RUNNING A MARATHON

Now twelve weeks into my chemo regime, I’m beginning to find a new rhythm in my life. With my chemotherapy treatments every three weeks, I’ve learned that for the week following my treatment, I’m the Energizer Bunny. Thanks to the Red Bull of prednisone, my engine is running 24/7 which makes sleep difficult. If you know about driving a stick shift, it feels like you’re constantly revving up for the next gear but not able to work the clutch to make the impending transition. The second week after chemo is Zombie Week, when bed becomes my refuge and sleep, my escape. My internal cancer battle royale used to be replaced by an unproductive cough, a raspy voice and a need for peace and quiet. Now, thanks to the neupagen regime I’m on, the cough and voice problems seem to be gone for the time being. The third week is my Resurfacing Week, a good week to visit with friends, play with my grandkids, get out walking again and reconnect with life before the next round of chemo.

Finding a new rhythm to life reminds me of another time in my life when I discovered a very special rhythm. Flashback to 1980's when my good friend and colleague at the time, Dominic Raco, invited me to come out for a 10k run at his club, The Columbus Centre. I can’t remember my time for the run but I do recall thoroughly enjoying the experience. Dominic, an all round athlete, encouraged me for a second and third 10k and before I knew it, I was hooked. I loved the rhythm and the freedom of long distance running and gradually began to increase my weekly mileage.

My New Year’s resolution for 1986 was to run the Toronto Waterfront Marathon held in late September. My training manual, the Complete Book of Running by Jim Fixx, became my bible. Luckily, I wasn’t aware that Jim had died of a heart attack after a strenuous run some two years earlier.

My daily 4k runs stretched to 6k by the end of March and in April, I began training in earnest. By the end of May, I was putting in 50k per week.

In June, the best running month of the year, my daily solitary runs would begin well before dawn so that I could enjoy the 5:30 am sunrise. The endorphin induced ‘runner’s high’ was intoxicating and drove me to train even harder. I recall arriving at school at 8 am feeling like I could leap over grade 9 students in a single bound. My ultimate goal was to run at a pace that would see me cover 10k every 45 minutes.

The heat of July made it the toughest month for training and I always carefully mapped out which parks I could stop at along the way to get a drink of water. For some reason I still can’t figure out, I never carried water when I ran. I tried not to make my training a selfish indulgence but running out on Terry, both literally and figuratively, with three young kids at the time was certainly not a model of good parenting on my part.

By August, my training included a long Saturday morning run of 32k that began at 6:30 am and usual ended about two and a half hours later. During those solitary runs, my mind would often go blank letting my body take complete control. At other times, my senses were heightened to the point that I was aware of the exact temperature or the intensity of the red on a STOP sign.

By the end of September, I was more than ready for the marathon. I remember starting the race much too quickly but soon enough I found my natural rhythm. What a treat to have water stations every 5k! I did hit a wall at about 35k but the enthusiasm of the crowd along Bloor Street helped to propel me to the finish line at Varsity Stadium. I thoroughly enjoyed my first marathon, finishing in a respectable time of 3 hours and 17 minutes.

In retrospect, I realize that running a marathon and battling cancer are alike in many ways. Both involve discipline, perseverance and endurance. Both require breaking a wall: for running, the wall of fatigue; for cancer, the wall of fear.

However, there is a fundamental difference in the spirit that underlies both endeavours. For the most part, the success of a long distance runner depends on his own resources: how much training he does, how he avoids injuries and how he controls his diet. It’s all about doing everything possible to maximize one’s fitness level on race day.

In contrast, for the cancer victim, for myself, the spirit underlying the cancer journey is humility. It is running a race that you never signed up for. It is about taking drugs you’ve never heard of. It is about placing your life in the hands of doctors. But even more than that, it is about accepting a badly wrapped gift from God and making the very best of it. It is about being faithful enough to say thank you for being selected to journey on the road less travelled and trusting in God that it is taking you to a better place.