Of Angels, Demons and Heroes

Your world gets awfully small when you are in chemo treatment.   It includes your room (which is constantly invaded by nurses and DRs), and the hallway in the oncology wing (about 21 laps to the mile).    Your room has a bed, chair, couch (which at times was more comfortable than the bed), TV and a bathroom.    In truth, you don’t need too much more than that since you constantly being entertained by DRs and nurses taking vital signs, drawing blood, giving meds, examining, poking, and prodding.   In the course of my treatment I saw over 2 dozen DRs from 8 different specialties including infectious disease, wound management, cardiology, dermatology, Ear, Nose, and Throat, ophthalmology, oncology, gastroenterology.

Of course they never show up at the same time making sleeping in the afternoons almost impossible as literally every 15 minutes another DR or PA is showing up to examine you.  If I had a dollar for every time someone came in and put a stethoscope on me I could likely pay most of my medical bills.    The most interesting part is the lack of coordination across the specialties.  At times Pam and I were coordinating treatments across DRs, treatments that often conflicted with each other.  

Which brings me to the nurses and techs (nurses aids).  To call them angels is an understatement.    They were my daily care givers, my lifeline to the DRs, my counselor when I needed to know what a procedure entailed, my calendar keeper for tests and meds,  my advocate when I needed help,  and often late night conversationalist when I couldn’t sleep.   In addition to their medical duties they made sure we were fed, cleared our food trays, emptied and tracked bodily fluids, and tried their best to protect our sleep.  They held my hand through the bone marrow biopsy, entertained me by drawing a caricature of my best chemo look, encouraged me as I walked the floor, and checked in to get the latest on the birth of our newest grandchild (another boy).   Ring for a nurse and the majority of the time they were there faster than the best concierge.   Seldom in the course of the last 30+ days did I feel like I was anything but the most important patient on the floor.    

The demons are the daily challenges that you face that eat away at your confidence.   Sometimes its new challenges like determining what the volcano wounds on my back are (turns out to be Sweets Syndrome), needing Heparin shots (which are given in the stomach), dealing with spiking fevers (which in turn require tapping a new vein for more blood), getting cardio problems under control (more EKGs, Echocardiograms, and x-rays) and the biopsy the wounds as well as the bone.   Some things you know are going to happen but it’s still a blow when they do.   Like your feet swelling up from the fluids till they look like a uni-toe hoof.    Or the day when my shower looked like it was used by Chewbacca…didn’t need that hair anyway.   In most cases it’s not one big thing that gets you, it’s the constant barrage of body breakdowns and the resulting treatments and their side effects.  

Got to love MRIs.   Put somebody on a slab, tell them not to move for an hour put in ear plugs, headphones (with music), stick them in a small metal container that resembles a casket and then blast the sound of machine gun fire at them.  Occasionally ask them how they are doing but don’t listen to the answer.  And what’s the point of the music?  You can’t really hear it while the machine is pounding away, but if you happen to find yourself tapping your toe to a tune you are abruptly asked to stop moving.  Like going to a dance where the music is great and you can dance all you want as long as you do it in your head.

 

And then there is the food.   After a while everything smells and taste like hospital.  My daughter says it’s the chemo and she can smell it coming off me.   It makes ordering food interesting….I’ll have the white fish cooked in the chemo sauce and the bland brown rice with the hospital smell.    And what is it with cooking everything until it’s dried out, soggy or flavorless?   I guess if everything taste like nothing then you know exactly what you are getting.   It’s one area where there were no surprises.

The hospital smell also making wearing a mask pretty interesting since you end up recycling your own air.  Reminds me of being stuck in a cab in India without air and with a driver who clearly had been working a 24 hour shift in 100 degree weather.   Popping an Altoid (strong mint) before putting on the mask can help.

I apologize, I know I’m whining a bit.   I’m no hero, just a guy making it through this phase so I can move on to the next phase of treatment with the goal that somewhere down the road there will be a cure.  But there are heroes on the floor and I admire them greatly.  The family members who come day after day and sit by the bed of their loved one even when they are sound asleep.  Who sleep on the couch in the room overnight when a cancer patient is having a particularly hard night.  Who take on the burdens of outside life so the patient can focus on what they need to do to get better.  And then there are the cancer patients themselves.  The ones that have been at it for over 6 months, who are facing daunting odds to recover and who are in significant pain yet they fight on, day after day.  I’ve seen the determination on their faces, heard the cries of despair in the night, and seen them work to make it easier on their loved ones who come to visit.  They are the real heroes.

Angels, demons and heroes…it’s a strange combination but then again a cancer ward is a strange world.

Next time…finishing up Phase 1 and preparing for Phase 2.

Surviving the Dead Zone

Have you ever noticed how the medical community has a tendency to use terminology that helps to obfuscate or maybe even minimize the reality behind what is involved with  a particular procedure?   I hadn’t really thought about it much until I found myself on the receiving end of a number of procedures where I had to ask the question “how is that going to be done?” followed by “you are going to do What?” ….. scared witless by the explanation.  Some questions may be best left un-asked.

Take the 30+ days of the first phase of Leukemia treatment called Induction.   I’ve seen people inducted into all kinds of clubs/groups….Boy Scouts, Sports Halls of Fame, Knight of Columbus and when it was over, I’m not sure any of them would say…I’ll never do that again.  Heck I went through a week long induction into a fraternity and other than some embarrassing moments it was a rather enjoyable adolescent experience.

As I mentioned last week the Leukemia Induction has two phases; Chemo (we covered last week) which goes by the catchy name of 7+3; and there’s the recovery period (which lasts 3 weeks).   Of course I had to ask the stupid question “why am I hanging around for 3 weeks if I’m done with Chemo?  This is when DRs start shuffling their feet and you get a bit more detail about what I ultimately have named the Dead Zone.   This is a 14 or so day period where you have no immune system, no clotting function and limited or no ability to generate new red blood cells.  A sneeze from a person with a cold can be deadly, a cut or a bruise could bleed unabated (as I was to find out), and a fever can spike into the 102-103 area without notice or explanation.  Add to this, keeping fluid levels up to avoid damage to liver and kidneys from all the meds, diarrhea, rashes, spiking fevers, and mouth sores to name a few and you have an idea of the complexity the issues the DRs and nurses are trying to balance, sometimes literally on an hour by hour basis.   The Dead Zone is where the battle is waged…it’s your body, the DRs and nurses, and your cache of drugs vs the world of bacteria, fungi, viruses and your own occasional ineptitude (like a trip and fall).

When I entered the Dead Zone I was pretty optimistic about getting through it with minimal discomfort.  I had  only  the 4 jobs I mentioned last week…Eat, Drink, Sleep, Walk (of course scattered amongst those was some serious  talking with the creator as well).      Sounds pretty simple.  First monkey wrench in the works was the volcanic cysts on my back. 

 None of the continuous stream of DRs could figure out what it was, what caused it or why it was getting worst.  Lots of tests, pictures, poking, and the second worst words you can hear from a doctor examining you, “Interesting…I’ve never seen anything like that before.”    Tests ruled out shingles, and a few other items that scare the crap out of the DRs because of high contagion rates and difficulty treating in the dead zone.  Much discussion over a Lidocaine reaction from the bone biopsy but no one has seen anything like this as a reaction before.   While the DRs ponder I’m stuck with trying to find a position where I can get comfortable enough to sleep.   Nights typically involve 1-2 hour segments of sleep interspersed with hallway walks or trying to catch a cat nap in a chair.  Sitting in a chair can be more comfortable than lying down although even that only lasts an hour or so.    Pain from the site turns bad at times and for reasons I don’t understand.  Even without any direct contact it can stat firing off burning pulsing pain from the spine to the hip.  One of those nights I spent the entire time either in a chair rocking back and forth or walking the floor. A definite low point….the Dead Zone can be a lonely place. 

 

Seven days into the Dead Zone and I have a much better feel for what I am up against.     In addition to the cyst and sleeping problems I’ve totally lost my appetite.   Initially it was because my stomach always felt full partially because of all the water weight I was holding and partially because of the burping.  Once they got the burping under control (more drugs) and nausea (even more drugs) I had lost my sense of taste.   It’s a really strange experience to not be able to tell what you are eating.  I actually couldn’t tell the difference between chocolate and vanilla ice cream. 

In sympathy with my two pregnant daughters I’ve decided to align my symptoms with there’s.  I gained 30 lbs. (in 10 days), have to pee all the time,  have a bed full of pillows to try and find  a comfortable position to sleep,  swollen feet and ankles, and the thought of eating makes me nauseous.   I dreamt the other night that I was pregnant with an alien being and it was going to crawl out through the cysts in my back.  And that was before they put me on any of the good drugs.

From the neck up I have the scraggly somewhat crazed hollowed eyed look of Tom Hanks in Castaway.  From the neck down I look like the Pillsbury dough boy except with the all body rash it’s more like the Raspberry Dough Boy.

Because everyone needs a bit of excitement in their day we threw in a spontaneous nose bleed.  Sitting talking to my wife and blood starts pouring out of one of my nostrils.   Clamping the nose shut and tipping the head back just caused all the blood to rush down my throat.  Without getting into the gory details, it was three hours of spitting up blood clots and clamping the nose until a nose specialist could come and pack the nose to stop the bleeding.  BTW…that joins bone marrow biopsies as another item for my “Bucket Black List” (things I don’t want to do (again) before I kick the bucket).   Packing the nose involved shoving a stiff piece of card board like material about the size of a nail file up your nose till it feels like it’s coming out your eye and then spray it with saline to make it expand.    And because no good deed goes unpunished, my eye swelled shut for the next couple of days until they decided they could pull the packing out. 

Seems every day there is a new problem/symptoms (rash, sore throat, headaches, back/wound pain, swollen eyes, fevers, nose bleeds, etc.).   For each problem there is a treatment which in turn often has side effects that generate new problems which in turn have other treatments….you get the picture.  Nose bleed was a classic example.  Antibiotics for spiking fevers results in a rash which in turn itches and has to be treated with another med which in turn affects the heart rhythm which requires constant heart monitoring. 

All that said, I have survived the Dead Zone, or at least the first two weeks of it.    It’s been an obstacle course of tests and experiences that taught me a lot about patience, pain, flexibility, resilience and prayer.   

Next week if all goes well we will talk about turning the corner and the body’s recovery.

Stay Well!
PS…2 weeks to the Boston Marathon.  There is still a chance I could get out of here in time to make it to the starting line.  Making it through the first mile however would be a totally different discussion.

The Boy in the Bubble

Or maybe I should say the Man in his Man Cave.    From jetting around the US to a self-contained bedroom/bathroom, my world has gotten pretty small pretty fast.  But in the context of what I’m going through it truly doesn’t matter.

This week’s blog starts with the first phase of treatment called Induction.   The first phase of Induction is the actual chemo therapy treatment.    As I mentioned last time, the goal of the chemo is kill off all the white blood cells that have gone rogue.  In my case it’s the neutrophils, the little guys that protect the body from infection.    To do this they put me on two chemicals that target those cells in what they call a ‘7 and 3 treatment’.  For 7 days you are on one of the drugs for 24 hours a day while the other one is pushed through your IV once a day for the first 3 days. 

Speaking of IVs, the Friday the chemo was started (the day after the bone marrow biopsy), they do a small operation to put in a PICC line.  Way cool.  They use ultrasound to locate a vein in your upper arm then they make a small incision and thread a plastic tube into the vein, up your arm and into your chest.  The arm end is held in a snap mechanism that they can then attach the IV tubes to (I have two dangling from mine).   Given the amount of times I was stuck to give blood or receive fluids up to this point, this makes life so much easier.  Kind of like having and outside faucet vs having a plumber come to your house every time you need to use a garden hose.

PICC line is in, the prep drugs are being pumped in and by the evening Friday they hooked me up to the chemo drugs.    Lots of questions at this point…If the chemo is only on for 7 days, why am I in the hospital 30+?   When will I start feeling bad?   What are some of thing that will happen to my body as a result of the chemo?

The reason for the long hospital stay is to assure your body has recovered enough for you to leave isolation and face the germs of the real world.   You are not cured after Induction, but treatment from there will depend on your type of AML (which you will likely know sometime between day 7 and day 10 after the bone marrow biopsy cytogenetics are complete).   The measure for going home in my case will be the rate I am able to create good neutrophil white blood cells and platelets.   It would not be good form to get all the way through Induction and then succumb to the common cold or a cut while shaving when you get home.

I asked the question of when I will start feeling  bad and when will I start feeling better a half a dozen times but I kept getting the same answer…You start feeling bad around the end of chemo (day 7) and It will get worst through about day 18body .  You should turn the corner and start feeling better by day 21.  However, every patient is different and your mileage may vary.   The last 9-10 days of the 30 are to allow your system to recover to the point of producing enough blood cells to protect you.  Oh Yeah…and they have a nice going away present for you just before you leave the hospital….another bone marrow biopsy.  

 

Here are some of the challenges and body changes you can expect as a result of the

-          Spiking Fevers

-          Mouth sores

-          Rashes (reactions to the meds)

-          Water weight gain…swelling

-          Nausea and Vomiting

-          Loss of hair

-          Constipation followed by bouts of diarrhea

-          Excessive Nose bleeds

-          Extreme Fatigue

-          Change in sense of taste

-          Reactions to transfusions

Most of the items on the list come and go at random times, usually just when you are starting to feel better.   Mouth sores, rashes, nausea, and hair loss however come and stay like a bad house guest. 

Some of these will start during the chemo phase but most come after when you are in the “Dead Zone”.  The dead zone is my name for the 2 weeks after the chemo when your body continues to kill off the bad cells and the system hasn’t “rebooted” to start generating new good cells.  This is also the time when there is the greatest chance of run-away infection and nonstop bleeding.  

For me, the first few days of chemo were uneventful.  You are on a cocktail of anti-viral, anti-fungal and anti-biotics while they wait to see how you are going to react to the drugs and the chemo.   My biggest problem is a couple of cyst like sores that formed on my back near the biopsy site  that have swollen up into what looks like little purple volcano’s surrounded by a bigger circle of red inflamed area.  Pretty uncomfortable when trying to lie in bed or sleep on my back.   My back/backside has become a curiosity for a variety of doctors and is getting more views than a new baby Panda at the National Zoo.    So far it has stumped the Oncology and Hematology DRs, the Infectious disease DRs, and the Wounds Dr. (I didn’t even know they had such a specialty).  Over the course of the week it continues to get worst.

By day 4 of the chemo I’m feeling the effects.  My weight has climbed 17 lbs, my appetite is pretty much gone and a mild stomach problem that I had before (Gastroparesis) has taken over the digestive system and I burp regularly as soon as I put anything in my stomach  (100-150 times in 10 minutes).   The nurses have taken to looking for a bull frog under my bed.   We’ve now added Gastrointestinal DRs to the long list of daily visitors.                          

Days 5-7 are more of the same.  As my system becomes less and less able to protect itself, we substitute drug cocktails.   It’s a combination of trying to find the right antibiotics to deal with the back,  the right anti-viral and anti-fungal drugs to fight off any potential external infectors as well as  drugs that can help the stomach and digestive system so you can keep the energy up and the fluids (and other stuff) flowing through the system.  Everything gets measured…what I call the “Goes-intas” and the “Goes-outas.  Privacy (or the lack there of) takes on a whole new meaning.

As you might expect, the body doesn’t take to kindly to being flooded with poison and then a variety of compensation drugs and this is where the symptoms mentioned above begin to appear.  I broke out in a rash, first on my neck and head and then spreading to my feet.   More adjustments to the drugs and some creams to help with the rash.  The “volcano cysts” on my back are getting worst, more drugs for that.   A lot of the drugs are administered as liquid IV so my fluid retention has gone up.   Weight is up over 22lbs from when I walked in the door a week earlier so there is also a drug to help me flush fluid from my system.  By the way, that last drug is called Lasix, pronounced the same as the corrective eye surgery.  When they first told me I was getting a Lasix treatment I marveled at what a full service operation they had where they would fix my eyes as well as my blood. 

As chemo winds to a close (day 7 of 30+) I’m still in good spirits, still getting in 60-80 minutes of walking a day,  and only dealing with 4 or so of the dozen potential unpleasant symptoms.  Of the 4 jobs I have…Eat, Drink, Sleep, and Walk…..eating and sleeping are the ones that need some work.   Walking presents some interesting challenges as I have to maneuver Olive Oil around a hallway full of portable computer stations, nurses, techs and other patients.   Keeps things exciting,

If you have questions feel free to post them on the blog site and I will try to incorporate the answers into future blogs.

Next time we will take on week one of the Dead Zone. 

Running may have saved my life

That’s a pretty dramatic statement but before we get into that, let me set the stage for the blogs over the next couple of months.   One of the goals when I started blogging on running the Boston Marathon was to give an insider’s view of what it is like to train for and then run the world’s oldest and most elite marathon.     Over the years I’ve had the opportunity to share the experience of running Boston in a range of situations including some crazy weather that almost cancelled the race as well as witnessing the bombing at the finish in 2014.   The one consistent piece of feedback I’ve received is that the blogs help to give the reader a sense of being there, of seeing the race from the inside out rather than through the eyes of the media.    This new journey is far less interesting and far more personal but for those that are interested I hope to provide that same insider’s view of life fighting cancer.     I don’t intend to go into a lot of medical detail (I’m not that smart and frankly find some of it really boring) but I’ll give a layman’s interpretation of what is going on.  I apologize in advance for the areas where it may not be medically accurate but I can promise it will be emotionally honest.

First question I get is “How did you find out you have Leukemia?”    It’s not as if you wake up one morning saying   “I think my white blood count feels low, I think I’ll go have it checked.”  I’m not a big fan of going to doctors so it would take a lot to get me to set up an appointment.  In this case what triggered me picking up the phone was a couple of slow runs where I struggled to get enough breathe on hills.  I could have just chalked it up to being tired, after all I had been ramping up the weekly miles and had just finished my first 17 mile run of the season.   Monday morning I call the Dr. Office and she squeezes me in for Monday evening.   We have a nice chat, she checks vitals, does an EKG to check the heart, does a lung capacity and blood O2 check, puts me on a nebulizer (basically breathe through a tube blowing mist for 10 min to open airways)  and takes some blood for testing.   Initial prognosis is asthma/restricted airway.    

During the day Tuesday and again on Weds they call to get more blood.  They didn’t provide a lot of info, just an acknowledgement that my white blood count (WBC) was low.   Weds midday they told me to head to the ER at the hospital for another blood test and consultation.    Late afternoon I met with the Hematology DR for the first time and she filled me in on my status.   White Blood Cells come in different types and have different roles.  In my case the Neutrophils, whose role it is to fight infection, were almost nonexistent (average is 3500-5000…I was 84).    Being totally naive of what this meant, I asked if we could treat it quickly because I have a marathon in 6 weeks.  She just stared at me and then she used the “L” word.  You could have knocked me over with a feather.    To be sure they needed to do bone marrow biopsy Thursday morning and given the fragile nature of my immune system they were checking me into isolation immediately.

Thursday morning I get a bit more information about what is going on.  In a very simplified explanation (because I’m just a simple guy)  there are three key types of cells in your blood…red blood cells which carry the oxygen around the body,  platelets that help you clot so you don’t bleed out when you have a cut or bruise,  and white blood cells to help fight infections.   All of these are generated by your bone marrow.  Effectively some of my WBC (the Neutrophils) had gone rogue.  They multiply at a faster rate and hang around longer but don’t function to help the immune system.   In addition they crowd out other cells like the red blood cells and platelets.  The net effect is lower immunity to colds or illnesses, longer time for cut or bruises to stop bleeding or heal and lower level of O2 in your blood from the fewer RBC.

It was the lack of O2 during my running that triggered the DR visit.   Lucky, cause either of the other two symptoms could have been fatal.   I guess you could say running saved my life.

The next question I get is “How did you come down with it?”   There’s no good answer to this question, for Leukemia or most cancers.  In my case it was a chromosomal change in my Neutrophils.   I suspect I will never know why.

“What is the treatment?’   It starts with a bone marrow biopsy.  Basically they stick a long needle into your hip bone and first extract some fluid from inside the bone and then core out a piece of the bone.   Definitely not something you want to put on your bucket list.    The result of that test gives them the basic info of the type of Leukemia you have which in turn set the protocol for treatment.   The results come in two stages…first the diagnosis of type (mine is AML Acute Myeloid Leukemia) the second is an understanding of the amount of chromosomal damage (cytogenetics) which determines the complexity of the downstream treatment.   

All forms of AML have the same initial treatment called Induction.   Leukemia is not treated with radiation since the problem is in the blood so the goal is to eliminate all the bad white blood cells and then hope that when your system starts recovering you will generate good cells (kind of like rebooting a computer).  They do this with chemicals that effectively wipe out your immune system but in the process it also lowers your platelets and red blood cells as well.  Thus the reason you are kept in the hospital isolation 30+ days as even the smallest cut, infection or virus could be deadly.

My Induction started Friday the 4^th.    Milestones are measured from this date.  In the next installment I’ll give a perspective on what it was like handling the chemotherapy.

God bless

A journey of a 1000 miles begins with one step.

Relative to my decade-long quest to complete 10 Boston Marathons in a row, it has been more like a journey of 8 million steps.  Like most journeys of this length, I didn’t start out with the idea I was going to do this for 10 years.  Initially it was a way to remember my son’s life, give something back in his name and for a long while, an avenue to deal with the grief.  The roads and the wind gave me a shoulder to cry on.   Over time the idea I could make an impact with the donations became the bigger goal but I needed a bigger challenge to grab attention and get support.  

There are about 20,000 elite runners who qualify and get accepted into Boston each year.   A little over half are men and less than 10% of those will be in my over 60 age group when we toe the line at the start.   At the end of the day there will be less than 900 runners age 60 – 64 who will finish. I would guess less than 20% of those will complete it more than 2 years in a row.   If I could avoid injuries, fight the weather and stay healthy for 10 years, if in the process I could run fast enough to requalify and get accepted into the race, and if I could actually finish all 10 in weather that would range from 40 degree days to 90 degree days, and include rain, hurricane winds and a terrorist bombing then truly that would be an accomplish worthy of asking people to fund the efforts of Help in the Nick of Time.  This has been my goal since starting the charity 7 years ago.

OK, enough history, let’s turn to philosophy.  Pretty much all of us have heard or maybe used the phrase “A Journey of a 1000 miles…blah blah” from the Chinese philosopher Laozi. It’s a timeless phrase you can use  for just about anything that involves a challenge (quitting smoking,  going to the gym, losing weight, getting to college, building a career).  It has the added benefit of making you sound wise and experienced.   Works great on a long road trips when your 8 year old asks “are we there yet” (Gaze off into the distance and with a thoughtful voice say “the vacation of a thousand miles begins with one step).   Totally derails the kid’s thought process.  

OK…what has this to do with my training for Boston this year?  The journey of 8 million steps is almost over.  For the last nine years, while I thought I was on annual quests to get to and finish the Boston Marathon, in truth I was on a decade long journey of healing and discovery.  That journey is about to end. But not at the finish line of the Boston Marathon.  Last week, during my 17 mile run it was clear I was struggling to keep my normal pace.  Within a couple of days I knew the answer, I have Acute Leukemia.

Am I angry?  Not yet.  Probably still in denial.  I’m waiting for the first guy who says “When life gives you lemons, make lemonade”.    Then I’ll go postal.  Sometimes when life hands you lemons you just want to throw them at someone…..starting with the guy who said “make lemonade”.

So now my life has totally changed.  For the next 30 days I’m stuck in isolation as they pump my body full of poison to first kill all my white blood cells and then watch to see if good ones or bad ones come back.  Unfortunately the chemo kills off the production of red blood cells (which carry your O2) and your platelets (which handle blood clotting).   So avoiding germs because I have no white cells to fight infection, no cuts or bruises because I have no platelets to stop the bleeding and limited exercising because I can’t get a lot of O2.    In my new world I’ve traded my 17 miles running for 17 laps around the hall pushing my new best friend….my intravenous tree we’ve named Olive Oil.   I also have a machine that does leg massages to keep the blood flowing.  We call her Helga.    You can tell that loss of red blood cells are affecting oxygen to the brain as well.

Now instead of looking like one of the zombie extras from the walking dead shuffling down the road on my runs, I’m one of those hospital zombies shuffling down the hallway pushing my IV pole, nodding to all the nurses and trying not to flash my backside through my custom tailored hospital gown. 

For the next 30 days or so I plan to change the blog over to my new journey.  When I feel up to it I’ll post info on what is it like to be on this journey and much like the running, give some of the emotional highs and lows.  For those of you that don’t care to follow this info just let me know and I’ll take you off the distribution list.   I fully understand…neither one of us signed up for this trip.  

I also want to thank all of you who have supported me through the years.  Words cannot express my gratitude or the gratitude of the people we have helped.  That effort will continue regardless of what happens.

Stay well and God bless!

Dave

Marathons are like presidential campaigns…only shorter

In a less than lucid moment the other day I was toying with the idea that I might try an ultramarathon, a race longer than 26 miles.  Nothing crazy like 50 or 100 miles but maybe a 50K (about 31 miles).    The next day I found myself 5 miles into a 15 mile run on a 2 degree day with a 30-40 mph head wind and as I scrape the ice off my mustache and eyebrows a more rational version of myself decided to reconsider.   Instead, I decided that I should consider joining the presidential race.   

Like most candidates I built my list of pros and cons on why I would be qualified to run.
Pros:

-          Like the other candidates I have the stamina to travel long distances on a regular basis.  But where they need jets and buses I can save the environment by running.

-          I can be tenacious to the point of stubbornness when I know I’m right and everyone else is wrong…which is most of the time.

-          Like the other candidates, I have strong opinions on what we need to do to fix the country but no specifics on how I would get it done

-          I’m willing to party with just about anyone so I could be right at home with both parties. 

-          I have lots of experience debating.  Frequently  it involves whether to get out of bed to go running on cold mornings or  whether to stop or keep going on long runs.  

-          Campaign stops are like water stops…you stop for a bit of refreshment, some high fives with supporters, tell everyone you’re doing great and then off again till  you reach the next one.

-          I have 4 grandchildren (and 2 on the way) so lots of experience kissing babies (and cleaning up messes).

-          I have lots of people who support my races in the past.  Why not this one?

Cons:

-          I’m not much into mudslinging (but I could challenge other candidates to a Mud Run)

-          Fund raising…I don’t mind asking for money to help others.  Couldn’t get there for myself.

-          I have limited experience in politics (can’t decide if this is a Pro or Con).

-          Despite being a legend in my own mind, my ego isn’t big enough.

-          I’m not a very good liar

-          I think the Pope is a good guy

Despite the long list of Pros, and the overwhelming amount of encouragement I’ve received, I’ve decided that the race,  which will last over a year and a half, is much too much like an ultramarathon.  Instead, I’ll be sticking to shorter races like the marathon and focus my fund raising on making one small corner of the world a better place. 

I do wonder what it would be like if the presidential campaign season was limited to less than 3 months like other countries.   Since we call it a race, let’s have the  candidates compete in a Mud Run together as a way of seeing their true personalities.  Who will be the trash talkers before the race even starts.  Who would be the ones helping others over/under obstacles along the way.  Which ones would run around the mud pool, crawl through it or just throw it at others.   Which candidates have the staying power to complete the race and which ones drop out when the going gets tough.      It may not be the best way to pick a candidate but it would surely tell you a lot about them.  Worst case, it would shorten the campaign season and save a boat load of money.    

 Clearly I have too much time to think while I’m running. 

Till next time…

Second Efforts, Second Chances, Second Winds

In 2003 I ran the San Diego Rock and Roll Marathon with my daughter Heather and her roommate Abby.  It was their first marathon and they brought the old man along to keep them company.   Somewhere around 20 miles it became clear Abby was struggling, at one point mistaking one of the bands playing along the route for a water stop.  We got her into a medical tent and they worked on her for about 10 minutes, pouring salt packets into her mouth and giving her water.    Shortly after, as the medical team was arranging for a ride to the finish, Abby pops up off the cot and declares she’s going out to finish the race.    And we did.

Five  years before in 1998 at the mature running age of 11 year old, a  boy named James Bonnett completed the same marathon in 3:28 winning the under 19 division.  The next year in the Across the Years 24 hour race (where you run as many miles as you can in 24 hours) he finished second running just over 101 miles.  Over the next years he was a phenon among the ultra marathon crowd placing high in the ranking of a number of 50 and 100 mile races.    By 2010 at 24 years old he couldn’t run a half mile.   Down on his luck, separated from his wife, and in a job he didn’t like, he decided to try running again.  His first day out he couldn’t make it around the block.   Three years later he won one of the premier ultra marathons, the Zane Grey 50 Mile run.

In the 1972 Olympics a Finnish runner Lasse Viren,  running in the 10,000 meter race, tripped and fell clearly ending his chances of winning a medal.  He got up and not only finished in the medals, he won the gold and set an Olympic record.   He went on to win the gold in the 5,000 meter race as well.

In 1996, a few years before James ran the San Diego marathon, I thought I had run my last Boston Marathon.    I had been away from marathon running for almost a decade but I had signed up for the 100^Th Boston Marathon because…well..because it was the 100^th and I wanted to be part of the experience.   It was a great experience but definitely not anything to write home about in terms of performance.     With that under my belt I was done with Boston.  Or so I thought.

I’ve learned a lot from running over the years.   Like how to pace myself so I don’t burn out, how to deal with the frustration of injuries when you least can afford them,  and motivating yourself to get out of bed  for that long run on a single digit winter morning.  I’ve also learned that help often comes when you least expect it, like the popsicle someone gave me during a 90 degree Boston Marathon, or having your sister join me to get me through the tough miles at the end of a race.  Or a friend running with you and sharing your grief after the loss of a child. 

 While running has given me a lot, it’s greatest lesson have been in teaching me to deal with life’s challenges and knowing that second efforts can lead to second chances.

It’s the reason I started Help in the Nick of Time.  To find a way to give people who are struggling a little bit of a second wind, a little boost  to help them see the other side of the near term troubles and to help them help themselves to find a way forward.   Our efforts are modest but to the people they help they mean the world.   Showing them a second effort can lead to a second chance.  For the support you have given me over the years I can’t thank you enough.  

So while I thought I was done with Boston 20 years ago, life had other ideas.   This is my second effort to give others a second chance.   A goal worth running for.

Could it possibly be a decade of Boston Marathons?

There are not many things I can say I’ve done for 10 years in a row.    Sure there are the standard things like spending the holidays with your children, or making sure you get away with your wife for some one-on-one time.    But even those were challenged over the last decade, life sometimes just seems to get in the way.

So it is with no small measure of surprise that I find myself beginning my efforts to complete my 10^th Boston Marathons in a row.    There is no intended bragging here.   I couldn’t have made it this far without a lot of help along the way.  In fact I’d say it’s the support of all the friends and family who sent words of encouragement (if you can count calling me insane as encouragement),  home remedies for injuries, Christmas gifts of winter running gear, and most of all donations for the charities which have been a core of what keeps me going.

Someone asked me the other day if I was getting tired of running marathons.  “You’re over 60, when are you going to start acting your age”?    Given that we supposedly get more senile as we get older I figure I am acting my age.   Who knows, if I get a little older and crazier I may start looking at Ironman Triathlons.

For now I’m content with just being able to get out the door in the morning and put one foot in front of the other and at the same time knowing that my efforts are helping to raise funds for families in need.    I guess I’ll stop running when I stop caring.

So come along with me for another year and I promise I’ll do my best to make my trials and tribulations along the way as entertaining as possible. 

Stay tuned…the ride has just begun.