About the Marathon

By the way, the marathon went much better than I thought (or feared) it would (maybe this bodes well for the Rainier climb?). My time was about 4:20. I never even felt any tightness in my IT Band. And while my legs did start to cramp up a bit after the dreaded "Assault on Battery" at mile 15, by slowing down a bit it never progressed to the wrenching-and-stumbling pain that it did at the Cape Cod marathon. For this I should probably thank Michael Quinn, who paced us well throughout the race, and maybe to the massive doses of "NUUN" that I ingested in the last few days before the race.

Once again, I was the only marathoner running in cutoff khaki pants with pleats.

The day's miracle, however, went to the third runner in our group, Peter Newberry, whose training program maxed out with a 12-mile run, fell behind Michael and I at about mile 6, and was pretty much left for dead, but somehow still finished the marathon about an hour after we did. We were standing around the finish area wondering about all the ambulance sirens when Lauren spotted him crossing the finish line. Amazing.

It's Simply There

In the May 26th Boston Globe, health writer Judy Foreman reacts to the (particularly American?) reaction that some people have to cancer news (excerpt):

HEALTH SENSE
'Fighting' isn't how you deal with cancer

By Judy Foreman | May 26, 2008

Fight, Ted, fight!"

This mantra, chanted over and over to give moral support to Senator Edward M. Kennedy as he faces brain cancer, drives me nuts. The caring behind it is wonderful; the metaphor is not.

Cancer is not a football game. It's more of an involuntary dance with a partner you didn't choose, more judo than battlefield warfare.

It's not that I think that Ted Kennedy should sail quietly off into the sunset with the word "ACCEPTANCE" emblazoned on his shirt. Certainly not yet. I think he should, and no doubt will, muster his considerable intellectual, emotional, spiritual, political, financial, familial, and social power to deal with his cancer on all fronts.

And when the time to die comes, as it clearly will someday for him, just like the rest of us, that too can be faced with grace, not guns. I've seen a dear friend do it. I've seen my mother do it. I've seen my husband do it.

The fighting metaphor is insidious because it subtly and not so subtly implies that if you fight, you can "win." And if you don't fight hard enough, you "lose" and are therefore a "loser." In truth, cancer doesn't care whether you fight or not, whether you win or not. It's simply there, just like all the other horrible, debilitating, scary, painful, life-wrecking chronic diseases that millions of Americans deal with every day.

This fighting thing is so American, isn't it? We think of the world as populated by good guys and bad guys. We believe so naively in our power to triumph over adversity, not just as a moral value but as a life-saver. We think a "good attitude" improves survival, while pessimism begets failure and death. But studies show that, while optimism may feel better than pessimism, it rarely, if ever, affects outcome.

And that's a good thing, not a bad one, because it takes away the guilt of feeling so responsible for everything -- the mistaken belief that we have more control over our fate than we actually do....

Our Story: Take Two (Lauren's 9/2007 Radio Interview)

My wife Lauren is far more articulate than I am. End of story. This is as good a time as ever to let her have her say.

Please have a listen to this 9/19/2007 interview she gave to Vermont Public Radio's Mitch Wertleib (MP3 version), starting with the question, "How did you feel when you first learned that your son had leukemia?"

On a related note, if you're in the U.S., please urge your elected representatives to support the Conquer Childhood Cancer Act of 2008. You can write them a letter about it here. The act, which provides specific funding for childhood cancer research, is currently under consideration by both the House and the Senate.

1979 To 1997

Here's another non-sequitur for my loyal readers. Almost 30 years ago a man named Jamie Livingston started taking Polaroid pictures, one per day, and saving them. My friend Svenja, who knew Jamie Livingston well, is in quite a few of these pictures.

Sometimes incidental, sometimes carefully composed, these images capture intimate moments in time. Looking through them is voyeuristic, sometimes kitschy, and often resonant for anyone who lived through the period 1979 to 1997.

Ultimately these pictures are haunting.



Jamie's Polaroids have been on the web for awhile, but a couple of days ago they were also "discovered" by an online writer for "mental_floss" magazine, who wrote a short piece about his discovery (with sample photos) a couple of days ago. An excerpt:

"Yesterday I came across a slightly mysterious website — a collection of Polaroids, one per day, from March 31, 1979 through October 25, 1997. There’s no author listed, no contact info, and no other indication as to where these came from. So, naturally, I started looking through the photos. I was stunned by what I found...."

Jamie Livingston died of cancer on October 25, 1997; it was his 41st birthday.

First 2008 Report From the Emmons Route

Here's the first climbing report I've seen this year for our planned route up Mt. Rainier (White River Campground > Glacier Basin > Camp Schurman > Emmons Glacier > Summit)(Source: Mt Rainier Climbing Rangers):

Emmons/Winthrop Glacier approach: May 24th, 2008

The road to White River is still not open due to the large amounts of snow removal required this year, and as a result the approach to east side routes has become very long. Parties should allow between 6 and 10 hours just getting to Glacier basin. (See road conditions for current information)

Although the Glacier Basin trail is still covered by multiple feet of snow in most places, this allows fairly easy travel with skis since most of the fallen trees and streams are still under the snowpack. Expect conditions to change quickly as the weather warms and the snow continues to melt. There have been a few parties hiking in but there is no real boot track to follow, so be prepared to do some route finding on the way in. There is some bright yellow flagging in some less obvious areas of the trail, but much of the route is unflagged.

The route up the Inter Glacier to Camp Schurman is very direct right now with only one visible crevasse. The skiing in this area is excellent and with the longer approach people could have a less crowded wilderness experience if they are willing to work a little harder.

Let's hope they get that road plowed between now and June 22nd. These pictures of road clearing efforts this Spring at Cayuse Pass (a few miles from our access road) will give you some idea of what they're up against.

Marathon Results (Sunday 5/25)

Sunday's Vermont City Marathon starts at 8AM. For those of you curious to see if I survive, race results will be available here sometime after the race is over.

Incidentally: Jon Lester

Three hurrahs for Red Sox pitcher Jon Lester, who not only went to my friend Marj's high school in Tacoma, Washington (West of Mt. Rainier), but who came back from an August 2006 Lymphoma diagnosis to win Game 4 of the 2007 World Series and, last night, pitch a no-hitter against the Kansas City Royals.

Is there a Jon Lester bobblehead? If so, I should take it up the mountain.

Did I Mention...

...that I have shingles? Yee haw.

Can I reiterate, also, that I'm running a marathon in 5 days?

Let's see: Shingles + Marathon = what???

Pain? Damage? Glares from strangers in the showers?

(For some reason I seem to get those glares all the time anyway.)

I hope there aren't any lasting ramifications. A month from now I'll be headed West.

The Bob Mountain Report

Mt Rainier from Paradise Rd, 5/15/08
Photo by © jdm_photo - Jeff McCrory

Bob spent the other day on the Southern flank of Mt. Rainier, near Paradise, learning how to slide down a mountain (and self-arrest with an ice ax). Here's his report:

Freezing level today was around 15,000 feet. At 5,000 feet, at Paradise, it was a scorcher. In the sixties somewhere and I wasn’t properly dressed. Ended up shedding my hat on the way up. Big mistake. Top of my head is tender to the touch, face and neck (liberally applied SPF 30 with zinc oxide) are bright red. Nice raccoon eyes. Gortex is good for sliding, but not for general wear. I’ll be shopping for better pants to wear up.

It felt good, however, to be up on the hill and practicing. I liked the notion of a steady measured pace heading up and down. Goes against my nature (evidenced by the knee episode) of just powering through, but does make the whole process seem more doable. Sliding down the hill was fun and doing the arrests was a great way to cool off, especially since I forgot to zip up the sides of my pants the first time town.

Two weeks and I go back up and see if I can learn how to pull Rob out of a crevasse (or be pulled out myself).

It's worth noting that in Vermont yesterday the freezing level was around 1500 feet (not 15,000 feet), with new snow on the hilltops....


It's also worth noting that this is today's view from Paradise:

Late Night Leg Pain Blues: A Short Annotated History

When it first crops up, leukemia can present itself in all sorts of ways. Physical tiredness or lethargy. Bruising. Cuts that don't heal. Fevers. Deep bone and joint pain.

A month or more before Fergus was diagnosed (the timeline is murky) he claimed one day that his legs no longer worked. He was 4 years old. I remember him crawling from the car to the front door that afternoon, and sliding around the hardwood floors of our house that evening before bed. Somehow (and I wince when I admit this) I chalked it up to something like melodrama, or the side-effects of a very active imagination. The next day he seemed fine.

And yet a few weeks later it happened again, this time when Lauren took him and Norah to a science museum for the afternoon, and he spent the day wheeled around in a stroller.

By then, or soon after then, there were other warning signs too--illness, appendicitis-like stomach pain, unexplained anemia. It's a long story.

The day he was diagnosed, though, he was essentially free of symptoms. No fever. No aches or pains. That afternoon, our world turned upside down by the 20-ton thud of that word--leukemia--dropping into our lives, we lobbied successfully to take Fergus home for the night, to regroup before checking our little boy into the hospital for treatment.

That night, the bone pain returned for Fergus, deep and awful. We were awake all night, with Fergus begging us again and again to make the pain go away. We could not.

Fergus is 8 years old now. He has been off-treatment for almost 11 months. Lauren noticed him limping a little this morning, and asked him about it. He said something about stubbing his toe last night when the babysitter was here, or of twisting his foot somehow. He wasn't very specific. Lauren and I looked at each other briefly, then moved on. Then late this afternoon he said something about his other leg hurting too, but he couldn't really point to the exact source of the pain. Again, he wasn't very forthcoming when we asked about it. Lauren looked at his foot, but couldn't isolate any painful spots.

Fergus left the room to go about his business (getting ready for bed or whatever), and Lauren and I stood there in the kitchen looking into each others eyes. A small smile (wry? wan?) passed between us. We are so fucking powerless before this disease. Are these just the normal pains of an 8 year old boy re-learning how to run and jump and dance? Or is this the relapse, the cancer coming back? We have no way of knowing for sure.

I mean, what can you do? You shrug, sort of. Or smile that war-zone smile. And stand in the kitchen and hug.

This is supposed to be the easy part, you know? Shit, this is the easy part. And yet, the smallest of things (like--oh god--the smell of the hospital cafeteria yesterday, as Lauren and I walked by on the way to an appointment of hers), the smallest of things can trigger these emotions, put us on high alert, remind us again that we are still on the leukemia-family side of the fence.

Look, Fergus is probably fine. As far as we know (knock wood, cross your fingers, praise the deity of your choice) he could be done with cancer, and cancer done with him. There are so many other kids who are struggling with relapse, or complications, or worse. Honestly, we've had it pretty easy. We are the lucky ones. And yet, this is still Life During Wartime, and we can't just relax into our lives.

Elsewhere, kids have died this week of cancer. Lots of kids--someone else could give you a number; not me. Other little boys or girls have just been diagnosed, and their families are reeling, their parents near passing out (as I was) at their child's bedside. And children all over the world lie in hospital beds, or visit their local clinics, and toxic agents are passed into their stomachs, their veins, their spinal fluid. It's a crude approach in a lot of ways, but it's the only thing that they know to do. It needs study, refinement, more study, breakthroughs large and small.

Obviously, there are a lot of problems in the world. But please consider throwing your ten bucks at this one.

I'm just saying.

Non Sequitur in Yellow and Brown

For Angus.

Day 2 And Beyond

Abstract art? No, just Day 2 of our climb.


View Larger Map

Of Piglets

As some of you know, my office-mate Pam inadvertently adopted a piglet (Maya) last week, and Pam had her in the office most of the week, bottle-feeding her, keeping her warm, bathing her, encouraging her to use the computer. A very charming little pig.



Unfortunately, Maya was the runt of the litter, rejected by her mom, and her health took a turn over the weekend. She died on Saturday. We'll miss her.

Last Long Run Sunday....

Tomorrow is my last pre-marathon long run--a twenty-miler. To try to avoid too much misery, I've mapped out a relatively level route this time:

http://www.usatf.org/routes/view.asp?rID=211174

Total elevation gain = 939 feet
Elevation change--ups plus downs = 1880 feet

The last time I ran 20 miles (closer to my house):

Total levation gain = 2580 feet
Elevation change = 5157 feet

On the other hand, the weather will be doing its best to promote a different kind of misery:

Sunday: Rain, mainly before 2pm. Patchy fog before 2pm. High near 53. South wind around 7 mph. Chance of precipitation is 90%. New rainfall amounts between a quarter and half of an inch possible.

UPDATE: It's still not easy to run 20 miles (and I definitely won't be breaking any personal records with this marathon), but this run went much better than the last 20-miler. Almost no walking. Almost no "IT Band" pain.