This is the hardest time of the year to keep a consistent running routine going. First it has been a very cold December this year in Minnesota. It is so hard to get motivated to run early in the morning when it is only zero degrees outside and dark. If I don’t get my run done in the morning chances are I’ll won’t run in the afternoon or evening. I’m a morning runner. There also has been plenty of snowy days that make it more difficult to run outside, and I don’t like the treadmill. Some call it the dreadmill. Time seems to nearly come to a halt on the treadmill. But when the outside temperatures are below zero and the wind chill factor is something like 30 below, the treadmill is a much better choice.
Then there are all the holiday gatherings and Christmas shopping and cleaning the house for holiday gatherings and …….. My problem is that I cannot do a quick short run; I need to always make my workouts a long run. I need to change my thinking and do just a short run if there is not much time. It’s much better to do short runs on a consistent basis than an occasional long run. Furthermore, I could try something different with a short run, like interval or Fartlek training (a method developed by the Swedes), which helps with improving speed.
This week has started well with two 6 mile runs. Tomorrow is the last day of 2008 and I plan to finish the year with a 6 mile run outside, no matter snow, ice, cold or dark.
Tuesday, December 30, 2008
Sunday, December 28, 2008
My Darkest Days; My Brightest Shine
I recently had my one year anniversary of the infamous day I got that call from my doctor – you have cancer. I was laid up in bed recovering from a hernia surgery and my wife was out all day doing errands and picking my boys from school events. I was waiting for my surgeon to call my about the results of a lymph node biopsy, but I was expecting the news to be something like, it’s nothing, just a virus or an infection, or irritation from the hernia. I was not expecting, “you have an aggressive form of cancer”. The good news my doctor said was, “it’s curable in up to about 50% of the cases”. Okay, I’m typically the-glass-is-half-full kind of guy, for when it comes to my life, I like the glass at least 99.999% full if not overflowing. A 50% cure rate just didn’t seem like good news at first, and I didn’t like the “up to” part neither. What’s with that “up to”?
Just after my surgeon called I started to Google my disease. My surgeon warned me that I would find some really scary stuff on the internet and I did. I learned what “up to” meant. The 50% cure rate doesn’t apply to all of those who have diffused large b-cell lymphoma, only those who are in stage I, where the cancer is caught early and has not spread beyond the lymph nodes and not all lymph nodes are affected. Depending on the stage of the cancer, the water in the glass can get pretty low. The news hit me like a sledge hammer; I was knocked dizzy and there was a whirlwind thoughts going through my mind. I had to pull it together before my wife got home.
When my wife arrived I nailed her with the news before she even got her coat off in the entryway. My poor wife, she was blindsided by a Mack truck. I kept the news positive though, focusing on the 50% cure rate and I think I left out the “up to” until later. That night I don’t remember any grieving, we were mostly numb.
Because the cancer was very aggressive I was placed on the fast track for testing to see the extent of the cancer and determine the best course of treatment. The next day I got a CT scan and that showed a big tumor in my gut and a small one in my armpit, but the rest of my organs looked pretty good. The following week would be a PET scan and a bone marrow biopsy, all showing that the cancer was only in my lymph nodes on only one side of my body. So we were relieved to find it was only stage I. One way to look at a 50% cure rate is take a six shooter pistol, load half the barrels with bullets, then over the course of a couple of years you need to place the pistol to your head and pull the trigger. And that’s better because if you’re unlucky at least you go quickly without pain. That is a really dark way to think about it and even with the positive attitude I normally have, those kinds of thoughts were flooding my mind for the first few weeks after I got the call.
Even though I was devastated by the news, I had to take care of my family. The day after I got my diagnoses I started to seriously plan for my death. Not that I was giving up. I had every intention of fighting the cancer and wining. But with a 50% chance one has to be pragmatic about things. I needed to know that my family would be ok if the dice don’t go my way. So I checked into my life insurance policies and added up our debt to find that my family would be ok. I thought about who would be a father figure for my boys and how this would affect my daughter who has two kids of her own and would my wife find someone else that would make her happy. That was a tough day with lots of tears.
It was just before Christmas that all this happened and there was many family gatherings planned for the season. You would think that this would be a good time to gather with family, but it was really a hard time. My wife and I were exhausted by the anxiety of dealing with all the tests, hospital visits and the grim prospects of the future. Together we did our share of grieving, so when it was time to be with other family members and friends my wife and I were all grieved out. We just wanted to put all the cancer stuff on the back burner and have a good time, but there was always someone who wanted to leave the fun and joy behind and turn the party into a bereavement session. They have good intentions, it’s just their results really suck. Fortunately I was prepared and had my shields up (my big impenetrable smile) and remained mostly positive during the holiday gatherings, but my poor wife was nearly crushed, once again blindsided by a Mac truck.
About three weeks after my hernia surgery I was able to start running. Since it was cold outside and my wife believes in the wife’s tale of being out in the cold will cause one to get sick, I was relegated to run on our treadmill. Nevertheless I was just happy to run. It was one of the best medicines for my mental health. I felt the strongest when I was running, and the harder I ran the stronger I felt. My wife knows I have a tendency to go overboard with things and she feared I would go too far with my running. But when I first started running again after my surgery I was more focused on my own needs and forgot that some compromise is required to consider my wife’s needs. One morning I was running on the treadmill and my wife was upstairs. It may have been the day just after a chemo treatment. When I completed my run I went upstairs to find my wife hunched over with her body shaking in sobs. That day I fully realized there were two people fighting my cancer. We had different needs and some compromise was required. I promised I would rest the first day after chemo and wouldn’t run until the second day, which was also a compromise on my wife’s part. If she had her way I wouldn’t run for a few days after chemo.
Just before I got cancer I would spend some time thinking about the future. My wife and I have plans for traveling around the USA on our Harley’s. All of sudden, it was difficult to think about anything other than making it through the day and completing chemo. There were times when thoughts of the future entered my mind, only to be blown away with thoughts of, “why bother, I may not be around in the future anyways”.
One night my wife and I were lying in bed snuggled to each other and she said while breaking into sobbing tears how scared she was. At that instant all my pent-up anguish escaped and I too burst into sobbing tears. My wife and I were holding each other while our bodies shook uncontrollably with each sob. That was a turning point for us; we hit rock bottom. From that night forward we continued to get emotionally stronger and more positive about life.
A couple of months after my diagnosis I was visiting with my father. I think we were out for a walk at his place out in the country. I basically told him that I was ready to die, but not in those words. I told him that I was happy with what life has given me and I had no regrets, that I felt fortunate even if the cancer takes me soon. I had no feelings of resentment. It wasn’t that I was giving up my fight against cancer, no way! I plan to fight to the bitter end anything that threatens to take my life. I just finally realized that I was not invincible and there was no good reason to worry about the things we cannot control.
These were the darkest days of my life. But from the darkness came my brightest shine. The love between my wife and I got much deeper and stronger. My oldest Brother and I were drifting apart with busy lives. In the past we have done many adventures together, but as time wore on we were hardly talking to each other. Now we meet often at a coffee shop to discuss plans of our next adventure like the one we did last summer in the Minnesota Boundary Waters Canoe Area. I don’t need big things in my life for enjoyment. Just walking out to my mailbox, hearing the birds, seeing the trees and feeling a cool breeze across my face makes my day. I’ve tended to be a recluse, but now being with people has become very important. Rather than running with a headset listening to music and withdrawn from passersby I now run without music and greet everyone I can.
Shortly after being diagnosed I started to think about running Grandma’s marathon. I created this blog at first to publicly announce my intentions in order to provide some motivation to go though with it. And I admit that I like public attention and like to brag every now and then. I saw this cancer thing and running Grandma’s marathon as Chemo-Man as an opportunity to get some fame and bragging rights. But quickly I realized that this could be an opportunity to do something good, to turn the cancer thing into something positive and constructive and help others who may be going through something similar. The fame really didn’t come, I guess running a marathon in a tutu is a better way to get on the nightly news and in the paper, but I got something much better. Being able to make a positive difference in the lives of others, even though it’s just a few, is worth all the effort.
We all have dark days in our lives. Some people have much darker days than others; I can think of much worse things than getting cancer. The biggest difference though is how one reacts. There are basically two ways people approach dark days. Some cower into a corner and wallow in their grief, blame others for their problems and only see darkness. But some look into the dark and see light. They refuse to accept defeat, take responsibility for their life, and make something good happen.
If I was given a chance to do it all over again, I would never decide to have cancer. I think I would have done just fine without it. Life would have thrown me plenty of opportunities to grow. Furthermore, I am far from being out of the woods. Statistically, there is about a 20% chance I won’t be around four years from now. I don’t need that. However, this is what life has giving me and I plan to turn it into something good. What kind of person are you when the days turn dark? Do you only drop to your knees and let darkness swallow you up, or do you stand up and try to shine? The wonderful thing is that you have a choice.
Just after my surgeon called I started to Google my disease. My surgeon warned me that I would find some really scary stuff on the internet and I did. I learned what “up to” meant. The 50% cure rate doesn’t apply to all of those who have diffused large b-cell lymphoma, only those who are in stage I, where the cancer is caught early and has not spread beyond the lymph nodes and not all lymph nodes are affected. Depending on the stage of the cancer, the water in the glass can get pretty low. The news hit me like a sledge hammer; I was knocked dizzy and there was a whirlwind thoughts going through my mind. I had to pull it together before my wife got home.
When my wife arrived I nailed her with the news before she even got her coat off in the entryway. My poor wife, she was blindsided by a Mack truck. I kept the news positive though, focusing on the 50% cure rate and I think I left out the “up to” until later. That night I don’t remember any grieving, we were mostly numb.
Because the cancer was very aggressive I was placed on the fast track for testing to see the extent of the cancer and determine the best course of treatment. The next day I got a CT scan and that showed a big tumor in my gut and a small one in my armpit, but the rest of my organs looked pretty good. The following week would be a PET scan and a bone marrow biopsy, all showing that the cancer was only in my lymph nodes on only one side of my body. So we were relieved to find it was only stage I. One way to look at a 50% cure rate is take a six shooter pistol, load half the barrels with bullets, then over the course of a couple of years you need to place the pistol to your head and pull the trigger. And that’s better because if you’re unlucky at least you go quickly without pain. That is a really dark way to think about it and even with the positive attitude I normally have, those kinds of thoughts were flooding my mind for the first few weeks after I got the call.
Even though I was devastated by the news, I had to take care of my family. The day after I got my diagnoses I started to seriously plan for my death. Not that I was giving up. I had every intention of fighting the cancer and wining. But with a 50% chance one has to be pragmatic about things. I needed to know that my family would be ok if the dice don’t go my way. So I checked into my life insurance policies and added up our debt to find that my family would be ok. I thought about who would be a father figure for my boys and how this would affect my daughter who has two kids of her own and would my wife find someone else that would make her happy. That was a tough day with lots of tears.
It was just before Christmas that all this happened and there was many family gatherings planned for the season. You would think that this would be a good time to gather with family, but it was really a hard time. My wife and I were exhausted by the anxiety of dealing with all the tests, hospital visits and the grim prospects of the future. Together we did our share of grieving, so when it was time to be with other family members and friends my wife and I were all grieved out. We just wanted to put all the cancer stuff on the back burner and have a good time, but there was always someone who wanted to leave the fun and joy behind and turn the party into a bereavement session. They have good intentions, it’s just their results really suck. Fortunately I was prepared and had my shields up (my big impenetrable smile) and remained mostly positive during the holiday gatherings, but my poor wife was nearly crushed, once again blindsided by a Mac truck.
About three weeks after my hernia surgery I was able to start running. Since it was cold outside and my wife believes in the wife’s tale of being out in the cold will cause one to get sick, I was relegated to run on our treadmill. Nevertheless I was just happy to run. It was one of the best medicines for my mental health. I felt the strongest when I was running, and the harder I ran the stronger I felt. My wife knows I have a tendency to go overboard with things and she feared I would go too far with my running. But when I first started running again after my surgery I was more focused on my own needs and forgot that some compromise is required to consider my wife’s needs. One morning I was running on the treadmill and my wife was upstairs. It may have been the day just after a chemo treatment. When I completed my run I went upstairs to find my wife hunched over with her body shaking in sobs. That day I fully realized there were two people fighting my cancer. We had different needs and some compromise was required. I promised I would rest the first day after chemo and wouldn’t run until the second day, which was also a compromise on my wife’s part. If she had her way I wouldn’t run for a few days after chemo.
Just before I got cancer I would spend some time thinking about the future. My wife and I have plans for traveling around the USA on our Harley’s. All of sudden, it was difficult to think about anything other than making it through the day and completing chemo. There were times when thoughts of the future entered my mind, only to be blown away with thoughts of, “why bother, I may not be around in the future anyways”.
One night my wife and I were lying in bed snuggled to each other and she said while breaking into sobbing tears how scared she was. At that instant all my pent-up anguish escaped and I too burst into sobbing tears. My wife and I were holding each other while our bodies shook uncontrollably with each sob. That was a turning point for us; we hit rock bottom. From that night forward we continued to get emotionally stronger and more positive about life.
A couple of months after my diagnosis I was visiting with my father. I think we were out for a walk at his place out in the country. I basically told him that I was ready to die, but not in those words. I told him that I was happy with what life has given me and I had no regrets, that I felt fortunate even if the cancer takes me soon. I had no feelings of resentment. It wasn’t that I was giving up my fight against cancer, no way! I plan to fight to the bitter end anything that threatens to take my life. I just finally realized that I was not invincible and there was no good reason to worry about the things we cannot control.
These were the darkest days of my life. But from the darkness came my brightest shine. The love between my wife and I got much deeper and stronger. My oldest Brother and I were drifting apart with busy lives. In the past we have done many adventures together, but as time wore on we were hardly talking to each other. Now we meet often at a coffee shop to discuss plans of our next adventure like the one we did last summer in the Minnesota Boundary Waters Canoe Area. I don’t need big things in my life for enjoyment. Just walking out to my mailbox, hearing the birds, seeing the trees and feeling a cool breeze across my face makes my day. I’ve tended to be a recluse, but now being with people has become very important. Rather than running with a headset listening to music and withdrawn from passersby I now run without music and greet everyone I can.
Shortly after being diagnosed I started to think about running Grandma’s marathon. I created this blog at first to publicly announce my intentions in order to provide some motivation to go though with it. And I admit that I like public attention and like to brag every now and then. I saw this cancer thing and running Grandma’s marathon as Chemo-Man as an opportunity to get some fame and bragging rights. But quickly I realized that this could be an opportunity to do something good, to turn the cancer thing into something positive and constructive and help others who may be going through something similar. The fame really didn’t come, I guess running a marathon in a tutu is a better way to get on the nightly news and in the paper, but I got something much better. Being able to make a positive difference in the lives of others, even though it’s just a few, is worth all the effort.
We all have dark days in our lives. Some people have much darker days than others; I can think of much worse things than getting cancer. The biggest difference though is how one reacts. There are basically two ways people approach dark days. Some cower into a corner and wallow in their grief, blame others for their problems and only see darkness. But some look into the dark and see light. They refuse to accept defeat, take responsibility for their life, and make something good happen.
If I was given a chance to do it all over again, I would never decide to have cancer. I think I would have done just fine without it. Life would have thrown me plenty of opportunities to grow. Furthermore, I am far from being out of the woods. Statistically, there is about a 20% chance I won’t be around four years from now. I don’t need that. However, this is what life has giving me and I plan to turn it into something good. What kind of person are you when the days turn dark? Do you only drop to your knees and let darkness swallow you up, or do you stand up and try to shine? The wonderful thing is that you have a choice.
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