shower and stuff is needed. After the energy level comes the muscle soreness. That's what more people think of when thinking about recovery. Are you sore the next day? Can you walk? Can you go back out and run again? I can go out and run up to ten miles without having to really even think about soreness. But this time, I cannot recover the energy level.
This goes beyond the immediate need for a nap. For me, it has been maybe four days and I am still exhausted. It goes beyond that too. I have been super tired for a few weeks now. The last time I felt like this was a year ago when I was training for Hood To Coast, a relay race running in legs from Mt Hood to Seaside in Oregon. In training for that, I had one run where I did 13.1 miles and thought I was going to die. Not as in a whiny sort of way where you are just not fit enough to complete a run without really sucking wind, but I was afraid I might not make it home. I was literally hallucinating on that run. When I could not recover, I called my oncologist who ran some blood test to find out that I was almost two liters low on red blood. Understandably, that was my worst run ever.
Feeling the same or similar now, I called oncology today. When I went in a couple weeks ago, I mentioned how tired I have been lately. The CBC (Complete Blood Count) showed everything as fairly normal for my levels, though. So I went ahead with the chemo dose as that gets me one step closer to being done with everything. Doctor Oncologist told me to keep an eye on it though and see if we need to look at something else as to the cause of the fatigue. So I called. Usually, it takes me about a week to overcome the normal fatigue from a round of treatment. The last round was unusually difficult on me, and this round is not seeming to be any easier.
I do not know what it could be, but it has me a bit worried. What if- You know?
With the call to oncology, I am waiting for the call back to see what the doctor wants to do. I want to run tests and try to rule everything out or find something so it can be addressed and fixed. Maybe that is part of the problem. Insurance got cancelled, and we cannot pay for more tests or treatment. It worries me.
I keep saying I am just old. Is that it? Is this what being old is like? Because this sucks.
Thursday, June 20, 2013
The Helvetia Half Marathon
The Helvetia Half is one of the largest in Oregon. This year there was over 17,000 people (I think) that ran or walked the event. I was one of them. Remember back to Vancouver BC? Scroll down to see the summaries I did for that run, but it did not go well. I wasn't to worried. Yes, you are always disappointed if you feel you did not run well. But I knew I was going to run the Helvetia a month later and I have run enough to know one bad race does not define me.
Maybe a week or so after I got back from Canada (eh), I had another round of chemo. For whatever reason, this round was particularly hard on me. I was wiped out from this round. Usually, lately anyway, I have recovered and been fine after about a week. This time the fatigue was almost overwhelming and lasted way longer than normal. That part is always frustrating. This directly affected my running this time. I just could not pull it together enough to go for a run.
Finally, after too long and knowing I needed to get a few runs in before Helvetia, I went out for a good run. I think I may have done 10 miles that day. I planned on getting a few more shorter runs in still but I got sick. When someone gets sick, they can often modify their workout and still keep going. I am doing that now. But I was so sick then I could not do anything. Race day was fast approaching and I was underprepared even if just mentally.
With race day at the Helvetia Half upon me, and knowing there are some good hills on this course, I had some mental prep to do. I had one of my good friends Jeff and my sister in law Amy joining me for their first halfs ever. Part of me was just trying to play it cool for them and tell them the basic things, relax, take it easy, don't worry about your finish time, make sure you drink, try to stay more in the middle of the road to stay as level as you can, don't worry about the "fast" runners because anyone that matters has already finished... You know, first timer stuff. At the same time I was trying to tell myself similar things. You are sick. Don't worry about finish time this time. Just relax and have fun. It's fine to pull over and cough a lung out when you have to... Which I only did twice. Good thing too since we only have two lungs.
I actually did really well. As I came into the last mile stretch, I was relaxed and smiling. I saw my wife, children and one our BFFs waiting for me just before the finish chute. They cheered me on and I felt great. As I past, they asked where Amy was to cheer her on too. She was not far behind. For me, I had a decent finish time though it was not my best. And I am fine with that. I ran better than in my last race and really that is all I ever hope to accomplish with each race. Jeff ran like a rock star and finished ahead of me with his family there to cheer him on. He then waited for me to finish as well.
Post race, I had to take another week off to try and stop being sick. For as little running prep as I did the month prior to the race, I was not very sore at all. My hips were a little tight where I had been having some troubles in preparing for Canada (eh), but really, I felt good in the muscles. Helvetia was June 8th this year. It's been however many days since (12?) and I am running again. I cannot get rid of the muck in my chest but it is not really slowing me down. I am running 6 miles or so every couple days and holding a 10 minute mile average. I am happy with that for now.
I am happy to still be running. Not sure when my next dose of chemo is but I will still be running then too. I just hope I don't have to take as much time off for recovery from that this time.
"If you can't run then walk, if you can't walk then crawl, but whatever you do you have to keep moving forward."
-MLK Jr.
Maybe a week or so after I got back from Canada (eh), I had another round of chemo. For whatever reason, this round was particularly hard on me. I was wiped out from this round. Usually, lately anyway, I have recovered and been fine after about a week. This time the fatigue was almost overwhelming and lasted way longer than normal. That part is always frustrating. This directly affected my running this time. I just could not pull it together enough to go for a run.
Finally, after too long and knowing I needed to get a few runs in before Helvetia, I went out for a good run. I think I may have done 10 miles that day. I planned on getting a few more shorter runs in still but I got sick. When someone gets sick, they can often modify their workout and still keep going. I am doing that now. But I was so sick then I could not do anything. Race day was fast approaching and I was underprepared even if just mentally.
I actually did really well. As I came into the last mile stretch, I was relaxed and smiling. I saw my wife, children and one our BFFs waiting for me just before the finish chute. They cheered me on and I felt great. As I past, they asked where Amy was to cheer her on too. She was not far behind. For me, I had a decent finish time though it was not my best. And I am fine with that. I ran better than in my last race and really that is all I ever hope to accomplish with each race. Jeff ran like a rock star and finished ahead of me with his family there to cheer him on. He then waited for me to finish as well.
Post race, I had to take another week off to try and stop being sick. For as little running prep as I did the month prior to the race, I was not very sore at all. My hips were a little tight where I had been having some troubles in preparing for Canada (eh), but really, I felt good in the muscles. Helvetia was June 8th this year. It's been however many days since (12?) and I am running again. I cannot get rid of the muck in my chest but it is not really slowing me down. I am running 6 miles or so every couple days and holding a 10 minute mile average. I am happy with that for now.
I am happy to still be running. Not sure when my next dose of chemo is but I will still be running then too. I just hope I don't have to take as much time off for recovery from that this time.
"If you can't run then walk, if you can't walk then crawl, but whatever you do you have to keep moving forward."
-MLK Jr.
Tuesday, May 28, 2013
I am the gatekeeper to my own destiny
I have a friend. Surprising? I know. But this friend has MS. And while it is not cancer, we have dealt with many of the same issues including infusion room treatments, fatigue, aches and pains. Earlier she posted that it took her a number of years to attend a conference about MS, "because I couldn't look others in the eye who also have MS."
To borrow some words from Hank, it hit me like a 50's Packard driving through my chest. I have felt that. I think I have said on here before that I felt like my cancer was a social disease. Like others might treat me like I must have done something to deserve it. I was ashamed of my cancer and did not want to talk to others about it.
From Fight Club, the book, I found a new level of meaning in this quote from Tyler/Jack, "My fear is that people will see my [cancer] and I'll start to die in their minds. The cancer I don't have is everywhere now." Of course, I too feared that I would be a symbol of death and decay in people's eyes. But then beyond that, I realized that paralyzing fear was as bad as my cancer. It chancred me, spread rampant throughout and threatened to consume me. It was my non-existant cancer. The one I created and set loose within to destroy me.
I do not know how to help people understand that other than by example. Hopefully, in seeing that someone else has "self infected," as it were, they can see it and be liberated from the same folly. I hope so. I hope I can help others understand that they don't have to live in the mental state of anguish just because of some stupid physical malady. We can learn a lot from the wisdom of other brilliant men.
“Each morning when I open my eyes I say to myself: I, not events, have the power to make me happy or unhappy today. I can choose which it shall be. Yesterday is dead, tomorrow hasn’t arrived yet. I have just one day, today, and I’m going to be happy in it.” (Groucho Marx)
Maybe we eat it tomorrow. But maybe not. Most likely not. So today, "I am the gatekeeper to my own destiny and I will have my glory day in the hot sun." (Nacho Libre)
...Wow. That's a weird bunch of people to string together. My friend "M", Henry Rollins, Chuck Palahniuk, Groucho Marx, and Nacho. I should go to bed before this gets worse. I will have to re-read this tomorrow and probably make drastic edits. And so, thus ends the late night ramblings of one who should be drawing instead of stringing improbable people together.
Good night, and good luck. (...dang it!)
To borrow some words from Hank, it hit me like a 50's Packard driving through my chest. I have felt that. I think I have said on here before that I felt like my cancer was a social disease. Like others might treat me like I must have done something to deserve it. I was ashamed of my cancer and did not want to talk to others about it.
From Fight Club, the book, I found a new level of meaning in this quote from Tyler/Jack, "My fear is that people will see my [cancer] and I'll start to die in their minds. The cancer I don't have is everywhere now." Of course, I too feared that I would be a symbol of death and decay in people's eyes. But then beyond that, I realized that paralyzing fear was as bad as my cancer. It chancred me, spread rampant throughout and threatened to consume me. It was my non-existant cancer. The one I created and set loose within to destroy me.
I do not know how to help people understand that other than by example. Hopefully, in seeing that someone else has "self infected," as it were, they can see it and be liberated from the same folly. I hope so. I hope I can help others understand that they don't have to live in the mental state of anguish just because of some stupid physical malady. We can learn a lot from the wisdom of other brilliant men.
“Each morning when I open my eyes I say to myself: I, not events, have the power to make me happy or unhappy today. I can choose which it shall be. Yesterday is dead, tomorrow hasn’t arrived yet. I have just one day, today, and I’m going to be happy in it.” (Groucho Marx)
Maybe we eat it tomorrow. But maybe not. Most likely not. So today, "I am the gatekeeper to my own destiny and I will have my glory day in the hot sun." (Nacho Libre)
...Wow. That's a weird bunch of people to string together. My friend "M", Henry Rollins, Chuck Palahniuk, Groucho Marx, and Nacho. I should go to bed before this gets worse. I will have to re-read this tomorrow and probably make drastic edits. And so, thus ends the late night ramblings of one who should be drawing instead of stringing improbable people together.
Good night, and good luck. (...dang it!)
Tuesday, May 14, 2013
Push a Little Longer
A letter to a TNT teammate, Lisa. She asked me how to keep energy up to run after chemo and radiation. I responded:
Lisa,
I am actually glad you asked me about this, though I think it is a difficult thing to compare. I am struggling to respond. Sometimes I think we all understand another's unfortunate plight. Other times I think my struggles were unique to me and I am grateful I did not have to endure all that I have seen another go through without really knowing what it would have been like. Maybe it is easier for you to relate to me, than me to you, as I did not have radiation. But maybe there is just a lot of made up pretense, imagined in my mind. Hmm… Sorry, this is how my brain works. Sometimes over analytic and without reason or justification.
As you are aware, I am sure, I began training for my first half while in treatment. I continued the trend for my second half. And for this last season I was still on "maintenance chemo." I still am. I go in again on Thursday for another dose. With this, I do not get nausea like before but I still feel some fatigue. It is not as strong or lasting, but it is still there. And I still get chemo brain from it.
I do not think there is any "good" advice to give on how to keep up energy levels. Time, effort and patience are the only real answers though they are not what you want to hear. At least not what I want to hear. I had to learn that the first four miles are the hardest. They are for everyone, not just cancer patients. It takes me a couple miles to start feeling warmed up and after four is usually when I feel like I can actually do the distance. As I run, I have found myself chanting a number of different things along the way. Often in the beginning of a longer run I say, "The first four are the hardest. The first four are the hardest. The first four…" On longer sections or up hills, I have said "I am stronger than cancer. I am stronger than cancer." Sometimes I change that to say stronger than chemo.
People ask me how I keep going through it all. Family (I have four kids), work, school, chemo, and still get a run in a few times a week. Borrowing a line from the Grateful Dead, I often say I live on "Vitamin C and Cocaine." Though I have never done drugs, sometimes I feel like a crack junky for caffeine. My dependency on it drives me crazy. It used to be a lot worse. I could not get through a day without multiple energy drinks like Rockstar or Red Bull. If I sat down, I would pass out within minutes. The problem was I knew that even if I let myself take a nap, I would not wake feeling any more rested or with any more energy. I was just awake. In limbo. Like a zombie. Neither dead nor living, incapable of understanding which I was supposed to be.
I do not recommend that path. The Rockstar path is not good for you. But I figure if God saw fit to saddle me with cancer, he must put up with my figuring out how to make it through the day. Rockstars became my crutch. There are multiple problems with that and running, though I don't want to get off on a biology/physiology tangent.
Perhaps the best advice I can give is mental. Push a little longer. Run when you can, walk when you have to, and keep putting one foot forward when you think you can't.
As a very competitive person, and having a trace of my former rugby player ego, I hated seeing my performance as failure. It took me a long time to learn and accept that the race is not about time. It is about crossing the finish line. It is still difficult but I know it is doable.
Accept that races will be hard. That they will be slower than you want. Accept that your training runs may be better than your race run. Learn to enjoy each run for it's own unique day. During this last season, a month before event weekend for me, I had a trial run. I did my 13+ miles starting from OMSI out to Sellwood and back. I averaged about a 9:47 mile. That is the fastest I have ever been. I LOVED it! My race weekend was very different. Were it not for Coach Kevin walking with me for a couple miles, I would not have likely finished. I had to grab onto him to keep from falling. I was not good and I have not recovered. We will see what oncology says in a couple days.
While I am bummed about my race performance, I am okay with it. I accept each run is it's own beast. Post chemo and worse, post radiation, our bodies may ever more piss us off never finding consistency. Never finding predictability except the unpredictability. It's frustrating, but it's better than not running. And I think that becomes the metaphor for life. Run when you can, walk when you have to. Put one foot forward. Push just a little longer.
…And maybe have a little caffeine to help you get started. ;)
-Ryan
Lisa,
I am actually glad you asked me about this, though I think it is a difficult thing to compare. I am struggling to respond. Sometimes I think we all understand another's unfortunate plight. Other times I think my struggles were unique to me and I am grateful I did not have to endure all that I have seen another go through without really knowing what it would have been like. Maybe it is easier for you to relate to me, than me to you, as I did not have radiation. But maybe there is just a lot of made up pretense, imagined in my mind. Hmm… Sorry, this is how my brain works. Sometimes over analytic and without reason or justification.
As you are aware, I am sure, I began training for my first half while in treatment. I continued the trend for my second half. And for this last season I was still on "maintenance chemo." I still am. I go in again on Thursday for another dose. With this, I do not get nausea like before but I still feel some fatigue. It is not as strong or lasting, but it is still there. And I still get chemo brain from it.
I do not think there is any "good" advice to give on how to keep up energy levels. Time, effort and patience are the only real answers though they are not what you want to hear. At least not what I want to hear. I had to learn that the first four miles are the hardest. They are for everyone, not just cancer patients. It takes me a couple miles to start feeling warmed up and after four is usually when I feel like I can actually do the distance. As I run, I have found myself chanting a number of different things along the way. Often in the beginning of a longer run I say, "The first four are the hardest. The first four are the hardest. The first four…" On longer sections or up hills, I have said "I am stronger than cancer. I am stronger than cancer." Sometimes I change that to say stronger than chemo.
People ask me how I keep going through it all. Family (I have four kids), work, school, chemo, and still get a run in a few times a week. Borrowing a line from the Grateful Dead, I often say I live on "Vitamin C and Cocaine." Though I have never done drugs, sometimes I feel like a crack junky for caffeine. My dependency on it drives me crazy. It used to be a lot worse. I could not get through a day without multiple energy drinks like Rockstar or Red Bull. If I sat down, I would pass out within minutes. The problem was I knew that even if I let myself take a nap, I would not wake feeling any more rested or with any more energy. I was just awake. In limbo. Like a zombie. Neither dead nor living, incapable of understanding which I was supposed to be.
I do not recommend that path. The Rockstar path is not good for you. But I figure if God saw fit to saddle me with cancer, he must put up with my figuring out how to make it through the day. Rockstars became my crutch. There are multiple problems with that and running, though I don't want to get off on a biology/physiology tangent.
Perhaps the best advice I can give is mental. Push a little longer. Run when you can, walk when you have to, and keep putting one foot forward when you think you can't.
As a very competitive person, and having a trace of my former rugby player ego, I hated seeing my performance as failure. It took me a long time to learn and accept that the race is not about time. It is about crossing the finish line. It is still difficult but I know it is doable.
Accept that races will be hard. That they will be slower than you want. Accept that your training runs may be better than your race run. Learn to enjoy each run for it's own unique day. During this last season, a month before event weekend for me, I had a trial run. I did my 13+ miles starting from OMSI out to Sellwood and back. I averaged about a 9:47 mile. That is the fastest I have ever been. I LOVED it! My race weekend was very different. Were it not for Coach Kevin walking with me for a couple miles, I would not have likely finished. I had to grab onto him to keep from falling. I was not good and I have not recovered. We will see what oncology says in a couple days.
While I am bummed about my race performance, I am okay with it. I accept each run is it's own beast. Post chemo and worse, post radiation, our bodies may ever more piss us off never finding consistency. Never finding predictability except the unpredictability. It's frustrating, but it's better than not running. And I think that becomes the metaphor for life. Run when you can, walk when you have to. Put one foot forward. Push just a little longer.
…And maybe have a little caffeine to help you get started. ;)
-Ryan
Tuesday, May 7, 2013
BMO Vancouver Marathon 2013
Whew! I am back. Well I am physically back in Portland anyway. My brain has yet to accept that. Let me say, every time I go on a Team In Training event weekend, I am blown away at the enduring spirit that is in us all. This race was both a visually beautiful run as we ran through much of downtown Vancouver B.C., winding around and through Stanley Park, and an emotionally beautiful race. I doubt I can remember it all or eloquently describe all that I do remember, but I shall do my best.
During my first TNT race ever, I ran a long while on the course around a couple of girls tethered together. I have mentioned this before. One girl was (is) blind, the other was her guide. The same happened this weekend. And older gentleman, maybe mid 60's, was tethered to a much younger man who was the guide. It the perfect summary of the enduring spirit of compassion in us. It does not matter what our obstacles are, it does not matter if we fail. What matters is that we give everything we can to surmount those obstacles.
My race did not go well. I ran a half marathon which is 13.1 miles (or 21 kilometers, since I was in Canada). In training for this race, I ran that distance or more a few times. The last time, just over a month before race weekend, I started from downtown Portland on the waterfront. I ran my 13 miles with an average pace of 9 minutes and 47 seconds per mile. That is a total of less than 2 hours and 10 minutes for the half marathon. It will not win any races, but it is starting to be a respectable race time. I was so happy with that performance and just wanted to keep about the same for this race. Sadly, I could not deliver this weekend.
At around 4 miles, as we were running through China Town, I realized I was running slow. It took me a bit to be okay with that but I was not far off from my desired target pace. As long as I kept the pace I was at, I would still finish with a time with which I would be happy. At 8 miles, I was still okay. By 10 miles, I tanked. I knew I could not keep it going and questioned if I could run much at all. Maybe around mile 11, another of my coaches saw me.
Let me stop the narrative here. As TNT protocol, coaches are on the course running back and forth to give course support to the TNT participants. When there are enough chapters from all over, it works out really well. Almost every mile, I saw a coach. They all check on us, ask if there is anything we need like a Gu shot or salt or bandaids, etc.. They run with us to cheer us on. They go back to find another and do the same. Most coaches run well over a full marathon in a day doing this. It is amazing.
…And now, back to our story. Coach Kevin saw me at mile 11-ish. He told me later that I scared the sh-- out of him when he saw me because I was completely white. Yes, I am caucasian, but he meant colorless in my face. He walked with me all the way to the "chute" which is the gated area approaching the finishing line. A number of times in that last two miles, I had to grab onto Kevin's arm or should to keep from falling over. My legs would buckle a little. Sometimes I could not feel them at all, and just trusted the natural rhythm of walking to keep them going under me. When he left my side at the chute, and he did not want to but coaches are not allowed to continue beyond there, he waited and watched me to make sure I was still going more straight than weaving side to side.
I made it across the finish line, someone put the finisher's medal over my head, I went straight to my bag which had water and pbjs, then sat down right there on the sidewalk. I recovered well enough to stand then go check in/out at the TNT tent. I had made it. I finished a torturous half marathon.
After I recovered a little, I began walking back along the course. Many of my teammates that had finished were planning on going back to cheers others on, run with them if they could, and hang out. I would find a place along the way to stand and cheer, knowing I could not run with anyone. I stood near the mouth of the chute and cheered runners on, cheering extra for other TNT runners regardless of if I knew them or not. That's just the way TNT works. One woman came close and was arm in arm with a non TNT runner. I was just about to cheer when I realized the TNT runner was carrying the other woman. I left my post, grabbed the unoccupied arm and lifted. Both woman said "Oh thank you!" The woman in the middle, Harriet, called us her two guardian angels. We carried her the rest of the way.
As we got closer, the crowd cheered her on. They were probably cheering us as well. A lot of photographers took our picture. I had recovered quickly and well enough that I had no problems in helping. The mirrored glass buildings towering over us, the crowd cheering, drawing ever closer to the finish line, it was beautiful. The medics met us with a wheel chair just on the other side of the finish line. We got her in the chair, I hugged her, then I walked back to my stuff I left on the ground when I jumped in to help.
From numerous experiences along my journey through the last few years, I can see where others have lifted me when I fall. In turn, one of the few things I wish I could do with my life is to hold people's hands when they fall. To lift them up when they are weak or they fail themselves. I wish to encourage all, and instill in them the magnitude of their self worth. Coach Kevin did that again for me this race. I look forward to never needing the physical hand up again. But I may never stop needing the emotional help up. This time, with this half marathon, I was able to help another so shortly after being helped.
My performance in this race was severely impaired. Stupid cancer. But my performance in this race was everything I really want. I finished the race, and I helped others do the same. So many of my teammates had a hard run for them, not running as well as they would have liked. To each of them, I cannot express my gratitude enough for all they did accomplish out there. As a team, we cheered each other on, we ran with each other, we encouraged others not a part of Team In Training, we lifted those who had fallen.
I believe we are meant to be great. To them, to my teammates, I say you are. You are truly "awesome" people. Thank you for all you have done and continue to do.
Go Team!
Early in the race, we could now see the Vancouver skyline.
Yes, a man in a chicken suit as we cross the finish line.
Team In Training cheering people on. Here Becky (back), Julie (middle) and Christine (front) from the Oregon SW Washington Idaho Montana (OSWIM) chapter.
Front Row: Coach Kevin, Coach Mike, me (Ryan), Julie, Amy,
Second Row: Becky, Matt, Christine, Kayla, Jen, Skye, Erin (LLS Staff), Megan, Coach Michelle,
Third Row: The Photo Bombers doing an Egyptian pose, Krysty, Captain Mike,
And Joe rising above us all.
During my first TNT race ever, I ran a long while on the course around a couple of girls tethered together. I have mentioned this before. One girl was (is) blind, the other was her guide. The same happened this weekend. And older gentleman, maybe mid 60's, was tethered to a much younger man who was the guide. It the perfect summary of the enduring spirit of compassion in us. It does not matter what our obstacles are, it does not matter if we fail. What matters is that we give everything we can to surmount those obstacles.
My race did not go well. I ran a half marathon which is 13.1 miles (or 21 kilometers, since I was in Canada). In training for this race, I ran that distance or more a few times. The last time, just over a month before race weekend, I started from downtown Portland on the waterfront. I ran my 13 miles with an average pace of 9 minutes and 47 seconds per mile. That is a total of less than 2 hours and 10 minutes for the half marathon. It will not win any races, but it is starting to be a respectable race time. I was so happy with that performance and just wanted to keep about the same for this race. Sadly, I could not deliver this weekend.
At around 4 miles, as we were running through China Town, I realized I was running slow. It took me a bit to be okay with that but I was not far off from my desired target pace. As long as I kept the pace I was at, I would still finish with a time with which I would be happy. At 8 miles, I was still okay. By 10 miles, I tanked. I knew I could not keep it going and questioned if I could run much at all. Maybe around mile 11, another of my coaches saw me.
Let me stop the narrative here. As TNT protocol, coaches are on the course running back and forth to give course support to the TNT participants. When there are enough chapters from all over, it works out really well. Almost every mile, I saw a coach. They all check on us, ask if there is anything we need like a Gu shot or salt or bandaids, etc.. They run with us to cheer us on. They go back to find another and do the same. Most coaches run well over a full marathon in a day doing this. It is amazing.
…And now, back to our story. Coach Kevin saw me at mile 11-ish. He told me later that I scared the sh-- out of him when he saw me because I was completely white. Yes, I am caucasian, but he meant colorless in my face. He walked with me all the way to the "chute" which is the gated area approaching the finishing line. A number of times in that last two miles, I had to grab onto Kevin's arm or should to keep from falling over. My legs would buckle a little. Sometimes I could not feel them at all, and just trusted the natural rhythm of walking to keep them going under me. When he left my side at the chute, and he did not want to but coaches are not allowed to continue beyond there, he waited and watched me to make sure I was still going more straight than weaving side to side.
I made it across the finish line, someone put the finisher's medal over my head, I went straight to my bag which had water and pbjs, then sat down right there on the sidewalk. I recovered well enough to stand then go check in/out at the TNT tent. I had made it. I finished a torturous half marathon.
After I recovered a little, I began walking back along the course. Many of my teammates that had finished were planning on going back to cheers others on, run with them if they could, and hang out. I would find a place along the way to stand and cheer, knowing I could not run with anyone. I stood near the mouth of the chute and cheered runners on, cheering extra for other TNT runners regardless of if I knew them or not. That's just the way TNT works. One woman came close and was arm in arm with a non TNT runner. I was just about to cheer when I realized the TNT runner was carrying the other woman. I left my post, grabbed the unoccupied arm and lifted. Both woman said "Oh thank you!" The woman in the middle, Harriet, called us her two guardian angels. We carried her the rest of the way.
As we got closer, the crowd cheered her on. They were probably cheering us as well. A lot of photographers took our picture. I had recovered quickly and well enough that I had no problems in helping. The mirrored glass buildings towering over us, the crowd cheering, drawing ever closer to the finish line, it was beautiful. The medics met us with a wheel chair just on the other side of the finish line. We got her in the chair, I hugged her, then I walked back to my stuff I left on the ground when I jumped in to help.
From numerous experiences along my journey through the last few years, I can see where others have lifted me when I fall. In turn, one of the few things I wish I could do with my life is to hold people's hands when they fall. To lift them up when they are weak or they fail themselves. I wish to encourage all, and instill in them the magnitude of their self worth. Coach Kevin did that again for me this race. I look forward to never needing the physical hand up again. But I may never stop needing the emotional help up. This time, with this half marathon, I was able to help another so shortly after being helped.
My performance in this race was severely impaired. Stupid cancer. But my performance in this race was everything I really want. I finished the race, and I helped others do the same. So many of my teammates had a hard run for them, not running as well as they would have liked. To each of them, I cannot express my gratitude enough for all they did accomplish out there. As a team, we cheered each other on, we ran with each other, we encouraged others not a part of Team In Training, we lifted those who had fallen.
I believe we are meant to be great. To them, to my teammates, I say you are. You are truly "awesome" people. Thank you for all you have done and continue to do.
Go Team!
Early in the race, we could now see the Vancouver skyline.
Yes, a man in a chicken suit as we cross the finish line.
Team In Training cheering people on. Here Becky (back), Julie (middle) and Christine (front) from the Oregon SW Washington Idaho Montana (OSWIM) chapter.
Front Row: Coach Kevin, Coach Mike, me (Ryan), Julie, Amy,
Second Row: Becky, Matt, Christine, Kayla, Jen, Skye, Erin (LLS Staff), Megan, Coach Michelle,
Third Row: The Photo Bombers doing an Egyptian pose, Krysty, Captain Mike,
And Joe rising above us all.
Ode to Coach Karl, BMO 2013
I wrote a more serious and emotional summary of this weekend's trip to Vancouver which you can read, but I think a Coach Karl style summary is more needed right now. At least for me it is. So I shall do my best to live up to such a lofty goal.
Friday morning, it's still dark when the alarm goes off. Ah crap, what did I agree to? Oh well. Grab my stuff, get in the car, pick up Christine, get to PDX on time. Hey there's Erin! Cool.
Self check in, boarding pass in hand we begin the wait to get through security. Why is there only one lane open? Poorly managed? Okay, time to strip down and go the the metal detector with my bagels that Matt tried to get me to worry about. "They won't let you through with those…" Thanks, Matt.
Through security, clothes back on, bags ready and… wait for Julie to finish her full body cavity search. It's cool, she tipped the TSA for "services rendered." Oh hey, there's Coach Mike! He wasn't at the Starbucks like he promised. It's okay, he's still awesome.
Wander down to the gate. A few others are there too. Time for breakfast. Michelle took pictures. Cap'n Mike is too good for us and does not sit with us until pressured into it. Then he had a big bean breakfast burrito. Glad the Mike's have their own room tonight. "Alaska Airlines Flight 28somethingsomething paging passengers Hatch, Wall, 'Wee-dick' Broshar to the counter for passport verification." Hey where are Skye and Joe anyway? What about Becky and Kevin? Oh Kevin had to work. He might not make it. Whaaaaaaat?! What about Kayla? Oh she is working too but will drive up tonight.
Hey there's Becky. She has shirts. Cool! They stink but man they're pretty. Thank you Becky for getting that together, Michelle for the shirts, Renee for the rush print job and whoever the designer was for some kick ass design work.
"Alaska Airlines Flight 28somethingsomething still paging passengers 'Wee-dick' to the counter for passport verification." Ha, ha! Coach Mike isn't the only one to screw up their name in a sophmorish way. Awesome.
Oh hey, Skye and Joe are here. So is Andy, the Flex Coach. He turned out alright.
"Alaska Airlines Flight 28somethingsomething, now boarding for Vancouver BC."
Wow, this is a small plane. Oh no, Amy has to sit next to me. Poor, poor Amy. Huh, look at that. Erin is all the way in the front of the plane, just about as far away from Coach Mike and I as she could get. Me thinks that was planned. Fasten your seat belts people, we'll make this a bumpy ride. Okay I meant the whole trip but the pilot thought I meant he should make for a bumpy landing. That's alright, we made it. Michelle took pictures. Breathe that fresh Canadian air.
Shuffle, shuffle, bags, shuffle, shuffle, limo. What? You mean you didn't take a limo to your hotel? I just thought that was parr for the course. Sorry Eugene. All loaded up. Who let Skye control the radio? Joe was not happy with her choice of Canadian pop star radio, which none of us knew. Matt loved his limo driver. The guy was super chatty and full of useless info.
Oh nice! The Sheraton! Wow it's pretty. Michelle took pictures. And the weather is cool and clear. So pretty. …Sorry Eugene. Check in, aaaand I got upgraded to a sweet suite. 27th floor. Leather couch. Separate bedroom. Multiple tv's. Fruit plate. Special thank you note from LLS for being a top fundraiser. Freaking amazing view! …Sorry Eugene.
Everyone checks in excluding those arriving later. And Coach Kevin will fly up in the morning. Good! We all really want him there with us.
Group walk to Italian food, my pizza margherita was so good. Hey Matt, how was that $10+ Guinness? He was not the only to get started for the weekend. Pretty sure Michelle took pictures. Okay, now on to the expo. Walking down through Vancouver. It really is a pretty town.
Japadog. Many celebrity in Japadog.
The expo was at the "Canada Place," on Coal Harbor. Michelle took pictures. Sign the medical waiver provided by the country of Canada and some Joe Schmoe Doctor. Bib's, bags, shirts, souvenir shirts/hats/jackets to prove we were there. Normal expo stuff.
Whew. Done with that. Waiting outside for everyone. Apparently, they were waiting inside for us. Regrouped and walk back to the hotel. Stop along the way at the IGA for copious amounts of coconut water and whatever else people needed. Loaf of bread and PBJ for me, thanks.
Back to the hotel, to my 27th floor suite. Got everything put away and fell asleep on the couch until Matt called and offered my a massage. It was time to meet up for dinner anyway. Regrouped in the lobby waited for Michelle who forgot something in her room, then made off with our tour guide Coach Mike. He was pretty awesome about setting up reservations at Yaletown. It was good food. Hockey game. More drinking for people, and Michelle took pictures. From there we went to a gelateria. Hockey game in every window along the way.
Matt found a free newspaper for Mike, either one, Michelle did NOT take pictures. Coach Mike gave it to Becky to give to Kevin. But then he left it for the kiddies in the ice cream shop. Silly Mike. Walking back, hey look! $0.25 peep shows! One of the mannequins just about poked Erin's eye out. Sheesh!
Some may have gone back out after the group got home. They must have because somehow Mike and Mike ended up sharing a bed. All I know is there was snoring, then punching, then no snoring and Kayla was there. Oh hey! Kayla and entourage are here! So is Kevin! Nice. Now time for breakfast. Wait, is Michelle here yet? Okay, here she comes. Tour Guide Mike? If you would please. Thank you.
The Elbow Room. What the-! "Big Ass Pancake" may have actually fallen short in describing what was served. I ate half and wish I had stopped earlier. Behold, the new sport of "Extreme Carb Loading." Michelle took pictures. Time to break up the band. Coaches and Staff have their meeting so we plan on meeting in the lobby about 5:15. I did a little shopping on Robison, then slept for 2 hours.
Time for the Inspiration Dinner. Put on the OSWIM BMO shirts. We look gooood!! Enter the building and follow the noise. Kayla didn't know that was for us. Oh yes. Yes it is. And it will be awesome. Down the escalator to reveal Coach Mike holding, oh wait, ooooooohh nnoooooo. Erin was right. I should never have sent her that picture of me when I was bald with Photoshoped pig tails. It was creepy. I will get you Erin. I don't know how or when, but I will. And it will be awe- wait for it -some!
Dinner was good. According to Matt, worlds better than the TEAM dinner in Paris. …That freaking picture of me just will not go away. It's a big group of TNTers, and now speakers. Presentation of the top fundraisers. They gave us these little glass statues of Inuksuk, the logo used for the Olympic games there. Matt too pictures of me as a keynote speaker. Now to the real speaker. Man, no matter how many times I have done this, I still get teary.
Dinner is done. Inspirational words from coaches and mentors. You have to expect that Michelle is taking pictures. And 20 cameras and phones later, we head outside …for MORE photos. This time in front of the fountain dyed purplish for us. Sure it was. Uh-huh. Photobombers went all Egyption on us. Then I paid it forward on the Coaches photo op. :)
Okay, everyone go back to your room and go straight to bed to be well rested for tomorrow. That or head to an Irish pub down the street. A different kind of carb loading ensued. And I had more Diet Coke. But don't worry, Michelle took pictures. Because it was awesome.
Now for real, go home and go to sleep. Someone went a little Buddy the Elf on the elevator buttons. Not sayin' who, but I had to apologize to the two guys that were not with our group. Make sure everything is ready for tomorrow then crawl in bed. JUMP out of bed when the alarm went off. Gather in the lobby. Now in race attire, photo op. Wait, is Michelle down yet? More photo's. On to the train. off the train and walk like a pilgrim across the plains to the start area. Holy freaking bathroom lines Batman!
Sing Oh Canada, then run. Downhill, more downhill, Erin! OW! Her staff friend cut me! There's Michelle! She took pictures! Cross a bridge, run around, enter Chinatown, see a strung out hooker on the sideline, leave Chinatown, running kind of slow but still ok, there's Kevin! Run past Yaletown, start to hit the coastline, hey there's Coach Mike! Half way (for the half), into Stanley Park, over the river and through the woods, Captain Mike caught me, we didn't talk much, Captain Mike left me, it's cool, sea wall in Coal Harbor, holy sh-- I don't think I can run anymore, hey there's Kevin! He's looking at me funny. I don't feel very good. He walked with me to the final chute. I couldn't feel my legs, I grabbed onto Kevin more than once, I made it across the finish line! Bag check, sit down and recover.
Christine and a few others checked on me then headed back out for course support.
...recover ...more.
...
...okay, I think I can stand now. Check out at the TNT tent, start walking back. Hey there's Michelle! We walk a bit then see Christine running with Kayla. Hooray for Kayla! She rocked it. Christine and Michelle switch, Michelle with Kayla and Christine with me. We go back to the 20k/41k marker. Cheer on everyone, especially all TNT peeps and the Japanese because they were awesome! There's Skye! YEAH!! She looked awesome! Matt had been running with people. He stayed to cheer. Superman passed us, really not looking very super. Barney the dinosaur passed us. We stayed for Megan. Our last OSWIM teammate. She was awesome! We all walked up with her into the chute. She ran the last bit. It was truly amazing to see her surrounded by so many coaches and teammates in support approaching the finish. A beautiful reminder of just how tight and supportive this team was. I loved it.
Coaches went back to do the same for the last of the other TNT peeps. …Because they are awesome.
Clean up fast and head out to Doolin's to celebrate. It did not take long. Kevin was so glad to see me. He told me I scared the sh-- out of him on the course. There was more hockey, a kick ass burger (for me), dancing girls -not that kind Cap'n Mike. Sheesh. Jill got pressured into Nike Women's, she gave the high five of committal, Coach Mike told me he did not want me on the team, he said I am just too much awesome to have another season this year with me. Maybe he fears his head exploding. More drinks, more Diet Coke for me. Michelle took pictures. Sara and Alfredo made for good company, even though he is not really an attorney. Cap'n Mike tells us the ins and outs of cross state border high speed chases. And exit in search of margaritas since it was Cinco de Mayo.
There was promise of ice cream. Bait and switch I say. Waffles and ice cream, just an easy 5k walk away. Only to be denied. …awesome. I crashed. 9 hours of solid sleep. Beautiful. Shower real fast then meet up for breakfast of crepes. Wait for Michelle to grab whatever she forgot in her room. We applauded upon her arrival. Back to Robison to Cafe Crepe. Thank you for indulging me. Go our separate ways before check out.
Check out and our limo driver drove like he could not get us out of the car fast enough. But yeah, it was still a limo. Sorry Eug--
With a couple hours to kill at the airport, time for lunch and last minute duty free shopping that cost an arm. They said our legs were useless and refused them as payment. Check in, board sit down and sleep. It's a short flight. The landing was far better. Holy crap it is hot in Portland! Kevin met us at PDX. We said our goodbyes. Many of this team is doing Nike so they will see each other in a couple weeks anyway. Kind of wish I was going to do that too.
But I'm not worried. Michelle will take pictures.
It will be …awesome.
Friday morning, it's still dark when the alarm goes off. Ah crap, what did I agree to? Oh well. Grab my stuff, get in the car, pick up Christine, get to PDX on time. Hey there's Erin! Cool.
Self check in, boarding pass in hand we begin the wait to get through security. Why is there only one lane open? Poorly managed? Okay, time to strip down and go the the metal detector with my bagels that Matt tried to get me to worry about. "They won't let you through with those…" Thanks, Matt.
Through security, clothes back on, bags ready and… wait for Julie to finish her full body cavity search. It's cool, she tipped the TSA for "services rendered." Oh hey, there's Coach Mike! He wasn't at the Starbucks like he promised. It's okay, he's still awesome.
Wander down to the gate. A few others are there too. Time for breakfast. Michelle took pictures. Cap'n Mike is too good for us and does not sit with us until pressured into it. Then he had a big bean breakfast burrito. Glad the Mike's have their own room tonight. "Alaska Airlines Flight 28somethingsomething paging passengers Hatch, Wall, 'Wee-dick' Broshar to the counter for passport verification." Hey where are Skye and Joe anyway? What about Becky and Kevin? Oh Kevin had to work. He might not make it. Whaaaaaaat?! What about Kayla? Oh she is working too but will drive up tonight.
Hey there's Becky. She has shirts. Cool! They stink but man they're pretty. Thank you Becky for getting that together, Michelle for the shirts, Renee for the rush print job and whoever the designer was for some kick ass design work.
"Alaska Airlines Flight 28somethingsomething still paging passengers 'Wee-dick' to the counter for passport verification." Ha, ha! Coach Mike isn't the only one to screw up their name in a sophmorish way. Awesome.
Oh hey, Skye and Joe are here. So is Andy, the Flex Coach. He turned out alright.
"Alaska Airlines Flight 28somethingsomething, now boarding for Vancouver BC."
Wow, this is a small plane. Oh no, Amy has to sit next to me. Poor, poor Amy. Huh, look at that. Erin is all the way in the front of the plane, just about as far away from Coach Mike and I as she could get. Me thinks that was planned. Fasten your seat belts people, we'll make this a bumpy ride. Okay I meant the whole trip but the pilot thought I meant he should make for a bumpy landing. That's alright, we made it. Michelle took pictures. Breathe that fresh Canadian air.
Shuffle, shuffle, bags, shuffle, shuffle, limo. What? You mean you didn't take a limo to your hotel? I just thought that was parr for the course. Sorry Eugene. All loaded up. Who let Skye control the radio? Joe was not happy with her choice of Canadian pop star radio, which none of us knew. Matt loved his limo driver. The guy was super chatty and full of useless info.
Oh nice! The Sheraton! Wow it's pretty. Michelle took pictures. And the weather is cool and clear. So pretty. …Sorry Eugene. Check in, aaaand I got upgraded to a sweet suite. 27th floor. Leather couch. Separate bedroom. Multiple tv's. Fruit plate. Special thank you note from LLS for being a top fundraiser. Freaking amazing view! …Sorry Eugene.
Everyone checks in excluding those arriving later. And Coach Kevin will fly up in the morning. Good! We all really want him there with us.
Group walk to Italian food, my pizza margherita was so good. Hey Matt, how was that $10+ Guinness? He was not the only to get started for the weekend. Pretty sure Michelle took pictures. Okay, now on to the expo. Walking down through Vancouver. It really is a pretty town.
Japadog. Many celebrity in Japadog.
The expo was at the "Canada Place," on Coal Harbor. Michelle took pictures. Sign the medical waiver provided by the country of Canada and some Joe Schmoe Doctor. Bib's, bags, shirts, souvenir shirts/hats/jackets to prove we were there. Normal expo stuff.
Whew. Done with that. Waiting outside for everyone. Apparently, they were waiting inside for us. Regrouped and walk back to the hotel. Stop along the way at the IGA for copious amounts of coconut water and whatever else people needed. Loaf of bread and PBJ for me, thanks.
Back to the hotel, to my 27th floor suite. Got everything put away and fell asleep on the couch until Matt called and offered my a massage. It was time to meet up for dinner anyway. Regrouped in the lobby waited for Michelle who forgot something in her room, then made off with our tour guide Coach Mike. He was pretty awesome about setting up reservations at Yaletown. It was good food. Hockey game. More drinking for people, and Michelle took pictures. From there we went to a gelateria. Hockey game in every window along the way.
Matt found a free newspaper for Mike, either one, Michelle did NOT take pictures. Coach Mike gave it to Becky to give to Kevin. But then he left it for the kiddies in the ice cream shop. Silly Mike. Walking back, hey look! $0.25 peep shows! One of the mannequins just about poked Erin's eye out. Sheesh!
Some may have gone back out after the group got home. They must have because somehow Mike and Mike ended up sharing a bed. All I know is there was snoring, then punching, then no snoring and Kayla was there. Oh hey! Kayla and entourage are here! So is Kevin! Nice. Now time for breakfast. Wait, is Michelle here yet? Okay, here she comes. Tour Guide Mike? If you would please. Thank you.
The Elbow Room. What the-! "Big Ass Pancake" may have actually fallen short in describing what was served. I ate half and wish I had stopped earlier. Behold, the new sport of "Extreme Carb Loading." Michelle took pictures. Time to break up the band. Coaches and Staff have their meeting so we plan on meeting in the lobby about 5:15. I did a little shopping on Robison, then slept for 2 hours.
Time for the Inspiration Dinner. Put on the OSWIM BMO shirts. We look gooood!! Enter the building and follow the noise. Kayla didn't know that was for us. Oh yes. Yes it is. And it will be awesome. Down the escalator to reveal Coach Mike holding, oh wait, ooooooohh nnoooooo. Erin was right. I should never have sent her that picture of me when I was bald with Photoshoped pig tails. It was creepy. I will get you Erin. I don't know how or when, but I will. And it will be awe- wait for it -some!
Dinner was good. According to Matt, worlds better than the TEAM dinner in Paris. …That freaking picture of me just will not go away. It's a big group of TNTers, and now speakers. Presentation of the top fundraisers. They gave us these little glass statues of Inuksuk, the logo used for the Olympic games there. Matt too pictures of me as a keynote speaker. Now to the real speaker. Man, no matter how many times I have done this, I still get teary.
Dinner is done. Inspirational words from coaches and mentors. You have to expect that Michelle is taking pictures. And 20 cameras and phones later, we head outside …for MORE photos. This time in front of the fountain dyed purplish for us. Sure it was. Uh-huh. Photobombers went all Egyption on us. Then I paid it forward on the Coaches photo op. :)
Okay, everyone go back to your room and go straight to bed to be well rested for tomorrow. That or head to an Irish pub down the street. A different kind of carb loading ensued. And I had more Diet Coke. But don't worry, Michelle took pictures. Because it was awesome.
Now for real, go home and go to sleep. Someone went a little Buddy the Elf on the elevator buttons. Not sayin' who, but I had to apologize to the two guys that were not with our group. Make sure everything is ready for tomorrow then crawl in bed. JUMP out of bed when the alarm went off. Gather in the lobby. Now in race attire, photo op. Wait, is Michelle down yet? More photo's. On to the train. off the train and walk like a pilgrim across the plains to the start area. Holy freaking bathroom lines Batman!
Sing Oh Canada, then run. Downhill, more downhill, Erin! OW! Her staff friend cut me! There's Michelle! She took pictures! Cross a bridge, run around, enter Chinatown, see a strung out hooker on the sideline, leave Chinatown, running kind of slow but still ok, there's Kevin! Run past Yaletown, start to hit the coastline, hey there's Coach Mike! Half way (for the half), into Stanley Park, over the river and through the woods, Captain Mike caught me, we didn't talk much, Captain Mike left me, it's cool, sea wall in Coal Harbor, holy sh-- I don't think I can run anymore, hey there's Kevin! He's looking at me funny. I don't feel very good. He walked with me to the final chute. I couldn't feel my legs, I grabbed onto Kevin more than once, I made it across the finish line! Bag check, sit down and recover.
Christine and a few others checked on me then headed back out for course support.
...recover ...more.
...
...okay, I think I can stand now. Check out at the TNT tent, start walking back. Hey there's Michelle! We walk a bit then see Christine running with Kayla. Hooray for Kayla! She rocked it. Christine and Michelle switch, Michelle with Kayla and Christine with me. We go back to the 20k/41k marker. Cheer on everyone, especially all TNT peeps and the Japanese because they were awesome! There's Skye! YEAH!! She looked awesome! Matt had been running with people. He stayed to cheer. Superman passed us, really not looking very super. Barney the dinosaur passed us. We stayed for Megan. Our last OSWIM teammate. She was awesome! We all walked up with her into the chute. She ran the last bit. It was truly amazing to see her surrounded by so many coaches and teammates in support approaching the finish. A beautiful reminder of just how tight and supportive this team was. I loved it.
Coaches went back to do the same for the last of the other TNT peeps. …Because they are awesome.
Clean up fast and head out to Doolin's to celebrate. It did not take long. Kevin was so glad to see me. He told me I scared the sh-- out of him on the course. There was more hockey, a kick ass burger (for me), dancing girls -not that kind Cap'n Mike. Sheesh. Jill got pressured into Nike Women's, she gave the high five of committal, Coach Mike told me he did not want me on the team, he said I am just too much awesome to have another season this year with me. Maybe he fears his head exploding. More drinks, more Diet Coke for me. Michelle took pictures. Sara and Alfredo made for good company, even though he is not really an attorney. Cap'n Mike tells us the ins and outs of cross state border high speed chases. And exit in search of margaritas since it was Cinco de Mayo.
There was promise of ice cream. Bait and switch I say. Waffles and ice cream, just an easy 5k walk away. Only to be denied. …awesome. I crashed. 9 hours of solid sleep. Beautiful. Shower real fast then meet up for breakfast of crepes. Wait for Michelle to grab whatever she forgot in her room. We applauded upon her arrival. Back to Robison to Cafe Crepe. Thank you for indulging me. Go our separate ways before check out.
Check out and our limo driver drove like he could not get us out of the car fast enough. But yeah, it was still a limo. Sorry Eug--
With a couple hours to kill at the airport, time for lunch and last minute duty free shopping that cost an arm. They said our legs were useless and refused them as payment. Check in, board sit down and sleep. It's a short flight. The landing was far better. Holy crap it is hot in Portland! Kevin met us at PDX. We said our goodbyes. Many of this team is doing Nike so they will see each other in a couple weeks anyway. Kind of wish I was going to do that too.
But I'm not worried. Michelle will take pictures.
It will be …awesome.
Wednesday, May 1, 2013
My Final Plea
Alright everyone, this is my LAST PUSH to raise money for the Leukemia and Lymphoma Society this season. Right now through Friday, you can fight cancer. If you wanted to donate earlier but forgot, or if you just feel you need to donate again, NOW IS THE TIME! Every dollar counts and is greatly appreciated.
I leave Friday morning to run the race for which I have been training and raising money. The LLS raises money for all types of cancer research and treatment, because no one should ever have to go through heart ache of losing a loved on to cancer. And even closer to my heart, no one should ever have to go through the torment of treatment. I promise you, it is horrible.
I look forward to finally being done with chemo this fall, but mine is a cancer that will come back. I hope, through your generous support and donations, that doctors find a cure for me before that time comes.
If you can, even $5 makes a huge difference. Please, I am begging, please go to my donation page www.ryanfightscancer.com, or click on the donation widget on this page and donate what you can. Ask your friends (real or online friends) to do the same. Just because they may not know me does not mean they have not been affected by cancer.
With all my heart, I thank you for your support.
-Ryan
I leave Friday morning to run the race for which I have been training and raising money. The LLS raises money for all types of cancer research and treatment, because no one should ever have to go through heart ache of losing a loved on to cancer. And even closer to my heart, no one should ever have to go through the torment of treatment. I promise you, it is horrible.
I look forward to finally being done with chemo this fall, but mine is a cancer that will come back. I hope, through your generous support and donations, that doctors find a cure for me before that time comes.
If you can, even $5 makes a huge difference. Please, I am begging, please go to my donation page www.ryanfightscancer.com, or click on the donation widget on this page and donate what you can. Ask your friends (real or online friends) to do the same. Just because they may not know me does not mean they have not been affected by cancer.
With all my heart, I thank you for your support.
-Ryan
Friday, April 26, 2013
3 Years
Three years ago today, I was told I have cancer. It was a difficult day to say the least. But I am still kicking, and forever grateful for the friends I have made. Thank you Mandy. Thank you Mom and Dad. Thank you all. Thank you TEAM.
And because Johnny said it well, "Ain't no grave can hold my body down,"
Unknown to me, Mandy had hit up just about all my closer friends and family that she knew to ask them to say something to me. It made for a rather emotional day. I was very touched and grateful for all the messages. I have the best wife. :)
Maegan Stoddard: "You are so awesome! Happy you're here! Love you guys!"
Pam Lyman: "To our dear friend Ryan who is a survivor, artist, thinker, make me laugh at inappropriate times during church, great dad, and married to one of the best women I know-Mandy Marie, we love you!"
Mom: "Well you are absolutley classified as one of my heroes in life, not just my kid! Thanks for the great excample, advice, support, and showing all of us just how to get on with life amidst great trials. You are truly amazing. Love you beyond words."
Heather Dallmann: "I didn't have the honor of knowing the man you were three years ago but I am blessed to know the man you are today. Goofy as ever and I love it! Seriously you are one of the coolest guys I know and I dig your family too :)"
Kristi Slaton: "I just wanted to let you know how much we love you. I am so glad that my sister chose such a STUD to be her eternal companion. I am even more glad that your studliness & perseverance helped you kick cancer's butt. You are my hero! Have the best day! Can't wait to see you in June!"
Chuck Jones: "Ry, Just wanted to say how happy we are that you are winning your fight. I know it hasn't been easy, but I can't tell you how glad I am that you are still around. You're and amazing guy with an amazing family. Wish we were closer so we could hang out more. And now this: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=M912EcPDrKM" [... which I will not link because it is Bette Midler]
Briggette: "Hey Ryan! Just thinking about ya today. I'm glad you are HERE! I'll never forget three years ago when my mom told me you had cancer. I had the biggest pit in my stomach. I'm so grateful you never gave up. You are an inspiration Ryan!! Hope you have an AMAZING day LIVING. ♥"
Jeremy Sherwood: "I hear 3 years ago you got hit with cancer.. I'm glad you are here. (In case you were wondering you have a great wife.)"
Shannon Valdivia: "Mom and I want you to know that we are so proud of you and how you are fighting NHL...Your optimism keeps us pluggin! We love ya guy!"
Laura Robinson (TNT): "SO lucky to have you in my life. Love you, Ryan!"
Sarah Waddell (TNT): "You are so inspiring to me! Thank you!"
Madelyn Tobin-Shubin (TNT): "Hey, did I ever mention how awesome you are? Because you are! Keep up the good fight!"
Josh Anderson: "Hey Ryan - Can't believe that 3 years ago you were diagnosed with cancer. Just want to you to know what an inspiration you are. I don't ever remember once hearing you complain about something so life changing and debilitating. Being in pharmacy school and understanding better what chemo drugs actually do to your body, you have EVERY reason to complain but never heard it once from you....or your wife for that matter. I am a better person for knowing you and your family. You are a WARRIOR in every sense of the word and I know you will continue to battle for years to come. We miss you guys and hopefully can reunite in the future."
Crystal: "Whoohoo! 3 years! Your an inspiration Ryan. Here's to many many more 3 years!! Take a hike cancer!"
Dad: "Wow, Three years ago today. You have been a champion in so many ways since. I am impressed with the strength and determination you have shown. You have literally been "Forged in the furnace of affliction". I am proud of you, of the man you have become and of all you do to help others with the same cancer problems."
Heather Vance Allen: "You're a fighter!! So happy you're here to live to tell. Hope we can run a race together sometime. I think you're pretty awesome. ~ heath"
Stephanie: "Hey, Kid. Congrats on toughing out the cancer and beating it back for three years! Thanks for living through it, since I love having you around. You are wonderful. And almost as amazing as Mandy. ♥"
Sara: I will never forget this day 3 years ago that I found out you had cancer. You have come so far and have fought so hard. I am so proud of all your achievements with LLS and running to save lives, including your own. You truly are amazing!! I love you and am so grateful you are here today.
Sandra Allen: "So I know you prefer the cartoon super hero types but I just wanted you to know that you are on my list of real life super heroes. You have been battling the "attack of the evil C" for three years with courage, unfailing optimism, crazy humor, unyielding strength and unlimited faith. Your trusty sidekick and partner always has your back through thick and thin (plus she's the cutest sidekick EVER). I want you to know I'm so proud of my "favorite" son-in-law. My life's so much better since you entered it. Keep up the good fight. XOXOXO"
But perhaps my favorite of all these was from Brittani Stevens: "suck it cancer"
And because Johnny said it well, "Ain't no grave can hold my body down,"
Unknown to me, Mandy had hit up just about all my closer friends and family that she knew to ask them to say something to me. It made for a rather emotional day. I was very touched and grateful for all the messages. I have the best wife. :)
Maegan Stoddard: "You are so awesome! Happy you're here! Love you guys!"
Pam Lyman: "To our dear friend Ryan who is a survivor, artist, thinker, make me laugh at inappropriate times during church, great dad, and married to one of the best women I know-Mandy Marie, we love you!"
Mom: "Well you are absolutley classified as one of my heroes in life, not just my kid! Thanks for the great excample, advice, support, and showing all of us just how to get on with life amidst great trials. You are truly amazing. Love you beyond words."
Heather Dallmann: "I didn't have the honor of knowing the man you were three years ago but I am blessed to know the man you are today. Goofy as ever and I love it! Seriously you are one of the coolest guys I know and I dig your family too :)"
Kristi Slaton: "I just wanted to let you know how much we love you. I am so glad that my sister chose such a STUD to be her eternal companion. I am even more glad that your studliness & perseverance helped you kick cancer's butt. You are my hero! Have the best day! Can't wait to see you in June!"
Chuck Jones: "Ry, Just wanted to say how happy we are that you are winning your fight. I know it hasn't been easy, but I can't tell you how glad I am that you are still around. You're and amazing guy with an amazing family. Wish we were closer so we could hang out more. And now this: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=M912EcPDrKM" [... which I will not link because it is Bette Midler]
Briggette: "Hey Ryan! Just thinking about ya today. I'm glad you are HERE! I'll never forget three years ago when my mom told me you had cancer. I had the biggest pit in my stomach. I'm so grateful you never gave up. You are an inspiration Ryan!! Hope you have an AMAZING day LIVING. ♥"
Jeremy Sherwood: "I hear 3 years ago you got hit with cancer.. I'm glad you are here. (In case you were wondering you have a great wife.)"
Shannon Valdivia: "Mom and I want you to know that we are so proud of you and how you are fighting NHL...Your optimism keeps us pluggin! We love ya guy!"
Laura Robinson (TNT): "SO lucky to have you in my life. Love you, Ryan!"
Sarah Waddell (TNT): "You are so inspiring to me! Thank you!"
Madelyn Tobin-Shubin (TNT): "Hey, did I ever mention how awesome you are? Because you are! Keep up the good fight!"
Josh Anderson: "Hey Ryan - Can't believe that 3 years ago you were diagnosed with cancer. Just want to you to know what an inspiration you are. I don't ever remember once hearing you complain about something so life changing and debilitating. Being in pharmacy school and understanding better what chemo drugs actually do to your body, you have EVERY reason to complain but never heard it once from you....or your wife for that matter. I am a better person for knowing you and your family. You are a WARRIOR in every sense of the word and I know you will continue to battle for years to come. We miss you guys and hopefully can reunite in the future."
Crystal: "Whoohoo! 3 years! Your an inspiration Ryan. Here's to many many more 3 years!! Take a hike cancer!"
Dad: "Wow, Three years ago today. You have been a champion in so many ways since. I am impressed with the strength and determination you have shown. You have literally been "Forged in the furnace of affliction". I am proud of you, of the man you have become and of all you do to help others with the same cancer problems."
Heather Vance Allen: "You're a fighter!! So happy you're here to live to tell. Hope we can run a race together sometime. I think you're pretty awesome. ~ heath"
Stephanie: "Hey, Kid. Congrats on toughing out the cancer and beating it back for three years! Thanks for living through it, since I love having you around. You are wonderful. And almost as amazing as Mandy. ♥"
Sara: I will never forget this day 3 years ago that I found out you had cancer. You have come so far and have fought so hard. I am so proud of all your achievements with LLS and running to save lives, including your own. You truly are amazing!! I love you and am so grateful you are here today.
Sandra Allen: "So I know you prefer the cartoon super hero types but I just wanted you to know that you are on my list of real life super heroes. You have been battling the "attack of the evil C" for three years with courage, unfailing optimism, crazy humor, unyielding strength and unlimited faith. Your trusty sidekick and partner always has your back through thick and thin (plus she's the cutest sidekick EVER). I want you to know I'm so proud of my "favorite" son-in-law. My life's so much better since you entered it. Keep up the good fight. XOXOXO"
But perhaps my favorite of all these was from Brittani Stevens: "suck it cancer"
Tuesday, April 16, 2013
Boston, Mass.
Yesterday, April 15th, 2013, two bombs were detonated 100 feet from the finish line of the Boston Marathon. The act of terrorism weighs heavily on my mind. It's not like I have any big connection to Boston or the race specifically, but still I cannot shake it from my thoughts. Yes, I have a some friends that were there running or live there in Boston. No, nobody I know was hurt. So why then, does this plague me like this? At this point, there are 4 reported killed and 140+ injured. On the grand scheme of travesty, this is very minimal. Still, I dwell on it.
I learned of this pretty quickly after it happened, within an hour of the bombs going off. Social media is pretty crazy that way. News of the incident spread across the nation within minutes. Mostly started by people there telling their friends and families that they were okay. My emotions went first to shock, of course. But the swings between sorrow and shock and anger and desperation and... continued through the rest of the day, spilling over to my waking day today.
I am furious at the people that would even remotely entertain the idea of such an act. I do not envy them when they are found out. And wish the full force of “justice” to hit them as brutally as they struck out on society.
I am confused as to what statement or agenda they could have possibly wanted to make. To what ends did they think this would help their cause? Do they hate runners? Boston? What? Perhaps that is why I am so angry. There is no conceivable agenda with this targeted group. The conclusion then must be drawn that the offenders must have wanted to lash out on society with a general hate for humanity. I cannot sympathize with such stupidity or disregard for human life.
I feel great sorrow for those affected. Whether participant or spectator or support or friends and family, I mourn their loss and their fear.
I feel a great outpouring of love and respect for those that after the initial flinch, reacting to the blasts, went running to the aid of those injured. I saw footage of people tearing down fences, hoping over barricades, running to help those in need. It made me think of the Mr. Rogers quote when talking about great travesty to “look for the helpers.” It has been the most healing balm for me to have seen those rush to the aid of others. They did not care about their own safety as there may have been more explosions. They did not care about race or nationality, gender, age, sexual preference or political affiliations. All of the tedious an ultimately unimportant things of life were wiped from their minds as they saw the immediate need to help. That has been our greatest testament to the inherent good within us. To see the hurt and need of others, set aside our own issues and run to help.
To them, I say thank you. To those that ran to help, you are heros. It is on you, I rest my faith in humanity.
I learned of this pretty quickly after it happened, within an hour of the bombs going off. Social media is pretty crazy that way. News of the incident spread across the nation within minutes. Mostly started by people there telling their friends and families that they were okay. My emotions went first to shock, of course. But the swings between sorrow and shock and anger and desperation and... continued through the rest of the day, spilling over to my waking day today.
I am furious at the people that would even remotely entertain the idea of such an act. I do not envy them when they are found out. And wish the full force of “justice” to hit them as brutally as they struck out on society.
I am confused as to what statement or agenda they could have possibly wanted to make. To what ends did they think this would help their cause? Do they hate runners? Boston? What? Perhaps that is why I am so angry. There is no conceivable agenda with this targeted group. The conclusion then must be drawn that the offenders must have wanted to lash out on society with a general hate for humanity. I cannot sympathize with such stupidity or disregard for human life.
I feel great sorrow for those affected. Whether participant or spectator or support or friends and family, I mourn their loss and their fear.
I feel a great outpouring of love and respect for those that after the initial flinch, reacting to the blasts, went running to the aid of those injured. I saw footage of people tearing down fences, hoping over barricades, running to help those in need. It made me think of the Mr. Rogers quote when talking about great travesty to “look for the helpers.” It has been the most healing balm for me to have seen those rush to the aid of others. They did not care about their own safety as there may have been more explosions. They did not care about race or nationality, gender, age, sexual preference or political affiliations. All of the tedious an ultimately unimportant things of life were wiped from their minds as they saw the immediate need to help. That has been our greatest testament to the inherent good within us. To see the hurt and need of others, set aside our own issues and run to help.
To them, I say thank you. To those that ran to help, you are heros. It is on you, I rest my faith in humanity.
Vive La... TEAM!!
As I continue to be a part of the Leukemia and Lymphoma Society's Team In Training program, or TNT, some of my teammates this season trained for the Paris marathon. Just before they left, as a way to cheer them on, I put this together. The images were all found online. I Photoshoped them (color, size, blur, paint, etc.) together to make it work.
Thursday, March 28, 2013
Tuesday, March 26, 2013
A Letter to the Paris TNTer's
My dear Parisians,
I would like to take a moment and thank you for all you do. For all you have done. And for all we have yet to do together. Many of you were around a couple years ago when I signed up with Team In Training for my first event. I don't think I can adequately describe how important you have been in my life. Nor can I thank you enough for all that you have done for me.
When I attended my first recruitment meeting, I just about to start another series of chemo treatments, and I was a mess. I did not know what was going to happen to me. I did not know what to do. That feeling of living on an emotional precipice was torture. I had a hard time holding back the tears at that meeting. At the end of that, I knew if nothing else, I needed to sign up and do everything I could to make it across the finish line. Somehow, that was the figurative manifestation of being able to make it through the trial of my treatment and recovery. It was Cap'n Lindsey Niemeyer that handed me my paperwork. When she saw I put myself down as the connection to cancer, she asked me if I was a Survivor. I said, “Well, not yet.” At the Kickoff, I did not fair so well. I had to excuse myself and walked out into the hall. I could not keep from breaking down sobbing.
My first training day, we were moving in a circle and introducing ourselves. “Hello. My name is _____. I am doing TNT because _____.” I hated that. Actually, I never got comfortable with that. I was ashamed of my cancer. I felt like others would treat me different if they knew. Like I was undeserving of their casual acquaintance. Or treat me as if I were a social disease. When people asked me how I was connected to cancer, or why I was doing TNT, I wanted to fight them. I hope that did not come out. At the end of that season, race weekend, my life was changed.
I ran the Seattle RnR half. One month before the race, I finished that round of chemo. One week before, I was in the ER with pneumonia. When I started that race, I just wanted to cross the finish line on my own feet. No one carrying me. No dieing. About mile eight, I happened to see the back on my TNT teammate's shirt. My name was there. Surely that must have been another Ryan. I asked. Is that my name? Yes.
I was carried the next five miles. She lifted my hand as I crossed the finish line. Many of my Seattle teammates had put my name on their shirt's. I had no idea. You guys have lifted me ever since.
Through chemo, fatigue, emotional anguish, and just being a sissy, you guys still lift me up when I want to quit. Even this season, so many miles later, some of you have literally pulled me along, not letting go of my hand as you pass me and forcing me to start running again.
I would love to go to Paris and cheer you all on. There is nothing better than seeing you guys when I am out running. When you are there and running and tired, think of me and push a little longer. When you want to walk, think of me and keep going. When you hit that mental wall and want to fight with or scream at someone, well then you should think of Coach Mike. :)
I have told some of you that one of the few things I wish I could do with my life is to hold people's hands when they fall. To lift them up when they are weak or they fail themselves. I wish to encourage all, and instill in them the magnitude of their self worth. I believe we are meant to be great. And you my friends and teammates, have done that countless times for me. It has been my great honor and privilege to know you, run with you and call you friends.
You are all amazing! Thank you for all you have done and for all you have yet to do.
Good luck in Paris. Go Team.
-Ryan
I would like to take a moment and thank you for all you do. For all you have done. And for all we have yet to do together. Many of you were around a couple years ago when I signed up with Team In Training for my first event. I don't think I can adequately describe how important you have been in my life. Nor can I thank you enough for all that you have done for me.
When I attended my first recruitment meeting, I just about to start another series of chemo treatments, and I was a mess. I did not know what was going to happen to me. I did not know what to do. That feeling of living on an emotional precipice was torture. I had a hard time holding back the tears at that meeting. At the end of that, I knew if nothing else, I needed to sign up and do everything I could to make it across the finish line. Somehow, that was the figurative manifestation of being able to make it through the trial of my treatment and recovery. It was Cap'n Lindsey Niemeyer that handed me my paperwork. When she saw I put myself down as the connection to cancer, she asked me if I was a Survivor. I said, “Well, not yet.” At the Kickoff, I did not fair so well. I had to excuse myself and walked out into the hall. I could not keep from breaking down sobbing.
My first training day, we were moving in a circle and introducing ourselves. “Hello. My name is _____. I am doing TNT because _____.” I hated that. Actually, I never got comfortable with that. I was ashamed of my cancer. I felt like others would treat me different if they knew. Like I was undeserving of their casual acquaintance. Or treat me as if I were a social disease. When people asked me how I was connected to cancer, or why I was doing TNT, I wanted to fight them. I hope that did not come out. At the end of that season, race weekend, my life was changed.
I ran the Seattle RnR half. One month before the race, I finished that round of chemo. One week before, I was in the ER with pneumonia. When I started that race, I just wanted to cross the finish line on my own feet. No one carrying me. No dieing. About mile eight, I happened to see the back on my TNT teammate's shirt. My name was there. Surely that must have been another Ryan. I asked. Is that my name? Yes.
I was carried the next five miles. She lifted my hand as I crossed the finish line. Many of my Seattle teammates had put my name on their shirt's. I had no idea. You guys have lifted me ever since.
Through chemo, fatigue, emotional anguish, and just being a sissy, you guys still lift me up when I want to quit. Even this season, so many miles later, some of you have literally pulled me along, not letting go of my hand as you pass me and forcing me to start running again.
I would love to go to Paris and cheer you all on. There is nothing better than seeing you guys when I am out running. When you are there and running and tired, think of me and push a little longer. When you want to walk, think of me and keep going. When you hit that mental wall and want to fight with or scream at someone, well then you should think of Coach Mike. :)
I have told some of you that one of the few things I wish I could do with my life is to hold people's hands when they fall. To lift them up when they are weak or they fail themselves. I wish to encourage all, and instill in them the magnitude of their self worth. I believe we are meant to be great. And you my friends and teammates, have done that countless times for me. It has been my great honor and privilege to know you, run with you and call you friends.
You are all amazing! Thank you for all you have done and for all you have yet to do.
Good luck in Paris. Go Team.
-Ryan
Sunday, March 17, 2013
A Cancer Mitigator
First let me say thank you to everyone that participated in the art auction, both purchasing or donating. I would like to address that more fully, but something else is on my mind right now.
A friend of mine just posted that a friend of hers just died of cancer today. I have been doing this for just about three years now. Any time I hear or read something like this, I am at a loss for what to say. And I can say a lot. But sometimes words just fail me.
I want to do something. Anything. Rally the troops... I just want to give people a hug.
Working with a local company for a charity fundraiser in the last few weeks, I was asked to write up a short introduction about who I am and my experience with Team In Training. This is what I sent them.
A friend of mine just posted that a friend of hers just died of cancer today. I have been doing this for just about three years now. Any time I hear or read something like this, I am at a loss for what to say. And I can say a lot. But sometimes words just fail me.
I want to do something. Anything. Rally the troops... I just want to give people a hug.
Working with a local company for a charity fundraiser in the last few weeks, I was asked to write up a short introduction about who I am and my experience with Team In Training. This is what I sent them.
When the doctor tells you you have cancer, it does not seem real. I was shocked and in disbelief, not knowing what to think or how to feel. You look in the mirror. You force yourself to say the words, as if repetition makes it tangible, “...I have cancer.” …None of it makes any sense.
Hello. My name is Ryan. I am a cancer survivor. Well, I think... Hm. I am a cancer... mitigator? Delayer of cancer? I am a cancer ...temporary reprieve-er.
I was diagnosed in April of 2010. Marginal zone, stage three, Non Hodgkins Lymphoma. Cancer. Too wide spread throughout my body to be cut out. In November of that same year, and just as I was starting another round of chemo, I attended my first Team In Training meeting. Team In Training, or TEAM or TNT, is the fundraising arm of the Leukemia and Lymphoma Society (LLS). They do endurance events like marathons, half marathons, triathlons, etc. all to raise money for cancer research and treatment. The meeting was an informational recruiting meeting. It was in a pub and there was a good amount of people there. They spoke a little about the nuts and bolts of TNT and LLS. They had a participant and cancer survivor talk as well. I had a hard time keeping the tears from falling, and the fear and doubt from showing. After the meeting I called my wife and choked out, "I have to do this." Without hesitation, she said ok. I think I needed to prove to myself that I could still be me, that I could still live. I signed up having never liked distance running, having never even run a 5K, and not knowing if my doctors would let me.
My oncologist conditionally gave approval for my running a half marathon (13.1 miles) only if I was willing to walk when needed. He would not approve a full marathon. I promised. During training for my first half marathon, I was going through rounds of treatment. I had my long day on Thursdays (5+ hours), then a short day on Friday, then we had our group run on Saturdays. The Saturday group runs became my support group. Being there helped me feel better. It helped me feel like I could make it through treatment. It was empowering when I just wanted to quit.
When I began the season, I thought with my former rugby player ego, "Shoot! I can run a full marathon. Cancer won't stop me." I had finished another round of chemo by about a month, and literally one week before the race I was hospitalized with pneumonia. By the time I got to the starting line of the Seattle Rock and Roll Marathon (2011), I just wanted to cross the finish line on my own feet, without dying.
That weekend changed my life.
One of my teammates ran with me the whole way. I don't remember exactly where, but about mile 7 or 8, I happened to look down at the back of her race shirt. There is a place on the back of all TEAM shirts to write in the names of those for whom you run, those that keep you going, those you remember. I saw my name there. My name on her shirt. Surely that must have been someone else. So I asked. "Is that, is that MY name?" Yes. I still get choked up over that. That I could have such an impact on another in a positive way. It is a powerful thing. I found out later several of my teammates that weekend had done the same. I had no idea.
I went through two years of chemo therapy. While going through treatment, I got sick. I lost my hair. I lost liters of blood. I had trips to the ER. Emotionally and physically, I was worn out. I was a wreck. I am now considered to be in remission. My tests results "show no sign of the disease." What does that mean? I still have to go in for treatment. It's a very light dose once every two months. It's still no “treat.” This process has proved to significantly delay the eventual return of cancer. Yes, eventual. It will return. So am I a survivor?
I am a survivor of multiple half marathons while going through rounds and rounds of chemo. I am member of Team In Training. I do it because I hope that someday cancer is forgotten. That modern medicine renders cancer not only completely treatable, but preventable. Cancer should become a shadow of our past.
Team In Training and the LLS are not just about running to me. They are about realizing we can do something about the situation(s) in which we find ourselves. It would be easy to turn our face to the wall and give up. It would be easy to stay down when knocked over. But the LLS strives to help people overcome those times. "Why do we fall sir? So we might learn to pick ourselves up." Sometimes we need help. Sometimes it may be as simple as Alfred's reminder to Bruce. Get up. Yes you can.
You can learn about the advances that the LLS has funded. Drugs that have been developed using the money the LLS raises. Cancers that are treated because of those efforts. Maybe more important than that, to me anyway, is the lesson the LLS gives us all. It is about getting up when we fall down. It is about helping others to do the same. It is about how we can overcome the emotional tides that affects us all.
Cancer is something I will have to live with forever. Mine is one that will come back. I will always worry about blood counts. I will always worry about other people being sick around me. But if I could do any one thing in this life, I would like to hold people's hands, lift them when they have fallen, encourage them, remind them of the things in this world worth living for, remind them of the brilliant person they are.
My teammates got me through it all. They still do. I know I can never repay them for what they have done to keep me going. I just hope I can pay it forward. Cancer has changed me. I am a part of Team In Training. I am a part of the Leukemia and Lymphoma Society. I will be forever.
I thank you with all my heart.
GO TEAM!!
-Ryan
Wednesday, February 27, 2013
Art For a Cure: Art Work
Here are the prints that will be available in the auction. The auction store will be on eBay at stores.ebay.com/Art-For-a-Cure. Since these items will not be live until Sunday the 3rd, they do not show up in the store. In order to make sure you can see them and look at what is available before the auction, I have listed them all here. The outstanding few that are not yet listed should be up by the end of this Friday.
Please tell all your friends to come bid and by something as all proceeds will go to the Leukemia and Lymphoma Society to help fight cancer.
Thank you. And a special thank you to all the artists that have donated their work.
-Ryan
Please tell all your friends to come bid and by something as all proceeds will go to the Leukemia and Lymphoma Society to help fight cancer.
Thank you. And a special thank you to all the artists that have donated their work.
-Ryan
| "Bird" Mix Media by Laura Buller  |
"Flame Hair" Mix Media by Laura Buller  |
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| "Kick" Watercolor by Laura Buller  |
"Tentacle Lady" Mixed Media by Laura Buller  |
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| "Hunters" Silkscreen by Josh Cochran  |
"Christmas" Digital by Cassandra Worthington  |
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| "Crocodile Tears" Watercolor on watercolor paper by Peter de Seve *Available only in the 11x14 size.  |
"Summer Getaway" Watercolor on watercolor paper by Peter de Seve *Available only in the 11x14 size.  |
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| "Tag Sale" Watercolor on watercolor paper by Peter de Seve *Available only in the 11x14 size.  |
"Toothbrush" Oil, Acrylic, Pastel by Justin Garrity  |
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| "Flower" Photo on metallic paper by Chris Hatch  |
"Fancy Lady" Ink by W. Ryan Hatch  |
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| "NYC" Mix Media by W. Ryan Hatch  |
"The South Lands" Digital by W. Ryan Hatch  |
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| "You!" Mix Media by Michael Hilliard  |
"Stop and Go" Marker by Michael Hilliard  |
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| "Frederick at the Fridge" Watercolor by David Hohn  |
"Red Riding Hood" Watercolor by David Hohn  |
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| "Blue" Mix Media by AJ Juson  |
"Women 1" Lithograph by YuChia Kao  |
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| "Women 2" Lithograph by YuChia Kao  |
"Houctopus" Digital by YuChia Kao  |
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| "Monster" Pen by YuChia Kao  |
"Cicada 1" Lithograph, Artist’s Proof ORIGINAL by YuChia Kao  |
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| "Orange" Lithograph, Artist’s Proof ORIGINAL by YuChia Kao  |
"Sister's Gold" Paint by Alex Miller  |
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| "Bike Ride" Digital by Norman Morana  |
"Fishing Day" Digital by Norman Morana  |
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| "The Flying Box" Mixed Media by Norman Morana  |
"Haunting" Digital by Norman Morana  |
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| "Refresh" Digital by Norman Morana  |
"Canyon" Photo by Kyle Morgan  |
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| "Flower" Photo by Kyle Morgan  |
"Dancer" Mix Media by Anna Owen  |
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| "Orange" Paint by Anna Owen  |
"Red" Watercolor by Anna Owen  |
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| "Baby Hayden" Digital Paint by Becky Steele  |
"Red" Acrylic by Becky Steele  |
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| "Bicycle" Watercolor and Digital by Lee White *Available only in the 11x14 size.  |
"Blue" Paint by Allyson Willsey  |
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| "Red" Paint by Allyson Willsey  |
Additional print(s) may still be coming in. Check back or just go to the eBay store on Sunday March 3rd. Thank you! |
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