Hope, Belief, and Perspective

Last week I had my chemo-port removed, because my latest CT scan showed “favourable” results.  As much as I’d love to wax poetic about my existential journey into the deepest corners of my soul, I’m in a much more “matter of fact” kind of mood. Starting with these three:

1. I HATE cancer.
2. It takes everything in my power to try and channel that energy into something positive.
3. Running is my outlet.

My Belief about Perspective

As I’ve said before, cancer—or any adversity—can put things into perspective in a hurry. But life is an ongoing education and I’m also learning to put “perspective” into its proper perspective. You follow me?

Allow me to explain what I mean.

Imagine I’m standing directly in front of you holding up an ordinary medium-sized box. Printed on the front of it in large bold writing is the word “CANCER.” At first it’s the only word visible, because you’re looking at the box head on. Then you take a couple of steps to the left. Because of your new view point you can now see another side of the box and notice the words “POOR ME.” Finally, you take four or five steps back to the right so you can see along the opposite side, from here you spot the words “NEVER QUIT.” It’s still the same box, with the same word on the front, but just by moving your feet—a different perspective—it has changed dramatically.

And really, it’s that simple. If we keep our feet and our minds moving it allows us to change our perspective on anything at any time.

I personally believe that human consciousness is the most powerful tool on earth. And because we possess this ability to control our thoughts—and in turn, our actions—there is nothing stopping us from doing anything. Yet, I also think that we often lack the most important belief; the one in ourselves. Notwithstanding the external factors and/or influences of why we may have self-doubt in the first place, ultimately it is still a choice—OUR choice. We can’t control what others think or do—as much as we may like to—but we CAN control what we think and do.

My Belief about Hope

Let’s assume you’re a runner (I really HOPE you are) and have an upcoming race. You’ve trained hard and physically you’re ready. As the day approaches I say to you “I hope things go well.” Standing next to you is your training partner, also entered in the race. They’ve done the exact same training as you and to them I say “I believe you’ll do well.” Is there a difference? I think hope, no matter how noble the intentions, implies some level of uncertainty, whereas belief is concrete—absolute.

Don’t get me wrong, hope can be a wonderful thing. For example: I really HOPE cancer doesn’t resurface; and I’m hopeful THOUSANDS of people will read this blog. But those are things beyond my control. When it comes to my own mindset I prefer belief. I BELIEVE with all of my heart that I’ll go to the Gobi desert, run my race and finish well. I just hope it doesn’t get too hot and I don’t get bitten by a snake!

And that’s my perspective on hope and belief. For now at least; because my feet and mind are still moving so it could change at any time.

I’d like to leave you with something I recently read:

When I was a young man, I wanted to change the world.  I found it was difficult to change the world, so I tried to change my nation.  When I found I couldn't change the nation, I began to focus on my town.  I couldn't change the town and as an older man, I tried to change my family.  Now, as an old man, I realize the only thing I can change is myself, and suddenly I realize that if long ago I had changed myself, I could have made an impact on my family.  My family and I could have made an impact on our town.  Their impact could have changed the nation and I could indeed have changed the world. ~author unknown



The chemo-port that was in my chest. I asked to keep it as a souvenir.





Taking it to the next level

Here is my article from the February edition of iRun magazine.

So many of us runners get the calling; our inner voice tells us to stop thinking about it and do it already! Register for that 5k or 10k you’re considering; or the marathon or ultra you’ve been dreaming of.

For me it happened while staring at a picture of a silhouetted runner plodding through an imposing desert landscape. And when my calling came—which, I’ll swear was the voice of Yoda accompanied by the most majestic version of the Star Wars theme song ever—it simply said; “Jim, it’s time to take your running to the next level.”

Thank you… Yoda

The photo I’d been looking at was the book cover for ultra running legend Ray Zahab’s Running For My Life. The words resonated deeply with me because I was beginning a battle with cancer at the time. This was the guy who ran through the entire Sahara desert! So naturally I did what any confused runner-slash-cancer patient, seeking answers, bumbling through the seven steps of grief, and hearing Yoda in his head would do: I called up the dude who wrote the book. Ray was happy to talk to me so I decided to get in touch with top Canadian ultra runners, Stephanie Case and Ferg Hawk, and get even more advice. Since storming onto the ultra scene in 2008 by finishing as the top female in Racing the Planet Vietnam (a 250km stage race), Case has gone onto a multitude of other victories and top finishes at some very tough and prestigious races. Hawke, who is the subject of the running documentary Distance of truth, is a two-time runner up at the Badwater Ultramarathon (often deemed the hardest race on earth) and holds the second fastest time for a North American at the Marathon de Sables—at 243 km race in the Sahara desert.

What did I learn from Zahab, Case, and Hawke?

None of the three were running prodigies when they started. Until the late 90’s, Ray was a pack-a-day smoker, but since he’s quit and started running, he’s never looked back. Stephanie didn’t run her first marathon until 2005, “Back then I wasn’t really a ‘runner’. I dreaded almost every training run I went on and I couldn’t wait for the race to be over! If I hadn’t been running for charity, I don’t know if I would have made it to the finish line.” And Ferg only started running after a doctor’s visit. “I was overweight—too much beer and wings after slowpitch— the doctor told me my blood pressure was high, and I’d have to start taking medication. So I started running.”

My inner Yoda voice satisfied, I registered to run the 250km Gobi March through China’s Gobi Desert this summer. *gulp*.

Believe in yourself and spread the word

Although they came from humble running backgrounds, each has persevered and gone on to accomplish amazing things. Ray advised me to; “believe in yourself—no matter what. Selfdoubt will be there, but learn to push it aside.” Okay, I’m starting to believe, Ray. I’ve followed Stephanie’s advice, too. “Find a race that you think is out of your league and sign up before you have a chance to talk yourself out of it. Next, tell all your friends and family about it to make sure you won’t back out!” Check. I just told iRunNation, Stephanie!

Make like a Scout — be prepared!

These three individuals have had so much running success because they believe training is crucial. I regularly think about Ferg’s words: “We all have the ability to do these amazing things, but too often people aren’t willing to put in the hard work and sacrifice it takes to get there. For me it’s all about preparation.”

Add to that Stephanie’s advice; “Give yourself the time to train and everything is possible. And get advice. Building a support network around you is the best way to achieve your goals.”

Use the Force

While recently talking to Ray, he was firing off advice faster than I could process; “What is your ideal outcome? What is your secret goal; what do you really want out of this race?” Later, when I messaged him a thanks, I told him he was a running Jedi Knight. He coolly replied; “Learn to use the force, Jim. It’s strong in you.” And what is “the force,” really, but an internal strength and heightened mind-body connection? Maybe I do have it; maybe we all do. Maybe we can all use the force to take our running to the next level.

The Wolf Dream

Dear running diary; I have become a wolf.

Wolves are mythical creatures that have been held in reverence, or depicted as terrifying villains, through the millennia. And despite all their metaphorical references, they are simply a predatory animal trying to survive by using numbers and stealth to seek out prey. Their success, in part, comes from learning to exist in a hierarchical world where lesser wolves submit to dominant ones.

Or so says my subconscious.

Last February, two days post cancer surgery, my epidural was removed so I could be switched over to morphine for pain control. The drug, however, did more than that. It caused me to drift in and out of consciousness, before eventually falling into a trance like sleep and having the most vivid dream of my entire life. I can recall every single detail, in perfect clarity, as if it was real and happened only yesterday...

My morphine induced vision:

I was standing in a field of tall, thigh high grasses on the outskirts of some town. At my back were rows of houses bunched together like a bizarre militant Lego project... A.k.a. the suburbs.

The sun hung low in the sky and I knew I didn’t have many hours of daylight left. Yet, the pull of open land, lying endlessly stretched before me, was too strong. As I moved off, a small structure on the horizon caught my attention, it appeared to be a farm house.

The place reeled me in with bewitching power, and I suddenly I found myself at the end of the gravel laneway.  It wasn’t quite dark out, but not light, either—it was that brief, mystical period in between. With shadows and silhouettes dancing about, I slowly and cautiously inched my way forward. On my left was a tall wooden fence that stood eight or nine feet tall—the boards so close together that it created a wall. On my right hand side, touching the edge of the driveway was the old siding covered home.

The effect of the fence and house felt like being in a tunnel; and it was further emphasized by a dilapidated free standing garage directly in front of me. It was here that I had my wolf encounter. A huge, menacing looking animal with the hair on its upper back raised, its intense yellow eyes locked on me as it crept onto the driveway from behind the house.

We stood there, face to face, for what seemed like an eternity. I was frightened, but I knew it would be a bad decision to run. My feelings of vulnerability, however, seemed to hang heavy in the air. Smelling it as an opportunity, it attacked.

The wolf was on me—its large K9’s trying to close on my jugular—so fast that I barely had time to react. At the very last instant I managed to turn my body and raise my arm just enough for it to bite down into my right shoulder. The pain was excruciating, yet with my free arm, and using its forward momentum, was able to shove free. And then...

And then I woke up. Only, I was still mid-wolf-throw when I did, so continued to roll to my side while flailing my arm, which then smashed into an array of tubes and my I.V. pole. This seemed to snap me back to reality; it’s also when I noticed an intense pain in my right shoulder... the same spot I’d just been bitten!

I later found out the pain was an after-effect of surgery, caused by pumping air into my body so they could operate. But the dream had left a profound impact; easily understood if you read it again, except replace the word wolf with cancer.

What I couldn’t comprehend at first, though, was why a wolf? I don’t have a deep seeded fear for them—not like I do for, say, bears. But that’s when it dawned on me.  I’m not supposed to be terrified. I’m supposed to see cancer for what it is; “...simply a predatory animal, trying to survive by using numbers and stealth to seek out prey.” And thus my reasoning for embracing my own inner wolf: It means I am stronger and I am dominant.  Attack if you must, but don’t say I didn’t warn you.

The Journey Beyond Average

Cancer, despite its malicious attack on my body, has gifted me with a perpetual fear of death—which, in turn has forced me to realize some existential truths.  It may not seem like a fair trade off now, but eventually, I have no doubt, it’ll prove invaluable. You see, having the knowledge and belief that you’re capable of much more, yet, not acting on it is possibly the greatest weakness there is. And maybe it’s cliché, but it’s about time I lived up to my potential. I have the opportunity to be a difference maker and a positive influence—I can feel it. However, in order for that to happen, my thought patterns were and are in need of change.

This has always been the difficult part, because governing the direction of our thinking can be complicated. Our daily fears and doubts are ever present, continually magnifying; and the less we do about addressing them, the less we’re able to do. Eventually, our apprehension represses us so much that we miss out on opportunities, or even dreams, as we become uninspiring—average.  

And let’s face it; there’s nothing inspiring about average. Even though we may sympathize with it and its bag of excuses; it doesn’t exactly provoke a spark for change or action. What does move us, though, are the people who overcome adversity; stare down and face their challenges—own them. It’s the people who rise above, and show strength of character, who become our mentors; our motivators. Them, we’ll follow; because there’s just something about bravery that resonates very deep within us.

Personally, I believe it’s the positive energy which draws us in. Like a magnetic force or a light in the ever present abyss of negativity. When we glimpse courage in others, it reflects back to the potential that lies within. If they can accomplish or create something extraordinary, maybe it means it’s possible for us as well. After all, we’re each made up of the same stuff—biologically speaking. The only difference is the thoughts in our heads, which, we have the ability to control... or at least learn to. And as I’ve recently discovered, sometimes the learning curve can be very steep.

One of the most beautiful aspects of running is the influence it has on your mind. It’s a wonderful teacher of productive affirmation; which is very transferable to all other aspects of life. Perhaps that’s why I yearn to run even more now—post cancer. Don’t get me wrong, it won’t conquer all of our fears and doubts. But that’s okay; we’re supposed to have some as a survival mechanism. We just need to acknowledge their existence so we can then choose to channel them into something tangible and useful.

In every situation there are choices. And it’s the ones we make in the most challenging circumstances that define our legacy. I have no doubt the people around me would understand if I just wanted to get past cancer and back to a “normal” life. But I can’t and I won’t. My mind set has moved so far beyond normal—which I equate to average—that I don’t ever plan on seeing it again.

And if you’ve read this far, maybe it’s because you’re starting to believe in the same thing:  Yourself.

Lessons in living: One person's battle with cancer

I wrote this back in the summer for beingwell magazine, but it was just posted to the Cancer Society "fight back" website.

Some words can conjure up an array of powerful imagery and frightening thoughts, if we allow them to. One fearful word can beget the next until our minds play out the worst possible scenario: Cancer, major surgery, chemotherapy, death.

But, used effectively, words can also be a source of inspiration and strength: cancer, adversity, character defining, perseverance, victory.

Really, it’s all a matter of perspective.

Still, sitting in the cancer clinic at Southlake Regional Health Centre listening to the constant drip of my chemotherapy cocktail and the hum of the IV machine, I struggle to concentrate on the second set of words rather than the first. And I can’t help but wonder when I look around at the other people receiving treatment what’s going through their minds.

There’s a bond between those of us having to go through chemo and although it’s an unspoken one — in fact, I barely speak at all while in the chair — I can certainly feel it.

So I find myself trying to read their faces and analyze their body language in the hope they may give me some perspective on what words they’re choosing to listen to.

As tough as the physical aspect of cancer treatment is, the mental battle may be even worse. And this year has been a war for me.

When 2010 began, things were going very well for me and I honestly had no idea what was looming on the horizon. I was preparing to run another half-marathon and my personal training business was busy. I felt incredibly healthy and optimistic about what the New Year would bring.

But a couple weeks later my world was rocked. At 36, I was staring at my own mortality.

It was fate that brought me to the doctor’s office.

While volunteering with the Canadian Cancer Society, I had the opportunity to spend time listening to some moving stories of cancer survivors.

Almost without exception, they expressed regret over not having seen their doctor earlier, when they first noticed changes in their health.

Even though I was experiencing only mild symptoms, certainly nothing that was affecting my life in any way or would make me think cancer likely, I decided, as the cliché goes, it was better to be safe than sorry.

A good lesson: If I’d waited until the symptoms were becoming problematic, it would have most likely been too late.

When you hear the phrase colon cancer, you forget the embarrassment — or what seemed like that at the time — of having a colonoscopy.

Another lesson: How quickly pride can change to humility.

The next few weeks, my schedule was filled with a dizzying number of appointments at the hospital, for CT scans and MRIs, blood work and ultrasounds.

After receiving the wonderful news the cancer hadn’t metastasized to any major organs, I underwent surgery on Feb. 3 to have a section of my large intestine and a number of lymph nodes removed.

After a four-and-a-half-hour surgery, I spent the better part of the next five days in a hospital bed. I took an occasional gruelling walk up and down the hall; it felt like I was climbing a mountain.

In retrospect, the post-surgery recovery was the most humbling part of this whole process for me, perhaps the most humbling period of my entire life.

I had always been super-active and had worked for more than a decade as a personal trainer but during recovery, I was almost entirely dependent upon the care of the medical staff at the hospital. I couldn’t even roll over without their help.

The following weeks at home weren’t much easier. Even if I had wanted to disobey the medical staff by working out, I don’t think my body would have been capable. What I’m left with from the experience is a sizable scar, a shorter intestine and the lifelong memory of complete and utter weakness in my body.

A third lesson: We discover much about ourselves when we are at our most vulnerable.

Following surgery, I learned the cancer had spread to at least one lymph node and I would need chemotherapy.

As disappointing as the news was, it didn’t come as a total shock. My surgeon had been forthright with me from day one and I knew it was a distinct possibility.

I also learned Lesson 4: Self-pity only drains away energy that should be used to fight the good fight.

In the third week of March, I began the next chapter in the book I call Jim Kicks the Hell Out of Cancer. (Maybe the title gives away the ending a bit, but I’m not much of a suspense writer and it helps me stay optimistic.)

I won’t lie and say it has been easy. The nausea is horrible and carrying a chemo pump in my pocket is no fun. But I see the way it can wipe some people out, so I think I’ve got it pretty good.

I’m grateful there has been no travel for me through any of this. With the number of trips to the hospital I’ve made, it’s hard to imagine driving 50 km or more each time instead of the 4 km I do.

So here I am, part way through my 12 chemo treatments, spending hours and hours at the hospital, writing, watching and thinking.

One word has dominated my thoughts: Life. I’m only just beginning to grasp its magnitude. What does it mean to you? In the end, it doesn’t amount to anything but a word if you don’t act upon it and make the most of yours.

This is perhaps the most important lesson I’ve learned: Life is not about the things that happen to you, it’s about the things that you make happen.

Cancer has changed my outlook and my priorities and I’ve grown in many positive ways as a result. But cancer doesn’t define who you are as a person. Seven-inch scars on your body don’t speak to the type of character you possess. Six months of chemotherapy can’t show people what your values are. But how you deal with and respond to adversity tells the world everything about you.

So when my treatment is finished, will I go back to training to run half-marathons? Absolutely not — that would be too easy! It’s time to move onto bigger challenges, such as ultra-marathons. Compared to past several months, running 80 plus km will seem like a leisurely stroll.