Why Grandma's?

Why Grandma’s?

A Short Tale of Cancer, Divorce, Solstices, and Family.
And, Running. 
Of course.

I swore I’d never do it again.  No need to tax your body that much.  No need to take that much time out of your life to train.  Half-marathons.  Now that’s where it’s at!! Long enough to really be a challenge but short enough to not consume your life and wreak havoc on your body.

I’ve done two full marathons in my life. 

The first was Chicago in 1999. Trained for it while planning my wedding, getting married, and honeymooning. Ran it all wrong, finished in 4:47 and then didn’t run again for ten years.  I ran a 10k in 2010 and was surprised how fast I did it, was all set to do some more 10k’s (the other perfect distance), and then BOOM. Pow.  “You have cancer.”  This was shortly (3-weeks “shortly”) after Boom. Pow. You’re divorced.  Blech.

After finding out I had non-Hodgkin’s Lymphoma on the summer solstice in 2010, the first thing I said (after hyperventilating because I thought I was going to die at 41 and leave two boys, six and three, motherless) was, “Damn it, if I survive this, I’m going to have to run another marathon.”  Because I knew of the Leukemia and Lymphoma Society (LLS) and Team in Training (TNT). 

Sure enough…Summer 2011, I started training for the full marathon in Savannah, GA with TNT.  Raising money for an organization that most certainly had significant impact on the success of my cancer treatment.  In the midst of my training two things happened.  First, my grandpa died exactly 92 years after he was born-of lymphoma.  His memorial contributions were directed to the LLS, via me and TNT.  No going back now! I had to, had to, had to, finish this race.  Even if, and this is the second thing that happened, a month later I was diagnosed with early stage breast cancer, underwent two lumpectomies one week apart, and 6 ½ weeks of radiation.  I had my last radiation on a Thursday morning and then got on a plane to Savannah that afternoon.  I finished the race in 4:50. Twenty minutes slower than my goal.  I hated every step from mile 15 to the end.  Pain in my knees, my hip, and cursing for 11 miles.  Sometimes I can’t even believe I finished it. I was swearing for 11 miles that I would never, ever run a full marathon again.

But I AM running another full marathon.  Less than three years after Savannah.  It’s a popular race called “Grandma’s Marathon” that takes place along Lake Superior, near Duluth, MN.  This time is different though.  Just one reason is that I have run several (a lot actually) 10k’s and half marathons since Savannah.  When the Grandma’s Marathon’s race director sent an email asking for stories about why participants are running Grandma’s, I couldn’t resist submitting mine.  I love stories.  Here’s a passage I love from a novel I read a few months ago:

“Stories are people.  I’m a story, you’re a story…your father is a story.  Our stories go in every direction, but sometimes, if we’re lucky, our stories join into one, and for a while,

we’re less alone.”

From Beautiful Ruins, by Jess Walter

 

I was restricted to 300 words to describe why I’m running Grandma’s Marathon.  Here is what I submitted:

 June 21, 2014 will be exactly four years since being diagnosed with non-Hodgkin’s Lymphoma.  To celebrate surviving and thriving not only that cancer, but also breast cancer the following year, is not the only reason I’m running my third full marathon on the summer solstice.  It’s also because I was born on the winter solstice and I believe that the solstices are a powerful affirmation of life.  The dichotomy, the extreme, and the balance between darkness and light make me feel alive.  Running a “medal-producing race” in each state does too.  By the time I finish Grandma’s, it will be the 11^th state I’ve run a half or full marathon in, seven in 2014. 

But, probably the most important reason I’m running Grandma’s this year is for my brother.  The only time I have ever been in Duluth was with him and my dad for Father’s Day 1991.  Twenty-three years ago in June, my dad, brother and I road-tripped to Duluth from Ames, Iowa, spent the night in a hotel, and then meandered all the way north to Ely.  It was the only trip we ever really took with my dad.  He was elated to share with us the beauty he saw in the region.  The region him and my mother honeymooned in 1967.  My dad, then 48, died suddenly the next summer while I was backpacking in Europe. 

After a very difficult year, my brother is (re)learning about the significant healing power of running.  The power of having a goal.  And, the power of long runs with his sister.  Long, bonding runs in below zero temperatures with ice and snow, in the pouring down rain, and in the relative heat.  Culminating in a bonding summer vacation in a cabin by a lake.

 Oh, and 26.2 miles.

Today's Run in Rain, Sleet, and Snow

By the time the run was over, the snowflakes were big and beautiful.  The run was seven miles on an early March Sunday. It started out 35 degrees and raining.  By mile 3.46 it had turned into sleet. Sharp little bullets hitting my face, and sometimes, my eyeball.  By mile 5.37 it had started to snow. As I mentioned, big fluffy, beautiful flakes, slowly falling to the earth. I often think about how long runs are an excellent metaphor for survival. Surviving. Surviving anything.  Surviving a rotten childhood, a rocky relationship, a difficult workplace, or, today, I was thinking about surviving cancer.  Twice.  Now, as far as cancer survivors go, I have it pretty easy.  As far as two-time cancer survivors go, I have it ridiculously easy.  I mean really......just a little chemo for round one and a little radiation for round two.   So, okay, there was a 5-day extra credit hospital stay during round one, and a lumpectomy (ok, two) for round two.  Yes, I was scared. Yes, I was tired. And, Yes, I was truly very sick.  But, the outlook for survival seemed assured both times.  I clung to that, and for the most part never worried about cancer killing me.  And, lo and behold, the treatments worked flawlessly and I am a two-time survivor, just like that.  Ba da boom, Bob's yer Uncle, You're a rock star, You're in remission. 

But, alas, like a run, it seems a hell of a lot easier once it's done.  During a run, you can be cursing much or the whole time....oh my god! could this hill be any longer? How could I have managed to have to run up hill BOTH WAYS??? Oh, my shoes are soaking wet from that puddle, crap, I'm going to fall on that ice!! Ok, minivan lady, it's much more important for you to turn left onto Grand than me crossing the street in what's turned into a pretty respectable snowstorm.  No really, you go ahead.

Then you get home, stretch, take a shower. How was your run? Pretty good, thanks! Got 7 miles in! The last 1/2 mile was a bit tough, but other than that, pretty awesome!

Once somebody is diagnosed with cancer, they're a survivor. From Day One.  Pretty cool to think about it, really.  One day you can be walking along in the beautiful sunshine, going to kickboxing class, going to yoga, running10K's way faster than you thought you could, then suddenly, you can't walk because your guts are so bunged up you think you should eat more greens (like a truck full, cuz really, you already eat a lot) or you feel a lump (what the hell is that? Is there one on the other side????) then the clouds roll in like some weird cartoon or horror movie and it starts raining.

Running in the rain can seem peaceful. Almost refreshing.  It certainly can make you feel alive.  I think that's what I love most about any kind of severe weather.  It can take you by the shoulders and shake you.  Wake up! Notice your surroundings.  Yes, smell the roses.  The daffodils. The rain. The pine trees. Can you hear the birds? They can tell it's about to be full-on spring.  

Well, you guessed it.....a cancer diagnosis can do the same thing.  Slap you up side the head to remind you that you are currently alive.  but, hey, who knows how long that will last? Are you doing to best you can to have a meaningful life, chump? You've only got two.  Ah, you caught that.  Very clever. It's just the one, chump.  And, we can hope, pray, and meditate that we'll get to live until we're 102, but there are absolutely zippo, nada, naught, gaurantees that we'll live past tonight. 

Has cancer taught me these lessons? Yes. I think so. Not just cancer, but other things that I've battled and overcome. I have minimized or eliminated distractions as much as possible. I try to live fully most moments. Enjoy my children, love my lover, eat great food, engage with my community in meaningful ways. And, I run. I run in weather. I never used to run in weather. It had to be between 55 and 83, little to no wind, certainly no rain, sleet, or snow. Now, I run in anything between 10 and 95 degrees. The cold, the heat, the precipitation....it all makes me feel alive. Alive. AND WELL.