Hello, my name is Ryan. I have cancer. No it’s okay. Really.
But yes I have cancer.
My name is Ryan. I have cancer.
The last time I was an honored patient I did not prepare anything specific for this because I thought, “I have no problem with public speaking. I’ll be fine!” When I got up here I don’t think I could get anything out except tears, and thank yous, and a weak Go Team. That may have been one of the most emotionally draining speeches I have ever given. And it could have been over in less than 60 seconds. Maybe this is less impactful, but I am more prepared.
As you might expect, when a doctor tells you you have a potentially life ending disease, it is all consuming. Your mind is a tornado of emotion with the only consistent thread being the emotional rollercoaster you experience every day. At first, I was numb. Then I was sad, then angry, then confused, then broken, angry, sad, disbelieving, doubtful, angry, scared --and then blank. Because I think when you hit scared, you no longer know what to do or how to feel. You don’t. You look in the mirror. You force yourself to say the words, as if repetition makes it tangible, “...I have cancer. ..I have cancer.” None of it makes any sense.
I tried to keep it secret for a long time. I didn’t want to let anyone know because I felt like people would treat me like a social disease. Like I was contagious. Like I had done something wrong and I deserved this. That’s how I felt about myself. I was ashamed of my cancer. I do not pretend to make excuses for that. That’s just the way it happened. I do not believe I am alone in that.
After my first round of chemo was over, and close to starting the next series, I attended a recruiting meeting for Team In Training. I had a hard time keeping the tears in, or keeping the fear and doubt from showing. After the meeting I called my wife and with desperation in my voice 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, not knowing if my doctors would let me run. My wife has supported me ever since, running her own TNT races, participating in other LLS events, championing the cause, and holding my hand when I am unsure or scared.
Of course I told my coaches and the LLS staff. I figured they were need-to-know. At my first Kickoff I had to walk out into the hall a couple times because I could not keep from sobbing. When I came back in I grabbed a purple pom-pom from my table and put it on like a wig to cover my face. Eventually my teammates found out. There were days I could not run. Days I felt too sick. Too horrible. Too weak. There were a couple days when I tried to run in spite of getting chemo the day before. Those runs did not go so well. Even when I couldn’t run I went to cheer my teammates on. 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. Only in this last year did one of those teammates tell me they could see it on my face in spite of the facade I thought I had well affixed. I didn’t like to talk about it, but I stopped lying about having cancer.
Event weekend for that season, the Seattle Rock and Roll, during the inspiration dinner with my wife by my side, when the speaker asked those having gone through or going through cancer, to please stand, I reluctantly did. I made the mistake of making eye contact with one of my teammates. Our eyes locked for a second then we both quickly looked away as we almost burst into tears. The next day we all lined up in the early hours of the morning. Coach Mike and I traded ringtones, mostly old school Mario Bros sound bites. In spite of the festivities, I was scared. Not just pre race jitters. But scared. Exactly one week before, I was hospitalized with a fever and pneumonia. When I started the season I thought I could do a full marathon, no problem. At the start of that race, I just wanted to cross the finish line -on my own two feet -without being carried. I told one other teammate about the pneumonia. She then refused to leave my side the whole race. When I had to walk, she walked. Then she would tell me to start running again when my needed rest was turning into being lazy. Somewhere around mile 8, I happen to see the back of her shirt. There, in the space where we write the names for whom we run, I saw my name. Surely that must have been someone else. So I asked. "Is that, is that MY name?" Yes. Yes it was. I wanted to cross the finish line on my own feet, but she carried me the rest of the way. She lifted my hand as I crossed the finish line. I got my first medal.
One of my favorite movie quotes of all time is from The Shawshank Redemption. Morgan Freeman's character said, "Get busy livin', or get busy dyin'." The principle is that while we cannot choose what happens to us, we can certainly choose how we react. With a diagnosis of cancer in any stage, the world gives you permission stop living. And you can if you choose. Or you can pick yourself up, shake it off, and move on. That is not to say you will not fall down again. We all fall down. When that inevitably happens, if you look, you will see those around you that clamor to offer the hand to pick you back up.
During my last season, so many miles later and still in chemo, some of my teammates literally pulled me along, grabbing my hand as they passed, forcing me to start running when I was walking. I ran the BMO Vancouver BC Half Marathon with TEAM. At mile four, I realized I was running a little slower than I wanted. By half way, I calculated if I kept on pace I would finish only about 5 or 6 minutes behind what I wanted. That would have been great. Around mile 11, I just about collapsed. I believe I would have, had Coach Kevin not been running with me. I grabbed his shoulder to steady myself, my legs faltered, I was (according to Coach Kevin) very pale, but I carried on. My cancer had gotten the better of me again. Several times over the next two miles I grabbed his arm to keep from falling. I would not have finished that race without him to lean on. That is the spirit of Team In Training.
We lift each other, knowing we will either need that lift someday, or we have already needed that. Through chemo, through fatigue, emotional anguish, and just being a sissy, TNT still lifts me up when I want to quit. TEAM is not about the running or biking. It is 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. TNT strives to help people overcome those times when we fall down. And we all fall down. Sometimes we need help. Sometimes it may be as simple as Alfred's reminder to Bruce Wayne. Get up. Yes you can.
I have had the unique opportunity through TNT to reach out to the newly diagnosed or those already in treatment. I have had friends pass, losing their battles with cancer. I have tried to give words of encouragement and thoughts of praise and strength to those in need. One friend was struggling with her own fatigue while in treatment and trying to run a TNT race. She passed shortly after completing her race, with one of her daughters by her side. While you may not be enduring the struggles of treatment, the advice I gave her is just as applicable.
“Accept that races will be hard. Accept that your training runs may be better than your race run. Accept your race is not about a finishing time. It is about crossing the finish line. It is still difficult but I know it is doable. Learn to enjoy each run for it's own unique day. Your race is about celebrating all that you have accomplished over your season.”
For any who run while in treatment, you have both my deepest sympathies and highest praise. You are superheroes. For those of you running in support of another, you have my most sincere gratitude. You may be inclined to think your race unrelated to those struggling with cancer. Do not. Your race tests the limits of both the body and mind just like treatment. More importantly, your race gives hope to those of us that have cancer or have fallen. Just as my wife has done countless times for me, your effort lifts those of us who cannot see the hope of doing it ourselves.
The last [almost] four years have changed me. I try to repay all that you have done for me. I try to lift you up and encourage you. More often the opportunity comes with being able to address groups and talk about my cancer. I have grown to be okay with that. To that fallen TEAMmate, as she fought through her own battles I imparted the wisdom of Dr. Martin Luther King Jr. Regardless of the struggles we find ourselves in, remember his words.
“If you can't fly then run, if you can't run then walk, if you can't walk then crawl, but whatever you do you have to keep moving forward.”
It is my hope and prayer that we do that. Let us continue to move forward. Let us help others to do the same. Let us move ever closer toward the finish line of our races. You want to know why I run with Team In Training? Why do I fundraise and sweat and chafe in purple? I do it to try and pay back all who have given so much to me. I do it because I hope that someday modern medicine makes cancer not only completely treatable, but preventable. Cancer should become a shadow of our past. Not our present and every day. Let us cross the finish line of curing cancer. On September 26th, 2013, three years and five months to the day when I was diagnosed, my oncologist told me I was in remission.
I thank you with all my heart for the support and encouragement you did not know you gave and still give to those around you. Now because I feel gangster, my fellow Americans, it is with the utmost pride and sincerity that I present this recording, allow me to reintroduce myself.
My name is Ryan.
I do not have cancer.
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