Yes You Can

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

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.

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