Tag Archives: training stats

Day 21: A Good, Long Run

31 Jul


Today was long run day, and since I have been worrying about being under-trained, I was nervous that I would break down at mile five of my intended nine miles.  I have also been having some problems with my asthma, but instead of going with the sure to fail treatment plan of “Ignore It!” I called my doctor BEFORE I went into full blown post run attack, and he tweaked my medication schedule. Rather than admitting defeat based on having a chronic, incurable condition, yet one that has excellent management options, I took the increased meds and ran with full, calm breath.  I also hydrated and fueled up properly (man, I love my friends… such great cooks, what a beautiful, delicious Saturday night meal) and even had some wine and chocolate and ice cream and popcorn etc., etc.  Finally, I squelched the normally powerful Voice of Laziness and got out there for some mileage.

I expected to go into thought mode, but this was a much more physically present run.  Apparently I needed to be making connections to body signals more than emotions, and I embraced that fully.  My last race in December was a let down for me because I was denying the body connections even though all the signals were there.  I was not training hard enough so normal soreness was giving way to bad soreness; constant coughing was dismissed as weakness not a scary asthma attack; bad weather was an easy scapegoat to avoid another run.  As a result, I overdid it on race day, and came up badly injured.

Unlike last fall, for the past week and today for sure, I did everything right and even had drinks and snacks waiting for me in the car when I finished.  It seems obvious and almost trite to be reporting that I drank water (omg no way!) after running nearly 10 miles, but once again, running puts into stark reality the importance of self-care, the learning curve of which I have been on the steep side.  Had I rushed to the trail and left the drinks behind, I would have missed the emotional high of finishing well and instead started blaming myself for being so stupid as to just get out the door.  It’s pretty exhilarating to accept your own best help.  Now I have something left for everyone else.

Tomorrow, an update on this documentary I saw tonight.  Excellent.

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Day 34: Long-ish Run, Feeling Better-ish

17 Jul

After using up all my adrenaline watching the Women’s World Cup Final (Team USA lost in a nail-biter to Japan on penalty kicks), I had to use my intended long run for comfort instead of celebration.    And long runs are not necessarily comforting, especially since it is the first “real” one of this training schedule I have concocted.    I had two fantastic 4.75 mile runs with Rocco earlier in the week, and I have actually done a stretch here and there as opposed to my usual zilcho, so I was actually looking forward to doing seven miles.

Here is what “happened,” with explanations and disclaimers after the pic.

Look for the little grey dots for the "pauses" and that's where I made up the .26!

Although the GPS does not lie, it also does not record when I pause the program, and so when I factor back in the paused distances, I did actually run an additional quarter mile, so my total was 6.0 miles.  Whew.  That means only a mile short of the day’s goal, and that is okay with me.  Also, when I paused, I was fumbling around trying to figure out my route, because after mile three I decided to change it up and run toward a path I’ve never been on and so, had to stop for directions so to speak.  That added several minutes on to my split times, so I am thinking I was more like 10:30 per minute.  (I had a slight hangover to contend with too, damn you tequila, yet so delicious.)

On the asthma front, I am no longer in denial of needing the daily medication and have noticed my breath stays calmer longer throughout a run.  Fitness will still help me, so mileage is on the rise until the week before to get stronger.

The two earlier runs this week resulted in a creative breakthrough  too.  Am excitedly drafting a new project and will share soon!

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AFC Half Day 57: A La Vey Altitude

25 Jun

Eeeeeeeeeee holay.  It is hotter than hell this afternoon, but I am proud to report that I hiked six miles in under two hours starting at 7,000′ feet, ascending an additional 1,700 along the way, and did not have an asthma attack.  (Pace is definitely slower, see below, but that is because of the altitude, hello, that shiz is intense!)  I then put away a very large plate of huevos rancheros, beans, and bacon followed with a nap back at the house.  Whew!

I am in New Mexico visiting my mom and many dear old friends on a totally last minute and way toooooooo short of a trip, but good for my soul just the same.  Work has been egregiously boring and I am not one who believes that boredom is a state that any human is allowed to claim as valid.  I associate it with whining, entitlement, lack of imagination, and immaturity.  Or spoiled children.  This is the first time I have understood it to be an actual predicament that is valid, and that it is perhaps, evil.

This all started because my company is in the middle of a merger.  We are expected to continue on with business as usual, not to mention, we need to be employed by our company at the time the deal is approved to receive our stock buyouts and severance packages.  The deal will be approved… um, well, sometime before the end of the year we think?  In my particular position the work flow has slowed to a trickle.  And I have run out of things to invent to do, and I have to seem like I have something to do, and so what was a simple twinge of boredom that I could readily put out of its misery compounded into a funk tinged malaise.  Making the decision to go out of town for 3.33 days on a plane to a tourist town in late June two days prior to departing seemed insane until it simply wasn’t   All the pieces came together as if I was the honored guest at the party of the year.

The boredom factor is real though, and it is not only knocking me off track at my present job, it has hindered my ability to focus on the future and what I want to do next/for real/finally achieve passion-work balance.  (I must also report that the first call I made two months ago when the deal was announced was to my recruiter, who congratulated me on being part of a company that will actually pay out its stock AND reassured me the market is good and could get me a job tomorrow.  Another whew!)  I tried to focus on that on my hike today and some clarity towards an action plan did come.  Naturally, it turns out I have to start with some gold medal networking, so thank goodness people do tend to like me a lot because I am going to be up on them next week.

Fan-tastic new dress for tonight!  And wearing mom’s turquoise!

And stats are below.

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AFC Half Day 62: Mojo Rising

20 Jun

Ahhhh, thank you SUMMER!!  With the arrival of weather that is actually above 70 degrees and for more than one day in a row, I finally basked in the joy of an intensely awesome sweaty workout, pranced around in my cutoffs and bikini top while watering the flowerpots and drinking a near frozen cold beer, and have gotten eaten alive by mosquitoes.  I’ll take it!

I have also released my denial that Duke can no longer go  on runs with me, so I have adjusted our schedule accordingly.  Tonight, I got changed into exercise clothes and trail runners, rolled my sore hammies out on the foam roller, then the three of us did this:

The nightly walk through Cutesville still counts as mileage.

After a quick pit stop at home and settling the boys in to rest, I grabbed my water belt with phone and headed back up the mountain with the goal of doing five miles total in an out-and-back.  It was gorgeous and clear, no wind, dry, and the sun with a few hours to go before retiring after its near longest day.  As I made my way up the first ascent to get to the trail, I realized the previous two days of hiking were having an extended hangover in my glutes.  (The first ascent is no joke.  If you are familiar with hills in San Francisco, it’s steeper than Fillmore Street where there are STAIRS to help pedestrians navigate the incline.)  Well good, I thought, it’s about damn time my backside learned to increase its tolerance for exercise.  And there are those short-shorts to contend with.

Once on the ridge line, I settled into a nice pace of running the flats and downs and marching the ups.  I did not bring music because I find that I prefer to listen to nature and it forces me to really focus on my alignment and pace.  I am irrationally terrified that I will fall and break things, so I am intent on picking a good line to run and to watch where I am putting my feet amongst the gravel and crags.  Although slightly OCD, I find that I can zero in on each muscle group, each twinge, my breath and then make adjustments as necessary.  Realizing you are not using your abs and then suddenly engaging them is like having a stash of turbo power under your cape.

The sunset turned to twilight, so I took off my hat and stayed at pace, thankful that I did not need my inhaler I forgot.  (Oops.  Not so smart.)  As I descended and the first hill became the last, I took out my phone to check the RunKeeper and was stoked to find that what I thought was five miles by my time and pace was actually five miles.  Having the connection between your body and the distance you cover on the ground is invigorating.

Part II of the workout is below.  Tomorrow, a walk, the roller and pushups.  God I hate pushups.

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AFC Half Day 63: Higher Gear

19 Jun


I love a good string of cuss words, especially used for self-motivation.  When I confidently declare, “I’m not here to f*cking f*ck around,”  you best not mess with me.  With the race date fast approaching, and my training woefully behind schedule, and understanding that is was ME instigating eight other friends to do the race together, it was painfully obvious that I needed to get my crap together and stop being so flummoxed by the bad weather, my dogs’ aging, general angst/distraction about what is next for me, or just good old fashioned procrastination.  I knew it was time to get my ass up the hill on a hike, since I knew I was not ready for any run over five miles but needed a good strong workout.  Plus, I had to get on with my day with the family, and make it to my bikini wax appointment on time.  Priorities!

Above is the RunKeeper synopsis of my workout.  RunKeeper is a free iPhone (and now, Android) app which uses GPS tracking to compile your mileage and, bonus, your elevation if hiking.  You create a profile with all your stats and what activities you do and can then share it all on Facebook or within the RunKeeper network.  I do not use any app that posts my GPS whereabouts publicly, so I just use it for my own stats analysis in the private profile format.  I am also wary of bringing my iPhone which is made of GLASS on a run with me, so hiking is the perfect place to use this.  My water belt has a  pouch that holds the phone nicely, so I feel more comfortable that I am not jostling the glass all over the place on a long run.

Today’s workout was exactly what I wanted to get done in less than an hour.  The climb is steep and strenuous and the ridge line allows for steep ups and downs to challenge a whole body workout.  Now I know exactly what the three mile course looks like and when I go up the hill again and longer, I will mark that too.  And killing 500 calories in 50 minutes is always a bonus, hooray hiking!  Because, as I say, I’m not here to f*cking f*ck around.

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1:59:59

3 Apr

It’s serious now folks: I am signed up for TWO events this summer and have tricked inspired several dear college girl friends into running in one of them with me!   Oh, and I have decided to give myself a time goal <gulp> of two hours or less.  The pressure!  (Because without it, I will be lazy in training and then overdo it on race day and hurt myself again.  That is a lesson I only need to learn once.)  And the timing could not be better for all this exercise with bikini season looming.  I have in fact been accused of blatant bikini cruising with these very ladies…

Stay tuned, lots of fun tales to come of all the training going on right now, and I will share as much as my gals let me.

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Overdone With No Run

16 Dec

It has been close to two weeks since the North Face Endurance Challenge half, and I have not run or written.  Boo.  And today, as a result, my attitude totally fucking sucks.  Yeah, no bleep on that one, that’s how pissy I am.

Besides the luxury problems that having so many to see, so much to eat and drink, and just so much to do create (namely some scheduling glitches and a lack of sleep), I have a real problem: I injured the hell out of my foot during the race.  Remember all those tossed off comments about not being really totally 100% prepared for this event?  Yeah, that was not fake modesty, I was undertrained.  However, like most amateur athletes, we run at race pace ANYway, and then wake up the next day unable to put weight on our left foot.  Ouch.  I have been limping since December 6th.

Since I am a generally healthy person, getting hurt or being sore or sick throws me out of whack in a way that I think others don’t experience.  I turn into a sensitive, distracted, pitiful mess.  The whining inside my head sounds like a daycare filled with fussy toddlers right before nap time.  I too am  mere milliseconds away from total tantrum meltdown, only it would be socially unacceptable for a grown woman to react this way to an actually quite manageable malady.  That I did to myself.  <Ahem>.

This brings me right back to the beginning of the problem that if I cannot run (due to self inflicted injury), then I write less, then I get all jammed up and systems start to shut down, and here I find myself falling off the cliff of oversleeping my alarms (yes, plural), forgetting to make or return calls/emails/txts/IMs, obsessing over shit I can’t control, not drinking enough water, eating way too much sugar, losing my ability to creatively solve problems (and my problems need energetic genius!), not to mention a diminished fashion sense which is also a self-fulfilling and downward spiral to Hagsville, and down and down I fall until I splat into a puff of smoke at the bottom of the canyon.  Here’s where I hold up the sign that says, “Okay, I get it.”

First, I need sleep.  Then, even though it is unaccounted for in my budget, I need to make another appointment with the A.R.T. therapist, because it is magic and I know, will indeed help my foot heal.  Then, more sleep, and then a really good conversation with my attorney (which is unrelated to the injury, ha).

And eventually, a run.  I am even willing to let it be a hike.  That would make me feel best of all.

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Day 14: Daft Punk, deadmau5, Depeche Mode, DOOBIES…

24 Sep

Something that always makes me giggle about Los Angeles, are the endless streams of people not at work in the middle of the day.  (Lawyers, agents and studio execs are exempt from this however, since all they do is work, and go to many lunches.  You only see them on weekends at yoga.)  This is mainly attributed to the legions who are actors, writers, directors, producers, and the unemployed production professionals between shows who may be on the streets, but are completely stressed about where/when/how the next job is going to materialize.  Then there are those who are out an about who are working, but are in the employ of someone with a perception that they have less time than the rest of us, but in reality just have more money and can therefore hire out for minding, errands and dogwalking.  What is really funny though is that all of these people never really seems like they are trying to find a job or even working, rather they all seem to be working out at Runyon Canyon.  I feel that I have credibility on this topic as I have been one of the LA unemployeds tromping up down Runyon with wannabe starlets, pasty-looking writers, and all manner of canines.  And most every time I am in town, I head over for a dose of Runyon-life.

It was about 400 degrees by 9AM, but the parking opens up right then, so I was glad I waited.  Not only do I get a kick out of the street-theatre of Runyon, but there is a really excellent steep face that I needed for some serious uphills.  I hit the trail with a good steady march, and got to the bottom of the climb in only about five minutes.  I realized just how much I was sweating and that it was time to shed a layer, something I often don’t get to do at home, but was going to fit right in being half naked in the land of obsessively perfect <ahem, too skinny> bodies.  Even just in a sports bra and shorts I was more covered than some of the ladies.  But what the hell, it was hot.

At the top of the climb, I took a quick break, went back down the same way, and then back up as fast as I could.  This is when the music choice became critical and the only thing that would work was something synthesizery.  Those types of songs make me feel like a robot machine that will plow down anything it its path as opposed to a flesh and blood asthma sufferer, wheezing her way up the hill.  I got some Daft Punk to shove my ass to the top and catch my breath, then deadmau5 started thumping away for a super-fast take off down the hill.  I love a downhill run. I jammed past all sorts of trudging unemployeds, hipsters dressed inappropriately for the weather and venue, and the young starlets wearing extensions that probably cost more than two months rent.  Depeche Mode helped me weave around cute groups of moms and babies and dogs, all of us exchanging smiles as I went on by.

As I neared the bottom of the hill, feeling quite energized by this workout, the Doobies came on for a cool down.  I thought about just how long LA has been part of my life, but also how just plain weird of a place it always seems.  As “Minute By Minute” played in my ears, I thought about coming here every year as a kid, head exploding every time I saw a limo or a movie star or the Beverly Center.  I have been lucky to see LA over several decades and lived here for 11 years as an adult, and while it is a place built on having the newest new all the time, I don’t miss the feeling that I have to keep up with that anymore.

I will keep coming to Runyon though.

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Days 29, 28, 27, 26: The (Long) One With 9/11

12 Sep

From Thursday to tonight I have only gotten in two runs and one unplanned made-me-miss-the-ferry nearly two-mile walk (at least I had a beer buzz).  Considering the amount of food I consumed this weekend, not to mention the wavering emotions, I am a little frustrated I did not get more mileage in to counteract all the carbs and stress. I’m going to make like Rudy Guiliani and blame 9/11.

My mom was visiting this weekend as it was my nephew’s 2nd birthday.  Nothing makes time go faster than watching a small human grow, mostly because they change so radically in such a short period of time.  I am glad it works out that change becomes glacial once we hit our adult years otherwise we’d all be having nervous breakdowns trying to keep up let alone stay present.  On Thursday, Day 29, my mom came with me on the 3-miler.  She walked and I ran with the dogs ahead and then back to her so she could see me and forward and then back.  It seemed like a really good idea at the time, except that the dogs were totally confused and I was short-fused (I mentioned my mom was in town right?) and so what is normally therapeutic and fun became tangled leashes and jerky starts and stops.  Also fun was the moment that a confused Rocco decided to take a dump right in the MIDDLE of the blindest intersection on the entire route causing a halting back-up of a moving truck which blocked all cars behind him, my mom to blurt out the oblivious question, “What’s going on?!” and me trying not to killed by surly, entitled suburban drivers as I picked up the stinky logs of poo.   I admit it: part of me wanted to throw the bag of turds at the glaring drivers, but I tend to have bad aim.  Once we got to the trail, mom took a few pics of me running ahead.

Looking west.

Sleep was elusive on Thursday night too.  Although I have one helluva comfy couch, I think I only eeked out about four hours.  Friday Day 28 workday was fine, beers came early, but the trains were running late, so I walked superfast all the way to the ferry building but still missed the good (aka high-speed) boat.  I sat down and fell promptly to sleep for a good 40 minutes.  There would be no run when I got home.  Sorry doggies!  I did manage to get a look at the spectacular  fingernail moon and Venus in the western sky just above the horizon of Mt. Tam.  Um, wow.

Saturday Day 27 was also 9/11.  Nine years since the hijackings and attacks.  Nine years.  I was up very early so I almost immediately tapped into the memories of of 2001.  We all have our stories.  Mine is similar to many I am sure, but my life today is so very different from that morning’s life.  As I cooked and cleaned my way around the casita with the memorial gatherings playing on my TV, I burst into tears.  I remembered seeing the 2nd plane hit and explode live on my TV and the chilling, nauseous adrenaline of shock and confusion wrack my entire body.  I knew something was very, very wrong.

I let myself cry, and then would pause from cleaning to listen to moments of Michelle Obama’s speech at the Flight 93 memorial service.  Then I would go back to dusting, trying to let the progress of going from dirty to clean be a small and normal triumph over the sadness of the day.  Completely weird, but it helped.  I switched over to the radio and there was a set of California themed songs playing.  When “California Stars” by Woody Guthrie and Wilco came on, I smiled and cried.  This was the song I played in my classroom the day after 9/11 for my students to try and explain how I felt safe that we were not at Ground Zero, but also the to feel the connectedness of all Americans.

When my family arrived we had a birthday brunch in the stunning weather of the late morning.  It felt good for us to  be together and eat and laugh and sing and blow out candles and watch hummingbirds and dance and pet the dogs and just be.

Here's how.

This beautiful, but understated day then took a frustrating turn for me.  Upon returning home with my mom from a trip to the mall I checked the mail.  I received a letter from the SF Transit Authority which was in response to a violation protest I had filed back in April.  It is far too irritating to re-tell the story here, but basically, the letter said my violation was valid and I was liable for the cost of the citation.  Right there in front of my mom, and I am pretty certain because of her presence, I completely lost my temper, began screaming, yelling and cursing, and then hurling my aluminum water bottle from the Marin Marathon across my kitchen impaling it into the cabinet.  Not my finest moment.  I don’t think I would have done that had I been alone or with someone else, which is sad to me that I think it’s okay to behave like a 12 year old in front of my mom.  HOWEVER, our story is long and sometimes brutal…

I realized I was not going to be able to recover from the abyss I put myself into, mostly because I was looking at spending the rest of the evening with my family.  It didn’t feel safe to me to be with them when I was in this fragile of a mood, so I drove her to my brother’s in near silence and mono-syllables.  She was kind and gave me something I needed and then I left and cried all the way back to my place.  Car-crying is big for me.

It was time to run.  I looked at the dogs and had to tell them they were not coming this time.  Poor Duke had had a seizure in the middle of the night on Friday and was extra-drugged so I would not have taken him anyway, but I knew I needed to go fast and long and alone.

I hit a nice stride at about mile 2 and let my mind get connected with my body.  I thought a lot about the Tough Mudder and the team and how I need to work out more and that I am not even really sore from a work out yet but that I also don’t want to hurt myself and I paid close attention to my creaky knees and my form.  I realized I was running faster and stronger, and had the sensation I like to call the “magic carpet” where it feels like I am floating and the road is moving under me.

And then the 9/11 memories came back.

I thought about how last year, I sent out an email to friends and family, expressing my love and gratitude for them.  Many wrote back with the same sentiments.  I also sent an email to my ex-husband, as it was our life I was living when the planes hit.  I had not communicated with him in probably two years, and none of what was going on then was of the positive variety.  I told him I was thinking of him and that I hoped he was well, which was true, but was not surprised that he could not even return that gesture of goodwill.  My thoughts came closer back to the present, but the emotions still near the surface.  I thought again of  “California Stars” and my adopted home state.  The music knew what to do, and “Como Ves” by Ozomatli came on, its marching beat and whistles shifting me into fifth gear.

And then, of course, Tom Petty with his song, “California.”

California’s been good to me
Hope it don’t fall into the sea
Sometime you got to trust yourself
It ain’t like anywhere else
It ain’t like anywhere else

It’s time to roll,
I’m all done.
It’s time we better hit the road
I got work later on,
It’s time we better hit the road.

California’s been good to me
Hope it don’t fall into the sea
Sometime you got to save yourself
It ain’t like anywhere else
It ain’t like anywhere else…

(Digression: I love this song more than most, but I also get homesick for Santa Fe whenever I think about how many years I’ve been in California.  There is a melancholy beauty to this tune that zings right in on my sense of the transience of my adopted home and many feelings of what is “home” exactly?  I am still searching for it… )

Even with all the visits of memory ghosts, I was both elated and calm as climbed the last long hill to this current version of home.  I still felt a pang of guilt for my temper tantrum, but I had called and apologized to my mom before I left on the run, and then decided to forgive myself.  I have had an extremely tough set of years, and 99% of the time, I do not throw things.  I got practical and looked to the fridge for hydration.

Looking for my Purity water.

Sunday Day 26 came and went, with a detour into some seriously delicious noodles and soup dumplings at a hole-in-the-wall Anthony Bourdain would approve of.  I did the airport run and drove home, easing into Sunday night with a lot of writing, cooking and reflecting.  I didn’t run, but thought all about the previous three days.  I thought about my nephew’s birthday celebration too, and how I danced and sang with him to The Beatles “Hello Goodbye” one of the best songs in the history of the world.  He kept saying, “Dance to The Beatles with Zia!”

Finally, I remembered yesterday’s run and how it healed me.

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Day 39: Those Who Mind Don’t Matter and Those Who Matter Don’t Mind*

30 Aug

Sundays can be hard for me.  Just even typing that seems like a really (?!!?!) go tell-it-to-your-therapist in Santa Monica luxury problem which of course, I have told her all about… years ago.  This has happened to me before.  I had a busy weekend: two parties and all the regular chores and errands too and a live Emmy telecast to watch and critique with my best friend all while making-our-own pizzas.  I was thinking, okay good, no time for wallowing lots of fun and food and silliness.  But then, somehow, those damn shiftless gremlins got into my skull about midday yesterday and just knocked me off my pillar of calm and clarity and fun.  Could the teensy hangover be to blame?  Or that my dog had a seizure at 5AM but I had not even gotten four full hours of sleep yet?  Perhaps the worry over impending car repairs and the leaking air suspension… hmmm.  All totally manageable on a normal day, but for whatever reason, Sunday jumbled my brain and worse, my confidence.  I also made the mistake of calling my mom and dumping it all on her, causing needless worry and not getting the kind of even, warm, genuine support which I craved.  I know better than this, but the gremlins had turned into full on Mean Girls and those bitches were not going down without taking me with them.

I should have called my friend who has rescued me from them before.  Once she slams the door on their screeching, she calmly and lovingly helps me unravel that heavy knot in my chest I wound up as I listened to their taunts.  (She has four daughters from age 14-22, she KNOWS.)  Her most effective trick for getting me to focus usually involves reminding me that whatever problem I have exploded to nuclear proportions in my head is basically meaningless because more than likely I have confused my worth as it relates to a thing, money, a job, or a clearly abusive person who I should remove from my life anyway!  She often says, “Is it cancer?  No? Okay, then guess what?  This does not define you in any way whatsoever.”  And then I believe her and she reminds me again that it is okay that I married the wrong person before and guess what, now I have a clean slate, and money problems, yeah who cares, it is actually the best time to have them because they are so common, and what else, your car is not fixed yet, well you have AAA right?  The worrying won’t fix it, she says, we love you.  Your friends and family love you and want you to be happy and that is all that matters.  You don’t have cancer.  And I breathe a small sigh of relief.  And I tear up and promise not to forget that it is my happiness that matters.

And tonight, what made me remember all of this was a particularly cathartic run and a couple hundred yards of walking lunges and three sets of sprints and that had me grinning from the inside out.

But then, in the midst of an endorphin high and blues kicked to the curb, another friend tells me her mom has just been diagnosed with leukemia.  This time, cancer is in the mix.  This time, even after I shut the Mean Girls down, cancer shows up.  The very thing my friend always says is the only thing that I am allowed to be concerned about.  I realized what she means in a flash.  Although cancer also does not define us, it can kill us, as opposed to say, a divorce.  (Divorce is more like chemotherapy. It makes you sick for awhile, as you inject all the toxic crap from the marriage into your spirit.  The injections continue until you finally face the inevitable and split, and then, just when you feel like it might kill you because of the stomach churning stress, you stop.  And you heal.  And you become yourself again.  It is exhilarating.)  Cancer is nasty and wily and terrifying.  And it must be defeated.

All of us get the blues whether a Sunday or not and attend the very tedious pity parties we throw in our honor.  None of the problems (money/job/marriage/relationship/kid/house/car/school/etc.) we face that trip us into these funks are unique, and that is why we have friends and family to remind us of our inherent value to them.  They don’t care about the failures we fret about; they have all gone down in their own flames and we didn’t care.  In fact, failure is when we are at our most open to see new solutions.  And that is why the only problem that requires our undivided attention is one that might actually kill us.  Because we want to stick around for all the fun and joy and celebrations of triumph over failures or to comfort each other on a bad day.

So I get it now.  Cancer is not to be trifled with.  It will only crumble when faced with a massive counterattack that is not distracted by Mean Girl voices.  Also, I don’t mind telling cancer to eff the hell off.

*Dr. Seuss

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