The Sights & Sounds of Rock Bottom

Sometimes things spiral downwards until we find ourselves at rock bottom. And sometimes it’s at rock bottom that we really find ourselves.

I haven’t shared this story with many people so figured it was about time...

It was a month into my six-months of chemotherapy—my spirits were already low given the surgeries, finding out the cancer had spread, and having to start chemo—when things got even worse. 

I’d completed treatment for the day and was back at home, but the usual nausea I’d been dealing with just kept escalating to the point where I’d become the sickest I’ve ever been in my life. I was delirious from the fever and my body felt like it was fighting a losing battle against gravity. I could barely move, even to throw up. And there were more than a few times when I thought “this is it, I’m going to die.”

At some point in the early evening I found myself in the hospital emergency room. They weren’t sure what was happening and wanted to keep me there for monitoring. But there wasn’t a room available so I had to wait. And I did. For several hours I just sat there, slumped over in a wheel chair, because I was too weak to stand, in a hallway off to the side. A large blanket was draped over my body and I was sporting a surgical mask, lest my compromised immune system catch any hospital germs. All that were visible were my eyes, and I can’t help but wonder what they were saying to the outside world. I know what I felt on the inside...

It was one of the lowest points of my life. I was only 36 years old. I’d been an athlete most of my life. I’d never been sick before cancer... and look at me now. This could be it. I might not make it out of here.

My brain wasn’t necessarily in the most rational state, and some of the day is still a blur, but I distinctly remember (amid the delirium, pity-party and anger) two little words starting to form in the back of my mind. They told me to “rise up.” At first it was only a background thought, but they just kept getting louder and more convincing, until eventually I had no choice but to listen.

The next time the nurse came over to check on me, I told her was going home. A few nurses and a doctor later, trying to convince me to stay, I was signing a waiver form so I could be released. And as I struggled to my feet, shuffled the hell out of there as fast as I could, I heard those words again.

It took a few days, but the fever broke and I started to get better. Now I only had five more months of chemo to endure. Something I knew I could handle no problem if I just kept listening to my new mantra.

What I’d realized, sitting in that wheelchair, was that I’d been doing things on cancer’s terms. It was about freaking time I started doing them on my own. Leaving the hospital might not have been the smartest choice, and I’m not suggesting anyone else should do it, but in that moment it was the right choice for me. I needed to let cancer know that I’d fight it with the most powerful weapon I had—my thoughts. I needed to... rise up.

There’s still not a day that goes by where I don’t tell myself those two words.

Rise up

Rise up.

Life will knock you down, but rise up. You'll be faced with adversity, but see the opportunity and rise up. Others might upset/ anger/ frustrate you, but be the bigger person and rise up. You'll screw up, but learn from it and rise up...

Because that's what living is...the highs and lows; the falling and rising. But the rising part is our choice. And not always the easy one. If we keep rising though, friends, we''ll continue to get stronger, and it will get easier. Then, it's our strength that will shape our world around us.

As I do my last minute prep work, before heading to Chile for the Atacama Crossing, I've had to remind myself of those words a few times. 

I had a mild knee sprain about a month back that has altered my training and I'm not in the shape I'd like to be. BUT I've recently had blood work and a CT scan that indicate my health is good. I have to look at the bigger picture here. So despite not being as fit as I'd like, and not having done any altitude training, I'm alive and going to freaking Chile! How awesome is that!? I don't care where I finish in the standings, I'm just going to do my best to make sure I finish. 

At the end of my life, one of the things I want to be remembered for is being the kinda dude who always made the effort to rise up.

Scars, experiences and the light

One week post surgery 2010. Thirty-nine

staples and hundreds of stitches underneath.

I look in the mirror and I no longer see a scar. Now, I only see an experience. And what are we in life, really, but a sum of our experiences. Me, I’ve lived through cancer and am stronger because of it.

As more time passes and my hatred for this disease is slowly replaced by resolve, I realize how different of a person I‘ve become.  Case in point, I no longer need to hide behind a façade of bravery, but can openly admit thoughts of being inadequate, inferior, or vulnerable. Because I’ve been to that place—the one where façade’s come crashing down all around you—and it’s strange, it’s surreal, and it’s humbling. Be that as it may, it’s also deeply empowering to realize the only thing left is the truth.

Underneath the masks and personas lurk our fears and demons. And whether it’s me or you; crazy Aunt Betty or Chuck-friggen-Norris, we all have them. When challenges arise, however, the ultimate truth is revealed in how we cope and how we persevere, despite them.

In less than a month I’ll be headed into the Gobi desert to run a 250km race, which will be yet another experience and a different kind of challenge. And it’s one that I’ve been asked about numerous times. I think people wonder what the hell is really pushing me to do this—particularly so soon after chemo, when I still have lingering side effects.

Well, along with the obvious motivators such as raising money for a great organization in TRAILS, and just the sheer adventure of it, there is one underlying reason. Which incidentally has nothing to do with competition; I’m not going there to go up against any other runners.  The way I see it they’re my team mates—much the same way those in the chemo clinic were—and we share the same goal; to get to the finish line.  Nor am I going there to pit myself against the terrain and/ or elements.  It’s just the playing surface, and game time conditions will be harsh. Rather, what’s truly driving me is the opportunity to send a message. I think this race gives me the voice I need to do that.

WHEN I cross the finish line, I’ll have this note written on a piece of paper in my backpack:

Cancer,

You attacked me because that is what you do. And I know given the opportunity you’ll do it again and again. But you should know who you’re up against. Today’s finish line is just the starting line for so many other things. The war may not be over, but I will fight you every step of the way. I’m stronger than you ever thought possible. And I will never, ever quit.

“Our deepest fear is not that we are inadequate. Our deepest fear is that we are powerful beyond measure. It is our light, not our darkness that most frightens us. We ask ourselves, Who am I to be brilliant, gorgeous, talented, fabulous? Actually, who are you not to be?” ~ Marianne Williamson

Running for my life

This is an article I wrote for the June 2010 issue of iRun magazine:

How many experiences in our lives can be classified as monumental enough to be destiny shifting - the kind of moments that are so powerful, they can move us all the way to the foundation of our core values? And if or when one of these events happens to you will you view it as hardship and misfortune…or perceive it as opportunity?

When 2010 began, the most pressing challenge facing me, or so I thought, was how to schedule the necessary runs to ensure hitting my 1:30 half-marathon goal in March. But as noted, life has the ability to humble you beyond belief at any point in time, and just a few weeks into the year my world was irrevocably rocked. At 36, I was staring in the face of - what I assumed would be decades away - my own mortality.

YOU REALLY, REALLY NEED TO GO FOR A RUN

It’s too bad it often takes something life threatening to give us a glimpse of divine insight. And I’d like to say I’m different, but obviously not, because like many before me, my proverbial eyes were opened in a doctor’s office. When you’re diagnosed with cancer - in my case, a large intestinal tumour - two things immediately happen to you. The first of which is nothing; literally. You simply go blank, as if everything you thought you knew has come to a screeching halt. And second, the instant things do begin to move again, it’s with a mind jarring explosion of emotions; fear, anger, disgust, and in this case, surprise - a lot of surprise.

Yet, this isn’t a story of my emotional battle with and/or triumph over cancer, which at this point is still a daily struggle; it's about one very simple realization. Because, although there were a barrage of voices bellowing in my head after the news, there was one yelling louder than all the rest; and it was saying “you really, really need to go for a run.”

THE POWER TO HEAL AND STRENGTHEN

Like an addict needing a fix, I did need to run, and the next day had possibly the best of my life. Hopefully you’ve been fortunate enough to enjoy one of these surreal episodes and can relate. As I moved along - or more appropriate, glided - my body, my whole being, was in a higher state of awareness. Everything felt fantastic, connected, perfectly synchronized. The air going in and out of my lungs, my heart as it pumped in my chest, the rhythm of my feet hitting the ground, the feel of the wind on my face... It’s possible I could have gone on like that forever.

I used the run. Milked it for all I could, from its therapeutic effect, to its power to heal and strengthen. After all, it’s what we do, we use our runs to remedy all manner of ailment; it’s part of the allure and magic of our beautiful and peculiar obsession. And just three days later that notion was reinforced to me by a woman taking the 10k clinic I’d been teaching. I’ll never forget - as we jogged through the night, snow falling around us - how she shared with me her journey into the world of running. She explained how last year she was diagnosed with thyroid cancer, and after the initial shock wore off, felt absolutely compelled to prove her resolve, if only to herself. Now, here was a woman with zero running background, yet decided to go out and train for a half-marathon. And she met her goal too, at the Scotiabank Waterfront Half-Marathon in Toronto last September.

THIS IS WHO I AM; AND THIS IS MY OPPORTUNITY

As I listened to her that evening, I really got it; it was perfect logic that likely only a fellow runner could comprehend. The truth is we are all motivated to do this for something, some internal force. And that connects every one of us. Think about it, when you see another runner what do you do? Even if you’re in the car and they’re ambling along the road side, you look. You look, because in that single glance you understand why they do it and you understand them.

Which means you also understand me, and in turn, my realization. It’s not about the things that happen to you, it’s about the things you make happen. Just like 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 consist of. But how you deal with and respond to adversity, says everything about you. And my personal response to cancer: a marathon when I’m done chemo treatments in the fall, and an ultra marathon next spring. That is who I am; and this is my opportunity.