... well, you fill it in. It's cold out there. And windy. But I committed to a ride - and I'm announcing it here for the whole world to see, so that tomorrow, when people are saying, "Hey, John, how was the ride?" I won't respond with something like, "Well, you know, it was a little cold outside, and I hadn't seen the latest episode of LOST, so I just stayed in and kept warm." Nope - I'm going to do it. Hold me to it.
Here's another one - I'm officially on a diet. For two years now, I've been saying that I need to lose 20 pounds. This time, it's happening. Hold me to it as well.
By the way, did I mention that it's cold out?
In other news, Sara's fundraising is going great (click that link over there on the right to go see for yourself). People are generous and never fail to amaze me. She's getting really comfortable on her new bike as well. We'll be setting her clipless pedals up this week, then I won't be able to catch her. :)
Thursday, February 19, 2009
Thursday, February 12, 2009
Winner
I don't like the word "survivor". Not as a label for someone who has battled or is battling cancer. The picture that comes into my mind when I hear that word is someone standing battered and dazed after a tornado hit their house in the middle of the night. The look of being caught off guard; the look that says "what the hell was that?"
Here's another image: the sweat-and-blood-covered boxer standing in the ring, arms overhead. He didn't "survive" - he WON. I didn't stand by while things happened to me, hoping for survival - I fought - physically, mentally, spiritually, and emotionally. I fought for my life. And my family and friends were right there with me in the fight. This wasn't some passive experience of waiting for the force of nature to subside so I could take inventory of what was left - it was an active, knowing what's at stake, guarding everything of meaning, digging in for the long haul FIGHT. And I didn't survive it - I won.
My friend Carolyn is about to have her 6th of 8 chemo treatments. You should see the smile on her face and her passion for life. She's not done yet, but she's a winner. Jennifer just finished her treatments last fall and is still struggling to find her new normal. She's training for a half marathon. Less than a mile into the training run last Saturday, she had to slow down to catch her breath, still feeling the effects of the Bleomyacin and radiation. And here she is, pushing herself to reclaim her body. You should see the fight in her eyes. Not the look of a mere survivor. We've lost several friends on the Hodgkin's forum over the past couple of years - all of them winners. The cancer may have claimed their bodies, but it didn't claim their spirits.
My friend Neil wrote a song for a friend's neice who had recently been diagnosed with Leukemia. The song is called "World to Gain" and it reminds me of the life that I'll fight fiercely to live.
You want to put a label on me? Don't call me a survivor. I'm a winner.
Here's another image: the sweat-and-blood-covered boxer standing in the ring, arms overhead. He didn't "survive" - he WON. I didn't stand by while things happened to me, hoping for survival - I fought - physically, mentally, spiritually, and emotionally. I fought for my life. And my family and friends were right there with me in the fight. This wasn't some passive experience of waiting for the force of nature to subside so I could take inventory of what was left - it was an active, knowing what's at stake, guarding everything of meaning, digging in for the long haul FIGHT. And I didn't survive it - I won.
My friend Carolyn is about to have her 6th of 8 chemo treatments. You should see the smile on her face and her passion for life. She's not done yet, but she's a winner. Jennifer just finished her treatments last fall and is still struggling to find her new normal. She's training for a half marathon. Less than a mile into the training run last Saturday, she had to slow down to catch her breath, still feeling the effects of the Bleomyacin and radiation. And here she is, pushing herself to reclaim her body. You should see the fight in her eyes. Not the look of a mere survivor. We've lost several friends on the Hodgkin's forum over the past couple of years - all of them winners. The cancer may have claimed their bodies, but it didn't claim their spirits.
My friend Neil wrote a song for a friend's neice who had recently been diagnosed with Leukemia. The song is called "World to Gain" and it reminds me of the life that I'll fight fiercely to live.
You want to put a label on me? Don't call me a survivor. I'm a winner.
Friday, January 30, 2009
Blog revival...
So, it's been a while? Well, I originally started this blog two years ago to keep up with my century training and cancer recovery. I knocked the century out without a problem and my scans continue to be clean. That's the nutshell update.
Why am I back? This year, Sara (my daughter) and Chris (her boyfriend) have signed up to do AMBBR with Team in Training. AMBBR is America's Most Beautiful Bike Ride. It's a 100-mile trek around Lake Tahoe on a bike. Yes, in one day. It's the most amazing bike ride I've ever done and I can't wait to do it again. So, I'm going to! I'm actually the TnT cycling coach for our area this season. I'll be blogging training updates and such.
It's been fun to go back to the beginning of this blog and read the progress I made last time. It's also been a good reminder of why I did the ride in the first place. Sarah was one of the people who commented on my first post. She was a dear frient and lost her battle with Hodgkin's a year ago today. Another friend, Jesse, who commented on my last post, lost his wife Shannon to this disease last year. This season, they'll be with me in my heart on my training rides. I'll be riding in memory of them and the other friends we've lost to Hodgkin's Lymphoma. I'll be riding in honor of my friends who are still dealing with this disease.
Speaking of still dealing with it... I remember someone saying to me a year or so ago, "I bet you're glad to be done with cancer." I smiled and agreed, but in my mind I thought, "I'm still not done with it." It seems to always be peering around the corner at me, especially around scan time. I don't linger on it like I used to, but it's still there. The scar from my port is still noticeable - it itches all the time, and it's right where Dawn lays her head when we're laying in bed at night talking. Every time I get a tickle in my throat, a little voice in the back of my head says, "could it be... "
Last night, though, I was shown the effect that it's had on my family. Katherine has had a cold for a couple of weeks. She even lost her voice. Last night, with a look of fear that I've never seen in her, she came into the living room holding the side of her neck and said, "I can feel a swollen lymph node!" Sure enough, there it was on the side of her neck. To anyone else in the world, that's a sign of infection and your body trying to fight it. It's what lymph nodes do and it's normal. But to the daughter of a Lymphoma survivor - it's a sign of cancer. I explained to her that Hodgkin's is not hereditary, that her swollen node is normal for what she's fighting off, etc. But there it was again, right in our faces. It's not over.
And so, again this year, I'll push my body and train hard, I'll face my hills and headwinds out there on the road alongside my daughter and her boyfriend, and we'll be raising money to try to put a stop to this nonsense.
I'm back - stay tuned for updates. :)
Why am I back? This year, Sara (my daughter) and Chris (her boyfriend) have signed up to do AMBBR with Team in Training. AMBBR is America's Most Beautiful Bike Ride. It's a 100-mile trek around Lake Tahoe on a bike. Yes, in one day. It's the most amazing bike ride I've ever done and I can't wait to do it again. So, I'm going to! I'm actually the TnT cycling coach for our area this season. I'll be blogging training updates and such.
It's been fun to go back to the beginning of this blog and read the progress I made last time. It's also been a good reminder of why I did the ride in the first place. Sarah was one of the people who commented on my first post. She was a dear frient and lost her battle with Hodgkin's a year ago today. Another friend, Jesse, who commented on my last post, lost his wife Shannon to this disease last year. This season, they'll be with me in my heart on my training rides. I'll be riding in memory of them and the other friends we've lost to Hodgkin's Lymphoma. I'll be riding in honor of my friends who are still dealing with this disease.
Speaking of still dealing with it... I remember someone saying to me a year or so ago, "I bet you're glad to be done with cancer." I smiled and agreed, but in my mind I thought, "I'm still not done with it." It seems to always be peering around the corner at me, especially around scan time. I don't linger on it like I used to, but it's still there. The scar from my port is still noticeable - it itches all the time, and it's right where Dawn lays her head when we're laying in bed at night talking. Every time I get a tickle in my throat, a little voice in the back of my head says, "could it be... "
Last night, though, I was shown the effect that it's had on my family. Katherine has had a cold for a couple of weeks. She even lost her voice. Last night, with a look of fear that I've never seen in her, she came into the living room holding the side of her neck and said, "I can feel a swollen lymph node!" Sure enough, there it was on the side of her neck. To anyone else in the world, that's a sign of infection and your body trying to fight it. It's what lymph nodes do and it's normal. But to the daughter of a Lymphoma survivor - it's a sign of cancer. I explained to her that Hodgkin's is not hereditary, that her swollen node is normal for what she's fighting off, etc. But there it was again, right in our faces. It's not over.
And so, again this year, I'll push my body and train hard, I'll face my hills and headwinds out there on the road alongside my daughter and her boyfriend, and we'll be raising money to try to put a stop to this nonsense.
I'm back - stay tuned for updates. :)
Monday, May 21, 2007
So that's like from here to ...
I rode 100 miles on Saturday. 100. Wow.
So that's like from Starkville, to Meridian. Or from here to the Mercedes plant in Alabama. Or here to Columbus - and back - twice. Wow.
It wasn't such a big deal until after I did it. Now I keep thinking about all the things that are 100 miles apart.
Like last year and this year.
So that's like from Starkville, to Meridian. Or from here to the Mercedes plant in Alabama. Or here to Columbus - and back - twice. Wow.
It wasn't such a big deal until after I did it. Now I keep thinking about all the things that are 100 miles apart.
Like last year and this year.
Tuesday, May 15, 2007
Consumption
Consumption seems to be a word that fits my life right now. My time is consumed by biking. I'm amazed at the amount of "fuel" (Power Bars, Power Gels, bananas, granola bars, gatorade) that I consume each week to keep my legs spinning. Some days, I am consumed by thoughts of cancer. I wonder how much gasoline I can keep from consuming this year by choosing to ride my bike instead.
The Tahoe ride is the major consumer right now. I can't wait. This will be the longest, most beautiful bike ride I've ever done. The fact that it is in the mountains is just icing. Add to that that Dawn and Katherine will be there. Add to it that it's a road trip with Zach. Sprinkle in a side trip to the Grand Canyon and the Meteor Crater site. Toss in a short ride in the desert - just to stretch my legs. Maybe a jump in the frigid lake when we get there. Top it off with a screaming descent after cranking up Spooner. It doesn't happen often to me, but I might just be speechless after that ride. Or I may never quit talking.
The Tahoe ride is the major consumer right now. I can't wait. This will be the longest, most beautiful bike ride I've ever done. The fact that it is in the mountains is just icing. Add to that that Dawn and Katherine will be there. Add to it that it's a road trip with Zach. Sprinkle in a side trip to the Grand Canyon and the Meteor Crater site. Toss in a short ride in the desert - just to stretch my legs. Maybe a jump in the frigid lake when we get there. Top it off with a screaming descent after cranking up Spooner. It doesn't happen often to me, but I might just be speechless after that ride. Or I may never quit talking.
Wednesday, May 02, 2007
Ah, life!
What's up? The mileage. I'm on course for this to be my first 200-mile week. It's strange that my weekday "maintenance rides" are now longer than my long weekend ride 2 months ago. Probably the most difficult part now is just trying to figure out how to get the miles in. I turned in a leave request form today to leave work at 3:00 every Tuesday and Thursday for the rest of the month. I have to decide which weekend day to dedicate to the ride, as from here out, it's pretty much 5-7 hours on the bike, not including travel to and from wherever I'm riding, time to pack, time to shower, etc. The logistics are getting fun, too. I have to figure out routes that will put me near places to refill water bottles and restock food as necessary. The days of a quick 10-mile ride are long gone. I don't know that I'll see an under-30-mile ride between now and Tahoe. Oh yeah, and somewhere in there is my family, my job, yard work, sleep, ... I'm glad I chose the training schedule that is less likely to cause burnout. *whew*
Not that I'm complaining. I've said it before - it feels good to feel good again. It feels good to be on the last hole of my belt. The last time I hit the last hole, it was the one on the other end.
We spent last weekend in Nashville. Katherine ran in the Country Music Half Marathon and kicked major butt. She knocked 17 minutes off her last 1/2 marathon. Not bad.
I met a guy last night (on the phone) who was just diagnosed with the Hodge. During the conversation, it just felt strange to be on "this end" of it. Hearing him talk about the diagnosis, treatments, etc. brought me back to last year. My first chemo treatment was April 27.
Not that I'm complaining. I've said it before - it feels good to feel good again. It feels good to be on the last hole of my belt. The last time I hit the last hole, it was the one on the other end.
We spent last weekend in Nashville. Katherine ran in the Country Music Half Marathon and kicked major butt. She knocked 17 minutes off her last 1/2 marathon. Not bad.
I met a guy last night (on the phone) who was just diagnosed with the Hodge. During the conversation, it just felt strange to be on "this end" of it. Hearing him talk about the diagnosis, treatments, etc. brought me back to last year. My first chemo treatment was April 27.
Friday, March 23, 2007
MedicAlert
As I push the mileage, my pre-ride prep is changing. I have to pack more "fuel" (power gels, bananas, etc). I have to think about things like getting a flat 20 miles out in the country. I have to check out the sunset time and plan for that - including the extra time spent on a potential flat. I watch wind speed and direction, think about traffic patterns at different times of day, consider what dogs might be let out as the owners get home from work, try to come up with something new to think about for two hours.
I also have to wear a medical alert bracelet, carry the medical emergency card that goes with it, and make sure I have identification and insurance cards - just in case.
My ride yesterday had me focused on the medical alert bracelet. One of the benefits of my cancer treatment is that I now carry a strange "allergy". The Bleomycin that I was treated with left me with the potential to die from... oxygen. There are some case studies in which people given high levels of oxygen, as in surgery or scuba diving, ended up with severe damage to the lungs that resulted in death. Oxygen. The stuff we need to live. It could kill me. So I wear this annoying bracelet just in case I wipe out, and am taken, unconscious, to a hospital, and along the way, they decide to strap on an oxygen mask and crank it up.
And while I was thinking about how strange all that was, it dawned on me that the little clinking noise I was trying to track down on my bike was coming from my bracelet. And the mystery of how the dogs all seem to know I'm coming was solved. Those yippy little beasts listen for the clinking with their ratty little dog ears, call each other to meet in the bushes, setting up the ambush. Well, Rat Pack, I'm on to you! I will silence my bracelet and you can wake up from your slothy sleep to the sound of my bike whooshing past your am-bush. See ya!
I also have to wear a medical alert bracelet, carry the medical emergency card that goes with it, and make sure I have identification and insurance cards - just in case.
My ride yesterday had me focused on the medical alert bracelet. One of the benefits of my cancer treatment is that I now carry a strange "allergy". The Bleomycin that I was treated with left me with the potential to die from... oxygen. There are some case studies in which people given high levels of oxygen, as in surgery or scuba diving, ended up with severe damage to the lungs that resulted in death. Oxygen. The stuff we need to live. It could kill me. So I wear this annoying bracelet just in case I wipe out, and am taken, unconscious, to a hospital, and along the way, they decide to strap on an oxygen mask and crank it up.
And while I was thinking about how strange all that was, it dawned on me that the little clinking noise I was trying to track down on my bike was coming from my bracelet. And the mystery of how the dogs all seem to know I'm coming was solved. Those yippy little beasts listen for the clinking with their ratty little dog ears, call each other to meet in the bushes, setting up the ambush. Well, Rat Pack, I'm on to you! I will silence my bracelet and you can wake up from your slothy sleep to the sound of my bike whooshing past your am-bush. See ya!
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