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.

Post Cancer Cloud

A cloud of fatigue floats above my head, threatening to descend. It’s morning.  I slept 9-hours last night.  I should be at my best. Is the fatigue health related? Stress related? Activity related? Let’s think it through……Health related, I do have some weird things going on.  Unexplained gastro intestinal issues like churning, cramping, bloating, and other unmentionables.  How long has this been going on, you ask? Since mid-May.  Several tests by my primary doc yielded nothing.  I thought it was giardia, I thought it was cyclospora.  Nope. A review of a PET Scan on Friday yielded an unexplained abnormality in my abdomen area (NOT lymphoma) and now I am on deck for an endoscopy and a colonoscopy within the next 10 days.  Ah, well….by themselves these procedures are cake.  Especially compared to what I’ve been through before.  (miscarriages, c-section followed by hemorrhage and another emergency abdominal operation, unsuccessful IVF, chemotherapy, and radiation covers the “biggies”) An endoscopy and colonoscopy will not make this list. In fact, I just noticed that I left the two outpatient surgeries that it took to have one lumpectomy off the “pain-in-the-ass-health-problem” list.  I also left off a malignant mole I got scorched off last October, two bouts of shingles over the last two years, and oh, did I mention I woke up covered in itchy, like on fire itchy, hives on Monday? My point is, this gastro problem is not in isolation and I’m sick and tired of being sick and tired.  It’s a cliché saying.  It’s a cliché saying that I’m sick and tired of saying.  So, maybe my fatigue is related to some weird gastro intestinal issue yet to be diagnosed.

Or, maybe it’s stress.  Did you read the previous paragraph?  I suppose one could say all of that might be a little stressful.  In addition, I work full-time, have my boys 50% of the time as a single mom, and try to keep my house a place that my boys will thrive.  I’m a mother, daughter, girlfriend, sister, ex-wife, friend, colleague and more.  But these things I love.  All of them. My job is the best it’s ever been, I’m happy in my romantic relationship, and I’m feeling balance and control at home.  I don’t buy that this fatigue could be solely stress related.

So, maybe I exercise too much.  I did complete my first triathlon on Sunday morning. It took a lot out of me, but I don’t think enough to take three days to recover from.  Though I wasn’t prepared enough to place in the top half of my age group, I think I had a respectable time without killing myself.  In other words, I think I was adequately prepared. I don’t know.  I guess I’m saying I don’t buy this “too active” theory either.

I think I want to share my thoughts and feelings right now because many of you have been so supportive for me through many difficult times.  I’ve heard you say, “wow, Holly, you’re an inspiration, I don’t know how you do it!”  I often don’t know what to say back.  I guess I don’t really know how I do it either, or really what I’m doing. Or, if I’m really doing “it”.  I think there’s something to be said for the saying that life isn’t about the number of breaths you take, but the moments that take your breath away.  I have learned this lesson to my very core.  I’m trying to live my life to the fullest.  With Energy and Light. With balance.  With passion. With soul. With love. 

It’s difficult to accomplish when fatigued. And scared.

But, maybe this is the new normal.  Maybe this is what being a cancer survivor x 2 means.  Yearly physical obstacles.  Just to be reminded to not take health for granted and to stay awake to life.

Ferrari Coffee in a Rickshaw Apartment

My boyfriend drinks Ferrari coffee in a rickshaw apartment. There’s an awful lot that can go into your morning cup o’ joe, don’t ya know? You might be surprised. First there is the type of bean you choose. My man spends a considerable amount of time at the roaster in Valley Junction, discussing the taste characteristics of his recent shipment of beans, from all over the world (of course). Are they earthy? Bitter? Bright? Harsh? Nutty? Smooth? Floral? How’s the finish? And, yes, you read correctly. He goes to get his coffee directly from a roaster in town. The discussion about the taste characteristics of the coffee is intricately bound to the roasting process. The roasting process (light, medium, burnt to a crisp) needs to be matched to the type of bean or beans that are being roasted. If done well, the coffee that results is delicious. I’ve always loved coffee myself, but I had no idea how delicious it really could be. My bf only buys a half pound of coffee at a time, so that it's always fresh. He only grinds it in the morning (with a burr grinder), as opposed to me, who thinks it's okay to grind it at night. Actually, I think it's better ground in the morning, but I just don't have time. Or, is it that I don't take the time? Does it have something to do with my priorities?
My man would not, upon first glance, be described as a snob by most. He drives a car assembled in Detroit not much after he was born and lives in an efficiency apartment that costs him less than my property taxes alone. He does not wear designer clothes and cringes at the price of cable, internet and smart phones. But in the wee hours of dawn, when his coffee has been brewed to perfection in his French press, a.k.a a “cafeteriere” the water just the right temperature, the wait time timed precisely, he might go into his bathroom, in his clean but efficient efficiency apartment, to sip and savor it, as to not awaken his son, sleeping on the other side of the wall.
This scene of my man and his Ferrari coffee in his rickshaw flat brought to mind a time I was living in a mobile home park in Boone, Iowa. It was the early 80’s and my mom, brother, and I called home a fairly new 14x70, three bedroom mobile home. That’s efficient trailer speak for 14 FEET wide by 70 FEET long. (Which is significantly larger than the 10x50 I came home to as a newborn.) The car parked next to our clean and tidy 14x70 home was a four door ORANGE Matador that my grandpa found and paid for to help us out. His requirements were for the vehicle to be cheap and reliable. Not pretty. And, the little hole in the trunk was only a problem when driving down gravel roads. One day, mom and I saw the young man who lived across the street, pick up his bride and carry her across the threshold. Not only was I struck by the beauty and the romance of the moment, but also by the car in the driveway. It was a brand new, shiny, sporty, Monte Carlo. Or something. I don’t really know cars, especially circa 1980 cars. I just know it was brand new and shiny and looked out of place in a trailer court. Even our trailer court, which was pretty darn nice as far as trailer parks go. In fact, many Iowa mobile home courts or parks (or whatever we want to call them) are quite nice. As opposed to ones you might find in Colorado, or say, maybe New Mexico. Way, way better than Missouri trailer courts. Anyway, the groom’s trailer was not a total dump, but it was a small, modest looking 12x60. With a shiny new car proudly parked out front. This is when my mom introduced me to the concept of priorities. Neither of our families could afford both a nice mobile home AND a nice vehicle. My family valued a larger, newer space to eat, sleep and watch the Love Boat whereas Mr. Groom valued a newer, shinier way to get from point a to point b. This example seems to have become the nexus for me when thinking of, attempting to set, and allowing others to have different priorities.

We make choices, we prioritize….everyday. Probably every minute or two. We make trivial choices and set trivial priorities. What’s easier today? McDonalds or homemade Asian chicken fritters with edamame and brown rice? Should I exercise or meet my friends out? Should I clean the house or read a book? Should I make some fresh juice in my Jack LaLane juicer or have another bowl of Lucky Charms?

And, we make life defining choices and set life defining priorities. Should I get a higher education? What should I major in? What should my career path be? Where should I work? Should I get married? Have a baby? Get divorced? Move to a bigger home? Move to a smaller home? Should I hold a grudge? Should I open my heart and be vulnerable? Buy that couch or hike the Inca trail?

Or, we don’t. Often, maybe too often, we let chance and circumstances set our priorities. Many of us wander around with loosely defined, or no goals, priorities or values. “In the absence of clearly defined goals, we become strangely loyal to performing daily trivia until ultimately we become enslaved by it.”-Robert Heinlein

It's starting to seem to me that all roads lead to back to being organized. Identifying values, setting goals, prioritizing those goals, and then creating to-do lists. Yearly, monthly, weekly, and daily. What is a Type B personalilty to do? Turns out, what my Type B personality is to do, is to lobby to my Type A personality side to schedule an appropriate amount of "JUST PUTZ" time. Schedule some controlled chaos. And then, execute that plan.
But......and here's the part to pay attention to: This activity is important. We should all feel a sense of urgency to identify our values and then plan accordingly.We need to give ourselves the tools needed to execute the plan.
After surviving sudden deaths of a dear friend and my father, as well as a near death experience myself, two bouts of cancer, and a divorce, I find myself at the precipice of the rest of my life with a multitude of goals floating around in my head. I want to learn Spanish so that I can bring my sons, especially my Guatemalan son, to Guatemala to meet his foster families and his birth mother. While we’re there we could do a full Spanish immersion program for a week followed by a week volunteering at an orphanage. I want to learn how to swim so I can participate, competitively for my age group, in a triathlon; I want to become a yoga instructor, a writer, a photographer. I want to travel more. I want to provide a solid home base from which my boys can thrive, I want to be the top of my profession, and, I want to nurture my relationships. Romantic, friends, family……all of them. Oh! Let’s not forget! I want to retire with a good chunk of change in the bank. I actually have more goals than this, but you get the picture.
Why is it that so many of us have to have a personal brush with death to really grasp the importance and urgency of living a life of your own determined purpose? To feel the mortality of ourselves and our loved ones and know that we've only got one chance, one go around at our life on this earth. We have the power to shape much of how that time is spent. What we contribute to the world through our relationships and contributions is in our hands. "To accomplish great things, we must not only act, but also dream; not only plan, but also believe."-Anatole France
So I leave you reading my "longer than recommended blog" (by bloggers in the know), while I sift through all the tools and ways to determine values, set priorities, goals. Reviewing a plethora of tools to track the goals that make the cut through monthly, weekly, and daily to do lists.
All while drinking the most amazing cup of coffee, carefully brewed from shade grown, hand picked (hopefully by my son's relatives) lightly roasted beans, by a soulful and vibrant man with his priorities straight.

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.