The Annual Pre-Peachtree Post

Many of you know that I've participated in Atlanta's signature running event, the Peachtree Road Race more than 20 times now. It's the way me and 60,000 of my closest friends like to start our 4th of July celebration.

We're less than a week away now, from what I know will be a slow time for me, but I'm ready to run with this sign attached just in case somebody else thinks I'm running too slowly:

But for this post I want to focus on the first time I ran the Peachtree. It was back in 1980, and other than the Dolphin way-too-shorts,  and the requisite cheesy mustache as only a recently pubescent 14 year old can pull off, I looked pretty much the same as I do now. Also unchanged is the big goal of all but a handful of runners - those who might actually win the thing - namely, the Peachtree T-Shirt. A prized possession, this heavyweight cotton trophy was only available to those who beat the dreaded T-Shirt clock. That meant running the 6.2 mile hot and hilly course in 55 minutes or less, with one big ole asterisk.   Since the timing technology wasn't much to speak of, the only fair way to judge time was to start the T-shirt clock when the last person crossed the starting line. In other words, in a race of 25,000 participants, you really had a good 70 or 80 minutes to earn yourself a shirt. 

I ran that day with a couple of my best friends from the neighborhood, Brian S and Brian L. There was at least one other kid in our group, but since neither he nor his dad figures prominently into the story, I've forgotten who it was. If memory serves, we spent the night at the Brian S's house, and Mr. S was going to pick us up after the race. We'd arranged to meet at a particular large tree in Piedmont Park. Everyone knew the plan, or so we thought. 

The Farmer's Almanac website tells me the racetime temps must have been in the low 70's, about average for early July in Atlanta. I'm sure it was humid too. I remember being near Brian and Brian at the start, but I have no idea how long we ran together. I do know I finished alone, some 60 minutes later. I went through the water sprays, retrieved my t-shirt (left), and headed for the aforementioned tree. Mr S soon showed up, along with his Brian. That's when the fun began. 

Brian L was nowhere to be found. After a while, one's imagination kicks in. We'd seen stories in past Peachtree races about runners overcome with hear exhaustion, laid out on stretchers, being cared for by the medical team. Could that be where Brian was? As the minutes dragged on, concern grew. 

Finally, after a good 30 or 40 minutes, somebody in our party spotted Brian, wandering a bit aimlessly on the meadow. Mr. S asked him his whereabouts and when he failed to produce a suitable answer, the senior S declared, "Brian, why are you so damn GOOFY?" And from that moment on, for at least the next 10 years, everyone, I mean everyone, called Brian "Goofy." Poor guy!

I understand it's a bit of a sore point now that he's a successful real estate guy, so please, don't yell it out across a crowded room should you run into Brian L, OK?

For any of you planning to run the 2012 Peachtree, keep an eye out for my sign above. And if you're seeing it as I pass by you on Heartbreak Hill, just remember I had chemo and radiation treatment that week. What's your excuse?

Lessons from the Centenarians Club - Baltimore Chapter

After 104 years, you've probably learned a thing or two.

Fortunately, Marcie's grandmother Mary, is still of perfectly sound mind, incredible spirit, and impressive body. So even at her age, she was able to fully, thoroughly enjoy having her 2 children, 4 of her  grandchildren, and 5 of her great grandchildren with her for last weekend's festivities. She attended services at her synagogue on Saturday, as she does every Saturday, made her way to the pulpit for a speaking part in the service (called an "aliyah") , received good wishes from her fellow congregants at a reception after services, and travelled to a restaurant for a late lunch with the family. Her helper Doris (yes, Grandma lives in her own apartment still) quipped that the two of them would have to work extra hard at the gym after all that food.

The gym? Grandma goes to the gym 2 or 3 times per week. Having bought the lifetime membership 5 or 6 years ago, I guess she wants to get her money's worth.

Sunday morning brought brunch at Marcie's Aunt and Uncle's house. Grandma posed for pictures, refusing to hold her cane until she was sure the cameras were off. When it was time for my family to head to the airport, we were given a large tote bag, filled with treats Grandma had baked and frozen for us - mandel bread, raisin horns, cookies, mandlen (soup nuts), and chocolate-covered peanut butter balls. Luckily, that gene apparently passed through the paternal side of Marcie's family, because she too is quite the baker. We're hoping the longevity gene works the same way.

Later that day, Aunt Ilene and Uncle Elliot took Grandma out to a Mediterranean restaurant for dinner,  followed by a stroll around Baltimore's Inner Harbour.  I'm guessing she was the only walker whose age exceeded the high temperature that day.

So what are the lessons?

Be active - I met Grandma when she was a spry 82 year old. She continued to drive for the next dozen or so years, walked the mall in the mornings into her late 90's, and continues, to this day, to cook and bake for herself and her family. And the gym - did I mention the gym?

Enjoy your family - Marcie hasn't had much of a relationship with her biological father as an adult, but she stayed close to Grandma. Friday nights at Grandma's are among the memories of her childhood that Marcie cherishes most. And not just because of the homemade gefilte fish! Grandma was truly moved to see everyone this weekend, just as we were to see her. Ilene and Elliot deserve a huge thanks for helping us get there and for hosting.

Be happy - Easy to say, but in these 20 plus years that I've known her, I never once heard Grandma complain about an ache here or a pain there. Think about how many people you know in their 70's, 60's or even 50's spend most of their free time discussing maladies, doctor visits and the like. Hell, look at me - I'm 46 and I've written 24 columns on chemo treatments alone! I'm sure Grandma has her issues, but you'd never know it from talking with her.

Most people I know when asked if they'd want to live to 104 would say "no," because their view of someone that age involves nursing homes, soft foods, and the sunken look that comes from knowing you've outlived most of your generation and half of the next one. Take a look in Grandma's eyes, and you tell me. Is she not one of the happiest, healthiest, and most content-looking people of any age you've ever seen?

Happy Birthday Mary Shofer, with love and admiration, from the Beskinds.

UPDATE - It's official, Willard Scott says so!

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Live From the Chemo Room 24: Pre-Father's Day Edition

Father's Day.

It's an interesting concept. A day that used to involve buying dad a new tie, or so the cliche went. But most dad's don't wear ties anymore, so now we take dad to Outback or some other manly place for brunch or dinner as way of saying "thanks for being a dad, dad."

But for me, Father's Day is a reminder to put things in perspective. No matter how well or how crappy work is going, no matter how fancy a vacation you have planned for the summer or how concerned you are about paying the bills, no matter how much or how little you and your wife can enjoy a quiet moment here and there, if you are a father, there's nothing more important than the relationship you have with your kids. 

My dad traveled often for work, and when he was around, the stress of his job and who knows what else kept him from seeming happy much of the time. I'm afraid I'm like him in that way. I'm writing this in the hopes that by admitting to that publicly, I'll somehow force myself to be better with my kids - to be more present, more involved, and more outwardly happy with them. They are great kids, they want me to do stuff with them, and I want to be there for them, physically, and otherwise. 

I hope your Father's Day is a good one. This father is going to do a better job on the everyday.

My Baby Must've Smiled at Me

Oh, you Peter Allen fans know what's coming, don't you?

That's right - a little something from Burt Sugarman's Midnight Special. 

And while you enjoy it, I'll tell the rest of the folks what's going on. I was in Brazil last week for work, making stops in Brasilia, Belo Horizonte, Vitoria, and of course, Rio de Janeiro. The most surprising thing I learned on the trip was about that famous statue of Jesus that overlooks Rio from high above a mountain. 

The surprising part wasn't what the statue is made of, or how they managed to hoist it up to its lofty perch. No, I was stunned to learn that on a clear day, you can see the statue quite clearly from the 2nd floor men's bathroom at Rio's domestic airport. And not just from the common area of the bathroom, that would be interesting enough, to be sure, but this image was taken from the leftmost stall in said banheiro:

Upon my return, I did meet with the stereotactic radiation doc, this time it was the son of the original doctor I worked with last year. Kudos to anyone who just made a Son of Frankenstein leap in their head, but this guy's name is McCord, and I don't think he has a degree from the University of Ingolstadt. Anyway, Dr. McDoctor says we can do the radiation treatment again with little or no risk of complications, and since it was so effective the last time, he's expecting good results again.

OK doc, let's do this!

Now if only the treatment room didn't have those tesla coils buzzing and all those beakers full of boiling potions...

Weird Science

Anthony Michael Hall, before his critically-acclaimed SNL years, was famous for roles like the one he had in Weird Science. And Weird Science is where it looks like I'm headed for the next round of me vs. cancer.

The surgeon didn't think I was a good candidate for the scalpel - something about not wanting to ruin those massive P90X-infused pectoral muscles. So, pending a discussion with the radiation oncologist, we'll probably be using stereotactic radiation to fry those little spots in my lungs again. As you may recall, the last time this process was painless (other than the tattoo part) and side-effect-free, two qualities I truly admire in a treatment.

I've also restarted my oral chemo drug but in a lower dosage to try to minimize the  hand and foot sores that seem to go with Xeloda like peanut butter and, well, hand and foot sores.

But enough about me. Congrats to my friend Dawn whom you may have read about in my book. She's in New York this week for the photo shoot for the 2013 Colondar. No, I did not misspell that. It's a calendar filled with artfully done pictures of colon cancer survivors and their abdomens. Seriously. Check it out by clicking the link.