Hey Jealousy

First some good news in case you're not a Facebook pal 'o mine. I have been feeling much better this week, especially now that I'm more than a week removed from my return to chemo. My energy has returned, breathing is almost normal, and anyone wanting to make an accurate drawing of me can now use something other than "Ghost White" from the Crayola box to color me in.

All of this led me to don the gear this morning and to go for a...walk. It was 1.29 miles at an 18:01 pace. Sure, that's a far cry from the good ole days, when an 8:00 mile was a warm up and races were run at a mid 6:00 pace. No, not in high school. Actual data from the 2000's backs up my story.

Yes, I have the logs of every run I've done in the last 15 years, maybe more. Why? Because that's what Runners do. Joggers don't, and that's OK. Runners bought fancy watches to track distance and pace long before every phone sold had the ability to do the same via any number of apps. We keep up with how many miles we've run on each pair of shoes because we know that our favorite model is only good for x miles (300 in the case of the Asics Gel Kayano  line I've been wearing since about 1998.) We don't just go for a run - we have a plan: long, slow distance today, short run tomorrow, intervals at the track next Tuesday. We try to run something called negative splits, which are as painful as they sound, but for different reasons. We quietly sneak back into our houses after a 90 minute workout so as not to awaken our sleeping brood. We fly across the country so we can spend 24 hours running 200 miles down mountains and up hills as a part of a relay team.

As I've touched on many times before, I am a Runner.

At least I was. Today, as I walked back from Lakeside High, it hit me. A runner I didn't recognize was moving at a very decent clip down the hill on Briarcliff Road. I'd guess it was a 7:00 to 7:15 pace. As he passed, I began to wonder, "will I ever run like that again?" Perhaps, but it's far more likely that when I do get back to running, it won't look much like that at all. Running the Boston Marathon? It's hard to imagine I could qualify for the world's greatest race, let alone endure what would likely end up being a 6 hour torture test. Years ago, my friend PCF offered me a sponsor's exemption - maybe I should've taken her up on it.

So, yes, I'm a bit envious of dude-in-the-white-shirt, extending his stride in an attempt to let the hill do the work for him. Quick aside - as my pal B-Mock taught me in Oregon years ago, quick turnover, not a long stride, is the key to downhill running. White shirt - he's a runner. I hope he realizes that it's a gift to be able to push yourself to generate that runner's high.

Now before you start shaking your head and thinking I'm depressed by all of this, I assure you, I'm not. I'm resetting expectations so that I can have the joy of meeting or beating them one day. Maybe a 30 minute 5k in 2014 is an attainable goal. Maybe it will just be a 2 mile run without stopping. Who knows? My definition of "Runner" needs to evolve, to exclude pace and distance, and to focus instead on effort, accomplishment, camaraderie, and all the other intangibles on which we runners depend.

A Tale of T-shirts

A streak is ending this year. For the first time since 1994, I will not join tens of thousands of other runners for Peachtree Road Race on July 4th. That's 19 straight, 22 or 23 overall. The reward for all those hot and hilly 10K's is a collection of rarely worn t-shirts. Marcie, with help from some friends, is turning this collection into a quilt. Here's a small sample of what they have to work with:

This year, cancer has finally gotten the best of me. My breathing is challenged, and Peachtree is no place to test one's limits. I expected to be saddened by this forced retirement, but I'm not. I will surely miss the event: warming up with running pals David, Wes, Elizabeth and others, and seeing all the spectators lining the course, the kids holding signs cheering on their mom and dad, the 20-somethings drinking beer on decks. 

I'm actually grateful that it took 2 1/2 years to get to this point. I not only ran Peachtree twice since all this started, I also finished 4 half-marathons. In fact, other than the initial back pain that lead to my diagnosis, I haven't had any symptoms from the cancer itself until recently. I had side effects from the treatment, but if it weren't for the scans, I wouldn't have known the cancer was still there. 

I am hopeful that the new chemo treatment I started a couple weeks ago will improve things and allow me to get back to running. There are small signs after my first treatment. My breathing has improved. I'm not using the oxygen we'd had delivered to the house 3 weeks ago. And yesterday, I did my first exercise of any kind in many weeks - two sets of push ups, 22 in all. It's a start...

There's another T-shirt I'm starting to wear now. Dr Z used a certain pop-culture reference to describe me a couple weeks ago when we were talking about how fortunate I was to have gone this long without symptoms. Marcie and Josh picked up the corresponding shirt for me this week.

Do you like it?

By the way, retirement may not be forever. I hope to make a spectacular comeback next year. Good luck to those running Peachtree this year. See you soon!

Of Half-Marathons and Full Hearts

Here's a story about 4 ladies who make me feel good, or at least better than I otherwise would...

Pictured below are Taylor (l) and Trish (r) from Dr. Z's office. The sign in the middle was made by my daughter and her friend, our next door neighbor.

T&T ran the Publix Georgia Half Marathon last Sunday. They both knew of my running history, so we talked often about races. They couldn't believe I ran as much as I did during chemo. Sometimes I felt just the opposite - look how little I'm running.

The Publix Half is a great race, attracting close to 15,000 runners. I've done it myself a few times. Unlike the Savannah Half I've done the last two years, this one's all about the hills. Since I wasn't in race shape. I decided to come out and cheer on two of my favorite healthcare professionals, along with Danny G and many of my fellow Team Phidippides runners.

Taylor was too fast to see me as she rounded the corner from Highland Ave to Virginia, and Trish was only able to slow briefly lest she get trampled by the pack. So they missed the sign I'm holding above.

I wanted to stand out amongst the crowd, and lacking sufficient hair to bother dyeing brightly, a sign seemed like a good idea. Citing a need for good penmanship, I'd asked my daughter to help, and she in turn grabbed our next door neighbor. The two of them came up with this excellent poster, complete with St Patrick's day puns (I Rish you a good, fun race), pot o' gold, etc.

Needless to say the grown up gals were touched and impressed by the younger gals work.

And I'm just the guy who shleps neon-hued poster board from Va-Hi to Johns Creek, making everyone happy in the process.

Including me.

This is how you LIVE with Cancer

L-R: Danny, Dave, me, Luis

It wasn't about the time, which was lousy, or the medal, which will go in the pile with a dozen others from past races. And the t-shirt is a shade of green I won't likely wear again.

This weekend was about living.

It was about reliving old memories and good times with my 3 best friends from high school. It was about enjoying a beautiful weekend in a picturesque city with perfect weather. And yes, it was about running a half-marathon 10 days after my latest chemo treatment.

Let me be clear. I'm not posting this because I want people to congratulate me on the race. My message is much simpler. Cancer doesn't define me. I define me. I am a husband, father, runner, friend... There's no room on my personal business card for "cancer patient."

I know not everyone dealing with cancer is able to run a half marathon. And believe me there are days when I can't run at all. But everyone with cancer has something they did before they were diagnosed, something they think cancer can take away from them. Something that used to be a part of how they defined themselves. And something that doesn't have to go away.

I run more slowly than I ever have in my life. I feel worse than I ever did after races. So what? I'm still a runner. And a husband, father, and friend (and maybe even a little better at those 3 than I was before cancer came along).

Thanks Danny, David, and Luis for the weekend. Thanks Ghila for the awesome shirts. Thanks Marcie and our kids for all the encouragement. Thanks to you friends for reading this, and, I hope, carrying the message with you.

It's not for me, it's for my friend

So, I um, have this friend. And he recently got some news about having cancer, so, you know, I was wondering, if you could, you know, help my, um, friend out.

My running friends are just starting to hear that one of the really good guys in our midst recently learned he has cancer. He has a bunch of tests lined up next week that will help determine what the road ahead looks like. I've already talked to him and he's got a great attitude, exactly what I expect from the guy who I first met in a van during a 200 mile relay race in Oregon. "We're in it to WIN IT!" I recall this seemingly mild-mannered runner exclaim as we rumbled down the road towards Seaside.

So if you're one of this guy's friends, let me coach you a bit on how to handle it next time you see him. Avoid eye contact, pretend there's nothing wrong, and take advantage of his diminished energy level to finally beat him in a race.

Wait, that's all wrong. Let's try again.

It's OK to say "I heard, and that sucks." It's also OK to say "I'm sorry to hear about your cancer diagnosis" or similar words. In fact it's OK to say just about anything, although you do risk making onto his list of stupidest things people said to me when they heard I had cancer. What's important is to be supportive, as so many of you have been to me over the years since my first go round.

Support means lots of things. Encouraging words, slightly inappropriate eCards, a donation to a charity, a meal. For a runner, it might mean slowing down a bit on a long run a few months from now so he can keep up. Although knowing this guy as I do, that may not be an issue at all.

See you out there on the road, my friend!

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?

A Purposeful Run

It happened again.

Yesterday was another training run at Phidippides for the upcoming Georgia Marathon and Half-Marathon. When I was helping with registration, a woman came up to the table wearing a "Cancer Sucks" sweatshirt. I told her I liked it. The sweatshirt, not cancer.

There were 40 or 50 runners in our group and on the return portion of the out-and-back course, I saw her again. I turned and jogged with her for a few steps, learning that she was a survivor. "Seven months" she told me with well-deserved pride.

I greeted her at the end of the 8 mile run with a copy of my book. She was genuinely thrilled. I learned that this was her first run back after treatment, and while I don't necessarily recommend 8-milers for one's return to running, I was very happy she'd chosen that day and that event. I was inspired by her, and she said she was inspired by me. Sort of a Mutual Inspiration Society.

Towauna's friend took our picture, and I hope I'll get a copy of it to add to this post.

Keep running my friends, and keep Kickin Cancer's Butt!

Running/Cancer Karma

On the heels of yesterday's news comes some running/cancer karma of the good kind. As you may know, I'm a member of Team Phidippides, a socially competitive running team sponsored by my favorite running store here in Atlanta. I'd volunteered along with a few of my teammates to help lead a training group for the upcoming Georgia Marathon and Half Marathon in March. Today was our first official training run and I did 6 miles at a very decent pace.

After the run, people were hanging around enjoying breakfast and a seminar about Dead Butts. I've seen some really sick assholes in my day, but never a Dead Butt. I decided to grab one of my books from the car to give to Phidippides head honcho Susan. She was happy to have one and asked if I had a second one she could include in the raffle they were about to have for all the training run attendees. I did, so I handed it over, and began to wonder, who, besides me, is out here in 25 degree weather to do a run and wants to read my silly cancer book. 

Well, wouldn't you know, the raffle winner, Linda, had been treated for breast cancer last summer, and was actually hoping to win the book. We chatted for a while, and it felt really good to know that even as a new chapter in my journey begins, the chapters I wrote around the time Linda was beginning hers may now help her get through it all with an extra smile or two. 

Keep on running, Linda!

Bloody Good Start to 2012!

I was 9.5 miles into a 10.5 mile run today, thinking about how far I'd come in a year, about what a great year I could have in 2012, running-wise, when suddenly, the sidewalk monster grabbed me.

The result is a couple of bloody paws. And thanks to Avastin, the wonder drug with only one real side effect, it'll take a a good three or four months before these little beauties are ready for that audition for the cover of Hands Beautiful magazine.

But as we like to say in the Beskind household, sh&% happens. We're somewhat familiar with freak accidents in my house, so a pair of stinging manos aren't going to phase me.

I'm still looking forward to a great year, but I'll adjust my gaze to slightly more close range and downward next time I'm running on the cracked sidewalks on Oak Grove Road.

Happy New Year to all!

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Marathons that Matter

Life is a marathon, not a sprint - some guy who never ran a marathon in his life.

I have run a marathon, two in fact, along with about 10 half-marathons. Last Sunday, I ran my first marathon relay, teaming up with Mary-Gay, Wes, and David P. to form the team Three Straight Guys and a Mary-Gay. We took second place in the mixed gender division, lagging the leaders by a mere 30 minutes, but besting the 3rd place team by a full 6 seconds. I'd like to think that skipping the 3rd water stop on my 5.5 mile leg made the difference between silver and bronze.

But the marathon I want to talk about is the metaphorical one, not a real one, even though I am running in another half marathon this coming Saturday in Savannah. It's who I'm running with that brings the topic back to life, as in lifelong friends. You see, while Team 3SGAAM-G have known each other for 6 years or less, my friendships with Danny G., David S, and Luis G, easily total over 100 years (or if you prefer, a good 4 marathons worth of years.) I used to go to David's birthday parties when we were 2 and 3. We moved in a few doors down form Danny in 1973, and I seem to recall meeting Luis on the playground at Kittredge that same year.

By the time we were in high school together, we became a foursome. Well, there were others we hung out with regularly too, like Gregg, David C., Paul, Goofy, etc. but if I had to pick the core group, the four of us were it. We had much in common - we were reasonably "good" kids, with dark hair, Jewish (actually Luis isn't, but we passed him off at more than one party as Luis Schwartz from Baltimore and nobody doubted it for a minute). We had our first beers together, followed by a few hundred more. We drove crappy cars to even crappier jobs, then cruised around on weekends, going to midnight movies with one-handed ticket takers and making lists of the prettiest girls we knew, a couple of whom apparently read this blog from time to time.

We stayed tight right through college, with three of us in Athens and David down on North Avenue back when it was safe to walk around the campus. As often happens, we drifted a bit in our twenties, some moving far from home, then we started getting married, having babies, etc. But we all ended up back in Atlanta, 3 of us within a short run of the old 'hood and Luis  about a marathon away, give or take a couple miles. Now we're going to pile into what I hope is a slightly less crappy car and head down to Savannah where I suspect the post-race celebration will be more memorable than the race itself.

I'm looking forward to shuffling down River Street with three lifelong friends, reminiscing about bad teachers, cheap drinks, and whatever happened to all the pretty girls on that list.

Running on Water

I just mentioned to Marcie that a change in the itinerary for this weekend means I will be in Seattle on Saturday and will have time to run there in Sunday morning. 

I used to travel frequently to the Emerald City and I loved going for a run from my downtown hotel along the water. But what I just said to Marcie was that I was planning to go for a Run On The Water, you know, like this guy -->

Return of SuperMyles?

I was back on the track today with the OG Crew, which I recently pointed out on FB sounds like a gangsta rap group but isn't. They were zipping around doing 3 minute 800's (which is about 6 minute miles for those unfamiliar with track geometry), while I was sticking to their warm-up pace, more like 9 minute miles (you can do the conversion to 800's now if you'd like). The normally uber-fast Kate was jogging with me in her post-Hood-to-Coast recovery mode.

Just for fun, I decided to tag along with the zippers for a couple of 400's, and had respectable laps of 1:38 and 1:40, respectively. I always wanted to used respectable and respectively in the same sentence and now I have - twice. After another couple jogging laps, this time with Mary-Gay, I decided to see if my alter-ego SuperMyles was still available for duty. Back in the day, SuperMyles would start out with all the other runners, but then would kick in the booster rockets on the final turn to the amazement of most, including me.

SuperMyles was indeed available, and although he fired those boosters a bit too early, he was still able to coast home in a 1:27. That's somewhere in the high 5:40's pace per mile, and it felt really, really good.

SuperMyles may be coming soon to a track near you, weather and chemo permitting!

(Just for you, E)

PS - Love the Garmin Connect website.

I've Been to the Show

Imagine you're a pitcher, a bit past your prime. You spent a few seasons in the Majors, never a star, but a solid middle-reliever type. An injury cost you half a season and you've been working your way back through rehab starts in the minor leagues. You get encouraging text messages from some of your old buddies on the big league club as you begin the long climb back, hoping for one more shot at a ring. You decide to intensify your off-field workouts, so you go particularly hard in your P90X training one evening. That's when the phone rings. The big league club needs an extra arm, and since you've been pitching so well at the AA level, they want you to join the club the next day for a 6 AM game. (I know, but I need the game to be at 6 AM for my analogy to work). You get a decent night's sleep, but despite your best efforts, the game is already underway when you reach the ballpark. You barely have time to lace up your cleats when the starting pitcher goes down with a nasty blister and the skipper calls the bullpen, "that kid form the minor's ever make it here? Good, send him in."

You jump into the game, excited about being back with your old mates. You throw a heater past the league's leading hitter for a strike. But you feel yourself struggling to keep that fastball up in the low 90's. You back off, throwing sliders, and before you know it, you've gotten shelled. You barely make it through an inning, and as you pass the skipper on the dugout steps you say to him, "maybe I'm not ready yet, Skip." "Maybe not kid, but there was only one way to find out."

My running friends have already figured this one out, but for the rest of you, here's the translation. I'm the pitcher, cancer is my injury, the big-league club is a group of 7 runners, mostly my old crew and most of whom are under 40 both in age and 10k times, and the game was an 8 mile run they were all doing today. The inning was the second mile of their planned 8 mile run. My hope was to jump in at mile 1 and do a 6 miler with them. I made it one mile. Too fast a pace, too little recovery from last night's P90X workout, whatever the excuse, I ran out of gas.

I'm not ready to run with the big league club just yet, but I needed to see where I was, so I tried. I'll run with Adam this weekend and work on speed and stamina for a while before my next cup of coffee (more baseball talk, look it up). Now enjoy a scene from the best baseball movie not staring a cocaine addict as a wild relief pitcher.

Post Race Report

Adam and I had a great time running Peachtree, not to mention a Great Time (under 66 minutes).  As you can see by the photo, it was a family affair, assuming an affair involves two people getting sweaty while 3 others cheer them on (Marcie's behind the camera of course).

I was so proud of Adam during the race. He had never run longer than 5 miles before and the conditions at the start were as bad as they've been in 14 years (extra hot and super humid). Still, by the time we crested the hill by Piedmont Hospital (sometimes called Heartbreak Hill or Cardiac Hill), around 4 miles into the run, he was starting to say out loud the things I had planned to say to him:
"OK, that was the last hard hill, right?"
"T-shirt's straight ahead"
"We can do this!"

It was a very cool thing to see him taking on the role of the encourager, even though I didn't need the encouragement. There was no way I wasn't going to match him stride for stride, and when walking, step for step.

I had this sign pasted on my back and received many a compliment along the course, to which I usually responded "thanks, see you at the finish line."


Adam has already asked me what it would take to train for a half-marathon. I felt like Bobby Bonds watching his pre-steroidal offspring Barry lacing up the cleats for the first time. So proud!

A half would be an amazing accomplishment, but we're going to focus on building stamina for shorter stuff for now. And there's no reason we have to be the only Beskinds in the finisher's list next year. Who knows, maybe one day, you'll see all 5 of us kickin' it down Peachtree Street!

PS - My book is very near completion. Hit the link on the right or go to www.facebook.com/cancerhumor  and "like" so I can let you know the minute it's released!

Resetting Expectations

One week from today is the Peachtree Road Race, the World's Largest 10K race. That's 6.2 miles for those of you who ignored metric conversion in school. This wil be something like my 23rd or 24th time running Peachtree. The last dozen times I've finished in the Top 1000 (out of 55,000 entrants) and earned myself a mug commemorating that accomplishment.

This year will be different. Before yesterday, I hadn't completed a run of 6 miles in over 9 months. It's been an annual tradition to run the Peachtree course, then turn around and run back to the start, about a week or two before the race. While we couldn't do that whole distance this year, David P and I did do the final 3.5 miles of the race, including all the uphill portions, and returned to our starting point, for a 7 mile run yesterday. There were walk breaks and the pace was relatively slow, but we finished it. I thank David for slowing down to hang with me.

So I'm confident I could finish the race, probably in the 55 minute range, which was always my goal in the early years at Peachtree. But I'm not going to do that. You see, this year will be Adam's first attempt at Peachtree and I'm really looking forward to running the whole way with him. Well, running and walking. We've been training together the last couple of weeks, and we figure 70 minutes is a good goal for us - running 9.5 to 10 minute miles, with walk breaks of 90 seconds after every 9 minutes. The race starts at 7:30 but our group won't begin until 7:50. The time doesn't matter. What matters is one of my kids is choosing to help me celebrate my comeback from this latest round of battling cancer by doing something I love to do. I hope he loves it too, and that this is the first of many Peachtrees we can experience together.

Next Monday, around 9 a.m., I'm, planning to let out my loudest crossing the finish line exclamation ever, not just because I'm Kicking Cancer's Butt. I'll be yelling with pride for my son, who is turning into quite the young man. Whether he chooses to continue running is entirely up to him. I'm just looking forward to one of my best Peachtrees ever.

Much Better Now

Just a quickie to let you all know this past Derby weekend brought me through the turn, now we're in the homestretch.

Translation - I felt like myself again yesterday. A slightly fatigued version of myself, but still myself. Had a nice evening with Marcie's folks grilling out at their place for Mother's Day. Our sliders and corn shared the community grill with some dude's thickest-steaks-ever. He nicely said all the smoke generated by the grease fire from my too-fatty beef was adding flavor to his $20/lb filets. BTW - I'm still not eating red meat,  so I made turkey/spinach sliders for myself. They managed not to ignite.

The weather is Summer-like this week. Might just have to lace up the running shoes. To remind myself of the short term goal, I dug up my first Peachtree Number. In 1980, running shorts were really short, and I finished in the 65 minute range. In those days you had to beat the 55 minute T-shirt clock to get a coveted shirt, but the clock didn't start until the last runner crossed the starting line. Even when the race was "only" 25,000 people, that meant a good 30 minute cushion. Now everyone gets a shirt, and all the timing is electronic based on a chip you attach to your shoe. 60,000 people will start the race on July 4th, including, we hope, me and Adam.

Re-masculated

e·mas·cu·late

 [v. ih-mas-kyuh-leyt; adj. ih-mas-kyuh-lit, -leyt] verb, -lat·ed,

–verb (used with object)

1. to deprive of strength or vigor; weaken.

–adjective

2. deprived of or lacking strength or vigor

re·mas·cu·late

 [v. re-mas-kyuh-leyt; adj. re-mas-kyuh-lit, -leyt] verb, -lat·ed,

–verb (used with object)

1.    A word I made up for reasons you’ll soon understand

It’s .7 miles from my house to the new Mary Scott Nature Park off Briarcliff Rd. Seven-tenths. From my driveway, it’s .1 downhill, .4 up a gentle hill and less than a quarter-mile of flat road to the park entrance, which now features a sign but still lacks a paved driveway and with nary a ramp in sight is sure to be the subject of an ADA lawsuit. But it is a beautiful space with a half-mile or so soft surface path cut through thick woods – an ideal retreat from the nearby traffic and, soon, the summer sun.

That was my goal today: to and from the park with a couple loops on the trail. But it didn’t turn out that way. Halfway up the short hill, I could feel my heart beating faster than it should at that point in a run, so I backed off the pace. Stopping for a moment at the one traffic light en route helped me drop below 150 bpm (I’m guessing, since I don’t wear a monitor).  By the way, driver of the white Odyssey, in case the message wasn’t clear, when you try to make that left turn onto Shallowford after the turn light has gone red, I’m going to walk more slowly through the crosswalk every time. Guaranteed.  Have a nice day.

Upon arriving at the park, I had to rethink the plan. My heart was now pounding out the staccato beat of a WWII gunner’s nest , and just for giggles, my hands were beginning to tingle like I’d been juggling jellyfish. Nothing to be alarmed about, these are pretty normal responses to exertion with chemo side effects. But there would be no 3 miler today. I felt emasculated.

I walked a minute or two and turned to head home, defeated. To my surprise, the flat part on the way back actually felt pretty good, and the stinging had subsided. Something told me to detour, taking the long way back through a couple of side streets instead of the now traffic-choked Briarcliff. So the back half of my brief run was better than and longer than the front. Re-masculated? Not quite yet.

I arrived at the house and my run became a walk – a cooldown after a ridiculously short jog that had been broken into 4 even shorter sections. As I turned back to the house, Josh came running out from the garage, yelling “Daddy” and grinning. He just wanted a hug and to see how my run was. “It was pretty good, Josh,” I said.

Re-masculated.

On the Seventh Day, He Ran (then he rested)

I have been feeling pretty good this week. World's Greatest Boss Val noticed the color had fully returned to my face this morning, and given the lighting in my office, that's saying something!

So I decided to try running after visiting my dad on his last night of rehab, the kind you go to when you're 82 and you've been in the hospital, not the Charlie Sheen kind. Besides, that kind never works, leaving the Wild Thing to cure himself. With his mind.

The route was challenging - Wesley Woods to Old Briarcliff, across the Emory intramural fields, up to Frat Row, over the new pedestrian bridge to the School of Public Health, then Clifton back to the start. I looped around WW enough to make it a 5k. Now I will admit to walking parts of a couple of the hills, but my pace sans walks was under 8:30/mile. That used to be a recovery pace on a long run. Now it's my fastest run of the year!

By the way, I found a way to cut big dollars from the Federal Budget while improving waistlines across the country. Locate all Federal buildings on a hillside as steep as the CDC's. Then require all workers to walk from the parking lot to the street once per day. I guarantee you healthcare costs and pants sizes will go down for those employees. There you go, Mr. President, the next trillion is up to you.

We then had a blast at Trivia night with Dara, Greg and his neighbors, and birthday girl Evelyn and hubby Paul. We scored third place thanks to E knowing the patron saint of dance and her eponymous affliction, not to mention Greg's Osc-session. Winning, as Charlie might say.

After that very full evening, it's time for bed, little mouse, little mouse. Darkness is falling all over the house.

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Round and Round and Round

This probably isn't what Joni had in mind, but today marked my return to the track, and it was great to see some old friends and many of the new crew I'd been hearing about since last Fall. John and Wes go back to the Black Mat Running Club days at Tucker High, before they tore the place up and made it all fancy. E's been my self-described running sister for years now, and they even made sure that I wasn't the oldest runner there (thanks Robyn). David, Eileen, and Kate - hope we'll see out there soon!

An 800 and a trio of 400's isn't much to write home about, but it sure felt good to me. Five times around the really cushy surface at St Pius is enough to make you realize 1) us Jews have nothing on these Catholic folks when it comes to raising money and 2) you won't hear me complaining about the boredom of track workouts anytime soon.

10k down, miles and miles to go

The weather in Atlanta has been March-like this weekend, with highs in the 60's. I took advantage and ran 5 kilometers twice, which I will probably regret, having previously run a total of 12 miles over the last two months. But here's the thing. If you are a runner, you run whenever you can. Warm weather makes it easier, but most of my running friends and I would never let a sub-20 degree morning in January keep us from getting in some road work. You do it, because running is what you love to do and because without it you risk turning into a complete ass, at least according to those with whom you live. 

When you have cancer, it's a little different. You don't do stuff because you enjoy it or because it makes you amiable. You have a better reason. So when they tell you they're going to zap your backside once a day for two weeks, and that it might turn you mocha in places you were previously pasty white, you do it. When they want to pump you full of poison that will make you nauseous, cause you to need Imodium in the Sam's Club 500 count bottle, or turn your chest hair orange, you do it. OK I made that last one up. I'm only one chemo treatment into this new routine, and it's probably best to assume there are many more to come. It's easy to sound tough about it when you're feeling good, as I am now. What's hard is pushing through all the crap (meant figuratively...mostly) and eating the day after chemo when it's the last thing you want to do. It's drinking 2 gallons of fluid on the days when you just want to curl up and watch ESPN2 all day (because one can't get enough bowling, women's college hockey, etc.). 

I wasn't so good at those things the first time so I lost weight. A lot of weight. As most of you know, I'm not somebody who was fighting to knock those last ten pounds off. Thanks to (reasonably) good living and all those miles on the roads, I've weighed about 170 lbs since my senior year and Briarcliff High (shout out to you Barons). When the nurse weighed me at 162 a week after chemo, I knew I was in trouble. So after 10 days of packing in the calories, I'm within a donut or two of 170 now. Just in time to start all over again this Thursday. 

Our neighbor, the drug rep (the legitimate kind, so no help with that brownie project we talked about, DG), came by today with lots of good info about how to prevent side effects from getting to Stage 3 or 4. Who knew side effects had stages just like cancer does? After selling oncology drugs for years, she's heard it all. If you ever want to talk diarrhea, especially the chemo-induced kind, stop by and I'll introduce you. Seriously, thank you Jackie for caring and for sharing! By the way, I guess we owe our real estate agent Steve Tinter big thank you for 16 years ago putting us on a street where we'd eventually be surrounded by MD's and at least one pharma-rep. It's a bit like what David S said about living in Druid Hills. If some kid falls on the ice on Ridgewood, six pediatricians swarm in to check vitals. It's very comforting.

The road I'm on is very long, and I've taken only a few steps down it. But miles and miles from here, there's one helluva post-race party. You're all invited to join me there. Just make sure to leave one of the porta-potties available for me, OK?